My grandfather Elmer Eagle was a good, Christian man. He spoke of the Good Word, attended church every Sunday and lived a decent life in rural West Virginia. Expanses of emerald farmland framed his homestead, an early 1900s two-story structure laced with aluminum siding and flanked by a single-car wooden garage. He worked hard to provide for his family. A farm hand by trade, he toiled the land for various local families up until his death in October 1992.

Chillingly, or perhaps prophetically, two weeks prior, he experienced something that rattled him down to his core. “I know that when [Elmer] spent the night in the middle bedroom, he came down early that morning and told your grandmother [Shirley] that if they had seen what he saw that night, they would vacate the house immediately,” recounts Joseph Simmons (my first cousin, once removed). “But he never revealed details of what he witnessed.”

That was the legend. Over the decades, it has fed upon our fear and grew as a monster does in the dead of night. The house, located out on Vago Road in what is now known as Maxwelton, West Virginia, possesses something dark. Numerous figures have been spotted, including one of an older gentleman, whom my grandmother nicknamed “Old Rufus,” a legless little boy and even a devilish, two-horned entity. The scars of the past often manifest in various forms, the living damned to relive the pain, suffering and torment that once cursed the physical world. My grandmother Shirly Eagle often spoke about such ghoulish encounters, and I will always remember the look of absolute terror that filled her eyes. You just believed her when she regaled various stories of bumps in the night or of shapeless forms climbing into bed with her.

And she wasn’t alone.

Over the past 70 years, countless family members and previous tenants have claimed the house is cursed with paranormal activity. I’ve rounded up a collection of stories I’ve been told since childhood, detailed in rough chronological order. Many of the witnesses could not be reached for comment or have passed away since their time in the house, so many tales are secondhand accounts. The details, however, remain quite chilling.

1950-early 1970s

In my research, I was able to track down the daughter of a former resident, who lived in the house from 1950 to sometime in the early ‘70s. Linda Hefner, now married to Edgar Larue, claims she never witnessed anything supernatural. However, in a follow-up phone call, she states her younger sister Betty Jane remembers feeling a very dark presence, “hairy,” as she put it, in the basement where she used to play as a child. This all gives a little bit of weight to one of the most common occurrences: the violent shaking of the basement door. Could a dark entity be nestled somewhere in the basement or within the soil below?

Linda also shares that her step-mother Marcelle Virginia Wilson Adams, who moved into the house in the late ‘50s, was rather “mean” to her and her siblings. An unrelated story, Marcelle’s blind son named Jimmy allegedly fell through the kitchen floor directly into the basement when the stove was once being replaced.

Randy Stanley, Jimmy’s brother and Linda’s step-brother, corroborates this anecdote. Now living in the Organ Cave area, he also stresses that he never actually lived in the house. He was raised by his grandmother and would only visit the house on weekends. He never experienced anything out of the ordinary in the home.

1984-1992

When my older brother Chris was in first grade, according to my mother, Betty Eagle, my family moved into the residence sometime in early 1984. Elmer, Shirley, Betty, Chris, and my three uncles Bruce, Bill and John all packed into the 10-room house. It’s presence was both hollow and imposing. Betty claims unexplained noises and figures began surfacing within a couple months.

Pictured: My grandmother Shirley

The First Contact

The night was like any other. A coolness descended upon the window panes, and the crickets chirped lazily in the backyard. Cows in slumber, huddling nearby, the trees also seemingly diving into a blissful state, the Vago House seemed to jerk alive. Everyone deep in their own dream fields, unknowingly became victims of unbridled frights, that first night of paranormal activity is etched on Betty’s mind. Then in her late 20s, juggling a rambunctious six-year-old and navigating the dagger of adulthood, Betty has the infamous honor of being the very first person to experience a supernatural occurrence in the home.

Spring’s gentle hand swept through the cracks of the foundation and seemed to echo off the plaster. The walls swollen and tense, everything seemed to just settle. On her way to the bathroom, which was situated off the door to the basement and the back washroom, Betty was stopped in her tracks. An unexplainable violent tore through the basement door, an unseen force that appeared to be clawing from the basement’s dank dungeons. “The door knob was shaking,” she remembers, a nervous energy lacing her lips, eyes widening. “I propped a kitchen chair up underneath it. I didn’t know what to think right then. I thought it could have been someone trying to get in.”

Terribly frightened, she grabbed a plastic-suited kitchen chair and propped it underneath the doorknob and hurried back to her bed. She swiftly yanked the bedclothes to her throat and settled in ─ the noise had abruptly stopped but her fear did not fade until sleep drooped her eyelids. “It was definitely odd,” she concedes with a shake of her head. The next morning everyone bustled down to an early morning breakfast of bacon, eggs and gravy. An exciting energy peeked through sleepy-eyes, and so Betty told her story of horror. “Everyone wanted to know why I put the chair under the door knob,” she adds.

Little did they know, it was just the beginning.

Unleashing Hell

In the coming weeks, months and years, the frequency of ghost encounters and sightings would prove relentless and come in sharp, terrifying waves. Here are those stories.

My grandmother Shirley Eagle was a homemaker most of her life. Among other daily chores, she would often be hunched over a sink full of dishes from the day before, towering porcelain plates, cups and saucers stuck together like a cobblestone Tetris game. The kitchen served as the core of the original structure in the back of the house. It was the heart, you could say. The a splintered wooden floor poke through well-worn linoleum. A meager two-share kitchen table stood on the left, a wood-burning stove plopped in the middle and the basement door just to the right (by which you had to pass to get to the bathroom and washroom). One many occasions, an ominous presence was known to shake and rattle the door on its hinges and twist the glass-eyed doorknob. From what I can recall, Shirley witnessed the unholy, spine-tingling bangs on several occasions. It was without rhyme or reason, and once, she even yanked open the door to reveal nothing but cloying coldness decorated with spider webs and nothingness.

My uncle Bill, who now resides in Virginia and could not be reached for comment, once claimed he saw a legless little boy. According to legend, he was sleeping in what is considered the back attic bedroom ─ it’s located overtop the kitchen, bathroom and front rooms of the original structure ─ when he was shaken from a very deep, disturbed sleep. The night creaking around him with exasperated breaths, as if a contorted beast in its own right, a figure seemed to float towards him. The ghost had light skin and brownish blonde hair, and Bruce asserted it was my brother Chris, who was no more than six or seven at the time. The resemblance was uncanny, and Bruce simply shrugged it off as Chris having sleep walked into his room. The next morning, Bruce learned the truth: Chris hadn’t been sleep walking. And how could he explain the fact the little boy had no legs?!?

Bruce has also described what appeared to be large, orb-like lights glowing in the middle bedroom. Gliding out the open window, the lights moved down onto the front lawn; detractors state that what he saw were nothing more than car lights from passing vehicles. However, neighbor Jim Meadows’ wife has allegedly confirmed she also witnessed the strange phenomenon that night (according to my mom). An attempt to contact Jim Meadows was made, but as of this writing, there has been no response to confirm this detail.

My uncle John also slept in the back attic bedroom. One night, sometime months later, he was having a fitful night of sleep. Bruce’s snores cut through the night’s haze, but the silence seemed to descend like a cloak over the room. Eyes slowly fluttering closed, John was ripped awake when a gruesome, twisted and horned creature dropped down on the edge of the bed, a chill ran through his blood. His bones were immovable, as if tied to the bed (John did not suffer from sleep paralysis, from what I understand), and the figure’s silhouette faded to reveal what he described as The Devil himself, baring and gnashing its teeth. It’s unclear how long this encounter lasted. On another night, John witnessed a gnarled old woman standing at the foot of his bed ─ “It looked like a witch,” he once told me. Both figures vanished as quickly as they appeared, and only a memory of dread is left in their place.

My mother had many other encounters.

It was a lonesome fall night, the air crisp and clear. The leaves were orange and red and brown and swirled across the sidewalk out front and scattered in eerie displays onto the lawn. My mother had left my father, and so, I was present for this incident (but sound asleep). The front bedroom on the first floor was set up with two bunk beds, situated next to each other, rather than stacked; my mom and I huddled in one, my brother in the other. The moon hung low and golden, and as if relaying a ghostly message, my mother and brother maintain they heard what sounded like pheasant wings flapping and taking off.

Around the same timeframe, Betty also claims that something, or someone, crawled into bed with her. “Another night or two, something set down on the bed and gave me a hug. I couldn’t kick or anything,” she says. Midnight strangers were also known to visit my grandmother on countless instances throughout much of my childhood ─ and it was always in the side bedroom, off the front room at the backdoor. Once, “Old Rufus” climbed into bed and nestled himself right up against Shirley, sending a cascade of goosebumps to freeze her in time. It was an endless night of peril, that’s for certain.

1999

The summer following a deeply-troubling personal tragedy, my mother had moved back into the Vago House. Those few months, in the height of an especially smoldering heat wave, were excruciatingly active. Not only did Betty witness unexplainable high-heeled walking in the upstairs bedrooms, which seemed to move between the middle and back bedroom, but the spirit came near to touching her. “I was there by myself in the living room. I heard someone come down the front steps and into the dining room. I could feel a cool breeze, and the living room door came open,” she quivers.

That would prove to ignite a whole new chain of events that year ─ including my one and only experience.

I was 13 years old, and trying to prove how brave I was, I decided it would be a good idea to sleep in the upstairs middle bedroom. It was the “hotspot,” so to speak, of ghost activity. My grandmother once claimed that building materials in the new section of the home came from a previously haunted residence; this detail could not be confirm in my research.

It was an unspeakably sweltering and sticky summer night, and I can remember not being able to sleep very much. It was nearing midnight when, as I lay panting for relief from the heat, a cool breeze rustling the lace-stitched curtain above my head, the quiet grew to an unsettling degree. Sweat trickled across my skin, misty and adhesive. I wiped my brow and let out a heavy sigh.

Suddenly, a bright light pulsed over a match-stick cross hanging on the opposite wall. It was as if someone had turned on a giant, stadium-sized spotlight and was flickering it on and off. The edge of the light was crisp, and an overwhelming malevolence raced down my spine.

I froze.

My breath was strained, and I could barely utter a single world. But I knew I had to move ─ and fast. My heart darted to my throat. I stumbled out of bed and made my way to the doorway of the first bedroom, where my uncle John was dozing in his bed. “John!” I squeaked out in a hushed, gravelly whisper. “John!” I nearly shouted. “Are you awake?!”

He soon mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, peeking his head from the floral covers. “I can’t sleep up here anymore. I saw a light!” I barked, inching my way anxiously to the head of the stairs. He shifted the blankets tied around him and emerged into the brittle cold. An ominous presence clouded over me, and I dashed down the staircase. I could sense the ghost or demon or whatever it was rising behind me, but I did not falter for one second. I might have took the stairs two at a time… that was the one and only time I ever slept upstairs in that house.

Afterward, it was like the force knew how scared I was of it. I could feel the evil even more, as if it had soaked into my body and into my bones. Maybe the ghosts needed to initiate me into their club or something as an “adult.” I don’t know. All I know is I loathe that house. In the coming years, the feeling of dread and sorrow grew to a fever pitch, and I could feel something downright sinister stirring around me, even in broad daylight on the ground level.

That same summer, my mother, grandmother, brother and I traipsed off to late-Wednesday church service. The sun was hanging low. The house stood eerily calm, and it’s firm grip blanketed over everything. We didn’t think much of it, at first. Upon returning hours later, the moon now hanging silver in the star-scape, we soon discovered the upstairs middle bedroom light to be on and casting a yellow glow across the front yard.

“Uh, Chris, did you leave the upstairs bedroom light on?” my grandmother asked him, her face stricken to ghost white.

“No, I didn’t,” he replied.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

My blood ran cold. I remained rooted to the lawn, my feet seemingly in shock. My brother went inside to scope out the house. Nothing. No sign of anyone or anything. The deadly silence was damn near suffocating. I didn’t sleep much after that in that house. I never really did after that insufferably long, ghoulish summer.

2012

Then in a steep health decline, my grandmother Shirley allegedly witnessed a number of chilling sightings that summer. My first cousin, once removed named Diane Hinkle shares, “Shirley once said she woke up, and there was something pulling her covers off. She looked, and there was a little blonde-headed boy standing at the foot of her bed. I experienced the same thing when I was sleeping on the couch.” She adds, “One night, your grandmother got up and yelled for me. She said she saw an angel coming down the stairs.”

Joseph Simmons retells an alleged encounter with “Old Rufus” that same year. “Not long before she became ill again, I remember your Nanny telling [my] mom [Judy Simmons, Shirley’s sister] that she was in the shower when ‘Old Rufus’ started to come down the stairwell on her,” he says.

Diane lived in the house from spring of 2012 through the fall, and she claims she heard footsteps weaving back and forth among the upstairs bedrooms, which are lined up in a solitary row as the “attic” space. “If you walk in the middle room, it is very cold,” she says. “The spooks would be louder at night. It was like they were upset because you entered the room.”

On a separate occasion, Diane states she heard strange noises coming from the upstairs middle bedroom. “It sounded like a tornado was going through the room and hitting the walls,” she says, then sitting feet away in the first bedroom. “The hair on the back of the cat raised up, and I screamed. I picked up the cat and just ran down the steps…” Another encounter once again had to do with the basement door. “I was sitting up one night watching TV in the living room,” she says. “We heard a banging on the basement door. The dog went crazy. We opened it, but there was nothing there.”

Upon a recent phone conversation with current residents Anita Rose Rutherford and my uncle John Eagle, there have been no paranormal sightings or other activity on the premises in the last seven years. Of course, grain of salt and all that.

Digging a bit deeper, here’s as clear a history of the property as I could piece together from public records and family genealogy at the Greenbrier County Clerk’s Office and the Greenbrier Historical Society, as well as phone conversations with neighbors and former residents.

1828

The piece of land, less than one-acre in total, was originally part of a much larger tract of land. In the early 1800s, 200 acres stretched from the Vago House all the way to Spring Creek, near what is now Renick (formerly Falling Springs). The property belonged to a man by the name of Abraham Kearnes. He was an Irish immigrant and, along with his wife Eleanor, had seven children. In 1828, Abraham granted sole ownership of the entire estate to his son, named Abraham Kearnes, through his last will and testament. Below is a partial transcript.

In the Name of God, Amen

I, Abraham Kearnes, of the County of Greenbrier and State of Virginia, being of sound mind and perfect memory, and knowing that human nature is frail and that we must all pay the debt [to?] nature. When we have measured out the days that are given us to live and being desirous of settling my worldly affairs do make this my last will and testament, hereby revoking all former wills whatsoever. Imprimis after, recommending my soul to almighty God and my body to the dust from whence it came in the first place, I bequeath to my son Abraham Kearnes my estate, wagon and gears, my gun and stray two-year-old filly. The said Abraham Kearnes is to cultivate the place and give to his mother one-third of all that is raised on the place with privilege of as much pasture as she stands in need of and my wife to have as much of the housing as she stands in need of. The said Abraham Kearnes is not to rent or lease without she leave and I leave Eleanor, my wife, to have all the moveable property…

1830-1836

Two years later, Abraham (son) sold the 200-acre property for $1,100 to a man named Andrew M. Hanna. While little is known about Andrew, his wife Rachel and their family, what is most compelling here is the documents surrounding his takeover of the land. On January 13, 1830, he signed a Title Bond, a contract which states he vows to pay off his debt to own the land within four years (Abraham holds onto the “title” as owner during this time).

A regular deed, detailing the exact plot, was drawn up a year later, and in 1936, a Dower Interest was made in contract with Eleanor Kearns, Abraham’s mother. A Dower Interest essentially shifts ownership of the land and debt to next of kin in the event of a death; so, while there is no record of when Abraham passed, that’s a safe assumption here. Thus, Andrew M. Hanna continued to pay on his debt directly to Eleanor.

1853-1879

According to the Grantor and Grantee books on file, Andrew was released from his Title Bond in 1853, thus sealing his complete ownership over the property. Over the next 20 years, the 200 acres were cut in half, and he sold the remaining 99 acres and 23 poles* to a local hotel proprietor named Thomas Walker McClung** for $400. Thomas was married to Elizabeth S. Estill, and the couple had 11 children in all. Later, in March of 1879, Thomas sold off the property to John J. Echols for a measly $5.

*One pole equals roughly 5.5 yards

**A family-submitted genealogy collection of the McClung family, courtesy of the Greenbrier Historical Society, cites his middle name was William, not Walker

1889

John Jordan Echols ⏤ son of Edward Echols, known for working canal boats between Mouth of North River and Lexington and going by “Captain” Edward, despite no known military rank ⏤ sold the property to John Wesley Loudermilk and his wife Emma Jane for an undetermined amount. What few records were uncovered of the Loudermilk Family, it appears John Wesley and Emma Jane may have been related (perhaps second or third cousins), although that could neither confirmed nor denied.

1894-1895

John Wesley Loudermilk sold the property to a man named William E. Lawrence and his wife Mary E. Reynolds for $45. Not even a year later, the property quickly changed hands again. The seemingly well-to-do Mary Margaret Banton (maiden name Persinger), who had married Samuel Glover Banton in 1875, purchased the estate for $600. Certainly of note here is the fact, especially for the time period, that a woman’s name was listed as sole proprietor of the property while her husband was still alive.

1917-1920

Mary Banton died in 1917, and her estate was willed over to her many children and their spouses. According to the deed dated December 16, 1920, those names were F.L. Hughes and Lula Hughes (Banton); Lizzie Banton; Agnes Banton; Edgar and Hannah Banton; Herbert and Peachie Banton; Sandy and Jennie Banton; Hebe Loudermilk and Blanche Loudermilk (Banton); Maude Banton; James and Lena Banton; and Clyde McDowell and Linda McDowell (Banton). The children and heirs sold the property to Willie G. Bright and his wife Kate Christian for a grand sum of $5,000.

1923-1930

Willie’s father William Mc. Bright willed over his Brush Road farm and the estate to his three sons, Willie, Robert and George in the fall of 1923. Four years later, William died and the property officially came into Willie’s hands, as was decreed by his brother Robert in the deed dated August 18, 1927. According to the 1930 Federal Census, Willie and Kate had moved into the Brush Road farmhouse, along with Willie’s aunt Georgia Cree.

In researching Georgia Cree’s familial connection, it was uncovered she often went by Georgie Creigh or full name Georgiana Buster (maiden name). Throughout the several decades prior, she bounced around homesteads, from Meadow Bluff in the early 1900s to Second Creek, where she lived with her sister Mary E. Hogshead, according to the 1920 Federal Census. In her final years of life, she would remain with her nephew Willie.

Willie G Bright and his wife Kate Christian

1930

Here is the beginning of the Vago House, as it would become known. Willie constructed the house, originally comprised of six rooms, including an attic space and a full basement. The basement would only be partially completed, however, and a later resident would extend the space, yet leave a giant, empty cavern situated near the front of the house.

1932-1940

Already suffering from inflamed kidneys and sclerosis, Georgia Cree had a last will and testament drawn up. In it, she asked Willie to withdraw her last assets from the Bank of Greenbrier & Alderson National to pay off her debts and funeral expenses. She died two years later, almost to the day. Considering she had been living with Willie out on Brush Road in 1930, and her will is marked as being authenticated for Maxwelton, West Virginia, she likely passed away inside the Vago residence. Could this be the gnarled old woman my uncle saw?

A copy of Georgia’s last will and testament is below.

The 1940 Federal Census indicates Willie and Kate continued to live on the property through the Great Depression.

1948

Willie drew up a will in the summer of ‘48, citing Kate Christian as the sole beneficiary of his estate. At the time, that included the Vago House, as well as extensive acreage located across the road, and the Brush Road farm and all its land.

1949

As stated above in Tales of the Vago House, one of the most common sightings was that of a legless little boy, who had allegedly fallen into a tub of scalding hot water. While there was no evidence to corroborate the story had actually taken place at this particular residence, I did stumble upon a similar occurrence that had happened just 20 minutes away in a small town called Cornstalk, outside of Williamsburg.

On December 12, 1949, a woman named Reneda Gray Blankenship was doing her family’s wash. As was the custom, she had a large tub of boiling hot water ready, and tragically, her poor young son named Archie Dean Loudermilk fell into the water. According to the child’s death certificate, he received second and third degree burns over his entire body and arrived dead at the Hinton Hospital in Summers County. Below is the obituary posted in many local newspapers, including Charleston Daily Mail and Beckley Post-Herald.

1950

That summer, Willie and Kate sold all their land, Vago House and the Brush Road farm to Marshall Robert Loudermilk for only $5. At this point, the Vago House was now only a slice of roughly five acres. The various tracts of land would soon be split into numerous residential plots peppered along the main drag of Vago Road. A worthy note, the deed (dated August 17, 1950), indicates a chunk of land of less than an acre was reserved for Willie and Kate right next door the main estate.

1950-1964

While Marshall Robert Loudermilk owned the property, according to deeds filed in the Greenbrier County Clerk’s Office, it appears a man named Lester Hefner rented the Vago House for quite some time (and perhaps from the very start in 1950). However, current landowner Roy Loudermilk (Marshall’s son) and his wife Linda Lou Pittenger claim that Marshall never owned the property; Roy also says he bought the property directly from Lester many years later.

In speaking with Linda Larue, daughter of Lester Hefner and wife of Edgar Larue, of Frankford, Linda states that her father actually owned the property. She was also quite adamant Lester was family friends of the Loudermilk’s long before the 1950 land deal.

First married to Wilda Faye Burns, Lester Hefner had four children: the eldest Linda, Betty Jane, Michael and Kay. According to Linda, her parents split when she was “eight or nine years old,” she says, which would indicate sometime around 1955 or ‘56. Long-standing neighbor Rosie Blake* moved into the neighborhood in 1956, and she confirmed Lester had already been living in the house for a number of years and would continue to do so for many more.

*Editor’s Note: tragically, the wonderfully sweet and compassionate Rosie Blake passed away a few months after our phone conversations

Roy’s uncle Bernard Loudermilk then owned a local filling station down the street. Roy recalls delivering milk to the Lester place when he was 12 years old (starting in 1955) and notes there being “a lot of kids,” he says, in and around the property. Roy worked for his uncle for the next several years into high school. Bernard also lived across the street on another piece of property, reportedly owned by Marshall Robert.

Sometime in 1961, the original house structure was doubled in size to include 10 rooms in total, as well as an extended basement. According to Roy, Lester had the work done on the residence. Land books (which chronicle property and building appraisals) indicate the value of property buildings skyrocketed from $200 in 1960 to $990 the next year. This is also likely the time when the one-car garage was constructed.

In 1964, Lester married Marcelle Virginia Wilson, who had five children of her own, including, according to Rosie Blake, a blind son named Jimmy and a daughter named Patti. According to Marcelle’s official obituary (death dated March 1, 2018), her children are: Patti Owens, James Stanley, Randy Stanley, Tim Stanley and Charles Stanley.

1966-1970

Roy Loudermilk, then 23, bought the land for $10 from his father Marshall Robert Loudermilk in ‘66 (according to deed books). However, as aforementioned, Roy claims he purchased the house and land directly from Lester Hefner. Both Linda and Edgar Larue corroborate this detail.

Roy enlisted in the army in December 1967 and was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia for training. He was later shipped to Vietnam in September 1968 and stationed in Pleiku. Originally a dog handler and squad leader, he was promoted the following summer to sergeant, according to an announcement in the Beckley Post-Herald (dated June 27, 1969). He returned sometime in 1970, and he married Linda Lou in October. According to Linda, the two then moved to Alderson, West Virginia, where they’ve been residing ever since.

1971-1983

Lester and Marcelle divorced sometime later. Once the property sale went through, it appears Lester moved next door to a property containing a single trailer home and lived on the property until sometime in the ‘90s, when, according to Edgar Larue, he sold his property to a local family named Cochran.

As far as the Vago House is concerned, Roy Loudermilk claims the Federal Housing Administration coordinated several more renters in the coming years. Roy did not recall any of their names, only that one young gentlemen let the pipes freeze and burst one especially brutal winter. Similarly, Rosie Blake could not remember any other tenant names.

1984-2012

My grandparents Elmer and Shirley Eagle, along with my mother Betty, my uncles John, Bill, and Bruce, and my brother Chris, moved into the Vago House sometime in early 1984. Over the coming years, the family would slowly trickle out as they, too, flew the coop for marriage, children and the like.

During a local hunting trip, Elmer passed away in October 1992 from a heart attack. He was discovered alone in the woods. Shirley and John remained living in the house for many years ⏤ with Chris leaving the residence in the early ‘00s upon his marriage to Marilyn Bostic.

2012-Present

Following a long, severe illness, Shirley passed away in August 2012. My uncle John married Anita Rose Rutherford in a private ceremony the next summer. They currently reside in the Vago House, still owned by Roy Loudermilk and his wife Linda Lou Pittenger.

A months-long process, I am more certain than ever before that the Vago House harbors something truly terrifying, and it has been aching to tell its story. Whether it is a collection of tortured ghosts locked in purgatory or a demon with only violent intentions, we may never know or have the complete picture.

For now, we can have a little fun speculating with a handful of spooky, bone-chilling tales.