By LOU BERNARD

I’ve written about the Giwoggle, Clinton County’s official monster, about a thousand times. The Giwoggle was a sort of werewolf that had the hands of a bird and the feet of a horse. A few years ago, I campaigned successfully for the commissioners to declare the Giwoggle the county’s official monster, and I’ve been trying to use the creature for tourism. You can actually buy Giwoggle T-shirts now — I own two. Feel free to contact me and ask me how.

The Giwoggle story comes from an article written by George Rhone in Keystone Folklore Quarterly. This small magazine ran old legends and stories, and Rhone was a retired lumberman from up around Keating Township. He’d heard a lot of these scary legends from his grandmother, Belle Confer, who told them to him just before bed, which was obviously the best time for them. That’s where the Giwoggle story comes from.

But Rhone didn’t stop with that one. There’s more.

Let me describe the Swamp Angel for you.

The swamps of northern Clinton County once contained quicksand, according to the stories. In the old days, some escaped slaves captured a Native American brave and maiden, and killed the man. The woman, grieving, escaped from them and drowned herself in the quicksand. This actually coordinates pretty well with actual history up in that neighborhood. Some of you may recall that North Bend was once named Youngwomanstown, and most histories say it’s because of a young Native American maiden who drowned herself in the vicinity.

Anyway, she would appear over the swamp as a sort of glowing fireball. According to some stories, the spirit would help you if you went to the swamp and asked. This spirit became known as the Swamp Angel.

Meanwhile, there was this witch. If you believe all the old legends, about every third woman up there was a witch. She got angry at a woman named Maud, and cast a spell on her and her unborn baby. The baby was delivered by a woman named Liz. According to the story, the baby was born mutated, “Like a half grown monkey.” And Maud died immediately after, and her ghost haunted Liz.

Liz went to Loop Hill Ike. Loop Hill Ike appears in the Giwoggle story, too—I’d gotten used to writing about him as a legendary character, and I was surprised when my friend Justin Houser told me that Loop Hill Ike was a real guy. He was actually Isaac Gaines, an old farmer who dodged the Civil War and lived up in that area.

Loop Hill Ike took Liz to see the Swamp Angel. He burned a plant called foxfire, which was apparently the way you texted the Swamp Angel back then. After three nights of doing this, the Swamp Angel came, and told them that Liz would have to sleep in Maud’s bed for three nights, and that Loop Hill Ike was the only one who could kill the witch.

Liz went and slept in Maud’s bed for three nights, and was visited by the ghost each night. On the third night, Maud’s ghost faded away, and was never seen again.

Meanwhile, Loop Hill Ike got to work. He made an image of the witch, sort of like a voodoo doll. He stuffed it with a weed called     Demon’s Delight, and don’t ask me what that is exactly—All I know is I can’t buy it at the grocery store. Then he shot a silver bullet through it, and threw it into the fire.

The next day, Ike went to visit one of the farmers who lived near the witch. As they talked, a deer ran out in front of them. The farmer shot at it, but missed. His bullet went through the witch’s window, killing her instantly. As she fell, she knocked over the cookstove, and her cabin burned down.

Ike let the farmer think it was an accident, and not a magical spell.

As Loop Hill Ike has been in the Furst-McGonigal Cemetery for just over a century now, it’s probably safe to assume he’s dead. As for the Swamp Angel, perhaps she’s still out there. Perhaps, if you really need her, you could go out to the swamp and ask for help. Let me know how that goes.

Coming tomorrow: A few random ghost stories.