The enormous creature was covered in shaggy, dark fur.

  Once word got out, two men from the nearby town of Troy came forward with their tale. Several months earlier, they said they had been out fishing on the Cuivre River, when a rotten-egg stench filled the air. One of the men clapped his hand over his nose. What was causing that gross odor? They heard a twig snap. On the opposite bank, they spotted what appeared to be a man with a beard and long hair shuffling along. They did a double take. The creature was way too tall and hairy to be a man, and its very large head seemed to rest directly on its shoulders. They ran as fast as they could for their car and sped away!

  There were many other reported sightings of Momo during that summer. Some people found clumps of fur tangled in the branches of trees. One found a huge footprint with only three toes! Momo has not shown itself since the 1970s, and some now speculate that it was a bear mistaken for a creepy cryptid. Of course, a bear doesn’t have three toes . . .

  MONTANA

  THE CRY OF THE HOMESICK BISON

  The land that’s now Montana once shook from millions of bison hoofs. The large, shaggy animals provided food for the Cree, Chippewa, Sioux, Assiniboine, Gros Ventre, Blackfeet, Crow, and Northern Cheyenne. Hides were turned into clothing and shelter. The bison’s spirit brought peace, protection, and strength to the land’s inhabitants.

  There once sat a massive boulder in northern Montana, high on a ridge near the Cree Crossing overlooking the Milk River. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember. Scientists believe it was left behind by a glacier that once covered the region. The ancient, gray granite rock was special, because it looked like a sleeping bison with horns, a hump, and ribs. Many believed it held the same great power as the animal it resembled. Some touched the sleeping bison to bring good fortune before a hunt or battle. Having it watch over them was a source of comfort.

  Then, in 1932, the U.S. government began to build Highway 2. The big boulder was in the way, so it was moved to a park in the town of Malta.

  But as legend has it, the sacred rock was not happy about its new home. One night, residents were startled awake by bellows that sent shivers down their spines. It sounded like the anguished cries of a bull bison! The police searched ranches and livestock for the animal in pain, but the howls were finally traced to the park. As soon as the officers entered the park’s gates, the bellows stopped. The next night they started up again. For days, months, and years the mournful cries continued on and off. Then the boulder in the park began to move—on its own! One inch. Then another. And another. It seemed as if the sleeping bison were slowly inching closer to the fence! Was it looking for a way out?

  The sacred rock was not happy about its new home.

  Residents were understandably upset. So, the boulder was moved once more and placed alongside the highway just outside the town of Saco. Today, people sometimes leave offerings to the stone beast, such as pennies, pictures, and flowers. And the bellowing appears to have stopped.

  NEBRASKA

  THE MUSIC PLAYS ON

  Listen closely in Centennial Hall, and you just may hear the haunting notes of a clarinet. The melancholy melody seems to come from the Music Room, yet there’s never a musician in there. There are no speakers, no record players, no computers, and no woodwind instruments either. But that’s because the eerie tune is being played by a ghost! And as we know, ghosts don’t need to show themselves to give us goosebumps.

  Ghosts don’t need to show themselves to give us goosebumps.

  Centennial Hall is a museum in a small town called Valentine near the South Dakota border. It was a school long before becoming a museum. Built in 1897, it’s believed to be the oldest high school building still standing in the Cornhusker State. Its halls were once filled with chattering students. Off to class. Off to lunch. Off to band practice. And it was in the music room, in 1944, that our story turned sinister.

  According to the legends, there was a girl who played the clarinet in the school band. She loved the clarinet’s deep, warm sound and the way its melodies blended with those of the instruments around her. What exactly happened on that fateful day has been lost to time, but it seems that one of the reeds attached to her clarinet’s mouthpiece had been dipped in poison. Was it by accident or on purpose? No one knows.

  Either way, the clarinetist put the poisoned reed to her lips, ready to play, and met her end. Soon after she died, teachers began to report sightings of her ghost in the music room. Other students said they saw her apparition floating down the halls between classes, and whenever they entered the music room, they were overcome by a feeling of dread and unease. After the school was converted into a museum, the clarinetist’s ghost remained in the building. Eerie music drifted out from the old music room, even though all instruments had been removed long ago. Some visitors have said they felt sick to their stomachs when they entered the room. Employees reported cold spots and a rocking chair that seemed to rock on its own. It’s kind of like a ghostly game of musical chairs—except the music keeps on playing!

  NEVADA

  THE MERMAID’S REVENGE

  Do you like stories about playful mermaids who sing happy songs while swimming with cute fish? Oh, well. This mermaid tale is quite the opposite. The mermaid who haunts Pyramid Lake is very angry and out for revenge.

  Located in the northwestern part of the state, Pyramid Lake is a beautiful, glimmering lake in the desert. It gets its name from a pyramid-shaped rock in the center. The lake is the biggest and deepest remnant of the prehistoric Lake Lahontan, which covered much of Nevada millions of years ago. Because Pyramid Lake is so old, there’s no telling what strange creatures lurk in its incredible depths, or in the case of our spiteful mermaid, up at the surface.

  For centuries, the Paiute people have lived in the area around the lake. The legend goes that one day a young Paiute man was wandering along the shore, when he heard a splash and spotted a mermaid. They started talking. The man returned day after day, and they laughed together and shared their deepest thoughts. Their friendship blossomed into true love. Soon after, the man lifted the mermaid out of the lake and carried her back to his village, so they could be properly married according to Paiute traditions. But when the tribal leaders saw her fish tail, they commanded him to return her to the lake. Much to the mermaid’s shock and sadness, the young man did as he was told. He cast his true love back into the deep water.

  She was heartbroken, but her sorrow soon turned to anger. The spurned mermaid placed a curse upon Pyramid Lake. She vowed that all Paiute people who came near its shores or swam in its waters would meet harm, and she promised to haunt the lake. Has she? Well, there have been reports that on sunny days, calm water will suddenly froth and churn with no explanation and then mysteriously stop. There have also been chilling stories of anglers who go out fishing and are never seen again. So if you do visit, never swim alone, and always keep your eyes open for a mermaid!

  Calm water will suddenly froth and churn with no explanation.

  NEW HAMPSHIRE

  THE WITCH WHO WASN’T

  The Puritans who colonized New England feared witches above all else. They believed witches caused everything bad, from a devastating blizzard to a cow not giving milk to a slight toothache. Anything they couldn’t explain, they blamed on the person they had decided was a witch.

  Eunice Cole and her husband came to New Hampshire from England in 1638 as indentured servants. In exchange for their boat tickets, they had agreed to work for free for several years. Her husband sawed wood and, as far as we know, Eunice was a maid. The couple moved to the village of Hampton. They were childless and very poor, and Eunice was known to be grumpy and eccentric. All of this made her a target. Their neighbors began to whisper about Goody Cole (“goodwife” was the polite way to address women of low social standing, and it was usually shortened to Goody). They said she caused their cattle to get sick, put a curse on their crops, controlled the winds and made a fishing boat capsize. They said she was a witch.

  Goody Cole, or the Witch of Hampton as she was called, was put on trial. She cried out that she was innocent, but the jury did not believe her. No one in the town stood up to defend her. She was locked away in a cold, dark cell. After many years, she was allowed out of jail. But as soon as she was freed, she was again accused of being a witch and imprisoned. Goody Cole could not catch a break! By the time she was released, she was nearly 80 years old. She died soon after.

  As soon as she was freed, she was again accused of being a witch . . .

  Fast forward to 1938. The town of Hampton was about to celebrate its 300th birthday, and its residents heard about the injustice put upon Goody Cole. They wanted to apologize for their ancestors’ wrongful accusations. They planned a special celebration, officially cleared her of all charges, and burned copies of the court papers from her trials. But, it seems, Goody Cole wasn’t having it. Soon after, the people of Hampton started seeing her ghost. A police officer said he once warned her to be careful on the uneven pavement. “I’ll get along all right,” she told him. “I’ve been walking these roads for hundreds of years.” And then she vanished, as if by magic.

  NEW JERSEY

  THE PARKWAY PHANTOM

  In the foggy darkness, the thrum of the car’s engine and the rumble of the tires were slowly pulling the boy toward sleep. They’d started the drive to the Jersey shore late, because traffic on the Garden State Parkway was lighter at night. The boy fought the urge to close his eyes. Instead he pressed his nose to the window pane and peered out. There were no stores or businesses in sight. Just miles of highway edged by thick trees. Up ahead in the distance, he spotted a sign. They were approaching Exit 82 by the towns of Toms River and Seaside Heights. Then the boy did a double take. He sat straighter and squinted at the looming shadow. “Mom, look!” he cried.

  The car’s headlights illuminated an extremely tall man standing in the shoulder of the road. He wore a tan raincoat belted tightly around his narrow waist. A felt fedora pulled low over his brow hid his face in shadows. His arms were raised high above his head. They appeared to be absurdly long. Bending at both elbows, they moved back and forth in perfect rhythm, like windshield wipers or as if he were doing the Wave in a stadium.

  “Should we help him?” the boy asked. His mom chewed her lip, considering. Then she slowed the car. “We’re not getting out,” she warned her son. “Just checking, okay?” He nodded nervously. They edged up to where he stood. But then he wasn’t there. The boy looked over his shoulder. Had they driven too far? No. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. The tall man had vanished!

  The tall man had vanished.

  Ever since the Garden State Parkway was completed in 1955, the Parkway Phantom has supposedly been sighted many times around this same stretch and always at night. He’s also been called the Exit 82 Ghost. The state police have heard countless complaints about the specter. This section of the highway experiences many accidents due to speeding, and some officers wonder if the phantom’s mission is to keep people safe by slowing down their cars. Talk about an otherworldly traffic patrol!

  NEW MEXICO

  A PARTY FOR THE DEAD

  Are you ready to throw an epic welcome home party? Because along with fall breezes, November can blow in a whole bunch of ghosts! Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is a two-day celebration that takes place every year on November 1st and 2nd. It’s a joyous occasion, when it’s believed the souls of our ancestors visit families and friends.

  To welcome and honor the dead, many families set up an ofrenda, or altar, in their homes. Pictures of loved ones are placed on a table or a fireplace mantel that’s been decorated with real or paper cempasúchiles, or marigolds. Called flor de muerto, or flower of the dead, the marigolds’ strong scent and brilliant orange color are said to help guide the spirits back home from the grave. Favorite foods are prepared, beverages poured, and cherished mementos displayed. Homes and gravesites are decorated with colorful calavera de azúcar, or sugar skulls, and tissue-paper papel picado banners. Many towns will have community ofrendas for all to take part in. Bakeries are filled with pan de muerto, a sweet bread shaped into skulls or bones.

  Día de los Muertos may have started centuries ago in Mexico. To the Aztec, Toltec, and Nahua people, death was a natural part of the cycle of life. They believed it was important to keep a strong connection with family members who had passed away. But they thought being sad was disrespectful. Instead, they danced, feasted, and wore bright colors to celebrate them.

  Today, Día de los Muertos and other similar celebrations are enjoyed throughout the world, especially Central and South America and the southwestern United States. Some people stay home with family. Some have picnics at gravesites. Others dance in parades. In New Mexico, streets are decorated with marigolds, mariachi bands play, and mojigangas, traditional Mexican giant puppets, lead candle-lit walks. Revelers wear fancy costumes and paint their faces to look like skulls or La Catrina, the glamorous, jewelry-wearing skeleton.

  Revelers paint their faces to look like skulls . . .

  On November 3rd, goodbyes are said, but they’re not forever. In a year, the dead will return to celebrate all over again.

  NEW YORK

  SISTERS KEEPING COOL

  Snowflakes swirled above the skaters circling Wollman Rink in Central Park. The majestic park is in the middle of bustling Manhattan and surrounded by towering skyscrapers. On this crisp winter night, kids lined up at a nearby cart to buy pretzels. Yellow taxis beeped in the distance. A group of friends linked hands as they happily glided around the outdoor rink. Their laughter rose above the beat of the music, and their blades etched grooves into the slick surface. Soon everyone was being ushered off so the Zamboni could clean the ice. Before heading to the snack bar one boy paused and glanced back over his shoulder. He blinked in disbelief. “Hey, look!” he cried, grabbing the jacket of the friend standing closest and pointing. The girl sucked in her breath. She saw it too.

  Two phantom figure skaters, hand in hand, gliding in the center of the rink. One wore an old-fashioned red dress with a big bustle. The other wore the same style of dress but hers was purple. The kids watched in awe as the ghosts dreamily performed an endless series of figure eights. Their blades glided silently, never touching the surface of ice. The two young women seemed unaware of the other skaters darting about, and no one else saw them. They started to twirl.

  Two phantom figure skaters, hand in hand, gliding in the center of the rink.

  The skating spirits are said to be Janet and Rosetta Van Der Voort, sisters who lived in Manhattan in the 1800s. Legend has it their wealthy parents were extremely overprotective. They rarely let the girls leave their apartment alone. The only place they allowed them to visit unaccompanied was the lake in Central Park to ice skate in the winter. The Van Der Voort sisters loved skating and they happily spent hours enjoying their freedom. They were best friends, and they spent their lives together. After one sister died of old age, the other died a few months later.

  For over one hundred years, New Yorkers have reported the spirit sisters, decked out in Victorian clothing, figure skating in the park. Sometimes the pair circles Wollman Rink and sometimes they return to the lake, even though it no longer freezes over. It seems these ghosts can skate on water! They show up most often at night, and they’ve been sighted in both the winter and the summer. But don’t be afraid of the park! These sisters aren’t out to scare you—they just want to have an ice day.

  NORTH CAROLINA

  THE BROWN MOUNTAIN LIGHTS

  How long do you think people have witnessed the unexplained orbs of dancing light that sometimes appear over the Brown Mountain range in the western part of the state? A decade? A century? Try eight centuries! Legends of these mysterious lights are said to date back to the year 1200. Yet no one has ever figured out what they are.

  The ghostly lights are usually seen on clear nights around the Linville Gorge area. They’ve been described as white, red, yellow, orange, or blue. Sometimes they’re described as large luminous balls and other times as small pinpricks of light. They’ve been seen low to the ground and high in the sky. They’ve been spotted bobbing frantically and holding completely still until mysteriously extinguishing, as if a candle in the sky were blown out. Sometimes the lights hover for a while and other times they flash and go. Everyone seems to experience them differently, but they all wonder the same thing: what are they? What causes them?

  The ghostly lights are usually seen on clear nights around Linville Gorge.

  There’s been a lot of stories and guesses and even some scientific investigation. One ancient legend tells of a great battle between the Cherokee and Catawba, and that the lights are the spirits of lantern-carrying women searching for the fallen warriors. Land surveyors in the 1770s called them “some kind of luminous vapor,” but that was scientifically proven false. In 1913, a U.S. Geological Survey concluded they were headlights from a train. But three years later, the tracks washed away and trains stopped chugging through the area, and people continued to see the lights. So that theory didn’t hold up! Could they be car headlights? People have been seeing the lights since before cars were invented. Others have wondered if they could be caused by swamp gas, but there are no swamps around. Are they moon dogs, which is the term for moonlight shining on haze? Possibly, but the lights have been seen on moonless nights. How about foxfire, the light from decaying wood, insects, and animals? Also possible, although scientists have yet to prove this. And then there are those who speculate that the lights are caused by aliens or ghosts. Do you think we’ll ever solve the mystery of the Brown Mountain Lights?

 

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