Where The Really Cool Ghosts Hang Out.


Grave yards are dead! They are a dime a dozen and everyone already knows they are haunted, by sheep! Unless you want the other spirits to think you are mainstream, heed these examples of some truly un-real estate!

Chippewa Lake Park

Out of Order.
Nothing makes us jump for joy like a day at the amusement park or scream bloody murder like a night on Chippewa Lake.

Chippewa Lake Park In Ohio began in 1878. It failed to keep up with the changing times and closed in 1978. It was left as it was for thirty years, the antique wooden coasters marinating in Ivy and weeds till it achieved the status of a premium haunting destination.

A spate of mysterious fires and the loss of a historic ballroom, apparently to arson, mean there are still some truly epic parties going on behind locked gates.

An attempt to capture the shenanigans on film, failed miserably. The Film, “Closed For The Season” is largely blamed for misconceptions about the park’s inherent lameness. These misconceptions have caused many upstanding ghouls to promptly vacate the premises, leading to a second abandonment and consequent re-infestation of humans.

Recent plans to reinvent the site, have caused much of the older structures to be cleared away but the fun need not stop with the loss of old Chippewa.  A new entertainment complex “Chippewa Landing” is on the way and there is much to be done if it is ever to be as prestigious as its forbearer. Newer more hospitable environs mean more fleshies to fool with, but unlike the thrill seekers that once hopped the fence in the glory days, these will not scare themselves.

The Maunsell Forts

Exhibit B – is in the merry British Isles. I know your thinking, “Another day, another castle.” but let us put convention out to sea. One shall find that where the Thames and Mercy open out, there are vacant bastions fit to put the kings of old to shame.

Now the more social among you may scoff at the remote location, with its access to skittish yokels and shivering campers limited, but time, these days, is money and if you don’t value it no one else will. Maybe it is time you made the parapsychologists work for your attention!

Because you are worth it!

Built on platforms sunk deep into sand bars, they stood as lines of defense during the second world war. In the fifties they went up for grabs, and soon became infested with Bohemians, including some important pioneers of pirate radio. One fort in particular has been declared its own country.


Anyone interested in haunting “The Principality of Sealand” will have to apply for citizenship.

Hearing that some of these long-legged sentinels are still inhabited, may disappoint, as in this age of paranormal investigators one’s privacy is paramount. Yet ask yourself, what good is a bleeding wall without a human to enjoy it? And this far from land – who can hear them scream?

Sanzhi Pods


Take me to your Contractor!


Calm down, get ready. In the Sanzhi district, New Taipei City, Taiwan, there stood a rotting, retro resort run by a dragon.

The beast was a statue used to decorate the entryway but the passage needed to be wider so the hollow stone monster was cut to pieces. One wonders what was inside . . .

Hell hath no fury!

Construction started in 1978, and suddenly stopped in 1980. Urban legends whisper of fatal car accidents, deaths during construction, suicides, and ancient burial grounds. Party poopers have blamed failed partnerships, faulty workmanship and investment losses, but there was no denying the eerie charm of these otherworldly apartments, left half-finished on a wind-swept beach.

An over-grown water park filled the vast courtyard with many deep and muddy swimming pools perfect for lurking in, high rockeries from which to leap upon your victims and bits of rubble to throw around should one be of the poltergeist persuasion. Photo shoots for fashion magazines were held frequently so there was no shortage of busty starlets to menace on misty mornings. Ominous graffiti helped set the mood . . .

A pox on your grandchildren!

Sadly, these wonders have been demolished, for it seems the humans intend to give it another go. A new resort is scheduled to replace it some time in the future, yet as before, the fun need not stop. I’ve heard the dragon is already taking reservations.

Interested humans may check out this site for some of the rarest and most thorough documentation of the Sanzhi UFO houses I’ve so far encountered. 


Other pictures courtesy of Wikipedia. (Articles on – Maunsell forts – Principality of Sealand – Chippewa Lake Park.)





Thrills and Chills At The Old Snow Cone Stand

In the south Louisiana town of Gueydan, are a couple of vacant buildings few seem to notice.

The, now closed, Pioneer Hotel catered mainly to hunters, coming in for ’duck season’. The towns only claim to fame is for being the ‘Duck capital of America.’ (Yes there is a sign, and yes, It has been desecrated on many occasions)

Imagine these doors in various bright colors. So sorry I didden’t photograph it sooner.

 Originally the hotel’s eight rooms had color coated doors. An adjoining home office for the woman who ran it is off to the side, where a single trellis still passes for a garden.

I used to suggest the place when we planned our vacations, liking the colorful doors and being too young yet to realize the pointlessness of accommodations so far from the beach and not ten miles from home.

Though now that I think about it, the place may have been closed even back then. The lady who ran it lived out her life there, long after she stopped renting rooms, so it continued to look livable for quite awhile. It deteriorated after her death, so that now nearly all of the color has faded from the doors that sparked my interest.

 I could go on forever about that hotel, but It was the much smaller building next to it that led to one of the most harrowing experiences in my otherwise uneventful life.

This second building is red, but for some reason I remember it being rainbow. Those I’ve questioned insist it has always been simply red.

Small things amuse small minds I guess.

I have very clear memories of being held up by an older cousin while my first snow cone ever was handed to me through the single bay window that formed the little shack’s entire front.

It may have been a case of mistaken identity, as many such places had come and gone all over town, yet for much of my life it continued to be the old snow cone stand.

I would discuss it with friends at recess, who mostly had no idea what I was talking about, though it seemed some older kids had mentioned a place where small trinkets had come with snow cones in much the same spirit as Macdonald’s or Crackerjacks.

One evening, as I was falling asleep to my one-eyed Teddy Ruxpin’s rendition of “Come and discover the world with me.” I quietly concluded that it must have been the place, what with a building that cool, they had certainly gone all out.

I shot from my bed when it hit me. Surely some extra trinkets were left behind when they closed the joint. All those prizes could still be there, locked up in the stand, awaiting the child bold enough to brave the ghosts and claim the treasure. ( It was a proven fact that all old buildings had ghosts and treasure.)

I tossed and turned but couldn’t shake the thought that there was an endless pile of multicolored crap with my name on it. This thought followed me onto the porch where I found myself mounting my rickety, training-wheeled contraption and pedaling like mad across the wide open. Simply being alone at dusk was almost enough to make one die of fright but my eye was on the prize, and my brain was full of that awesome, idiotic reasoning one often encounters around bed time that makes even the dumbest ideas seem divinely inspired.

Soon those three black windows gaped at me out of the dark trees. I had second thoughts when there seemed to be blurry faces peering out of them. The faces never moved, and with all the courage and stupidity that could be mustered I snuck around to the back, where I discovered an even greater obstacle.

A rusty screen door was the only entrance. Those things were a pain to open. The handles would stick, and if you tried to force them, they would summon an army of angry adults. I attacked it anyway. The noise was deafening in the quiet.

Three dark figures eclipsed the light of the windows. They never moved so I turned on my light, and shrieked.

Someone had left some cardboard cutouts in front of the windows. Maybe the video rental place was using the building for storage? It didn’t matter. I was scared to death of cardboard cutouts; all those eerie, two-dimensional people with their staring eyes and obviously fake smiles. Oh, but what was that?

There were boxes of Mardi Gras beads and quarter-machine eggs littering the floor. I was in heaven. I propped the stubborn door open with a stick and was faced with enough beads and bracelets to make up a kiddy-king’s ransom. I thus filled my pockets with enough small rubber animals to make up a first class security force.

There was too much to carry, but I wasn’t worried. I only needed enough time to nab the pieces I wanted. Ooh a dinosaur! I reached for it just as the stick fell to the crabgrass and the door slowly started to close. I turned around to catch it, but the thing was tightly sealed. I tried the stuck handle again and again, then struggled against the screen, screaming for all the world to hear.

The wind moaned outside and one of the cut outs fell over. The pouting face of Julia Roberts wavered inches from my own. With superhuman strength borne of unholy terror, I burst through the screen. The next thing I remember was my butt hitting bike seat and my legs tearing out of there.

I awoke safely the next morning with three pink bracelets still safe on my arm. No one believed me when I showed them those bracelets. Father insisted I’d won them at a party the day before, and swore I’d never left my bed. Still It’s hard to believe I dreamed it, though I was never that impulsive in real life.

As for the old snow cone stand, knowing what I know now it is unlikely that it could have ever been used for that purpose. Mother always commented on how much it reminded her of a tug boat. It was only recently I questioned my uncle who insisted that it was indeed, part of a tug-boat. Namely, A disembodied wheelhouse left there by a man who used to fix them back in the fifties. He knew very little about the man and claimed my late grandfather had known him.

It was too bad I’d missed my chance, not that I never asked my grandfather about the past, but without specific questions there was never much to say. Perhaps if I’d known the right questions then, many of my favorite landmarks would have had even better stories.