LAKE MOREY'S GHOST & THE GRANTHAM GHOST
Joseph A Citro
May 07, 2026
LAKE MOREY'S GHOST
In the scenic heart of Vermont, a tale lingers over the calm waters of Lake Morey, a story of phantoms and lost recognition. This is the legend of Lake Morey's only ghost ship, a spectral vessel tied to the fate of its creator, Capt. Samuel Morey, the lake's namesake and a man of ingenuity wronged by history.
In the 1790s, Capt. Morey, a gifted inventor, made strides in nautical engineering. He designed a steam engine, adapting it for use in navigation. His creation, a fully functional steamboat, traversed the Connecticut River, marking a breakthrough in transportation. Seeking wider acclaim, Morey brought his invention to New York City, where it caught the attention of Robert Fulton, a figure now widely credited as the inventor of the steamboat.
Feeling betrayed by Fulton's appropriation of his work, Capt. Morey's spirit was crushed. In a gesture of despair and disillusionment, he sank his beloved steamboat, the "Aunt Sally," into the depths of Lake Morey in 1807. The exact location of this act, shrouded in mystery, became the bed of a legend.
As the story goes, Morey's heartbreak followed him to his grave, his ghost forever haunting the lake's serene shores. Local lore speaks of chilling encounters by the water: a cold breeze that touches only the skin but leaves nature undisturbed, a sign of Morey's lingering presence.
The most compelling aspect of the legend is the annual apparition of the "Aunt Sally." On the anniversary of its sinking, the ghost ship is said to rise from its watery grave. Spectators claim to see the antique steamship, with Capt. Morey's silent figure aboard, gliding across the lake without a ripple, often shrouded in mist, eluding clear observation.
The tale found a poetic voice in Florence A. Kendall's work in a 1928 issue of The Vermonter magazine. Her poem elegantly narrates the legend, suggesting that Morey's ghostly journey will persist until history acknowledges his rightful place in the annals of invention.
This leaves us pondering whether Kendall's poem is merely a retelling or the genesis of the entire ghost ship lore. The mystery of Capt. Morey's ghost and his spectral vessel remains a captivating part of Vermont's folklore, a phantom tale eternally adrift on the waters of Lake Morey.
THE GRANTHAM GHOST
In January 1997, Holly Molinaro and her husband embarked on a new chapter, purchasing a home in Grantham, New Hampshire. Far from a stereotypical haunted house, this relatively modern home, built in 1984, had only one previous couple as occupants, with the woman having passed away there. What seemed like a fresh start soon unraveled into a series of inexplicable events, challenging the boundaries between the explainable and the paranormal.
The mystery began subtly. Holly, accompanied by a painter, heard running water in an apparently empty house. The source was an inexplicably active shower in a bathroom with a soaked carpet. This eerie occurrence marked the beginning of a series of unexplainable incidents that progressively intensified.
As the Molinaros settled in, they encountered a spectrum of disturbances. Loud, rhythmic footsteps echoed in empty hallways, with no visible source. Electrical anomalies became a common occurrence. Lightbulbs frequently blew out, electric appliances operated independently, and the television and computer seemed to have a life of their own. Even more bizarre were the TV cable wires burning out without reason, leaving experts baffled.
Objects around the house moved on their own. Books shifted on shelves, and pictures tipped over without human intervention. Even tradespeople working in the house reported their tools malfunctioning inexplicably.
Increasingly convinced of a supernatural presence, Holly considered consulting a parapsychologist. As this decision was being contemplated, an unsettling manifestation occurred. The inside pane of a double glass door shattered spontaneously, creating a web-like pattern while the outer pane remained intact. As the shattered glass fell away, it formed the unmistakable outline of a headless woman, a vision witnessed by all present.
This spectral image lingered for about an hour before disappearing. Despite its transient nature, the haunting did not cease. Lights flickered erratically, the TV changed channels on its own, and even the family pets exhibited fear towards an unseen entity. An unworldly moan was once captured on their answering machine, adding to the mounting sense of unease.
Holly speculated that the disturbances might be linked to the spirit of the woman who had built and died in the house, possibly yearning for everything to remain as it once was. The Grantham Ghost, as the phenomenon came to be known, remained an unsolved enigma, blurring the lines between past inhabitants and their lasting imprint on the present.
Joseph A. Citro is a Vermont author, folklorist, and longtime collector of New England’s strangest stories, from ghostly happenings to local legends and unexplained curiosities. Known to many as Vermont’s “Bard of the Bizarre,” he has spent decades preserving the tales that linger along back roads, old houses, covered bridges, and quiet hillsides. In Passing Strange, Citro shares folklore with a curious eye, a storyteller’s warmth, and just enough mystery to make you look twice on the ride home.
In the scenic heart of Vermont, a tale lingers over the calm waters of Lake Morey, a story of phantoms and lost recognition. This is the legend of Lake Morey's only ghost ship, a spectral vessel tied to the fate of its creator, Capt. Samuel Morey, the lake's namesake and a man of ingenuity wronged by history.
In the 1790s, Capt. Morey, a gifted inventor, made strides in nautical engineering. He designed a steam engine, adapting it for use in navigation. His creation, a fully functional steamboat, traversed the Connecticut River, marking a breakthrough in transportation. Seeking wider acclaim, Morey brought his invention to New York City, where it caught the attention of Robert Fulton, a figure now widely credited as the inventor of the steamboat.
Feeling betrayed by Fulton's appropriation of his work, Capt. Morey's spirit was crushed. In a gesture of despair and disillusionment, he sank his beloved steamboat, the "Aunt Sally," into the depths of Lake Morey in 1807. The exact location of this act, shrouded in mystery, became the bed of a legend.
As the story goes, Morey's heartbreak followed him to his grave, his ghost forever haunting the lake's serene shores. Local lore speaks of chilling encounters by the water: a cold breeze that touches only the skin but leaves nature undisturbed, a sign of Morey's lingering presence.
The most compelling aspect of the legend is the annual apparition of the "Aunt Sally." On the anniversary of its sinking, the ghost ship is said to rise from its watery grave. Spectators claim to see the antique steamship, with Capt. Morey's silent figure aboard, gliding across the lake without a ripple, often shrouded in mist, eluding clear observation.
The tale found a poetic voice in Florence A. Kendall's work in a 1928 issue of The Vermonter magazine. Her poem elegantly narrates the legend, suggesting that Morey's ghostly journey will persist until history acknowledges his rightful place in the annals of invention.
This leaves us pondering whether Kendall's poem is merely a retelling or the genesis of the entire ghost ship lore. The mystery of Capt. Morey's ghost and his spectral vessel remains a captivating part of Vermont's folklore, a phantom tale eternally adrift on the waters of Lake Morey.
THE GRANTHAM GHOST
In January 1997, Holly Molinaro and her husband embarked on a new chapter, purchasing a home in Grantham, New Hampshire. Far from a stereotypical haunted house, this relatively modern home, built in 1984, had only one previous couple as occupants, with the woman having passed away there. What seemed like a fresh start soon unraveled into a series of inexplicable events, challenging the boundaries between the explainable and the paranormal.
The mystery began subtly. Holly, accompanied by a painter, heard running water in an apparently empty house. The source was an inexplicably active shower in a bathroom with a soaked carpet. This eerie occurrence marked the beginning of a series of unexplainable incidents that progressively intensified.
As the Molinaros settled in, they encountered a spectrum of disturbances. Loud, rhythmic footsteps echoed in empty hallways, with no visible source. Electrical anomalies became a common occurrence. Lightbulbs frequently blew out, electric appliances operated independently, and the television and computer seemed to have a life of their own. Even more bizarre were the TV cable wires burning out without reason, leaving experts baffled.
Objects around the house moved on their own. Books shifted on shelves, and pictures tipped over without human intervention. Even tradespeople working in the house reported their tools malfunctioning inexplicably.
Increasingly convinced of a supernatural presence, Holly considered consulting a parapsychologist. As this decision was being contemplated, an unsettling manifestation occurred. The inside pane of a double glass door shattered spontaneously, creating a web-like pattern while the outer pane remained intact. As the shattered glass fell away, it formed the unmistakable outline of a headless woman, a vision witnessed by all present.
This spectral image lingered for about an hour before disappearing. Despite its transient nature, the haunting did not cease. Lights flickered erratically, the TV changed channels on its own, and even the family pets exhibited fear towards an unseen entity. An unworldly moan was once captured on their answering machine, adding to the mounting sense of unease.
Holly speculated that the disturbances might be linked to the spirit of the woman who had built and died in the house, possibly yearning for everything to remain as it once was. The Grantham Ghost, as the phenomenon came to be known, remained an unsolved enigma, blurring the lines between past inhabitants and their lasting imprint on the present.
Joseph A. Citro is a Vermont author, folklorist, and longtime collector of New England’s strangest stories, from ghostly happenings to local legends and unexplained curiosities. Known to many as Vermont’s “Bard of the Bizarre,” he has spent decades preserving the tales that linger along back roads, old houses, covered bridges, and quiet hillsides. In Passing Strange, Citro shares folklore with a curious eye, a storyteller’s warmth, and just enough mystery to make you look twice on the ride home.
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