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Whiskey Hollow Road

Baldwinsville is a small village roughly 12 miles northwest of Syracuse. In this quiet, remote town is a particularly quiet, remote road. The five mile long thoroughfare is known simply as Whiskey Hollow. There are no businesses or homes along Whiskey Hollow Road––it simply cuts through the woods, connecting two more well traveled streets. However, all is not as quiet as it seems––for legends say that at night, Whiskey Hollow is used by evil groups of people for their nefarious purposes. The many strange happenings that have been reported along Whiskey Hollow are said to all be their doing.

The most persistent legends of Whiskey Hollow are that it has for many years served as a meeting place for both the KKK and an aggressive, evil band of Satan worshippers. They have claimed the road as their domain, particularly the mile long unpaved

stretch in the middle of the road. Many racial killings and Satanic sacrifices are rumored to have taken place here in the remote recesses of the woods. Others have seen not the KKK or Satan worshipers themselves, but perhaps more terrifyingly, have run into the ghosts of the victims these clandestine cults have killed along Whiskey Hollow.

According to legend, many of the sacrificed victims who lost their lives along Whiskey Hollow were children. The spirits of these unfortunate kids still make their presence known. Many have seen a bloody children’s blanket hanging in the trees over the roadway. Those who see this also usually encounter the ghosts of small kids wandering along the road. Sometimes they seem confused. On other occasions they have asked passerby for help, then have disappeared.

Whiskey Hollow Road is closed to traffic at night. Is this because of the many late night travelers who make their way down the road searching for Satanic sacrifices and children’s ghosts? Or is it because the KKK has decided they need a bit more privacy? Whatever the reason, it’s safe to say that Whiskey Hollow Road is a strange and mysterious place.

Saw Sacrificial Evidence On Whiskey Hollow Road

Dear Weird NY:
I live in New Jersey now, but was born and grew up just outside of Syracuse, New York. There was a road just a few towns over from mine that I remember visiting numerous times throughout my high school years. It is called Whiskey Hollow. Supposedly, a series of murders occurred in the woods near the road, and it was severely haunted because of this.

Guys in my school used to drive us down the road to try to scare us. They would tell us about kids who were hung in the trees, and how you could see rope burns in the limbs from the hangings. When I was younger, I was very scared of the road. After a couple trips down Whiskey Hollow, I started to get numb to it. We never saw anything––it just seemed like a dark, desolate road. I began to suspect that the stories were never true––that maybe they were just made up by lonely, horny guys who wanted to have a good make out spot to take gullible girls like me to. That all changed one day during my junior year.

I was dating a guy who took me down Whiskey Hollow––which by that point was pretty passe’ to say the least. Bored by the whole thing by this point, I decided to call his bluff and see how tough he really was.

“Why don’t you get out of the car?” I asked, in that flirty way only a bored, evil high school girl can manage.

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“I dare you to get out of the car, walk down the road for 30 seconds, then back.” I smiled at him.

He was pale, and his eyes were wide. I was loving every second of it.

“Why?” He asked.

“Why not, are you scared?” That did the trick. We had a small circle of friends, and everyone knew he was taking me out. They were going to ask how the date went. If word got back to them that he was scared to take a dare from a girl, he would never live it down. Not at that age, and not in those days. I was truly being a heartless that night––he had to prove his manhood to me.

“OK,” he said, as he zipped up his hooded sweatshirt and opened the door. He stepped out of the car and closed the door. As soon as he did I hit the automatic lock button, locking him out. When those locks dropped, he spun around, giving me the evilest eye I have ever received. I laughed right at him.

He made his way up the road, walking at a brisk pace. I was timing him on my watch. About 30 feet away from the car I saw him jump straight back and throw his hands over his head. He stumbled backwards and landed right on his ass. I was freaked out, but laughing at him. He got up and ran back to the car. After a few seconds of playing like I wasn’t going to unlock the door, and him yelling at me to let him in immediately, I popped the locks. He climbed in, breathing hard.

“What is it?” I asked. He looked back at me wild eyed, fumbling for the keys.

“You don’t want to know!” he replied. I was totally intrigued.

“Yes, I do, what happened?” I asked.

“Fine, look,” he said. He drove forward to the spot where he had fallen and pulled off the road enough that the headlights illuminated a truly grisly sight that I have never forgotten. Sitting on the roadside, just at the edge of the woods, was a four-foot wide circle of animal bones.

This wasn’t roadkill. There was no blood, no skin, nothing. These bones had been stripped of all fur, all skin, all muscle. And most eerily of all, there were a few different animals all piled on top of each other. It looked like a deer was included, because there were some big bones, but there were smaller skulls in there too. I’m no zoologist, but I’d say there was a raccoon in there, and perhaps a possum. I screamed and he drove away.

Now I know enough about nature to know that there’s no way a number of different species are going to get together to die within a four-foot circle. And there’s no way those animals are all going to stay undisturbed by scavengers long enough to have all the material decompose completely off of their bones.

As we sped down Whiskey Hollow that night, every story I had heard about the Satan worshippers doing rituals there came back to me. I reconsidered some of the tales I had heard over the years. And I certainly never made anyone ever get out of the car again.  –L. Krash

You can read about all of New York’s other legendary Roads Less Traveled in Weird New York.

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