 Ads heard before, during, or after the podcast are not endorsed by Paranormality Magazine or myself unless voiced by me personally. All other ads are pre-recorded, inserted by ad agencies, and are not under our control. Welcome to Paranormality Magazine. Each week, Paranormality Magazine explores all 40 subjects, from phantoms to UFOs, and every cryptid creature in between. Each week, you're treated to a collection of well-researched and investigated stories, interviews, and reports on cutting-edge paranormal projects and topics they know you crave. And here in the podcast, I share stories from the magazine to give you just a taste of what you receive in every issue. I'm Darren Marlar, and this is Paranormality Magazine. At the Quest of Hickory Hill in Gallatin County, Illinois, stands a classic Greek-style house painted a deep shade of cranberry, sporting three stories, a balcony, and multiple large white pillars in the front. Once a magnificent site to behold, the Crenshaw mansion was a masterpiece that held a terrible secret. The home is the site of the reverse underground railroad, a station where free black men and women were held before being trafficked and illegally sold back into slavery. The third floor of the home served as a prison for free slaves. It is said that the men, women, and children were chained, raped, and beaten inside the historic home. Shortly after the home was built, it became a station for the reverse underground railroad, a system used for transporting and selling escaped and freed slaves. The third floor of the 12-room home held areas divided into cells. Cuffed chains used to trap free black slaves hung from the attic walls. Shackles litter the third floor of the home built before the Civil War. This savage harboring of souls is undoubtedly why it's christened the most haunted house in Illinois. Scores of black people fell victim to the abuse and cruelty of John Crenshaw. Curiously, the crimes took place during the time of the anti-slavery movement, 1830 to 1870. Built in 1834, what is now known as the Old Slave House was the residence of John Crenshaw and his family. Crenshaw was a prominent enslaver and descended of an old American family with, quote, ties to our country's founding, unquote. A profoundly political businessman, Crenshaw lived on Hickory Hill with his wife, five kids, and 700 enslaved people. Being a lessee of multiple salt reserves in Illinois allowed Crenshaw the right to enslave people in a free state. Bizarre noises, whispering and rattling of chains are heard inside the Old Slave Home. Disembodied voices, cold spots, and the feeling of being touched happen frequently within the home. Unexplained occurrences have been reported since 1851, when a German family was hired to look after the home. Crenshaw sold the property amid legal trouble in 1864. Seven years later, he would be dead. They say there is no such thing as death, that our spirits either ascend to the heavens, travel to an unspeakable place, or linger as spirits here on earth. They are seeking a lost love, closure, or possibly even justice. Is it Crenshaw who is haunting the home, looking for more people to pillage, rape, and murder? Or is it the slaves once shackled by Crenshaw that are haunting the mansion today? He not only dabbled in the trafficking of free slaves, but John Crenshaw also owned a store, a post office, a sawmill, and was also involved in the local railroad construction. He was political, a member of the Hwig party, and wealthy beyond measure, once serving as a director of the Bank of Illinois. At one time, Crenshaw's pockets were so deep, his taxes were equal to one-seventh of the total revenue of Illinois. In 1829, as America began its unfolding from the evils of true racism, black families began to surface in Illinois. Priscilla Baltimore, who bought her freedom, started the first black community in the state, calling it Brooklyn. In 1836, a man named Frank McWhorther established New Philadelphia. These communities became critical sanctuaries for the survival of many black men, women, and children. McWhorther's sons assisted in getting others seeking freedom to as far away as Canada, but it was not enough. Some blacks were not so fortunate, falling into the dirty clutches of the evil John Crenshaw and his henchmen. In an attempt to increase his slave population, Crenshaw sent out night stalkers, men he ordered to sit in the fields during the dead of night, waiting to capture innocent enslaved people running for their lives. Crenshaw would have them captured, lock them up, and sell them for a profit. He was known to keep some of the people captured for his own labor purposes. Rattling chains and whimpering cries are some of the terrifying occurrences happening on Hickory Hill. Although the home has been abandoned since it was sold to the state of Illinois in 2000, on one occasion a ghost hunter, intending to spend the night, attempted to free the anguished spirits of the dead, to release them to their final resting place. Unfortunately for him and maybe the spirits too, the place was so terrifyingly spooky that after just a few hours the petrified ghost hunter fled the building, quickly morphing into ass and elbows all the way home. Until the end of the reign of Tours at the old slave home, no one has ever been able to last an entire night in the company of the spirits lurking inside the Crenshaw mansion. Salt was big business in Illinois during the 1830s and someone needed to mine it. Although Illinois was technically a free state since 1821, a well-placed legal loophole allowed John Crenshaw to occupy 700 enslaved people. The loophole allowing the exception insisted, quote, no free white men would be capable of such difficult and arduous work, unquote. The bigoted line separating the willing and the capable is a gray one indeed. Adding to his already 11,000 acres, Crenshaw leased 30,000 more from the state of Illinois. The massive property was adjacent to the saline springs in a town known as Junction. Around the time that Crenshaw was amassing his fortune, salt was in high demand. It was not only a necessary nutrient, but salt was also used to preserve food. Illinois happened to be the motherload of salt. Crenshaw leased the land surrounding the salt reserves and used his stockpile of enslaved people, free labor, to work the mines for a massive, bloody profit. The state then turned over the money from selling the saline springs to build necessary prisons. Prisons that would, unfortunately, never see the likes of Mr. Crenshaw. Crenshaw was indicted multiple times for the crimes he had committed, but was never convicted of. Many people and incriminating documents disappeared on John Crenshaw's watch, but the closest the state came to a conviction was an acquittal in the form of a technicality. Proof of the crimes Crenshaw had committed came by way of contemporary letters, ones that mysteriously disappeared, making a conviction of the dreadful man all but impossible. Children haunting the old slave home, Maria and her kids were eventually sold off in the state of Texas, or is it the ghost of Frank Granger and 15 others roaming the mansion? These souls were a few of many sold downriver by Crenshaw in Tipton County, Tennessee. Nothing lasts forever, as John Crenshaw soon found out. In 1842, during the year of his last indictment, significant salt reserves were discovered in Ohio and Virginia, making his load less valuable and causing the eventual decline of the Crenshaw fortune. Adding salt to the wound, legend states that it was around this time that John Crenshaw was caught beating a black woman working in his fields. The black man who spied his brutal attack of the woman took vengeance on the evil Crenshaw by hacking off his leg with an axe. It was not long before rumors began running rampant around the town of Hickory Hill, reports of the violent atrocities taking place at the mansion or circulating, and soon, Crenshaw's mill was burned to the ground. The mansion was eventually sold in 1913 to the Sisq family. Capitalizing on the mansion's dark history, the family turned the home into a museum. Advertising a thrilling experience, the Sisq family permitted the public to roam the halls, after paying a nominal fee, of course. The Crenshaw mansion is currently closed, awaiting $7 million for renovation fees. A little paint, a public bathroom, up to code. Good luck with that, Illinois. There are many strange and rare medical conditions out there that most of us have never ever heard of. Here, we're going to discuss five of the weirdest syndromes that you probably haven't heard before. These syndromes could range from causing odd physical symptoms to making people act in bizarre ways. Although many of these syndromes are still not well understood, scientists are working hard to find treatments for them. So what are these strange syndromes and what do they entail? Well, keep listening. Alice in Wonderland Syndrome This syndrome is named after the Lewis Carroll novel, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, as it can cause people to experience distorted perceptions of size and distance. People with this syndrome may feel as though they are either shrinking or growing, and objects around them may appear to be either larger or smaller than they actually are. This can be a very confusing and disorienting experience for those affected by it. There is no known cure for Alice in Wonderland syndrome, but some treatments can help lessen the symptoms. Capgris delusion The Capgris delusion is a rare condition that causes people to believe that their loved ones have been replaced by imposters. This delusional belief can be so strong that people may even act aggressively toward the imposters. The cause of Capgris delusion is still not fully understood, but it's thought to be linked to damage to the brain's facial recognition area. There's no known cure for this condition, but treatments such as cognitive behavioral therapy can help manage the symptoms. Foreign Accent Syndrome Foreign accent syndrome is a rare condition that can occur after a person suffers from a head injury or stroke. It causes people to speak with a foreign accent, even though they are native speakers of their own language. The exact cause of foreign accent syndrome is still not fully understood, but it is thought to be related to changes in the way the brain processes speech sounds. There's no known cure for this condition, either, but speech therapy can help people to learn how to speak with their new accent. Jerusalem syndrome Jerusalem syndrome is a condition that causes people to develop sudden and intense religious beliefs after visiting the city of Jerusalem. People with this condition may feel compelled to preach or sing religious songs in public, and they may also have delusions about being a Biblical figure or having a special mission from God. The exact cause of Jerusalem syndrome is still not fully understood, but it is thought to be related to the stress of visiting a holy city. There is no known cure for this condition, either, but treatment can help people to manage their symptoms. And finally, there's Zombie Apocalypse Survival Syndrome. This may sound like something out of a horror movie, but Zombie Apocalypse Survival Syndrome, or ZAS, is a real condition that affects some people. People with ZAS may have intense fears about a zombie apocalypse happening, and they may also experience symptoms such as anxiety, insomnia and paranoia. The cause of ZAS is still not fully understood, but it is thought to be linked to a combination of psychological factors. As with the others, there is no known cure for this condition, but treatments such as cognitive behavioral therapy can help people to manage their symptoms. Want more Paranormality? Subscribe to Paranormality magazine, and each month get it delivered digitally or via mail in our print version. Paranormality magazine is a collaborative endeavor featuring works from people like you who have a passion for all things mysterious and unexplained. Our goal is the pursuit of knowledge, gathering captivating stories from our own team of writers, researchers and investigators, as well as from writers such as yourself. Each monthly issue also includes a list of paranormal, horror, UFO and cryptozoology events around the country, incredible paranormal-themed artwork, articles and writing sent in from our readers, suggested books and podcasts to consume and more. Visit ParanormalityMag.com and subscribe today for as little as $3.99 a month. That's ParanormalityMag.com On August 2010, I embarked on an epic camping trip through Glacier National Park, Montana with my travel buddy, Sarah. Upon returning from our backcountry adventures to the city of Great Falls, Montana, we had one more goal on our checklist. That was to see the abandoned Silver Mining Town, Castle Town, which, at its peak in the late 1800s, was home to around 2,000 residents, including infamous gunslinger Calamity Jane. Our instructions, according to an old-school website featuring sparse information and a few pixelated maps and photos, were to drive out onto Forest Service Road 211 off Highway 12 and follow signs for Castle Town. This route was used frequently by campers and other adventurers, and we didn't think much of it after the terrain we had traveled elsewhere on our trip. On our Rand McNally map, it looked like we'd reached the ghost town about two-thirds along the way on the service road, then drive another short distance out to connect to another highway on the other side. This would be nothing more than an afternoon jaunt, or so we thought. On the day we set out, it rained heavily and was chilly and quite foggy. Clouds would pass periodically in front of us on the highway and envelop our car, a rented soccer-mah minivan that had so far been faithful to us throughout our trip. The sight of clouds on the road was both awesome and unsettling. In fact, I had an uneasy feeling about this excursion altogether. We had already faced our share of dangers, including multiple bear encounters. There were two killers on the loose in Wyoming who were making their way to Canada when they were reportedly spotted at campsites near us, as well as allegedly driving the same color, make, and model of minivan. We had our cell phones turned off during the camping trip, and when we left the park and turned them back on, our phones were inundated with concerned or excited messages about the killers. We had already learned about them, however, while crossing the border into Canada to visit the Waterton Lakes National Park. Border Patrol had searched our van and showed us photos of the suspects, asking if we had seen them or knew anything about them. Our reaction to the killers and bears was one of awe. But stories we had to tell. It didn't quite make sense now that a simple day trip, following all that excitement, would set me so much on edge, but I felt uneasy. Sarah admitted later that she was nervous too, but downplayed her trepidation until we were on the service road and our anxiety became reality. We found the service road and naively expected a smooth or at least loosely graveled path. But in the rain, mud, muck, and fog, it was more like an obstacle course that ambled up and over a steep mountainside. There were no other cars on the road with us that day, and we lost cell phone service immediately if on departing the main stretch of highway. Our minivan was not meant to drive on this kind of road. There were times when all four wheels weren't touching the ground at once, or we were in deceptively deep mud and almost got stuck, or straddling the edge of a steep drop-off. Herds of cattle greeted us along the way, the bulls aggressively stomping and fake charging the van. We passed two lodges complete with longhorn bull skulls adorning old wooden gates, and they were each dark inside with no cars parked around them. It was a bad situation. The weather was worsening. We didn't have overnight water and food or appropriate clothing, and it took us several more hours to reach the ghost town than we had planned for, leaving us badly shaken. The ghost town was in a valley on the other side of this steep ridge, which was a relief to us as the small pixelated photos we'd seen online showed the ghost town along a relatively flat road. I remember how we laughed that anyone approaching from the flatter side would only have a simple drive there and back out to the highway again, and here we took the long, torturous winding route. The bad weather had momentarily led up, and we could see the town was comprised of a few buildings surrounded by a single historic marker and plenty of danger-no trespassers and violators-will-be-shot signs. I was thrilled and at the same time a little disappointed. The town is located on private property, and while there were some cool things to see, our frazzled state of mind didn't permit us to explore much, and of course we were not supposed to be snooping around here anyway. At this time my ominous feelings worsened by a lot. I had a nagging feeling we were being watched and didn't belong there, and that we needed to leave immediately. This wasn't because of the no trespassing signs, this came from a deeper, more primordial place in me, that gut feeling. We got out to stretch our legs, snapped some photos, took a quick look around, and both quietly agreed that was enough. Time to go. Sarah had been the driver for the first leg of the journey, and it was now my turn. We really, really didn't want to go back the way we came. We knew the rest of the flat-looking stretch of road was only a few miles long, but the idea of going that way made me feel sick. It not only looked bad, but it seemed to be the physical direction the bad vibes were emanating from. There were deep, muddy puddles everywhere and places where the road disappeared under ambiguously shallow mud or water. It looked like, if nothing else, our minivan tires just would not be able to navigate the terrain and we'd either bottom out or get stuck along the way. The idea of turning around and going all the way back didn't inspire confidence either, but this other way, the easier way, felt like death to me. We both understood that our situation could become extremely dangerous in a short time. We were deliberating nervously about what to do when, out of quite literally nowhere, a pickup truck appeared. We heard no sounds like a vehicle approaching, only noticed that it was there as it rolled to a stop alongside us. This pickup and its occupants were like something out of a movie. The truck was old and white. There was a friendly-looking man and woman inside with weathered Montana skin wearing iconic flannel shirts with suspenders and jeans. The man who was driving had a long beard and the woman two long dark braids. In the back seat was a handsome black Labrador retriever wearing a red collar. They regarded us, even the dog, with genuine concern. They didn't ask who we were or what we were doing there, but asked us how we were and specifically if we planned on driving down that flat stretch of road. We explained what a nightmare coming over the mountain had been and that we were considering taking our chances and just going the rest of the shorter way out even though it didn't look good. The man shook his head and explained in a kind manner that we should not keep going. He said their pickup had barely made it through. It was extremely unsafe and we'd best turn around and go back the way we came. We explained how badly we didn't want to do that, that the road had been a nightmare and he replied that it would all be okay because they were going the same way as us and would follow closely behind us the whole way back. As he spoke, I noticed the pickup didn't have a drop of mud or rain on it whatsoever. Our minivan, meanwhile, was covered in mud splatter. In any case, we felt relieved. I was trying to calm my inner voice from being too melodramatic while somehow, utterly certain, they were right that we would never make it off that service road if we kept going those last few miles even though it seemed so easy. We were incredibly grateful for the company and kind reassurance, thanked them, and started back the way we came. The pickup remained behind us, as promised for a little while, and then fell back until the next time we glanced behind us it was out of sight. I remember there was a point where we were almost at the top of the ridge and we could see the road zigzagging all the way down to the bottom where it flattened out. We had a clear view, but the pickup was nowhere to be seen. It was simply gone, had vanished. We continued, knowing it was more important to keep going than to stop and wait. We were moving steadily uphill, meaning we couldn't really stop on the muddy terrain without starting to roll backward. It's difficult to explain, but we could sense the presence of the pickup truck behind us and took great comfort in knowing, well, assuming it was behind us somewhere. This gave me the confidence I needed to keep driving. We never saw the pickup again, but thankfully, finally made it back out onto the highway before sunset. Realizing we were safe, we both started talking non-stop about what we had just experienced. Even though my friend Sarah was not paranormal inclined, she shared her premonition that something terrible would have happened to us on that road if that couple and their dog hadn't shown up. She insisted they weren't real, or at least not alive, and went so far as to call them our guardian angels. I'd never heard her use that kind of language before. We were mad at ourselves, too, of course. We had been so thorough in preparing for our camping trip and the day trip to Castle Town was, admittedly, an afterthought. At the same time, people utilized that road all the time, yet we found ourselves isolated in poor conditions, and our situation became serious faster than we were equipped to handle it. If the couple and their dog were spirits, they didn't seem like ghosts in the traditional sense. It felt like they materialized off the pages of a classic novel and were exactly who we needed at that moment to comfort us and convince us to make the right choice. I've been hearing a lot about Third Man Syndrome lately, an inexplicable and comforting appearance of a person, presence, or voice that guides people in imminent danger to safety. There are many fascinating stories about this phenomenon, and I wonder if we experienced it. I've always wondered what fate would have awaited us otherwise on that last flat stretch of road, visions of a stalking mountain lion periodically ran through my head that day, and even now as I remember the incident. But my menacing, almost surreal feelings of dread amounted to and still feel more sinister than that. I'll never forget those kind strangers, their beautiful dog, and their old, white pickup. We spoke for less than a minute, but I'm eternally grateful for their help and have some of the warmest feelings for them that I've ever had for anyone, whoever or whatever they were. Thanks for listening to Paranormality Magazine. Get more information about the magazine and subscribe to our monthly publication at ParanormalityMag.com. That's ParanormalityMag.com, or click the link in the show description. And if you're a researcher or investigator, send us your stories. We might feature you in our next issue. If you have a paranormal podcast, you can add it to our website so our readers can find your show. And artists, if you'd like your work to be featured in our magazine or on our back cover, contact us. Again, our website is ParanormalityMag.com. I'm Darren Marlar, and I'll have more paranormal for you next time from Paranormality Magazine.