September 21, 1877: The Crow

Content Note: This episode includes discussion of suicide and historical mental health struggles. Listener discretion is advised.

A seventh grader bends over a blank page and starts to write about a crow. Minutes later, the handwriting shifts, the words turn sharp, and a quiet classroom erupts into chaos. We follow Lorancy Vennum through a chilling school-day spiral—eyes closed, voice altered, teachers and students stunned—as a rural town grapples with language for the unexplainable: possession, illness, misbehavior. The fallout exposes more than fear; it reveals how class and silence shape who gets compassion and who gets expelled. 

We step onto Emily’s Bridge in Stowe, Vermont, where folklore holds grief the way wood holds weather. Locals whisper about a pale figure in white and fresh scratches on passing cars. Our friend and fellow podcaster Heather Holt brings a rare lens: after losing her brother Michael to suicide, she created a “candle of hope” and turned loss into a mission to help others. Michael once saw a girl hanging in the moonlit beams, a moment no one else in his group witnessed yet he never forgot. Then there’s Michaela, who visited in broad daylight with her five-year-old; driving away, her son saw a girl in black only in the backup camera. No one stood on the road. The camera did not blink.

Together, these stories ask urgent questions. How do we respond when a child’s pain shows up as a scene? What do we owe people who carry experiences that do not fit our categories? Is a haunting proof of the paranormal, or a collective way to speak grief aloud? We don’t force answers. We light a path—through care, context, and the voices brave enough to share. Listen for the echoes between a 19th-century classroom and a 21st-century bridge. Stay for the human thread that binds them: the need to be seen, held, and believed.

If you or someone you love feels alone, call or text 988 for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. Then share this episode with a friend, leave a review, and tell us your story—your whisper might be the light someone else needs.

Check out Heather's story and podcast at changehappenedpodcast.com.

Transcript

Welcome And Personal Stakes

Speaker 0:11

Welcome to Small Town Whispers, where history, folklore, and the paranormal collide. I'm Bethany Yucuis Borden, and I lived in Watseka, Illinois from 1988 to 1999. For over a decade, I walked the same streets, saw the same houses, and even had friends connected to the story we're about to dive into. This isn't just history for me. It's personal. Every week, when we sit down together to share these stories, I'm reminded of something simple and powerful that none of us are really strangers here. We come from different towns, different histories, different lives, and yet we're all drawn to the same need to understand what connects us across time. This week's Porchlight story comes to us from Vermont, and it's one that has stayed with me in a special way. It's as meaningful as it is unsettling. Not just because of what happened, but because of what it reminds us of. That every family carries stories. Every town holds memories. And sometimes, the most important thing we can do is simply make space for them to be heard. Being trusted with your stories, with the experiences passed down through generations, is something I never take lightly. I'm reminded again and again that we are far more connected than we realize. The world changes based on the choices we make. When I chose to make and share this podcast, it was scary. And now that I've done it, I can't imagine my life without it. I've gotten to connect with many people from my past and present, and I look forward to connecting with many more in the future. The magic is in the unknown. And let's face it, this book, these porchlight stories, are full of mystery. What an amazing place we live in. How interesting that we don't know everything. Now let's dive back into the book Wat seka. Do you remember what happened last week at the beginning of part one? It seems like Lurancy is having very similar experiences as Mary Roff. Now we return to a story that sits at the crossroads of faith, fear, family, and the unknown. After Lurancy's experience with Grandpa Smith, ten days passed before the next unexplained event. Lurinda and Rancy were in the garden when, without warning, Rancy suddenly stood, covered her eyes, and collapsed into a row of onions left growing for seed. At first, Lurinda's fear was not for her daughter, but for Tom's reaction to the ruined crop. Then anger took over, especially when Lorancy once again began speaking about seeing Grandpa Smith. This time, Lurinda decided, Tom would have to handle it. She could not anymore. When she first told him that Lurancy had frightened her, Tom only asked what she wanted him to do about it. Just talk to her, she said. But when she mentioned the damaged onions, his temper flared. He confronted Rancy about the garden and about scaring her mother. She claimed to remember nothing. This only enraged him further. Tom struck her hard across the face. When she continued to deny any knowledge of what happened, he raised his hand again. That was when Lurinda finally stopped him, sobbing. For the first time, she believed her daughter. Two weeks passed before the next fainting spell, what they had begun to call them. Lurinda avoided her as much as she could now, especially when Rancy spoke to people who were not there. Tom suggested calling Doc Pitwood, but Lurinda refused. The doctor's wife, she said, would tell the whole town. And so they did nothing. On Sunday, one week before school was to begin, it happened again. This time Tom was asleep. Lurinda was at church. Only her older brother Henry was home. Unlike his parents, Henry enjoyed hearing Lorancy talk about Grandpa Smith. He believed her. A girl he fancied in Milford believed in spirits too, though she feared them. Her family was open-minded about spiritualism, and Henry had begun to listen more closely to such things. Suddenly, Lurancy asked him if he had ever heard of bluebell toothpowder. She said she kept seeing a box of it. Then she asked about Aunt Lois, a large woman with bright red fingernails, a cousin of Polly's. Henry realized who she meant. Millie's mother's name was Polly Glazer. Rancy confirmed it. She asked him to deliver a message the next time he saw her. That evening, Henry returned home late from Millie's. He told Rancy that Polly Gloser had confirmed the strange details. Years before, her cousin Lois had once painted her nails bright red with house paint. It caused quite a scandal in the family. And the tooth powder? Lois had smoked tobacco cigarettes and hidden them inside an empty box of bluebell toothpowder. Mrs. Glazer even offered to have Rancy visit sometime, with her parents' permission, though she knew such a visit would never be allowed. And that is where we return to the book Watseka, America's Most Extraordinary Case of Possession and Exorcism on page 124. A week late, but it opened, and Rancy was there every day. She didn't like reading and writing any better than when she was in the old school, but her seventh grade teacher asked them to do original compositions, and Rancy liked that. It gave her a feeling of importance to be able to write I and me and my. A true story, not made up. Maybe like horses. Maybe you have a pet dog or a pet cat, or maybe you have a wild animal that you especially admire. The lined paper was passed from desk to desk. Rancy took a sheet and sat for a moment, trying to think what to write about. They didn't have a dog or a cat, because her ma didn't want hair all over her furniture. The ice man had an old horse that would eat sugar out of her hand, but he wasn't very exciting. One time Henry had found a crow with a broken wing and had nursed it back to health, but it flew away. Or there was the time the skunk met Aunt Nell face to face in the outhouse back on the farm in Iowa. That would be a good one. Her pa always told it and everyone would laugh, except she didn't know if she would be permitted to use a word like outhouse in a composition. Some of the children had started writing, while others gnawed on the ends of their pens and looked off into space searching for an idea. The girl across from her would be writing about her dumb old cat. Rancy was certain of that. The girl thought everything her cat did was special, and she talked more about that cat than she did about her own brothers and sisters. Rancy peeked across the aisle. There it was, in large script at the top of the paper. My cat. Rancy went back to her own paper. She put her name and the date, September 21st, 1877, and Miss Blades' name in the upper right hand corner. She had decided on her theme. The crow. She wrote it at the top of the page in large letters, admired it for a moment, then bent over the paper and started to write. Miss Blades was the first to notice it. Lurancy Vennum was writing with her eyes closed. She wrote rapidly, filling the lines and dipping her pen into the inkwell in short stabbing motions. Miss Blades walked slowly toward her, peering down at her work, reading the first sentences. Lurancy, she said, This is to be a factual composition, not from your imagination. Lurancy kept on writing, came to the end of the page, and flipped the sheet over. Lurancy, Miss Blades spoke louder, you are not doing what I told you to do. She reached out and touched the girl on the shoulder. Rancy sat up tall, the pen falling onto the floor. She turned and stared into her teacher's face. Her eyes were still closed. Then she shuddered and let out one high pitched scream as she slumped forward on her desk. Her eyes open now, but still sightless. Miss Blades took a step back, and the others in the room stopped writing and stared at Lurancy. Nobody said anything. The only sound was Lurancy's heavy breathing. Miss Blades put her hand on the girl's shoulder. Lurancy, she said softly, are you alright? No answer. Lurancy, do you hear me? Still no answer. Lurancy? I think she's fainted, said the girl who owned the cat. What the hell do you know? The voice boomed out of Lurancy's throat. Stupid brat. Stunned, the girl sat for a second, realized she had been insulted in front of everyone, and burst into tears. Now you stop that this instant, or I'll send you to the principal. Go yourself. The voice was old and ragged. Lurancy Vennum! Miss Blades had never had a student speak this way to her. You go directly to the principal's office. And you march directly into the fires of hell. The children gasped as Miss Blades grabbed the girl by the hair. You sit up, she shouted. Lorancy rose up out of the seat. She turned and swung her fist at the teacher. Miss Blades screamed and ran toward the door. Lurancy ran after her, yelling something about having her hair pulled, as the children screamed or sat in stunned astonishment. Now Lurancy, you behave yourself. She must try and show the class she wasn't going to be bullied. You settle down and behave yourself. You hear? No goddamn bitch pulls my hair, the voice said under its breath. Lurancy's fingers, claw-like now, grabbed for the soft mountains of hair the teacher had piled on her head. As she grabbed and tore at the hair, Miss Blade screamed. Lurancy forced her almost to her knees, shouting at her, and using words many of the children had only heard their fathers use when their fathers thought they couldn't hear. The teacher fell to the floor, Lurancy was on top of her, pulling her hair and laughing. Some of the boys tried to drag the girl off the teacher. Some of the girls ran down the hall screaming and crying for help. The janitor and the algebra teacher managed to hold Lurancy so that Miss Blades could get out from underneath. The science teacher led her back to her desk where she sat and sobbed. The two men hustled Lurancey down the hall, still kicking and screaming and shouting obscenities. The principal led the way, opened a storage room next to his office, and helped them push her inside. Then they closed the door and locked it. Lurancy pounded against it, swearing and demanding to be freed. Lurinda was washing clothes when they came for her. Three boys running and shouting for her to come quickly to the school because something had happened to Rancy. She didn't bother to change clothes or even comb her hair, but hurried back along the dusty paths with them. They didn't know what had happened, and Mr. Haley, the principal, had told them not to talk about it. Mrs. Vennum would see when she got there. Miss Blades was sitting in a chair by the principal's desk. She had composed herself by that time, had washed her face and redone her hair. The only sign of trouble was a long scratch on the right side of her face and her red, swollen eyes. Lurinda sat in another chair, facing Mr. Haley's desk. He refused to tell her what had happened until she was seated. Lurinda rose in the chair, but he motioned her back down. Mrs. Vennum, he said slowly, your daughter is very ill. She is resting now in the infirmary room, but she gave us quite a turn. I want to see her. Lurinda got up again. She is resting now, Mrs. Vennum. Please don't be disturbed. We have had quite enough disturbance here for one day. He looked at Miss Blades, who was staring at a sheet of paper in her hands. He was a big man and he spoke softly. Lurinda was afraid of big men who didn't raise their voice. What do you mean my daughter is very ill? she asked, knowing that Rancy must have had one of her spells, this one in public. Oh God. Oh please, dear God. How is she ill? She attacked Miss Blades in the classroom today. He gave a deferential bow toward the silent woman in the other chair. Attacked? Lurinda didn't think she heard correctly. Yes, attacked, Miss Blades said suddenly. She pulled my hair and knocked me down and gave me this. She pointed to the long red scratch. Your daughter is very ill. Lurinda was at a loss for words, but I I don't understand. Neither do we, Mrs. Vennum, Mr. Haley said. We are hoping you can clear the matter up for us. She was fine when she left for school this morning. That was all Lurinda could say about Rancy's health. She ate a good breakfast and was fine. It came on her sudden like, put in Miss Blades. Came honor? Lurinda asked, afraid to hear where the conversation would lead. Like she was possessed, Miss Blades said. I'm sorry, Lurinda said. I I'm truly sorry. Mr. Haley turned his attention from the scratch to Lurinda. Has this ever happened before? This? Lurinda repeated. This what? Attacking innocent people, he said, turning on them for no reason. Lurinda shook her head. Truthfully, she had never known Rancy to attack anyone. No, never. Do you speak German? Miss Blades' question surprised her. German? No. She shook her head. We don't know any German. Isn't Vennum a German name? Mr. Haley asked. I really don't know. But we never spoke German. She looked at them. Why? This. Miss Blades held out a paper. Lurinda reached for it, but the teacher pulled it back. This is a composition your daughter wrote in class today just before she attacked me. And it's got German in it? Lorinda asked. It has, said Mr. Haley. But Rancy don't speak no German. She wrote this paper. Miss Blades waved it at her. There's German in it. Again, both of them stared at Luda. She felt uncomfortable, but she didn't know what they were talking about or accusing her of. She shrugged her shoulders. What does the paper say? Miss Blades asked the children to write a composition. A composition about animals. Miss Blades took over. And everyone in the class knew it was to be about animals. It was to be a true narrative. She looked squarely into Lunda's face, trying to judge her silence. Your daughter wrote this paper. She held it as if it were dipped in sewer water. And when I stopped her, she attacked me. Lurinda looked at both of them and shrugged again. What what does it say? she asked. May I read it to Mrs. Vennum? Miss Blades asked. Mr. Haley nodded. Well, she started out by putting her name and the date in the upper right hand corner. Isn't that where it's supposed to go? Yes, it is. That's not the point. She glared at Lurinda. The point is that she wrote the crow, and then the crow? said Lorinda. What crow? I don't know what crow, Miss Blades said sharply. The point is it's not about a crow at all. Oh, was all Lurinda said. It would be better if she remained silent and let the teacher read the paper. The crow. Miss Blades turned on her precise reading voice. One day, my brother Henry found a crow in the woods that had a broken wing. He brought it home and cared for it. Oh, that crow, Lurinda said. He put a piece of wood on the wing and tied it there. The bird tried to fly, but the stick sick and tired of you people and your interference in my life. When will you leave me alone? Miss Blades shoved the paper across at Lurinda. That's where the writing changes, she said. Right after Stick comes sick, and Sick looks completely different from your daughter's normal handwriting. Lurinda tried to examine the paper, but Miss Blades pulled it back. You won't let me live my own life and you come and meddle in it all the time. Then some words in German, and you'll know it when I do it to you. I have taken all your accusations that I and some more words in German. The church can burn down for all more German words, and the German word priest can German, German, German. Which is what he deserves. Your cattle and children shall suffer mightily if your meddling does not cease. I will start to do some of the things you have falsely accused me of. She looked at Lorinda. That's where she was when I touched her. And she attacked me. Has anything like this ever happened before? Mr. Haley asked. Lurinda wondered how much should she tell? The fallings and the ghosts? Should these people know about those incidents? Have you had your daughter see a doctor? Miss Blades asked. No, Lnurinda shook her head. Mr. Venom and I don't much like doctors. He says sickness should stay in the family and not be gossiped all over town. Gossiped? Mr. Haley was curious. Why should a sickness be gossiped? A doctor is a scientific man. There is no shame in being ill. The shame is not doing anything about an illness and permitting it to worsen. I have great faith in doctors. Oh my yes. I wouldn't hesitate for an instant to call upon their services should the need arise. Miss Blades was looking at Lorinda, trying to read what was under that plain farm woman face. Has your daughter been in need of a doctor, Mrs. Vennum? And haven't you called upon one? Lurinda looked down at her hands. They were red from the harsh laundry soap, and were nestled in the dirty apron that rested on her worn house dress. The two people looking at her were neatly dressed and well educated. They were respected members of the community, especially Mr. Haley. These people should be told the truth. Maybe you could help, she heard herself saying out loud. Help? Mr. Haley's voice rose a little. We should be glad to help in any way we can. Well, Lurinda began. Mr. Venom and I have been worried about Rancy lately. She hasn't been herself. She hasn't Been acting poorly and doing things to scare me. Scare you? Miss Blades asked in a surprised tone. Yes. She falls down and pretends she's seeing ghosts and things, and she knows that scares me. She does it on purpose, too. Mr. Venom has punished her once for it, and I know he'll punish her again when he hears about what she's done here today. He'll really hit her hard. She began to cry, her shoulders shaking. When she looked down at her hands, she couldn't see them through the tears. My Rancy is a good girl. She never did any of this before. She looked at Miss Blades. I lost two babies, and I don't want anything to happen to Rancy. She's my only daughter. The tears came faster, and Miss Blades rose quickly and put her arm around the woman. When Lorinda had finished telling them in detail about Rancy's fits, her falling on the floor, her rigid limbs, her seeing dead people and talking with her dead grandfather, she asked if she could take Rancy home. There was no objection. Rancy was lying on the padded table in the infirmary room, staring at the ceiling. When she saw her mother come in, she swung her legs over the side and sat up. Lorinda hugged her, and L uraancy began to cry. Mr. Haley and Miss Blades excused themselves from the room. Lurinda asked softly, why did you do that to Miss Blades? Ma, I didn't mean to do it. I don't remember doing it. Believe me, Ma, I don't remember doing anything at all. Lorinda hugged her close. I believe you, child. I believe you. Lorency wanted to wait until the halls were clear before they left the school. She couldn't face any of the other students. She knew it must be all over school by now. The number one topic of conversation. As they hurried down the corridor toward the front door, Mr. Haley appeared from his office. Mrs. Vennm, he said calmly, I think it would be better if Lorency stayed at home until she feels better. Lurinda nodded. I'll keep her home for the rest of the week. No. Keep her there until we give you permission to enroll her again. And that might not be for a long time. But I'm alright now. I don't want to miss school. No, you keep her home until you hear from us, Mrs. Vennum, he said, ignoring Lurancy completely. And I think you had better have her see a doctor. And you should see your minister. My minister? You mean Reverend Baker? Lurinda was puzzled. Why? Your minister is a man of God. You may need God's solace before you are through. Good afternoon, Mrs. Vennum. Goodbye, Lurancy. He went back into his office and shut the door. Lurancy Venom became possessed by Katrina Hogan during class in 1877. Katrina had also possessed Mary Roth years earlier. And yet, the way these two young women were treated could not have been more different. Their symptoms were strikingly similar, their circumstances were not. It's hard to ignore the role economic class may have played. In those days, money could open doors, but even then, no amount of it could truly heal someone struggling with mental illness. It makes you wonder, are we really better off now? This is a conversation that deserves far more attention than it gets. And can you imagine being in that classroom as a student or as the teacher? I was a music teacher for over 15 years. Most of that time in Title I schools in Central Florida. I have seen trauma surface in real time. I've watched students shut down, lash out, and disappear behind fear. And I carried my own trauma from those years too. So when I picture Miss Blades alone in that room, no phone, no intercom, no way to call for help, I feel a chill. No support, no safety net. Just a teacher and a child in crisis. An unthinkable scenario in any century. Next week, we'll see how the Vennum family responds to Lurancy's expulsion. But for now, settle in. Because this story is far from over.

Speaker 1 24:39

Tonight, we listen not to the pages from a book, but to the people who have felt the unexplained and found the courage to share it. Welcome to Porchlight Whispers.

Expulsion And Unequal Treatment

From Book To Porchlight Whispers

Speaker 24:54

There are some places where the stories linger longer than the people. High in the hills outside Stowe Vermont, there's a narrow covered bridge. Quiet, unassuming, easy to miss if you're not looking for it. Locals call it Emily's Bridge. Officially, it's the Goldbrook Covered Bridge. But no one comes here for the architecture. They come for Emily. According to legend, more than a century ago, a young woman named Emily waited here for her lover on the night of their wedding. When he never arrived, grief took over her. Some say she took her life beneath the beams of this bridge. Others say she wandered into the surrounding woods and was never seen again. What remains, they say, is her presence. Visitors tell of pale figures in flowing white dresses, of sudden scratches appearing on their cars, of a woman standing where no woman should be. And whether you believe in ghosts or not, one thing is certain, this bridge has a way of staying with you. Gather around, because we're sharing two eyewitness accounts connected to Emily's bridge. But what makes these stories especially meaningful isn't just what was seen, it's who is telling them. One of our storytellers is Heather Holt, host of the podcast Change Happened. Then what? Heather and I met just a few months ago in a quiet corner of the internet, a Facebook thread for podcasters. We started talking, quickly becoming friends, and before long, listening to each other's shows. It didn't take long to realize Heather knows something about stories that change you. After losing her brother, Michael, to suicide in 2003, she found herself in a kind of grief that didn't have words. And in the middle of that grief, she created something she needed just to survive it. A simple candle, a small flame that quietly said, I'm still here. She called it the candle of hope. At first, it was only meant for her, a symbol, a way to honor her brother without having to explain the entire story every time someone looked at her. But over time, that candle became more than a product, it became a mission. Heather connects with and inspires many people through the work she does on her podcast and beyond. In addition to Heather sharing an experience her brother had at Emily's Bridge many years ago, we will also hear from Michaela Tomko, who had a more recent experience at the bridge during the day. Two women, two stories, one bridge's history with a mystery. Now, a little more about how this all came together. Heather doesn't actually live in Stowe, she never did, but she and her husband both grew up nearby, and because of her brother's story, she never made one of those late-night drives to Emily's bridge after high school parties, though they had plenty of friends who did. Honestly, the story is starting to sound oddly familiar. Ah, life pre-internet. She may not have seen Emily during those teenage escapades, but her brother did. And tonight, we're here to keep his whisper alive. The event Heather remembers happened sometime in the mid-1980s. Michael and a group of friends had driven out to Emily's bridge late one night to see if the folklore was real. There may or may not have been some alcohol involved, but that seems to be the case with a lot of small-town folklore investigations after midnight. At some point, while they were walking across the bridge, Michael turned around and looked back. The wooden beams were lit by the moon, and that's when he saw her. A girl hanging in the middle of the bridge, wearing a white dress. To say he panicked might be an understatement. He left immediately, and as Heather remembers it, he was the only one in the group who saw the girl. It was a long time ago, but clearly, it made a lasting impression. For the first time, Heather and her husband finally went to the bridge together in the daylight in the spring of 2025. They did not see Emily. When Heather posted on Facebook asking if anyone had their own experiences at Emily's bridge, one response immediately stood out. Michaela simply wrote, Don't go, LOL. Naturally, that caught our attention. So we asked for more, and boy did she deliver. Here's what Michaela shared. Okay, so I wanted to check it out during the day. I'd been over it at night and it creeped me out, but I wanted to see it in daylight. It was 2021. I had my five-year-old with me. I parked near it to look at it, and then I drove away. As I was driving away, my son goes, Mama, look at that girl in the road. I stopped and said, What girl? Mind you, I had not mentioned anything about the bridge to him. I would never want to scare him, so I stopped and turned around. And he said, There's the girl again in the mirror. He meant the backup camera in my car. He saw a girl in the video, and there was no one there. I asked what she was wearing, and he said, black. The first time I read that, I got chills. There's something especially unsettling about the idea of seeing a ghost, not with your own eyes, but with a camera. A modern lens capturing something the human eye can't. And I couldn't help but wonder, are there more stories of a woman in black? Or has Emily simply changed with time? If you have a story about Emily's bridge, we would love to hear it. You can write to us at porchlightwispers at gmail.com or message us on the Small Town Whispers Facebook page. Thank you so much to Heather and Michaela for stepping into the Porchlight this week. That was awesome. Before we close, if you or someone you love is feeling troubled or alone, help is always available. You can reach the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988 Day or Night. You are not alone. Heather truly has taken a life-changing loss and turned it into a mission to help others through storytelling. You can learn more at changehappenedpodcast.com or listen to Change Happened, then what? On Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or YouTube. Get ready to be inspired. Until next time.

Emily’s Bridge Legend

Speaker 1 31:12

That was this week's edition of Porchlight Whispers. Do you have an experience of your own to tell? We want to hear your stories. Share your experience and let your small town whispers become part of ours.

Speaker 31:29

And with that, the porchlight dims, but the whispers stay with us. Join us again next time when another voice steps into the light.