Supernatural Folklore of Grindstone Island

Editor's Note: Heard the expression: How lucky is that? This is one of those times as our wonderful Manley Rusho asked his daughter, Cindy Hagemann, to keep some more of his stories about Grindstone Island to share after his passing in January 2025. This is one of those stories. (Yes, we are so lucky!)

Supernatural Folklore of Grindstone Island
By Manley L. Rusho (1931 – 2025)

Over the years of living on Grindstone Island, I have heard many tales of the supernatural. This is my attempt to recount some of these stories.

Matti’s Road

It was winter on Grindstone Island with about 4 inches of snow on the ground, enough to track deer. Just west of the Upper (Red) Schoolhouse is a road that we’ve always called “Matti’s Road” because Matti Pananen lived at the end of it. Down this road, there is a series of old abandoned mine shafts; descending the west side of the mine ledge, the land becomes flat for several yards. It was there that my storyteller was walking on the road, heading west with clear visibility, and the only sound heard was the crunch of the snow underfoot.

As he walked along the mine ledge onto the flat land, he was on the lookout for any deer that might have crossed this path. He became aware of something moving to his right and what he saw was not a deer, but a person or something that resembled a person walking parallel to the road. The person was dressed in long, dark clothes – head to foot with a hood that covered the head, and he was not able to see a face. My storyteller stood in awe, just watching the dark figure, about 100 feet away. The figure then turned, crossed the road and went out of sight – completely vanishing into the brush on the left side of the road. The mysterious encounter left my friend somewhat shaken yet curious. He walked to where the figure had crossed the road and looked around in the snow and there were no tracks, absolutely nothing to indicate that anyone or anything had crossed the road or been in the area. He decided not to pursue the image or attempt to follow into the deep woods. The storyteller had seen something, however, what he saw, he did not know. As he recalled the story to me in detail, I realized that I was privileged to hear his story.

Cement Point

On the west end of Grindstone Island is a rock formation known as Cement Point by the locals. An odd formation resembling concrete embedded with plain rocks, it protrudes out into the River perhaps 50 feet and then retreats into the bank of dirt about 20 feet deep. There was a mansion on the Cement Point property, built by James Hewett Morgan around the turn of the (20th) century.

The story I heard was that around 1920, a young man in the Morgan family died from an unknown illness. He was quickly buried in a small area enclosed with an iron fence on the Cement Point property. The Kingston, ON, doctors who were treating him were baffled by the mysterious illness and the subsequent death of this young man. The Kingston doctors wanted to do an autopsy on the body, but the Morgan family refused to give them the body for some reason. There was reportedly at least one attempt to steal the body, the family believed it was to take the body to Kingston to the officials for examination. The coffin was dug up, but the grave robbers were scared off before retrieving the body. After this incident, a close friend of mine, Corbett Carnegie, was hired by the Morgan family to guard the grave. Corbett had recently returned home from the War I in France. He had lost a hand in the war but could still roll a tight cigarette.

A few years later, the once lavish mansion was empty, just closed up with all that remained inside. The the once lavish house now had only several large wooden crates that contained furniture and household goods. Many of these large crates were now empty, as the contents had been stolen or destroyed over time. The neglected house and property became overgrown with weeds, vines, and tall brush. For years, there were stories around Grindstone of strange things happening around this abandoned structure.

In the winter of 1944, Elwood Calhoun and I headed to Cement Point in my father’s Chevy truck to duck hunt (we were about 13/14 years old at the time). We had a bag of duck decoys and headed to the bank of the river. We set up our decoys and our duck blind behind an old wooden boat that was there, and we were ready to hunt. The weather was bitterly cold, the ducks paid little attention to our decoys, although we managed to get a few shots in, but no ducks. About this time, Bob Moneau joined us for some fun.

One of us had the idea of going into the abandoned house to start a fire to warm up. Once inside, we realized that previously, many other people had had the same idea. The huge fireplace was conveniently surrounded by broken wooden crates and soon we had a nice warm fire going. Since the ducks weren’t cooperating outside, sitting in front of a warm fire seemed like the better option.

Suddenly, we heard sounds coming from upstairs, sounding like someone was moving the heavy wooden crates around the room above us. The noises frightened us, since we knew no one else was in the house. We left in a hurry and didn’t even take the time to put out the fire in the fireplace. We quickly retrieved our decoys while keeping a constant watch on the house. We never actually saw anyone or anything – but something was moving those heavy crates around and we were getting out of there!

Fast forward to the next summer; the island teens would often venture to the property at night to build a bonfire and just hang out. There were many accounts of seeing lights coming on in the upstairs window. Keep in mind that there was no electricity on Grindstone Island at this time. I experienced it myself a few years later, when I was parked in my father’s truck with an island girl. We were alone on the property at night, sitting in the truck, and we both saw a light on in an upstairs window. We got out of there fast!

Pentecostals

In the 1930s, a religious group called the Pentecostals arrived on Grindstone Island. This was during the Great Depression, and these were very hard times. People were poor and there seemed to be very little hope for a bright future. Many people turned to religion to give them hope. The Pentecostals would hold house meetings that were open to the public. Many Grindstone Islanders attended these meetings, mostly out of curiosity. I know my parents attended at least one of them. The Pentecostals believed that people would be overtaken by the Holy Spirit, fall to the floor and roll around, speaking loudly in prayer or song.

Thomas and Louine Dano lived on a farm with their large family near Delaney Bay. They were both originally from Leeds, Canada. The farm once belonged to the Delaney family. The Danos got involved with the Pentecostals along with several other island residents. One of their sons, Maxwell Dano, was killed in WWII and buried in Italy in 1945. After Maxwell’s death, the family deserted their farm and moved on the mainland to Depauville, NY.

About 1952, I was hunting near the old Dano farm, and I saw several holes about 3 feet in diameter and larger dug on almost every inch of the property. The holes had been dug a while ago, since there were weeds and even small trees growing in and around them. I was confused and continued to walk around the house and property observing these mysterious holes. My dog Maxie was with me. As she sniffed and scratched at the holes, I noticed the hair on her back standing straight up. The house seemed spooky and creepy, so we left to find another hunting spot.

I found out later that the rumor was that the Pentecostals had told Mr. Dano of a vision that there was money buried on this property – perhaps left by Thomas Delaney, the former owner of the farm? Mr. Dano – or someone – had spent a lot of time digging up every inch of that property looking for buried treasure. I never heard if they found any money, but I sure hope they did.

Finding a Grave

My father was completing an addition to our barn, and we needed some sand and gravel for the concrete mixture. We went to a property that was owned by my Uncle Benny (Calhoun) where he had a sand pit. We had started digging and we were loading it onto the bed of a small truck when Bob Moneau’s shovel hit something hard about four feet underground.

We had unearthed a small wooden box, about 3 feet long and 6 to 8 inches deep. We were hoping we had found buried treasure, but instead, it was the skeletal remains of a small child, slightly bigger than a baby. Covering the tiny bones of the child was a dress made from curtain-type lace fabric . . .

What did we do? We decided to dig a new grave and replaced and secured the lid on the wood box coffin. We marked the grave and went back to work with our shovels. This discovery created much talk around the island; who was this child and how long had she been buried there? It was truly a mystery, since there were no homes within half a mile of the site. Plus, we had no idea who lived there many years ago.

Not long afterward, Uncle Benny and Bob Moneau were cutting wood, maybe 100 yards from the sand pit when the two men heard a baby cry in pain. Both men dismissed the sound as that of a wild cat since a baby’s cry can sound similar. But was it?

By Manley L. Rusho

Manley Rusho was born on Grindstone Island nine+ decades ago and left the River permanently in January 2025. He died peacefully with his family at his side. It was back in 2021, Manley started sharing his memories with TI Life. (Manley Rusho articles) This Editor and his many friends Thanked Manley and his daughter Cindy for sharing so many memories... And we said there were more to come. This is one of those! Thanks for the Memories.