On quiet nights along the shore of Stony Creek, a voice rises from the darkness. The wind carries a question, soft but insistent. Where is my head? Who’s got my head? The Stony Creek headless ghost has haunted these waters for generations. Some know the story well. Others only hear whispers. A headless figure, staggering through the woods, searching for something lost.
Some believe it is nothing more than a tale spun from shadows and superstition. Others swear they have seen something. A shape moving through the mist. A voice calling from the water. The legend took root after a body washed ashore near Sony Creek, weeks after an explosion rocked Baltimore’s harbor. The man had no name. His body was burned and broken. His head was missing.
They said he was one of the lost.
A Disaster in the Harbor
On March 7, 1913, the British tramp steamer Alum Chine sat in Baltimore’s harbor, loaded with 350 tons of dynamite. It wasn’t unusual cargo, but it was dangerous. The crew prepared to leave when fire broke out. Smoke filled the air. Some men tried to fight the flames. Others ran.
Then came the explosion.
Steel and iron tore through the air like shrapnel. A tugboat, the Atlantic, had been assisting near the ship and was caught in the blast. Houses shook as far away as Philadelphia. Windows shattered. Walls cracked. The shockwave spread through the city, leaving destruction in its wake.
At the harbor, fire and smoke swallowed everything. Rescuers searched the wreckage but found little left to save. The bodies they recovered were burned beyond recognition. Some had no limbs. Some had no heads.
Others were never found at all.
A Body Without a Name
The harbor gave up its dead for weeks. One body washed ashore at Stony Creek, burned beyond recognition. Clothes gone. Face unidentifiable. The skull never found.
He was buried in an unmarked grave near the water.
The legend started soon after. People saw something moving along the shore. A shape in the mist. A figure wandering the trees. Some heard a voice late at night, drifting through the dark.
Where is my head? Who’s got my head?
Pranksters took up the story. They draped themselves in white, moaning on the beach, laughing as they ran through the woods. But when the jokes faded, the legend remained.
Some say he’s still searching.
Some still hear the voice.
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