The Union Screaming House

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A story from a Union Screaming House Survivor

By Steven LaChance, 2004

“Do you believe in ghosts? I used to be like many of you. I was a true skeptic. A true disbeliever. That was me until three years ago. Now I do believe. I wish I didn’t. It would be easier for me to sleep at night. Even now, three years later, I am still woken up in the night by the memory of the screaming man, the child in pain, and the dark ghostly image that turned my world upside down and changed my beliefs forever. I do believe in ghosts.

It was in May 2001. I needed desperately to find a place for myself and three children to live in Union, Missouri. Our lease was up at the apartment where we had lived for two years. I was a single father, and I was about to find myself and my children homeless. Like many, I had answered just about every ad in the newspaper for rentals. One evening I received a call from this woman telling me about this house. She said it was a rather large old house that was in very good shape. She invited me to an open house which was to be held that coming Sunday. Sunday rolled around. You can’t imagine the surprise when my daughter and I rolled up in front of this large old white house. We walked in. The smell of cookies baking hit us immediately upon entering through the front door. To our surprise, we were standing in a living room with cherubs surrounding the top of the walls all the way around the room. All of the original woodwork was intact and a large wooden pole ran to the ceiling creating a divider which separated the living room from the family room. The house had two floors with three bedrooms, and a large family kitchen with a mudroom that led to the back door. The upstairs bedrooms had a breezeway that could be accessed from all rooms.

The basement had an old butcher’s shower and a fruit cellar. It was more house than we ever imagined for the price and immediately made up our minds that we had to have it. Anyone who has lived in an apartment for two years with three children would understand our desperation. We had to have this house.

We spoke with the landlady and she gave me an application to fill out. There were many people there looking at the house so we knew we would have to compete to be its tenants. I handed my application to the landlady. “You understand the responsibility that comes with living in an old house such as this?” she asked. “Oh, yes I understand. It’s beautiful.”, I quickly replied, not really understanding to what I was agreeing to. “Well then I will get back to you,” she quickly retorted and was off to peddle her wares to another of the visiting house hunters. She was a strange old lady and the way she showed the house wasn’t in a real estate type manner. She showed the house as if she were showing a museum. We felt like we were on one of the house tours often given each year for charity.

A week went by before the phone rang one evening. It was the strange landlady overly excited to tell me that she had selected me, my daughter and two sons to live in the old house. I was to meet her that following day at a restaurant to settle all of the paperwork and payment. I thought this was a little strange and I was a little disappointed because I couldn’t wait to see the house that would now become our home. The papers were signed on the following day. That weekend was Memorial weekend and we were all set to move in.

It seemed like years before Friday came that week, but we were finally there. Moving day. The move was a normal one and before we knew it all of our belongings were hidden safely inside the old white house. I was removing the last few items from the moving truck when a car slowed down, almost stopping in front of our new home. From the window of the slow-moving car, the passenger said, “Hope you get along okay here,” and then sped up and drove away. “What do you think of that dad,” my puzzled daughter asked. “Friendly neighbors I suppose,” I replied as I shut the sliding door to the truck.

The first night in the house went by without fanfare. Maybe because we were so tired from the move or perhaps because the house wanted to draw us in a little closer before beginning its series of attacks and assaults upon me and my family. The next morning started like most any other day. Except I did notice one strange thing about the house. Each of the houses’ interior doors had an old-fashioned hook and eye latch, but not on the inside of each rooms doors to keep someone out. The latches were on the outside of the rooms doors, as if to keep something in. “What is it dad?” my youngest son asked from behind. “Oh nothing,” I replied and went about the business of unpacking our things.

The first incident happened in the living room when I was hanging a large picture of two angels. My daughter thought that this would complement the cherubs that surrounded the room. I hung the picture and turned to walk away. Crash! I turned to see that the picture had fallen to the floor. Re-hanging the picture once again, I turned away. Crash! The picture was once again on the floor. Hanging it for a third time, when I started walking away I felt a rush of air and something hit the back of my ankles. “What the hell…?” I turned to see the picture lying at my feet. More determined than ever, I hung the picture again and stated loudly, “Stay there dammit.” I had to laugh because I was alone. Who did I think I was talking to? The kids were playing on the front porch.

“Dad come and see this,” my daughter’s voice rang through the front door. I stepped out onto the porch. “Sit down and watch this,” she said excitedly. “Watch what?” I replied. No sooner were the words out of my mouth when my daughter pointed to an old man walking down the sidewalk toward our house. However, when he reached our property line he quickly crossed the street and continued his walk on the opposite sidewalk. “They don’t like walking in front of our house dad. Isn’t that weird?” my daughter, breathless with excitement stated. And right she was. I sat on that porch for a good three hours watching our neighbors cross the street away from our house any time they walked along our street. A couple of times I motioned as if to say hello, but they just dropped their heads and continued on their way at a brisker pace. “Maybe they are uncomfortable with new neighbors?” I rationalized trying to make sense out of the senseless situation. We went inside for dinner and the rest of the night went normally without incident.

Sunday. The kids came home from church excited because we had set aside the whole day to work on our yard. This was a big deal for us because the only outside area our apartment provided was a front balcony. We mowed the grass and cleaned out the leaves from under the porch and in the front yard. Strangely enough, the trees seemed to be shedding their leaves as if it were Fall. Strange tree behavior, I thought, and made a mental note to mention it to the landlady when I talked with her next. I asked my youngest son to go inside and bring out the garden hose from the basement so we could clean off the walkways and wash down the weathered white of the house.

A few moments passed when I heard him screaming from inside the house. Running frantically into the house, I found him standing in the kitchen shaking, in the middle of a puddle of urine. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Looking at me with the scared eyes of a child, he said, “Something chased me up the basement steps.” “What chased you?” I asked, already thinking the overactive imagination of a little boy was at play here. “I don’t know daddy, but it was big.” Me and my other two children checked the basement but found nothing except for the garden hose that had been dropped during his frightened escape. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” I said. Naturally, there was teasing from my other two children about the proverbial basement monster. “Better watch out when you go into the basement because…” The glare of my eye finished my middle boy’s sentence. The rest of Sunday and Monday went without any other incidents and we were so happy those first few days in the house. My daughter was making plans about gardens, decorating, and my boys thought it would be easy to walk to their baseball games because the park was very close. It was a normal, happy time which, unfortunately, did not last for long.

Monday came. The last week of school for my kids and a long week of work for me. Each day we would leave the house and return each evening to find every light in the house turned on. I blamed the children for leaving the lights on in the morning. However, on Friday, my daughter and I sent the boys to the car while we toured the house making sure that every light was off. That night we returned home to again find every light burning. When I walked into the house I was a little shaken – there being no logical reason for all of the lights being on other than there was someone in our house. Searching the house in a panic, I found nothing.

“Daddy, it’s cold in here,” my daughter stated from the living room. What was she talking about? Sweat was pouring down my back and across my brow. However, when I stepped into the living room, the temperature dropped a good thirty degrees. That was the first time I felt its presence. I can’t describe it any better than it felt like an electrical current running through my body, bringing tears to my eyes and bumps to my arms. It passed quickly. I remember thinking, “What the hell was that?” Soon, my daughter stated, “Daddy it’s getting warm in here,” and sure enough the temperature was rising as I watched the thermostat climb. That night my children slept with me – what little sleep I got.

Sunday night. We were sitting in the living room talking. I was getting ready to take a trip the following morning to Indianapolis for work and we were discussing their plans for a stay at Grandma's. The kids had their backs to the living room, for which I am still thankful because the memory of what happened next still haunts my dreams to this day. I noticed it first out of the corner of my eye. A quick glance. Something moving, standing at the kitchen doorway that led into the family room. Not something – someone. I looked toward it again. It was a dark figure of a man, even though there was full light. He was solid in form except there was a moving, churning, dark gray, black smoke or mist that made up his form.

I looked down because I was sure I wasn’t seeing this and that my eyes were playing tricks on me. One or two good rationalizations and we could go on with our lives without incident. A few moments passed and I was sure that when I looked up again that it would be gone. But, he was still there and he began to move.

Moving into the family room and pausing in the center of the room, his form was still a mass of churning, turning blackness. He stood there for what seemed an eternity, but in actuality, it was only a few moments and then he melted into the air. Gone. I remember the thoughts that were racing through my head. ” I have two choices. We could run out of the house screaming into the night like those crazies you always see in the movies. You know the ones that are always based on fact. Or, the other choice, we could get up quietly, leave the house and figure all of this out.” My hands were shaking uncontrollably. “That’s what we’ll do. We will go quietly, orderly as if nothing was wrong”

Standing up on shaky legs, I said in my calmest daddy voice, “Let’s go get a soda and see grandma.” My youngest was instantly excited at the prospect of a soda before bed and the older two looked at me as if I lost my mind. “Come on guys, it will be fun.” Thank God, my car keys were on the coffee table in front of us. We moved orderly out the front door and I turned to lock the door, when a loud painful scream of a man came from inside the house. It sounded as if he was screaming in pain, so loud that it could be heard throughout the neighborhood and the dogs began to bark. To hell with orderly, “Get in the car!” I screamed at my children.

At a dead run, we headed to the car and to drive to my Mom’s house, which is still a blur to this day. I was in a panic and I knew that we had to get away from the old white house. But before we were away from the neighborhood, my youngest son, in a very scared voice, said, “Daddy the basement monster is standing in the upstairs window.” I looked back and sure enough, the black form was standing in the window watching us leave.

That night we stayed at my parents’ house. Early the next day, I gathered my things and left for my business trip. I had a whole week of rationalizations by the time I returned home to pick up my children. Where else were we to go? I had put everything I had saved, and then some, into the move. We had no other choice but to go back to the big old white house. Besides, after a week of talking myself out of the events of that night I was ready to return, so on Friday night we returned to the house. The weekend went by without incident, though we got very little sleep.

I was taking another extended weekend to make up to my kids for my week away. On Saturday we explored the big shed at the back of the yard and in it, we found a number of personal belongings that appeared to belong to different people. My parents convinced me that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to call the strange old landlady and ask her some straight forward questions about the house.

It was to be one of the most awkward and strangest phone calls of my life. Once I was able to reach her, I carefully chose my words and asked in a normal voice if any of the previous tenants had ever mentioned a ghost. Well of course, she said at first that she could not remember. However, she went on to say that one female tenant had claimed that her dead father came to visit her, but the old woman always thought she was crazy. The landlady said that some of the stuff in the shed had been left behind by the girl, but she couldn’t get her to come pick it up.

The other stuff in the shed evidently belonged to a man who had lived there but left in the middle of the night, leaving behind his things. But, no she had never heard of anyone talking about the house being haunted. I asked her how long ago did these people live there? And she said, “Not much more than a year honey, why do you ask?” The phone call wasn’t of much help. And it didn’t calm my fears much, but what else could I do?

The rest of the long weekend came and went. I actually had convinced myself that it was just a one-time ordeal because nothing more was happening. That was until Monday night. I was on the phone with my mom. The kids were off playing in my bedroom which was located on the first floor. While on the phone, I began to hear the inside doors rattling. Listening closely, they rattled again and I yelled at the kids to quit playing games. I told my Mom that everything was okay, just the kids playing tricks. They rattled again, this time harder. So, I scolded the children this time louder to behave and stop playing tricks. At this time they rattled louder, but before I could scold them, my daughter’s scared voice cut me off., “Daddy, I’m in here reading and my brothers are asleep.”

Now I will try to recreate what happens next to the best of memory. Some of it I remember clearly. Other parts are a blur to this day. Just as soon as I heard my daughter the temperature in the house instantly dropped a good thirty degrees. With it came the feeling of the electrical charge running through my body. Along with its energy a horrible stench that I cannot describe permeated the room. And then, the screaming started – softly at first, but building in momentum. I yelled through the phone to my mother to come help – we were getting out. Then the whole house began to shake and come alive. From above, I could hear something large coming down the stairs. Boom. Boom! BOOM! The screaming of the man over and over. The screaming of my daughter, “Daddy what is happening!” Along with this came the thought that one of my two bedroom doors connected to the stairs. BOOM! BOOM! It was coming down those stairs! I had to get to my children! The whole house was alive with noise. The floor beneath me was shaking as I made my way to the bedroom door. I felt something behind me and I knew I didn’t want to turnaround to see it! BOOM! SCREAMING! A new scream mixed into the man’s scream – this one from a child. BOOM! SCREAMS! BOOM! I made it to my bedroom door but it wouldn’t open. By this time I, too, am screaming. Throwing myself against the door it still wouldn’t budge. I continued to throw myself against the door again and again until it finally slammed open.

My daughter was in shock by this point. I instructed my middle son to grab his brother and run out the front door and head for the car. BOOM! BOOM! SCREAMS! My daughter won’t move and I finally had to slap her to bring her to life. Finally responding, I grab her and head for the door as I hear the other bedroom door slam open behind us. It was on our trail and I knew I couldn’t let it reach us. The whole house was still shaking and alive with noise and something big on our heels. When we reached the front door and out onto the porch, I slammed the front door behind us. As we got into the car we could still hear the noise coming from the house. I drove away and parked at the top of the street where I could still see the house and wait for my parents to arrive. We could see “it” searching through the house. Searching! Searching for us! It’s blackness moving from room to room methodically.

That was our last night in the house. My children never returned. When I returned to get a few of our things on several occasions I never went alone. Everyone I brought into that house with me would also witness something happen. A scream. Whispers. Pounding from the floor above. It was not selective anymore at who it let hear its fury. I remember what the old lady said to me as I turned over the key. Standing there, the whole side of my arm and torso still bruised from throwing myself against that bedroom door, she said, “Some people are meant to live in an old house like that. And some people aren’t. I never thought you were the old house type.” And I guess she was right.

About a month after moving out of the old house a friend sent me a website address that she wanted me desperately to see. “Put John T. Crowe, Union, Missouri into your search engine,” she said. When I did, the face of a man came onto my screen. The same face that showed up in a picture my brother took in the fruit cellar one afternoon while I was packing for the move. The man was famous. The land itself is famous, with a history dating back to the civil war.

About a year ago, someone I know saw a police car race up to that house one night and witnessed a family running out of its front door in their nightclothes.

As for the house today – the old lady turned it into a dog kennel this past fall. I guess she ran out of people that could live in an old white house like that one.

You see I do believe in ghosts. I still drive past that house every once in a while and when I get enough nerve I look up at the upstairs window and it’s there. Watching. Waiting. Angry. Sometimes its screams still wake me from my sleep, its infectious scream creeping into my dreams, turning them into nightmares. I still don’t sleep very well. In my dreams I see a faceless man standing in that basement washing away blood from his naked blood-covered body. Grunting. Panting. Breathing.

The breathing you’d hear when you were alone with it in a room. The breathing you would hear when you knew it was there. Heavy. Labored. Breathing. Yes, I do believe in ghosts. I do believe in ghosts. And maybe you should too?

Submitted by Steven LaChance. Updated: March, 2017 who wrote a book about his experiences called The Uninvited.

Ok, so who was this captain John T. Crowe? Well, we found his actual obituary from 1923.

Obituary for John Thomas Crowe

from the Republican Tribune, Union, Missouri

April 20, 1923

Captain John T. Crowe died at his house nine miles west of Union Monday night, April 16, 1923, aged 81 years, three months and nineteen days having been born in the home in which he passed away, December 28, 1841.

Captain Crowe belonged to one of the most highly respected families of the county and one that perhaps has been as long connected with the progressive spirit of the county as any of the many prominent families that have left their imprint upon our county’s progress.

Captain or Judge Crowe, as he was sometimes called, belonged to one of the oldest families in the state as well as in the county. His great-grandfather, Godfrey Crowe, was born and raised in Germany and came to Missouri in 1796 and settled in St. Charles county.

Michael Crowe, the grandfather of Captain Crowe was born and reared in St. Charles county. He married a Miss Green, the daughter of Col. Jas. Green, who was born in Virginia and came to Kentucky, where he took part in the Indian troubles and was a close companion of Daniel Boone. When the latter came to Missouri, Colonel Greene came with him and settled in St. Charles county, towards the close of the 18th century. Michael Crowe and his wife came to Franklin county in 1808 and settled near Labaddie. March 1, 1818, he was killed while loading a log on a wagon. The father of Captain John T. Crowe, Martin Luther Greene Crowe, was born August 18, 1818. A few months after the death of his father, he was married to Jane Catherine Jump, daughter of Samuel Jump, July 25, 1838. The father died November 14, 1890 and the mother, February 7, 1891. Martin L. G. Crowe was elected county assessor in 1854. At the expiration of his term as assessor he was elected county judge and in 1859 he became county clerk and served faithfully in that capacity until January 1, 1871.

To Mr. And Mrs. M. L. G. Crowe, six children were born: two died in infancy, one son, Samuel, died in 1886 at the age of almost 30 years, Mrs. William Leiser, the only daughter, died in Montana a few years ago and one son. George Crowe is at present living in Nogales, Arizona.

When the father took charge of the county clerk’s office in 1859, his son, John T., although only 18 years old, immediately became his father’s assistant and main reliance and remained to the office until President Lincoln’s first call for 75,000 men to serve three months. John Crowe was one of the first to respond to his country’s call. At the end of three month’s service, he returned to Union and enlisted in Co. E, 26th regiment of Missouri volunteers infantry. This company was organized in the southern part of the county in December 1861. It was recruited by Robert C. Crowell, who desired and expected to be captain. At the election of officers, however, John T. Crowe, who was just twenty years old, was almost unanimously elected captain. But owing partly to his youth, but more largely to the loyalty to his older friend, positively declined any office in his company whatever. He accepted, however, the position as adjutant for the regiment. He took this because he realized what all others knew, that owing to his office experience and education he was better fitted for the place than anyone in the regiment. He was appointed 2nd lieutenant of the company June 26, 1862 and six months later was transferred to company I and promoted to first lieutenant, August 22, 1862. He became captain of the company June 23, 1863 and remained at the head of his company until the expiration of his enlistment, which was December 25, 1864. He lacked three days of being 24 years of age and was one of the youngest captains in the service.

Soon after its organization the regiment joined the expedition under General Pope against New Madrid and as an officer Captain Crowe took part in the following military activities: Battles of Tipton, Farmington, Corinth, Iuka, Port Gibson, Missionary Ridge and in Sherman’s famous march to the sea and through the Carolinas.

The late Judge Ryers, who made a study of the army reports told that the official records of Captain Crowe were among the very best of any in the state. When he reached Union after the expiration of his enlistment he was commissioned adjutant to the second military district of Missouri. When the war was over he came back to Union and resumed his duties in the office of the county clerk and continued to relieve his aged father of as much of the work as he could. He retired from his duties as deputy when his father’s term expired, December 31, 1870.

In 1868 he was admitted to the bar of Franklin county but did not enter the regular practice of law. In 1872 he was elected sheriff over John R. Roberson. He was reelected in 1874 and in 1876 he was elected probate judge over H. R. Sweet and served until January 1, 1881 when he was appointed deputy internal revenue collector at a much larger remuneration than he had received as probate judge. He served as deputy revenue collector until the election of Cleveland when he retired to the old homestead and where he has made his home practically ever since. He was elected as representative in the legislature in 1890 and served the county faithfully in the 36th general assembly. He was by nature a great lover of agricultural pursuits and sold all his real estate in Union and lived the remainder of his life on his farm which was well fitted with modern conveniences.

On January 16, 1860, John T. Crowe married Minerva M. Breckenridge, a daughter of Asa Breckenridge, a most highly respected citizen and relative of the famous Breckenridge family of Kentucky. To this union four children were born, Asa B., a prominent merchant of Sullivan; Martin Luther, who was killed in a railroad accident October 17, 1890; Maude, the wife of R. L. Allen, a banker of Farmington; and Nellie, the wife of Lilburn W. Brown, with whom the father made his home on the old homestead. Mrs. Crowe died in July, 1874. On March 9, 1877, Mr. Crowe was again married, this time to Miss Sarah E. Hendricks, a member of an old and honored family. To this union three children were born; Addie, the wife of Fred Lyford, a civil engineer living in Iowa; and John and Howard Crowe, prominent business men of Southwest Missouri. The second wife died September 18, 1895. In addition to the six children above enumerated captain Crowe is survived by one brother, George Crowe, of Nogales, Arizona, who arrived at the bedside just four hours before his brother died. He also leaves sixteen grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

Captain Crowe had been a prominent Mason since early manhood. He was a member of some three or four old soldiers’ organizations and always attended their meetings as long as he was able to do so with comfort. Captain John T. Crowe was a patriot in the fullest sense of the word and proved it by his facing the enemies of this country in the most trying circumstances. He was always courteous and amiable in society and was always a gentleman. But above and beyond all he left a family that are each and all an honor to themselves, their country and the communities in which they live. No man could leave a greater or nobler heritage to posterity.

Paranormal groups and the Catholic Church were called in to investigate the home. Historically, the home was supposedly built on the remains of a slave quarters cabin from the pre-Civil War era. Within five hundred feet of the home was an older cemetery, while across the street in a separate home, a violent ax murder once took place.

Paranormal groups have documented dozens of EVPs and photographs of the activity in the home. Such documentation has not come without a price, while some investigators have been bitten or scratched. The Catholic Church issued a rare 156-page report on the home claiming it was indeed manifested with a strong demonic presence.

The Screaming House was built in 1932 and was placed upon the actual spot which once held the slave quarters. In all historical documents, you will not find one incident where the Captain admittedly was a slave owner. The slaves were always listed as belonging to his wife Minerva who came to Union, Missouri with her family from Kentucky. There is talk of Minerva having improper relations with at least one of her male slaves which may have led to her death and the deaths of all of the young male slaves on the property. One of the sources of this atrocity was an actual member and heir of the Captain himself. Captain Crowe sold his land in Union, Missouri to A.J. Saey who later became the first Governor of Oklahoma. Captain Crowe moved to Beaufort, Missouri where he spent the rest of his years. Below you will see the grave sites of the Captain and his beautiful wife.

Standing on the hillside overlooking Union City Park is a huge Nursing Home. In its day this building was used as a Civil War Hospital and was also used after the war as the County Poor House. It is a well known fact among Union residents that if you don’t know where one of your ancestors is buried they are most likely buried in one of the mass graves in the city park. One of these mass graves is not far from the Screaming House.

In 1974, a replaying of a modern Lizzy Borden case took place almost directly across from the Screaming House on the next street over. A woman took an ax and killed her husband. Once she had completed her dirty deed, she took a gun and committed suicide. You might be thinking that a woman using a gun to commit suicide is uncommon, but not in Union, Missouri. Several women have ended their lives at the end of a gun. Another house across from the Screaming House a man committed suicide in front of his young nephew with a gun. So all in all there is plenty of reason for the Screaming House to be haunted. It seems the land on and surrounding the house is just bad. If you speak to some of the residents of the town who will talk about the haunting. They will tell you that you get an awful feeling from the home and some claim to even get physically ill when they are near it. Others will tell you that not only the house is haunted but the entire neighborhood as well.

It seems that Union, Missouri is rife with axe murders.

From Sue Blessing at emissouri.com

“A story from an 1875 issue of The Record first alerted me to this murder, as the woman accused of the crime was then being housed in the jail at Union. I was particularly drawn to the case because the account stated the perpetrator was the widow of Capt. William Eads, whose steamboats had plied the waters of the Missouri and Mississippi rivers in an earlier era.

William Eads Sr., and William Eads Jr. were both riverboat captains. It is possible she could have been married to the younger Eads, who died in 1863 at age 27, but this is mostly speculation.

However, the case was an interesting one so I began searching for more information. I’ll start at the beginning, drawing on at least a dozen resources. The murder was said to have taken place on April 1, 1872. At the time, Mrs. Eads was living on a farm in Jefferson County with a hired man by the name of Joe Howard, two children she had adopted, Louis Merrill Taylor, age 6, and his sister, Mary Josephine Taylor, age 13. Also living in the home was Charles Eads, a young man she had raised and apparently given her surname to. Whether she had any children of her own is not known.

According to an 1875 issue of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Mrs. Eads was very abusive to the young children, often cuffing them about. One day, two or three eggs were missing and she accused young Louis of taking them. He denied having done it and told Mrs. Eads the dog was the guilty culprit. Not believing the boy, Mrs. Eads became enraged. She picked up an axe handle and struck the child over the head. He fell to the floor dead. Howard and young Eads came into the house and, after seeing what had happened, volunteered to bury the body.

Mary Josephine had been churning butter in the next room, but had seen the killing. She ran away and hid. She was found and threatened with instant death if she ever told anyone. As was the case with several aspects of this story, there are two versions as to what happened to Mary Josephine. According to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch version, she was sent to live with her Uncle Eldridge who lived 3 miles northwest of Camden Point in Platte County.

The Record told a different story. Not wanting to kill Mary Josephine, Mrs. Eads came up with the idea of sending her off into the wilderness and leaving her to starve to death. Eads and Howard put the child on a bareback mule and took her 40 miles from the scene of the murder and left her in the woods far from civilization. In the meantime, Mrs. Eads left her farm home.

After much suffering, Mary Josephine found her way to a house but, because she feared for her life, did not tell the whole story. She asked for help and said she wanted to go to the home of her Uncle Eldridge, who lived in Platte County.

The plot thickens. Mary Josephine’s Uncle Eldridge had no respect for Mrs. Eads because she had been caught in a conspiracy to have her parents done away with so she could get her hands on their fortune. Mary Josephine opened up to her uncle and told him everything. Both Mary Josephine and her uncle kept their own counsel until the day young Mary Josephine spotted Charles Eads in Platte County. She told her story to the authorities and Eads was soon arrested. Her uncle believed Eads had come to Platte County with the intention to do him harm.

While jailed, Eads wrote a letter to Mrs. Rebecca Boltinghouse, 2620 Papin St., St. Louis. The Platte County sheriff at once suspected that Mrs. Boltinghouse might be Mrs. Eads. He contacted the St. Louis chief of police and it was determined that his suspicions were right. Mrs. Eads, age 40-plus, had been living as the mistress of Frank Boltinghouse, a 24-year-old brakeman on the Missouri Pacific Railroad.

Mrs. Eads was arrested. Frank Boltinghouse came to the jail to see her and they had a good cry together. They decided to get married and the ceremony was performed in the police captain’s office. Mrs. Eads, who had been living with Boltinghouse since November 1874, was expecting a baby.

Both Mrs. Eads-Boltinghouse and Charles Eads were jailed in Union for a time because an affidavit alleged the crime had taken place in Franklin County. The scene of the crime, however, was Jefferson County, and they were eventually sent to Potosi for trial. She was charged with killing young Taylor and Eads was charged with assisting her in concealing the body.

A change of a venue took the case to St. Francois County where Mrs. Eads-Boltinghouse was found guilty of murder in the second degree and sentenced to 20 years in the penitentiary. Due to a defect in the charge on which she was tried, the judgment was arrested and both Eads-Boltinghouse and Eads were remanded back to Jefferson County to wait for the grand jury to act on the case. In the January 1877 term, Mrs. Eads-Boltinghouse was again indicted, but Charles Eads was released. A second change of a venue resulted in the murder trial being moved to Iron County where she was tried and found guilty of murder in the second degree. She was sentenced to serve 10 years in the penitentiary.

According to a list of prisoners published in the Warden’s Report, Rose B. R. Boltinghouse, white, born in Ohio, entered the penitentiary on Nov. 23, 1881. The 1888 Goodspeed history gives her complete name as Rosabelle Rebecca Boltinghouse.”

So, what the hell is going on in Union, Missouri? Axe murdering women… a creepy captain that just won’t go away. Whatever it is that’s haunting the area, it’s a pretty amazing story and we want to know what you think! Is this house just someone’s overactive imagination or is the Captain still lingering about, attempting to wash the blood from his hands, screaming and moaning, warning anyone that will listen.

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