by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
Like an emaciated ghost gliding through a neon haze of emerald static, an impossibly slender column of white ectoplasm swept across the frosty front lawn of a suburban residence in Fresno, California, its stick-like shadow knifing along beside it.
by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
What began as a joke by a San Francisco pundit in 1906—the earliest Joaquin Murrieta ghost reference I could find in the California press—would become a headless paranormal powerhouse by mid-century.
First appearing as a put-upon spirit placating the weepy wraith of Scottish pirate Captain Kidd in A.J. Waterhouse’s “Occidental Accidentals” humor column in The San Francisco Call and Post, the ghost of Joaquin Murrieta retained his head—but not his sense of humor—in Why Kidd’s Ghost Wept.
by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
“The Weekly Alta has recently begun the publication of the story of Joaquin Murrieta, revised. The story is more attractive in its new form than ever before, and the publishers have been unable to supply the demand for back numbers.” --The Santa Barbara Times, Saturday, November 26, 1870, p. 2
by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
Cordelia Brown Botkin was a woman of voracious and insatiable appetites: for sex, for sugar, for liquor, and gambling, and murder. And in time, she would become as well-known for her love of cheesecake photo shoots as she was for her love of the decadent dessert itself.
Nestled within the majestic Sequoia National Park lies Mineral King, a valley brimming with natural beauty and rich historical significance. At the heart of efforts to preserve this hidden gem stands the Mineral King Preservation Society (MKPS), a nonprofit organization dedicated to safeguarding its unique heritage. Founded in 1986 amidst concerns over potential development, the society has since become a committed guardian of Mineral King's cultural and environmental legacy.
by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
Emma Theresa Cole Barrett Williams McVicar LeDoux was promptly charged with the premeditated, first-degree murder of one Albert Newton McVicar, and she pleaded not guilty to the charge.
by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
Albert N. McVicar was most definitely dead.
With his 6’4”, 185-lb. frame doubled up like a pretzel inside the four-foot Saratoga steamer trunk, his “corpse was found curled up with wounds on his head,” writes true crime author J’aime Rubio. “His nose had been completely fractured…Blood that poured from his head and nose settled at the bottom corner of the trunk…”
by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
It took a fiery earthquake—and over 3,000 lost lives—to boot Mrs. Emma Ledoux to page two. Mother Nature had to literally move Heaven and Earth herself to wipe the smirk of the simpering, beautiful murderess from the front of every single newspaper across the Golden State.
by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
But from the moment William Chester Spence married Lulu Holden Klamroth Dodd in Oakland, California, on Wednesday, July 29, 1925, it was a match made for the hereafter. The widowed carpenter, 47, and the twice-divorced medium, 52, shared a passion for the paranormal, and by the time of their marriage, they had seen enough of life to know that the Other Side was never very far away.
by Sarah Peterson-Camacho
As the fiery leaves of autumn give way to winter’s fog and frost, the colder seasons mingle in swirls of scarlet through icy tendrils of bone-white mist. An otherworldly haze of tule fog descends upon the Central Valley like a collective ghost, enveloping the vineyards in its numbing embrace.
