Now, you might be saying, “What kind of loser goes thumbing through old articles, trying to find information on things that may or may not exist, on a week when she has four exams and an essay due?”
Well, dear reader, allow me to introduce myself: I’m MacKenzie Reagan, MOVE columnist, alleged hipster and (temporary) ghost hunter.
Let me preface this with saying that none of these ghosts’ representatives were available for comment at the time and there’s a surprising lack of a formal vetting process for ghost stories, so you’re free to come to your own conclusions. But after some sleuthing, I’ve learned that CoMo is at least rumored as being quite paranormally active.
The following stories are the culmination of my sifting through articles from Stephens College’s web archives, various Missouri ghost hunting experts’ websites, and probing the depths of The Maneater, Columbia Missourian and Columbia Daily Tribune’s archives.
**Stephens College –– Senior Hall**
_Sarah June Wheeler_
During the Civil War, there was a student by the name of Sarah June Wheeler. Upon returning to her dorm room one night after dinner, she met an unexpected visitor –– a wounded soldier. Some accounts list him as a Union soldier, while others say he fought for the Confederacy.
Taking pity on the poor young man, Wheeler took him into her room and took care of him, cleaned his wounds and nursed him back to health. Some say Wheeler hid the soldier from school authorities for a time, until they eventually discovered and executed him (gotta respect that three-day visitation limit, bro). Wheeler, broken-hearted, flung (or hung, as stories vary) herself from the bell tower. Other accounts say the soldier killed Sarah, as he dragged her by her golden (or ebony, depending on whom you ask) hair to her death, or that they drowned in a river trying to flee Columbia.
Wheeler is said to haunt Senior Hall to this day, walking the halls (silently or screaming, alone or with the soldier, depending on the source), preparing for a dance or rummaging through students’ belongings searching for something (story continuity, perhaps?).
**Katy Trail**
_One armed-man_
Local legend has it that on a full moon, a one-armed man with no facial expression can be found walking back and forth on the Columbia section of this state park. Not much is known about this mysterious man’s identity or what compels him to silently pace under the bridge on the trail.
**Missouri Theatre**
_Former owner_
This historic venue is allegedly haunted by the spirit of its former owner. The ghost has been known to do things like open and close curtains and move various objects around. This ghost sounds like the least frightening of the bunch; he’s just tidying up the office before he heads home after work.
Lastly, lest you feel safe from ghosts while you’re here on campus:
**MU –– Sigma Alpha Epsilon house**
_Confederate soldiers_
Here’s something to think about the next time you’re out fratting: _The ghosts are watching you._
The SAE house is built on the foundations of an old house from the early 19th century. But this was no ordinary abode: It was used as a mental hospital and later as a Civil War-era morgue.
In the late 19th century, the building was used as part of a now-defunct military academy. After being destroyed by a fire in 1907, the house was rebuilt and was acquired by SAE in the ’20s.
After a second fire in the ’60s, the house was once again restored to its antebellum glory. But the architecture wasn’t all that was preserved: Confederate soldiers (maybe they’re friends –– or sworn enemies, depending on whom you ask –– of Sarah’s beau?) are said to haunt the building’s basement. A popular story involves the 1947 pledge class being forced to stay the night in the basement. Allegedly, after being spooked by the spirits, all of the pledges promptly left Mizzou and never returned.
Now that it’s getting warmer, it’s beginning to feel like fall. So while you break out your cardigans, consider engaging in another autumnal tradition, and have a bonfire. You’ve got some _great_ ghost stories to tell.
