Haunted Port: Residents Share Stories of Paranormal Activity

Susan Scot Fry still isn't sure whether she believes in ghosts, but that doesn't stop the insatiable giggle she gets when something creepy happens that she can't explain. It's that nervous-excited feeling that led Fry to start her own ghost-tour service, the Caper Company, three years ago.

"I'm still very skeptical; I tend to look for another explanation for things," Fry said. "But that doesn't diminish my love for the stories."

She started out her business by gathering ghost stories and creating self-guided audio tours of "haunt spots" around Wisconsin.

When she came to Port Washington, she said she immediately felt a special draw to the city and decided it would be the location of her first live walking tour last year. It was so popular she brought it back again this year, with 121 people taking part in the one-night-only tour Saturday.

"I just felt something here, like many of you have," she said to a group of 22 before the night's first ghost walk. "Some of the stories you'll hear tonight are of people who've had similar connections to Port Washington, and they just don't want to leave."

Dressed in a maroon hat with floppy ears, Fry brought a contagiously affable attitude and let the spook of the stories speak for itself.

"I hate haunted houses — that bloody and jumping-out-at-you shocking scare," she said. "Ghost stories are a lot gentler. There are no enhancements, no special effects. It's all your imagination."

Ghosts of the Toledo

The tour's first stop was at the base of the pier that leads to the breakwall and lighthouse. In 1854, the ship Toledo sank off shore from the lighthouse and more than 40 people drowned. As the Caper Company tells it, Port residents tied themselves together with a chain attached to shore and dove into the water in an attempt to save the passengers, but they were unable to save anyone.

Fry shared a story from Gayle, a retired teacher who grew up in Port Washington, who said she had experienced the lingering presence of those who drowned. Sitting on the pier as a teenager, chatting with her friend, she suddenly felt a beckoning toward the water and heard a "chinkling" noise. Fry suggested this could have been the noise of the chain that tied together the rescuers, caught in the spirits of the victims who continue to beg for a savior.

"Something splashed in the water while you were telling that story," a woman on the tour said when Fry had concluded.

Most people laughed off the superstition, but the mood chilled when the group later gathered around the Toledo's anchor, preserved in Union Cemetery.

When Fry first visited the anchor for research, she stood in silence with an audio recorder, and asked some routine questions of the space: Who are you? Is anyone here? What are you trying to communicate?

Back in her office, Fry played back the recording, amplified. She heard a soft a noise. She played it again, and again, many times over until she could put the whispery sound together into words: "Take hold. Save me." She said she was shocked to hear it, but she readily credits the role of imagination in bringing forth the sound.

"When you first hear it, it just sounds different enough to make you pause. You listen to it over and over to see if it sounds like a word," Fry said. "Your imagination can take you a long way when it comes to this. Our storytelling is about suggesting things that could have happened and letting people fill in the blanks."

Legends and history

Without traveling more than half a mile between destinations, Fry had stories to share about several Port Washington establishments.

In the former Smith Brothers Fish Shanty, there were stories of a lady in white. Years ago, staff said they saw a woman wearing a white dress go upstairs and never return. Since then, people have reported finding red lipstick on glasses and coat racks that have been turned.

Up the street at , employees have reported spotting a lady in red – also inhabiting the upstairs.

At , Fry said employees told her they have a "prankster spirit" who steels pens and candy. But, if you leave the candy jar full, they say nothing will be touched.

Others stories are based on specific Port residents. According to the Journal Sentinel, in 1985, 18-year-old Wendy Smith was reportedly walking from a friend's house to a tavern where her mom worked, when she came upon Thomas Kirsch near the hill where N. Wisconsin Street meets Johnson Street. It's unclear what happened next, but her body was found more than 24 hours later on the hillside, and Kirsch was convicted of first-degree murder and second-degree sexual assault.

Fry said nearby residents have reported seeing lights floating through the woods, and the sounds of struggling on the hillside.

Smith's story was a reminder that ghost stories are not always lighthearted.

Like most Halloween traditions, they offer a chance to delve into a darker side of humanity as a voyeur or an actor, with friends by your side and hot cocoa at the end. But unlike other experiences, ghost stories are often based on real people who experienced real suffering.

Moments like hearing where Smith's body was stashed, or accidentally tripping on a grave stone often pushed ghost walkers over the line of fun to a place of quiet contemplation not typically associated with Halloween fright.

Steve Fluet, the guide for the cemetery tour, recognized this and pulled the group together for a final debriefing.

Huddled close together around flashlights, silhouettes held hands and repeated after Fluet: "We came here in peace. We leave here in peace."