She and her mother, Ramona Wheatley, were both shaken up when a spooky apparition made an appearance. Nan’s mom, now deceased, was a levelheaded woman, so when she told her daughter what she had seen, Nan believed her.
“She hollered at me and said a headless woman came through a wall and floated into the kitchen,” remembered Nan.
Even more frightening was the night that Nan was locking the back door when unseen hands grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and threw her down the hall. She picked herself up off the floor, unhurt but stunned. “I didn’t tell anyone about it for a long time,” admitted Nan, who feared people would think she was losing her mind.
Sometimes the sound of footsteps would echo in the empty hallway, and the freezer would be mysteriously rearranged.
Later, while seeking answers to the strange goings on, Nan invited paranormal researchers and psychics to investigate. When a psychic described an angry man named Isaac who stalked the premises, Nan was stunned. The description matched the entity that she had picked up on—a gloomy aggressive old man.
“The psychic did a cleansing of the building,” said Nan. “Ann’s ghost stayed, but Isaac moved out to the vacant house across the street.”
A woman named Mary was visiting Avard for the first time and was a passenger in a car when she glanced at the dilapidated house and noticed a man sitting in a La-Z-Boy chair on the porch. “He didn’t look like he’d be too tall, maybe average height,” she said, adding that he was either bald or gray and that his face was contorted into an angry expression. “It was not evil, but hateful,” she said. “He looked like he was in his late fifties or early sixties. He wore dark pants and a light button-up shirt.”
This researcher has discovered two Isaacs did live and die in Arvard long ago. I’ve yet to learn details about their lives.
Back in the Isaacs’ time, Avard had a heftier population, but over the years it has dwindled, and today Avard is a ghost town. “We have only about twenty people living here,” said Nan.
Twenty live people—the dead ones are too many to count. “We’ve had psychics tell us we have wall-to-wall ghosts in the café,” said Nan. “They say that the café is a portal to the other side where ghosts pass through.”
Though it is an interesting idea, it cannot, of course, be confirmed. While psychics can sometimes be dead-on, they rarely have all of the answers. One that Nan consulted also tuned in to Ann Reynolds, and asked her why she had not moved on. “Ann told her she was still here because she wanted to know ‘why they have done this to me,’” said Nan.
They.
The use of a plural supports the rumor that two attackers are guilty.
The killers are old men by now. Do they still roam freely through the area? Do they feel even a twinge of remorse when they drive past the spot on the lonely road where they savagely attacked an innocent person?
Mildred Ann Reynolds was charred beyond recognition, her right leg burned off to the knee. The woman who loved children never got to teach and nurture the countless students who would surely have loved her back. Is it too much for her to ask for some kind of justice?
Chances are she will continue to appear at Vina Rae’s Grill ‘n’ Graze, toss sponges, jiggle the silverware, and rap on the walls until the case is solved.
We are rooting for you, Ann.
Only a Moment
A gentle snow fell upon Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. It looked as if Ronald Tammen had stepped out of his dorm for only a moment. Despite the cold night, the 19-year-old business major had not taken his coat. He’d also left his wallet and car keys behind and the radio playing. His psychology book lay open on the desk, as if he’d been interrupted in the middle of studying. If students passing by Fisher Hall had glanced up at the window, they would have seen that the lights were burning in room 225 of the old ivy-covered building.
Ron’s roommate was not alarmed when he returned to find him gone. Other than Ron’s absence, nothing in the room was unusual. Surely he would be back in a moment. But that moment has stretched into decades. For when Ron Tammen left that room, it was April 19, 1953. He vanished like a snowflake in a flame, never to be seen again.
A handsome, muscular young man, Ron was a varsity wrestler and the residence hall adviser. The evening of his disappearance he’d played the string bass with his dance band, the Campus Owls, and had returned to his dorm about 8:30 p.m. His 1938 Chevrolet sat outside for the rest of the evening.
Who can begin to imagine the heartbreak for Ron’s family? His younger brother was also a student at Miami and must have been beside himself. His parents were frantic as they agonized over his fate, wondering if there was any truth to the speculation that he was an amnesia victim. And they surely felt a spark of hope when a woman from a nearby town came forward to say that a man who matched Ron’s description had knocked on her door in the early morning of April 20. The young man, she said, had a streak of dirt across his face and appeared dazed as he asked her for directions to the bus stop.