A long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away…wait a minute…skuze me, the needle skipped), when I was a callow youth living in Connecticut, I got fully into the search of the paranormal. Back then, we didn't know it was called paranormal, we just called it "looking for scary sh-t!" And we found it. Me and my partner, Dubie went stomping all over the elder hills of New England. From the site of P.T. Barnum's ancestral home to the mouth of the Connecticut River and the Gillette Castle (William Gillette first created the role of Sherlock Holmes on stage). Everthing there was old, the cemeteries dated back into the 1600's! I did headstone rubbings and as I stated on a site Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named, my favorite was of a man who died in 1752, the beginning of the French and Indian War, named Debs Deane (Oddly, I had an uncle Debs Dean – no e), and his inscription read, "He Was Born With A Gift For Laughter And A Sense The World Was Mad". Anyhow, my buddy and I went out every weekend and found new places every time.

Then, somebody brought up the legend of "Dudleytown". I know some of you have heard of it. The first time we went there was on Halloween evening on America's 200th birthday. (As my avatar says, I'm 98 years old!) It was a Revolutionary period village that lay in Dark Entry Forest atop of scary ol' Bald Mountain. I hear it's closed down now. Too many tourists and ghosthunters cluttering up the areas and leaving messes, starting fires, sacrificing goats, leaving ectoplasm all over the place, etc. But there's a lot of material on it. Some, like Dan Ackroyd, say its the most haunted place in America. Historians say its bogus. Arguments both ways. But I was there. I saw what I saw. I went back a dozen times and every time is was spooky and I came out with different experiences and impressions. There's only one picture I have and its just a shot of my with long hair walking across a stonework.

So, I'd like to see an article that gives both sides of the haunted coin about Dudleytown. Like every place that may or may not be haunted, maybe it is and maybe it isn't. But that's the fun of it, isn't it? Not so much the destination as much as it is the journey. So, I could chime in on what I saw and how things looked if someone wanted to research and print a story.

Probably there are others on this board that have heard of it or maybe have even been there. Some of our New England delegates, perhaps? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?

Budd

http://www.ghostvillage.com/le…..town.shtml

I found this article about Dudleytown. I don't know what to think but alarms started going off when I saw that Ed Warren is mentioned in the article.

Hi Ryan,

I haven't read your article yet, but that poor goof (RIP) dripped his spore all over everything from coast to coast. He might have gone there and poked around, but he's got nothing to do with it. Shame a person like him has to ruin everything he touches. But Dudleytown's got nothing to do with Ed Warren, King of he Demonolgists or his blushing bride, Queen of Paranormal State. Man.

When I went there back in '76, I was with a crusty old New England yankee (as I told a friend of mine, he looked like a rusty old pelican, hard and wrinkled, angry and bitter about everything, except his love of spooky places and things), he told me what he knew about it. The legend goes that nobody knows why they'd try to build a village up on top of a rocky mountain top where nothing would grow, thus no farming, grass was thin, thus no stock raising, no viable reason to be there. Maybe they were a culture of artists and artisans. Maybe something more sinister. But the legend goes, the villagers hadn't been there all that long before all sorts of strange things began happening and people ended up dead or ran away, crazy into the forest, disappearing.

We found the remains of the Revolutionary period houses and traces of their roads into and out of. But down the road from there, a mile or two, was a house that was built in the 50's by a doctor who worked out of NYC and rode the Brewster commuter train back and forth between the city and Connecticut. Story goes, one day after he and his wife had moved into their love nest, there was a snow that buried the railroad tracks and the trains were delayed for hours. He called his wife and told her he'd be there the next morning after the tracks were cleared.

When he arrived home he was a little curious about why there were no footprints around the house. His wife loved the snow and always loved to take a walk after a fresh snowfall. She obviously hadn't left the house. He entered and called for her. No answer. He found her upstairs in their bedroom, one hand on the bed post and one hand fried to the red hot steam radiator. He used his pen knife to lift her skin off the broiling hot metal. She was alive but no longer home. She'd screamed so hard and long she'd broken veins in her throat and her face was covered in blood, her robe stained red. He put her in an asylum and boarded the house up. He never sold it because he didn't want what happened to his wife to happen to anyone else. My old Yankee friend and I actually walked up to that house, pulled back the boards over the windows and looked inside. What moved in there was probably just a racoon or something. Surely. The question about the house and the doctor's wife was, "What had backed her up into that corner and made her scream herself insane?" We didn't try to enter the house to look for clues. My backbone is not that stiff. We left whatever lived in the darkened old house alone.

So, Dudleytown? Its still there. I've got my memories. Sympathyforthedevil is in, who else?

I'll go read your article now, Ryan. I'm sure there are plenty of them online. And hopefully the misguided spirit of Ed Warren isn't hovering over them all.

Nice talking to you,

Budd