Haunted Michigan

A project dedicated to the organization and analysis of the folklore and hauntings of the Great Lake State.

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CONTENTS

**Please refer to this table of contents to navigate the blog. The links below will take you to a category, which will have the list of stories linked. Enjoy your spooky Michigan adventure!

Introduction Hauntings Indigenous Folklore Maritime & Shipwrecks Dogman Urban Legends

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INTRODUCTION

What Lies Beneath the Sweetwater Seas: The Folklore of the Great Lakes

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HAUNTINGS

The Tragedy of Big Bay Point Lighthouse – Marquette Lady Lilac – Landmark Inn, Marquette Ghosts of Eloise – Eloise Asylum, Westland Ghosts of The Grand Hotel – Mackinac Island The Woman in the Red Dress – Northern Michigan Asylum, Traverse City Captain Joseph W. Townshend & the Seul Choix Point Lighthouse – Gulliver

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The Tragedy of Big Bay Point Lighthouse – Marquette

Big Bay Point Lighthouse guides ships past the rugged coastline of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Its first keeper, H. William Prior, appointed his teenage son George as his assistant. Tragedy struck 15 months later when George fell down the stairs and slashed his leg open to the bone. He would later succumb to his injuries and pass away in the hospital. After losing his son, William became depressed and disappeared into the woods. It would be 18 months before he was seen again, as a skeleton, hanging from a tree. Those who stayed at the lighthouse after his death reported cabinets slamming and seeing a spirit walking the grounds in Prior’s U.S. Life Saving service uniform.  

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Lady Lilac – Landmark Inn, Marquette

Just like most old buildings all over the world, The Landmark Inn has its share of ghost stories and apparitions. This is one of the many reasons that make it a favorite haunted hotel stay for ghost hunters. 

The Librarian is arguably the hotel’s most popular ghost. It is said that during the 1930s, when the hotel was still named the Northland Hotel, a spinster librarian and a crewman fell in love and made Marquette their home. The crewman was planning to marry his great love after his final cruise; however, the ship was swept away carrying the entire crew down with the ship. 

The librarian never recovered and died shortly after of a broken heart. It is reported, she looks out from the Lilac room on the 6th floor, waiting for her lover to return. 

Since the hotel’s renovation and reopening in 1997, the Lilac room has remained the hotel’s most haunted room. The room’s first guest was a man who complained of the bedsheets having screws in them. The front desk apologized and housekeeping was told to change the sheets. Upon returning from dinner, he found that the sheets still had screws and asked to be moved to another room. 

The front desk has also reported getting calls from the Lilac room, even when there is no one staying there. 

Alternate version of the story:

Under the name ‘Northland Inn’, it fell into disrepair and closed down in 1982. It re-opened in the mid-1990’s as the ‘Landmark Inn’ and regained its former glory as the town’s shining star. 

But something dark seems to occupy a corner room on the sixth floor. They call it the “Lilac Room” where several guests have witnessed paranormal occurrences and a spectral figure. 

The tale that accompanies the room is that of a young woman whose lover was a sailor who set out on Lake Superior and was never seen again. Did he jilt her or did his ship go down? These questions about his disappearance plagued her to a point where she couldn’t take the grief anymore. She was found in her room after hanging herself out of despair. 

Evidently not accepting her lover’s fate – or even her own – she remains in the room, as if waiting for her sailor to return. Guests who stay in that corner room have seen her ghost standing at the window, lying on the bed, standing at the foot of the bed, and gliding through the room. All witnesses report the same thing: they have all said this female spirit wears a floral gown – therefore, she has been named the “Lilac Lady”. 

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Ghosts of Eloise – Eloise Asylum, Westland

Two ghostly children have been seen running the paint-peeling walls of the hallways, turning a corner only to disappear. It is assumed they were inmates at the time Eloise was a Poorhouse, where orphaned children often lived until they were adopted out or died. It would have been a life of toil for a child, confined with adults, many with devastating mental disorders. Possibly they died in their youth or maybe they relive their lives now as children without the fear they had when they were alive, carelessly playing games in a kind of purgatory.   A lady that appears as a white vapor has been seen manifesting within one of the buildings that still stand, even her voice has been recorded as she whispers “help me” from beyond the grave. A residual spirit, her impression seared into the building itself, a haunting reminder of those who were confined here who wished only to be heard.  Another ghost is that of a doctor, said to prowl the halls of the crumbling facility. Even in the afterlife, he searches for an unfortunate patient to practice his scientific methods. Some have reported seeing a specter drenched in water, possibly a reminder of when hydrotherapy was coming into practice. A patient, against their will, would be placed into a pool of water, often with their arms and legs restrained. Other times the phantasm is seen wearing a smock stained with blood, presumably from a lobotomy. In the 1930s, lobotomies were beginning to be performed. A doctor would hammer a surgical instrument through the skull and into the brain with the hopes of cutting off negative impulses.  Some patients died as a result of the operation and others later committed suicide. Some were left severely brain-damaged. This all happened within the Eloise complex and this doctor is a testament to the treatments. Possibly he lingers here, tormented by the ghosts of the patients upon whom he practiced. Whatever the case, he is part of a long litany of spirits who still reside within Eloise. 

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Ghosts of The Grand Hotel – Mackinac Island

One of the most well-known spirits is the “Lady in Black,” believed to be a former guest who never checked out. Guests and staff have reported seeing the spirit of a young woman wearing Victorian era clothing, wandering the halls, particularly near the hotel’s grand staircase or walking a large dog on the porch after dark. She has even been said to get into bed with the other living guests. Another frequent sighting is that of an elderly man in a top hat lingering around the hotel’s bar and piano room, smoking a cigar. Those who see him claim that he disappears when approached. Another is the ghost of Little Rebecca, who passed away on the grounds and haunts the fourth floor, being spotted floating or walking through the halls and disappearing to nowhere. 

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The Woman in the Red Dress – Northern Michigan Asylum, Traverse City

Have you heard the blood-chilling story of the woman in a red dress? It takes place at the Northern Michigan Asylum for the Insane in Traverse City, Michigan. There was a nurse at the hospital who started back to her cottage at the end of a shift. It was quiet, with only the sounds of doors slamming and the drumming of insects vibrating in the air. The streets were enveloped in a blanket of shadow; the only visible light spilled from the windows of passing cottages. As she rides in a carriage, the nurse passes by the bat-shaped main building of the Asylum compound. She sees a woman in a red dress slumped on the side of the road but isn’t able to stop in time to help. After she halts the carriage and walks back down the path, she gets to the spot where she spotted the woman in red only to horrifyingly discover that the woman had completely vanished. This was the first of many sightings of the infamous “woman in red.” 

This story is told to visitors who venture deep underground in the tunnels that hollow the earth underneath the Asylum. It is told in complete darkness to those who have the mental fortitude to make it far enough down the questionably-stable catacomb tunnels that span the hospital. 

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Captain Joseph W. Townshend & the Seul Choix Point Lighthouse – Gulliver

This is the true story of how I came to write the Captain and Harry stories. 

I had never believed in ghosts, not that I didn’t want to. I think we all have an interest in things that go bump in the night. I believe we all like to be somewhat scared. We like to feel those chills that go up and down our spine when we encounter something beyond the normal. Something that we can’t quite explain like catching a shadow in the hallway, a door opening for an unseen visitor or the feeling someone is watching us. 

I certainty had no interest in investigating haunted places or searching for mysterious happenings or ghostly stories. No interest at all, that is, until I met an unusual lady who was restoring an unusual place. 

I met Marilyn Fischer in the early fall at an auction in Manistique, Michigan. We got to talking about similar interests when she mentioned she was the president of the Gulliver Historical Society. They were in the process of restoring the Seul Choix Point Lighthouse. It had remained in continuous service until the US Coast Guard installed an airport beacon light in the tower and then abandoned it in 1973. Since that time it had fallen into a sorry state of disrepair. In 1987 the newly formed historical society pledged to restore and preserve the lighthouse. When I expressed an interest in the project, she invited me down to show me what they had accomplished so far. The lighthouse was closed to tourists for the season so setting a date and time was not a problem for either of us.f 

As I drove up to the old lighthouse, for some strange reason I felt as if I had come home. I don’t know why. I wasn’t a lighthouse collector nor even very interested in lighthouses... until I met this one. Marilyn was waiting for me on the back porch of the lighthouse residence. As I approached, she said, “I saw something rolling down the porch when I walked up the sidewalk a few minutes ago. I thought it was a pencil. It came from the back door all the way to the steps in a perfect straight line. Then it rolled down the steps, one at a time, to where I was standing.” She looked at me to see my reaction as she held it up in her hand. “It’s a cigar. Captain Townshend smoked cigars.” she remarked quietly. “There’s not even a hint of a breeze today. How can a cigar roll down the steps without any wind?” She held it up to look at it again and then put it in her pocket. 

As I followed her down the porch, I remembered stories of the supposed haunting of the old lighthouse by a former lighthouse keeper. “Come on in, Jan,” she said as she unlocked the back porch door. As the door opened, little did I realize that a whole new world was opening to me. 

The lighthouse was warm and welcoming. I felt very comfortable and very “at home.” The historical society was doing a wonderful job of restoration. The original woodwork and floors were polished to perfection. My personal tour began as we walked down the hallway, past a staircase that gleamed in the sunlight, to the kitchen where Marilyn told me about the old wood stove, the cupboards, and the utensils that were used in the late 1800s. 

She then smiled innocently as she placed her hands on the back of one of the four kitchen chairs. “This table belonged to Captain Joseph Willy Townshend who was keeper of Seul Choix from 1901 until his death in an upstairs bedroom in 1910. 

We found the table in four pieces in four separate corners of the basement about seven years ago.” As I walked around the table, I could smell the sweet pungent smell of a good cigar. I ignored it as she continued, “Everything had been fine up until that day, Jan. It was after we put the table together and put it here in the kitchen that things begin to happen. “Things?” I questioned. She smiled again and said, “Yes, like the cigar smoke you smell right now. Captain Townshend’s wife wouldn’t let him smoke his cigars in the house back then, but she’s not here anymore... is she?” Her cheeks dimpled as she led me into the dining room. I admit somewhat of a chill ran up my spine as I followed her. 

The table in there was set for eight dinner guests. Sparkling silverware and wineglasses complemented the place settings. An old buffet stretched along the end wall. Pictures of even older people in oval frames watched us. 

Marilyn stood leaning against the buffet as I paused to look at an old sewing mannequin that was dressed in a light keeper’s uniform. She explained in a soft voice, that was almost a whisper, an assortment of small photographs, cups, saucers and jewelry that filled the small cupboard next me. I commented on the beauty of the room and how warm and appealing it felt to me as I joined her next to the old buffet. There was a Bible at one end and a silver tea service centered beneath a ghastly picture of an older man with a white beard. She noticed my glance and said, “That’s Captain Townshend. He really isn’t as frightening as he looks.” 

She ran her hand gently over the leather cover of the Bible. “This,” she said, “was donated by the descendants of Captain Townshend. When we were in here cleaning out the spiders and dead bats last spring, it slammed shut with such force we thought it was going to go through the top of the buffet. None of us were anywhere near it. The Captain doesn’t like spring cleaning,” she said over her shoulder as we left the room to enter the parlor. I couldn’t help but feel my skin crawl as I hurried to keep up with her. We continued through the parlor without incident. 

It was hot that day with not a breath of wind. Some people called this time of year Indian Summer. I suddenly felt tired and headachy. “Marilyn, can we take a break?” I asked. I was still smoking at that time and felt the need for nicotine badly. “Sure,” she replied as she led the way to the back porch and a wooden bench that looked to be a hundred years old. “So tell me, Mar,” I said as I lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “You mentioned when you found the table, things began to happen. What did you mean by “things?” It was at that moment I heard the tinkling of a bell and watched the back door gently open and close. A sudden gust of wind out of nowhere slammed the outer screen door back on its hinges. Then, all was quiet again. 

“Do you believe in ghosts, Jan?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I replied as I lit up another cigarette. “I don’t know that I would blame that door thing just now on ghosts.” 

“I do,” she replied, “and I think you will too. Why don’t you plan on spending a week in one of the cottages at Old Deerfield and we’ll go ghost hunting after I’m done with work at night, or are you a sissy girl?” she laughed. My tour continued without further incident. 

With deer season and the holidays fast approaching, we couldn’t get together but for short visits until the following spring. Being inspired by my visit that day to the lighthouse, I spent that winter writing my first children’s book, The Captain and Harry, a haunting tail of Seul Choix Point Lighthouse. I had reservations for a cabin for the second week in June. 

Marilyn and her husband Glen are owners of the Old Deerfield Resort. There is a restaurant and twenty-eight cabins that string along Gulliver Lake like a necklace. Marilyn was waiting for me on the steps of the restaurant as I drove up. “Drive down to cabin 17, Jan. It’s on the left. I’ll follow you,” she called to me. Cabin 17 sat on the shoreline of the lake. I unpacked the Jeep, popped a can of Pepsi and waited for Marilyn to join me at the picnic table under a huge pine tree. 

We had become good friends during the past few months., and we giggled and laughed like teenagers as we laid out our plans for the week. She told me stories of the Captain’s latest activities at the lighthouse. “He really doesn’t like spring cleaning and he lets that fact be known every spring. Lights go on and off, bells ring, and last week one of the state troopers who had come down to investigate after the alarm system went off told us he heard voices in the kitchen. But when we searched the premises no one was there. Cigar smoke comes and goes. Silverware moves, as do plates and cups. He has been seen in an upstairs window by two tour guides and in the dining room window by a local guy who was painting the garage at the time. And recently the tour guides reported seeing images of people in a large round mirror in an upstairs bedroom. His bedroom.” 

“Images of what?” I asked. 

“Spirits. Grandma saw a woman in a wedding gown with flowers trailing down the front of the dress. Jim told us he had seen the Captain himself. Maude said she has seen an older woman who looked like one of the Goudreaus that has been dead for 40 years.” 

My first encounter with Captain Joseph Willy Townshend came that very evening. It was a good eight miles drive from Old Deerfield to the lighthouse. We passed an old Indian cemetery filled with bones and spooky stories, the kind that scoutmasters tell kids on camping trips. I was startled to see a flashing light over the treetops in the midst of a pitch-black night without stars or moon. As we pulled around a curve I could see that it was the lighthouse beacon. My heart thudded just a little as I saw the outline of the lighthouse tower in the darkness. “That’s funny,” said Marilyn “the parking lot lamp is out. The tour guides must have forgotten to turn it on when they left. We’ll have to go down to the basement and turn it on. Do you mind, Jan?” 

Mind? Me mind? Go down into the basement of a dwelling in the dead of night that, by all indications of everyone I had spoken to about Seul Choix Point Lighthouse, was haunted. Mind? Yes, I minded. I didn’t say a word. She gave me that Marilyn grin as we followed her flashlight beam down the walkway to the porch by the lighthouse tower. It was a quiet night. In the distance, I could hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the rocky shoreline. We entered the lighthouse residence through the back door next to the log room entry. Although I put on a good front for Marilyn, I was hesitantly scared. Do you know what I mean by hesitantly? 

She switched on lights as we passed the stairway that led to the upstairs bedrooms. The bedroom where the Captain died. The bedroom where the strange mirror was located and its haunting images. The same stairway where many people have seen the Captain leaning on the banister. 

We continued our way to the door that led to the basement. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up as I followed her as close as possible, without being indecent, down the curved stone steps. The basement lights were not working. It figures, I thought to myself. She turned the switch on and off several times. Nothing. Goosebumps marched down my arms. 

“Come on, this way,” she said as the flashlight slid across stone-lined walls. “They embalmed the Captain here,” she whispered as she pushed the flashlight beam over the massive stone sinks that we were passing. “What do you mean, embalmed him?” I asked. “They drained his blood from him and then filled his body cavity with salt.” “You’re kidding me, right?” I answered. 

The flashlight beam slipped up some stone steps. “They carried his body up these cellar steps to the casket and the wagon that waited outside.” By this time I was clinging to the back of her shirt and walking with shuffling steps as I followed her. I was hoping I wouldn’t see anything in the surrounding darkness. The dark menacing corners of the basement crouched in wait for me. Please, please, don’t let anything show up down here, I thought to myself. “Here, Jan, hold the flashlight for a minute. A ha, here’s the switch and its... on? What the heck... it must be burned out.” She flicked it an and off several times. “Well, I better keep it on off. I am always so worried about a short in the wiring down here.” One more time she pulled the handle into the off position. 

I breathed easier as we reached the top of the stairs and overhead lighting that reached into the dark corners and angles of the main floor rooms. “Are you here tonight, Captain Townshend?” Marilyn whispered as we paused in the hallway. I must have jumped a mile. I grabbed her arm. “Where is he? Can you see him?” I exclaimed.  “No,” she laughed. “I can’t see him but I can sense ...something. Let’s go to the kitchen.” I sat at the kitchen table and looked up at the fan that the historical society had installed that early spring. Its slight breeze felt wonderful on my sweaty forehead. Marilyn continued to tell me more details of the Captain’s death as she leaned against the side cupboard that ran along the entire length of the kitchen wall. If, I thought, this place is really haunted by the Captain, I wonder what he thinks of the addition of a modern fan? At that moment, I smelled the cigar smoke. Strong. “Marilyn...do you smell it?” 

“Yeah” 

“It’s gone now.” 

“It does that. Comes and goes in an instant.” 

I felt goosebumps chase each other on my arms and legs. They were getting to be old friends. I looked at Marilyn. She was standing up at attention. Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. And then, once again, cigar smoke permeated the air. Marilyn started to shake all over. I reached for her and grabbed her hand. A frigid wall of air circled us. My spine was ice and chills covered my hands and legs. Suddenly, the cigar smoke was gone: so was the cold and Marilyn was herself again. 

“What was that all about? What happened to you?” I anxiously questioned. “I could see him, Jan. Over there by the back door. He just stood there and watched us.” 

I don’t know why I did what I did next, but I leaned over to the kitchen window and looked out at the darkened lamp. “If you are here, Captain Townshend, blink twice.” It did. Twice. Like the headlights of an oncoming semi. I fell back against the table. “My God,” said Marilyn. “He has just given you proof that he is here. He must approve of you.” Great, I thought. That’s just great. My heart was pounding wildly. 

“I think that’s enough for tonight, Jan. Are you ready to go?” she asked quietly. Was I ready...my hands were shaking and my legs felt like rubber bands. Was I ready to go...oh yeah “Uh Huh,” I said out loud nodding my head. 

Our conversation was limited to, maybe the light switch has a short, as we drove back to Old Deerfield. When I opened the door of the truck, she asked, “So, Jan, now do you believe in ghosts?” I lit up a cigarette and leaned back in the seat. I looked up at the stars that finally decided to puncture the darkness of the night. “A little bit more than I did yesterday,” I answered. 

And that was the beginning of a summer of introductions to the ghost of Captain Joseph Willy Townshend. From silverware moving, ghostly fogs on the grounds of the lighthouse, dead camera batteries, images in the mirror of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and so many other instances of unexplained phenomena that summer (by the Captain and other spirits of the lighthouse) that I have become a kook, a nut, one of the crazies . . . a firm believer in ghosts, at the Seul Choix Point Lighthouse. 

If you want to see the ghosts for yourself, Seul Choix Lighthouse will be open until mid-October and also for a week at Christmas. 

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INDIGENOUS FOLKLORE

The Lovers’ Leap – Pictured Rocks Mishipesu and the Great Serpant – Little Traverse Bay The Legend of Sleeping Bear Dunes and the Manitou Islands – Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore The Snake Goddess of Belle Island - Detroit Nishishin Raises the Dead – Mackinac Island  The Kitch-Iti-Kipi Legend - Kitch-Iti-Kipi Springs, Schoolcraft County

Randy's Encounter – Mishipeshu – Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park

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The Lovers' Leap – Pictured Rocks

Legend has it that the moniker “Lover’s Leap” was inspired by a Native American woman who, heartbroken after her lover failed to return from a hunting trip, flung herself from a cliff to her demise. The image of this rock formation, almost leaping into Lake Superior, conjures a dramatic scene. Seen from the water, the breathtaking beauty of the high archway strengthens the connection between the legend and the actual formation.  

Another tale reflects on a couple who wanted to display their affection by leaping off the archway, unaware that the water beneath was a mere two feet deep. While the initial jump is not due to heartbreak, this version also ends in tragedy. This legend, too, combines themes of love and the fatal grand gesture of a plunge off the cliffs. It’s likely a cautionary tale, aimed to keep reckless romantics from repeating their mistake. We may never know if either legend is true. In any case, the moral of the stories is clear: don’t take the name “Lovers Leap” literally. 

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Mishipesu and the Great Serpant – Little Traverse Bay

According to Kennedy, many years ago, the Creator sent a giant serpent to the Odawa people living there because of their poor treatment towards one another. The serpent “[rose] out of Round Lake and came to devour everything in sight,” but the community prayed together in hopes that the underwater panther that lived under the Great Lakes, Mishipeshu, would save them. The panther agreed to help them on two conditions: they would promise to behave themselves afterwards, and he would be able to live in Little Traverse Bay.  

And so a thrilling fight ensued between the panther and the serpent. Finally, Mishipeshu came out of the water, victorious, and flung the serpent’s body towards the east side of the bay — where the sunrise meets the shore. With each sunrise, the Anishinaabe would now be reminded of what they promised Mishipeshu. Each of the seven bumps of the serpent’s back represents one of the seven teachings of the Anishinaabe. 

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The Legend of Sleeping Bear Dunes and the Manitou Islands – Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore

Once, long ago, in the land called Wisconsin across the great lake, there was terrible hunger and many people died. A bear and two little cubs were trying to leave that place and come around the lake where there would be more food.   They walked for many days on the beach together, but after a while the two little cubs began to whimper with hunger, and so the bear decided to swim across the rest of the lake.   They waded into the water, one cub on each side of the bear, and they swam off into the lake a long way. After a while the cubs began to get very tired, and so the bear said, “Try hard, the land is not very far.” And very soon they did come in sight of land. 

But gradually the cubs got weaker, and only ten miles away, one cub sank into the water. Soon after, the other also drowned.  The bear’s heart was broken, but she could do nothing. She waded ashore and lay down, looking out on the water where her cubs had died. Eventually, both of them came to the surface as two little islands, and so the bear still lies there atop the dunes, looking after her children.

Alternate Version 

Long ago, along the Wisconsin shoreline, a mother bear and her two cubs were driven into Lake Michigan by a raging forest fire. The bears swam for many hours, but soon the cubs tired. Mother bear reached the shore first and climbed to the top of a high bluff to watch and wait for her cubs. The cubs drowned within sight of the shore. The Great Spirit created two islands to mark the spot where the cubs disappeared and then created a solitary dune to represent the eternal vigil of mother bear. 

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The Snake Goddess of Belle Island - Detroit

My family is from Detroit and I spent much of my time there as a child.  My family remembers back to the days when Detroit was a flourishing city.   My grandmother tells the same stories over and over again and  her favorite stories involve taking the street car to the theater.  There was nothing more wonderful in her mind than travelling through the streets of Detroit in search of adventure.  Time has faded my grandmother's mind and her lust for adventure and it has certainly been equally as cruel to Detroit, which is now a ghost town.  Even my childhood memories of this city seem brilliant in comparison to what it's become.    It is appropriate that Detroit has now become filled with ghost stories and legends.  My favorite Detroit ghost story is from Belle Isle.  Ottawa Indian lore tells of the beautiful daughter of chief Sleeping Bear. Her beauty was so stunning that the Chief kept her hidden from the eyes of young suitors by hiding her in a covered boat on the Detroit River. One day when bringing her some food, the winds, awed by her beauty, blew the covers off of the boat and it floated down the river. as it floated past the lodge of the keeper of the water gates, he also was stunned by her beauty and retrieved to boat and brought the young beauty into his tent, this enraged the winds who fell upon him, and buffeted him wildly about until he finally died from the beating. The winds, sorry for uncovering her beauty, returned her back to her father, Chief Sleeping Bear and begged the chief not to hide her from them again, but to let them enjoy her beauty. To protect her the chief, fearful that other men would follow, placed the princess on an island in the Detroit River and sought the aid of the Great Spirits to protect his beloved daughter by surrounding the island with snakes to protect her from intruders.   

There she could run free with the winds around her, The spirits immortalized her by transforming her into a white doe and letting her live out eternity on the island. When the first white men appeared in the area they originally named the island Hog Island. but once they became familiar with the island, they renamed it Rattlesnake Island. It was not much later that it became known as Belle Isle. To this day, the maiden's spirit can be seen from time to time dancing in the wind on the island and most unsuspecting picnickers don't realize that the lovely girl in Native costume is not a modern miss dressed for a pageant, but is in reality the Goddess of Belle Isle. also know as the Snake Goddess of Belle Isle.    People who have seen this ghost say that she if you park on the island by the woods and wait in your car the Snake Goddess will come and call too you. She will signal to you to follow her into her kingdom.

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Nishishin Raises the Dead –Mackinac Island 

There once was a cantankerous old man who had a fair daughter named Shaningo, which means "beautiful one." Every warrior for miles around dreamed of winning the hand of the maiden, but few dared approach her because of the fearsome reputation of her father. 

Now Shaningo was enamored with a handsome young warrior named Nishishin. They had been friends since childhood, and one beautiful summer their friendship was transformed by the glorious fires of love. They wooed in secret, knowing that Shaningo's father would drive Nishishin away just as he had done every other suitor who had approached him. But they were reluctant to run away to be married, for they loved their island home and their people and wished to remain among them. 

Now Nishishin was as wise and clever as he was handsome. 

It was his dream to become a great medicine man as well as a kind and generous husband. After much thought, he came up with a scheme that he knew would accomplish both his goals: to convince Shaningo's father of his worthiness and to persuade the medicine man that he should become his apprentice. 

When Shaningo first heard his plan, she was skeptical. It was a good idea, she acknowledged, but would it be enough to bend the will of her fierce father: Still, the only other option was to leave her home and her family, so she agreed to help her beloved carry out his scheme. 

The next evening, Nishishin appeared at her home and asked Shaningo's father if he might escort her to the tribal dance scheduled for that night. As predicted, the father was furious that anyone dared to approach his beautiful daughter. He drove Nishishin away with such harsh language and such loud cries that everyone in the village came to see what was wrong. 

There were many indignant faces among the villagers when they saw how terribly Shaningo's father behaved toward the young man. But Nishishin faced him with a courage that did not waiver or turn to anger in the face of the abuse. His steadiness won him much favor in the village-fathers' eyes. The young man withdrew with dignity, exchanging a prolonged look with Shaningo as he left. This infuriated her father still further, but it endeared him to all those with romantic hearts in the village. 

A dispirited Shaningo attended the dance in the company of her father that night. Over the next few days, she grew pale and wan and spent more and more of her time walking along the shores of the lake. Then one night, she did not return to her home. Her father was enraged, sure that the maiden had run away with Nishishin. He woke the whole village with his cries of rage as he ran to the lodge where Nishishin lived with his parents. But to his astonishment, Nishishin emerged from the dwelling by himself. Blinking sleepily, the young man denied any knowledge of Shaningo's disappearance. While her father searched the lodge in vain, the young warrior began pacing worriedly, obviously concerned about the safety of his beloved Shaningo. 

The hearts of many were moved by his distress. Shaningo's father was scolded for his behavior and a search party was sent to seek out the maiden. At dawn, her blanket was discovered on the shores of the lake, and a beaded ornament she sometimes wore in her hair was found floating nearby. Nishishin gasped in dismay and wept aloud, sure that his darling had drowned in the lake. 

Shaningo's father stood for a very long time holding the blanket in his hands, unable to speak. Then he turned abruptly on the tribe's medicine man and began berating him soundly. The medicine man should have foreseen this! He should have warned the family! Several warriors had to forcibly restrain him and sternly march him back to his wigwam. 

Shaningo's father raged for days about her drowning, abusing the elders of his village so fiercely that the chief of the village was finally forced to threatened him with exile or execution if he did not control himself. Meanwhile, Nishishin became almost as pale and wan as his beloved Shaningo had been during the days that her father kept them apart. He spent much of his time by the shore, lighting small fires and praying to the spirits. 

One day, two weeks after Shaningo's death, Nishishin appeared before the chief and elders of his tribe. He had been given a message from the spirit world. If he would brave the waters of the lake, swim down to the gods of the netherworld, and plead with them to return the beautiful and virtuous Shaningo, the maiden would be given into his keeping and restored to life as his wife. This he had vowed to do. It was a dangerous undertaking, but Nishishin felt that life was not worth living without Shaningo beside him, and he was determined to try. 

The elders of his village reluctantly gave him permission to go. The whole village-even Shaningo's father-accompanied the young man to the water's edge. After bidding farewell to his weeping mother and grave-faced father, Nishishin leapt into the water and quickly disappeared beneath the surface. He was a strong swimmer, everyone knew, but surely even he could not survive for long deep beneath the waters of the lake. 

One minute passed, then two. A few people who had been holding their breath since Nishishin plunged into the cold depths finally gasped, their faces red with strain. Three minutes passed. Then four, and five. Nishishin's mother began to wail softly, sure that her son had drowned. Another five minutes passed. Then ten. Those with a pessimistic nature turned away, shaking their heads at the foolishness of the young warrior who thought he could raise the dead. 

Suddenly, Nishishin's mother cried out and pointed toward the water. Someone was swimming up to the surface—no, two people were. A moment later, Nishishin burst through the surface of the water, his arm around the waist of the beautiful maiden Shaningo. The girl was pale and thin, and her eyes had lost some of their sparkle. But she was alive and breathing and clinging to Nishishin as if he were her savior–which perhaps he was. 

Shaningo's father gave a loud cry and dropped to his knees. 

To the surprise of all, tears were streaming down the face of the cantankerous old man. He ran into the water and caught Nishishin and Shaningo in an embrace, squeezing them bot until they could barely breathe. Shaningo finally had to scold him, warning him that he was about to send her back to the netherworld from which she had just emerged. 

The father pulled the two young people from the water and had them married right there and then on the shore. He could not stop weeping, and he could not say enough good things about Nishishin, his beloved son-in-law who had returned life to his daughter. 

From that moment on, whatever Nishishin said was law to Shaningo's father. He built the couple an enormous wigwam right next to his own, furnishing it with the very best of his property, all the while thanking his son-in-law for raising his daughter from the dead with every breath he took. Nishishin was revered by his people as a holy man, and the tribal medicine man took the young man as his apprentice. 

Nishishin, happy with his lovely wife, a growing family, and a new profession, never told anyone his secret. But once each year, on the anniversary of her "resurrection," Nishishin and Shaningo would slip out of their wigwam and swim underneath the lake, through a short underwater tunnel and into the large cave that had once sheltered the maiden for two weeks. There they spent a romantic night together, cuddled up around a small fire, eating a special meal that Shaningo had prepared for them and rejoicing in the successful outcome of their plan. 

[water-witch126]

The Kitch-Iti-Kipi Legend - Kitch-Iti-Kipi Springs, Schoolcraft County

The Anishinaabe tribes have carried their legends from one generation to the next through story telling, rarely writing them down. A variety of versions of the Kitch-Iti-Kipi Legend have been shared through the centuries. However, author, Carole Lynn Hare, had found her Great Great Aunt Pearl’s published booklet in 1969 when cleaning out her Aunt’s home. 

This booklet had contained the Kitch-Iti-Kipi tale told to Carole’s Great Great Great Grandmother by the well known, Squaw Mary. “The story Squaw Mary told my great great great grandmother is what has been told for more than a hundred years.” Carole, whose Native name is Miskwa Anang Kwe (Red Star Woman), had been inspired to pen this native tale. See the link under “Resources” if you’d like to purchase the book. Here’s my synopsis of the story:

Little Fawn and Young Eagle had grown up together as friends. As the seasons passed the pair had planned to marry. Big Buck, the young, selfish chief, had desired Little Fawn’s affection and had been jealous of Young Eagle. When Little Fawn refused Big Buck’s advances, Big Buck had taken Young Eagle out to the woods for a hunting trip and had caused Young Eagle to drown in the Kitch-Iti-Kipi spring. 

As the air grew colder, the tribe still hadn’t found Young Eagle. The band had to move to their winter location down south without the youthful brave. Little Fawn had remained inconsolable for months. 

As soon as the tribe had returned to Indian Lake, nearby Kitch-Iti-Kipi, for the summer, Little Fawn had gone searching for Young Eagle. She had taken a canoe out into the spring. Big Buck had secretly followed her, still hoping for her affection. As Little Fawn gazed into the turquois water, the swirling sand had stopped and she saw Young Eagle lying at the bottom. Wanting to be with her best friend, she dove into the frigid, crystal spring. 

Big Buck had watched in horror as Little Fawn’s body slid quickly to the bottom, resting alongside her love, Young Eagle. In a daze Big Buck heard a rustling across the pond. A small, white deer had suddenly appeared, shaking water from its coat. The animal’s dewy eyes stared directly at Big Buck, then scampered off through the trees. Big Buck knew that a white deer had been a sign of impending doom sent from The Great Spirit. 

Before evening fell, Big Buck had paddled away from his village on Indian Lake, never to be seen again. His bitterness, however, still hovers over Indian Lake. Several young men have lost their lives when a black mist swiftly appears over the water not far off shore capsizing their boat and drowning them. This mist is said to be the angry spirit of Big Buck. The tribe had decided to never return to these summer grounds, but rather found another location southwest of Kitch-Iti-Kipi and Indian Lake. 

It is said that still today only “special” people can see the youthful couple lying on the bottom of the spring. 

[water-witch126]

Randy's Encounter - Mishipeshu - Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park

**Note – this is a contemporary account of Mishipeshu that I found to be entertaining. It demonstrates how Indigenous folklore evolves when adopted by external communities inhabiting the same space.  

A 1977 monster sighting gave us the first photographic evidence of the creature that lives in Lake Superior. Randy Braun was hiking in Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park in Michigan. In addition to being the largest state park in Michigan, the area boasted 145 kilometers of trails, 60,000 acres of virgin forest, secluded lakes, and rushing waterfalls. 

Randy knew he was in for a great day. 

But as the trail brought Randy to the shore of Lake Superior, something unexpected was waiting for him. 

As Randy looked out across the lake’s choppy surface during his hike, he was astonished to see a bizarre figure rising out of the waves. 

At first, Randy wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but as it came closer to the shore, he realized it was some kind of strange creature. The humps on the beast’s back would rise and fall beneath the water in sequence, one surfacing after the other. 

Randy explained, 

“The now obviously living thing stopped maybe several hundred feet from me and began moving and weaving around large boulders that were in the water, and directly towards me. IT WAS BIG and resembled an anaconda with the girth of a Volkswagen. Don’t laugh, it wasn’t funny.” 

All of Randy’s instincts told him to flee for his life, but he was trapped between a slippery rock slope and the water. So, he jumped behind a nearby bolder and grabbed his camera. 

Randy’s account continues, 

“As it moved towards me it slowed down considerably but was making a noticeable wake. It was strangely quiet while it snaked towards me and stopped dead in the water, right in front of me. IT WAS BIG! I steadied my camera on top of the rock and fired one picture but was afraid to move after that. The thing sat there for about thirty seconds with its huge horse shaped head and large dark left eye staring at me. On the nose was a visible catfish type whisker, maybe two feet in length and wiggling.”