The Ghost of Carbon Canyon: A True Story

Mark Kautz got in contact recently and wanted to share a true story about "The Ghost of Carbon Canyon," which comprises two chapters of his book Fishing, Ghosts, and My Mother's Gray Hair.  So, enjoy and thanks to Mark for sharing!

Chapter 10: The Ghost of Carbon Canyon

The time is the late summer of the 1960s. This is a true story.

There were six of us who used to hang out together. Three of us were roommates; the other three were girlfriends. The three decided we wanted to put a little scare into the girls by taking them to see the Ghost of Carbon Canyon.

Carbon Canyon is southeast of Los Angeles in the rolling hills that are common to the Chino, California area. As the story goes, a couple was parked at the local make-out place at Carbon Canyon, doing things that couples do when parked, and somebody killed them. The ghost comes into the picture this way: He waits—at least we think it’s a he—on the hill top for couples to park below. He or she then comes down the hill to see if anyone is related to the person that killed the couple. If they are not, the ghost disappears. If they are, the ghost floats over the gate and approaches the car with the intention to kill that person. The ghost wants revenge for its own death.

The six of us piled into my 1959 Chevrolet and headed out. We wandered through a few canyons, telling ghost stories and generally being the butt heads that young men can be. Oh, this was going to be fun! Oddly enough, one of the places we went through was a little town called Sleepy Hollow. That was enough to put up the hair on the back of your neck.

We got to the “parking” spot, and I backed in the car. Wanted to be sure we could get out in a hurry if need be. It was just another show of being macho. We sat there, we talked, and we listened to the radio and generally had a good time.

Suddenly on the top of the hill, in front of us, a light appeared. In that light, an apparition of some sort also appeared. The six people in the car almost had heart attacks; well, the girls anyway. Then it got worse. The apparition started down the hill toward the gate. By then, I was trying to get the car started. You know how that is: when you are in a panic, you can’t even get the key into the ignition. Half way down the hill, the apparition and the light disappeared. Some calm returned to the car.

Seconds later, the light and the apparition reappeared and proceeded to the bottom of the hill and approached the gate. At the instant, it stopped at the gate, and there was a huge ringing sound. The sound of a gong of some type is the best way I can explain it. By then I had gotten the key into the ignition and panic had returned to the car.

In the split second it took to start the car, we noticed the apparition crossing the gate and starting toward the car. Flying dirt and squealing tires on pavement, we were out of there. We never went back, ever.

 Chapter 11: The Ghost of Carbon Canyon (The Rest of the Story)

The time is the late summer of the 1960s. This is a true story.

There were six of us who used to hang out together. Three of us were roommates (actually there were four roommates); the other three were girlfriends. The three guys (all four were involved) decided we wanted to put a little scare into the girls by taking them to see the Ghost of Carbon Canyon.

Carbon Canyon is Southeast of Los Angeles in the rolling hills that are common to the Chino, California area. As the story goes, a couple was parked at the local make out place at Carbon Canyon, doing things that couples do when parked, and somebody killed them. The ghost comes into the picture this way: He waits—at least we think it’s a he—on the hill top for couples to park below. He or she then comes down the hill to see if anyone is related to the person that killed the couple. If they are not, the ghost disappears. If they are, the ghost floats over the gate and approaches the car with the intention to kill that person. The ghost wants revenge for its own death.

The six of us piled into my 1959 Chevrolet and headed out. We wandered through a few canyons, telling ghost stories and generally being the butt heads that young men can be. Oh, this was going to be fun! Oddly enough, one of the places we went through was a little town called Sleepy Hollow. That was enough to put up the hair on the back of your neck.

We got to the “parking” spot, and I backed in the car. Wanted to be sure we could get out in a hurry, if need be. It was just another show of being macho. We sat there; we talked, and we listened to the radio and generally had a good time.

Suddenly on the top of the hill, in front of us, a light appeared (headlights from a car coming over a rise on the hillside behind us). In that light, an apparition of some sort (roommate number 4 in white T-shirt, white Levi’s, and white sneakers) also appeared. The six people in the car almost had heart attacks; well, the girls anyway. Then it got worse. The apparition started down the hill toward the gate. By then, I was trying to get the car started. You know how that is: when you are in a panic, you can’t even get the key into the ignition. Half way down the hill, the apparition (roommate number 4 tripped on a rock and fell down) and the light disappeared (The car went into a dip, and the headlights didn’t show any longer). Some calm returned to the car.

Seconds later, the light (car came over the next rise) and the apparition reappeared (roommate number 4 got up and started back down the hill) and proceeded to the bottom of the hill and approached the gate. At the instant, it stopped at the gate; there was a huge ringing sound (when he fell down, he picked up a big stick). The sound of a gong (he hit a hollow metal post with the stick) of some type is the best way I can explain it. By then, I had gotten the key into the ignition and panic had returned to the car.

In the split second it took to start the car, we noticed the apparition crossing the gate and starting toward the car. Flying dirt and squealing tires on pavement, we were out of there. We never went back, ever.

It was years before any of the girls found out the truth of what actually happened that night. I was fortunate enough to be out of the initial firing line since I was no longer with that girlfriend, but the other two couples had married by that time, and since we were still friends, I did get some of the fireworks; in fact, what I got was a pot bounced off my head. I kept that pot for a long time just to remind me of that night. It was always good for a laugh.