Today I’d like to tell a ghost story. We’re beginning to acquire a reputation for ghost-busting, and I kind of like this reputation, so I’m going to keep it up. So here’s the story, accentuated with quotations from an account in an 1844 atlas (which appears to be a synopsis of the longer account seen here).

The year was 1843. A good year, by all accounts; a common year starting on a Sunday. A Christmas Carol is first published. Edgar Allan Poe publishes “The Tell-Tale Heart.” Frederick VIII, King of Denmark, was born, though presumably was not king yet. Henry James was born. Good for him. A few good deaths–Noah Webster, for one–but one death caused attention to stir in at least two states that had been irrevocably touched by the “blood-stained wretch.” Which would be the death I’m going to talk about today.

The date was January 12, which has prompted me to post this now, 164 years later to the day. Andrew Hellman, alias Adam Horn, was hanged in Champaign County for the offense of murder. Lots of people got executed in Ohio for murder that year. But not a lot of them ended up getting a whole urban legend dedicated to them. Here’s how the story goes.

Part I. Andy H. was born in Worms on 24 June 1792 and immigrated to America in 1820. He was either a farmer or a taior by trade. He found himself in the good graces of the Abel family of Loudon County, Virginia, and, in the colorful language of the day, “was allowed to engage the affections of one of [Farmer Abel's] daughters . . . Mary Abel . . . then in her twentieth year, a blithe, buxom, and light-hearted country girl, whose previous existence had never been marred by unhappiness or misery. The arch-fiend, Hellman, succeeded in smothering his feelings of hatred, thus showin that even his wooing was characterized by duplicity and deceit.” To shorten it, they were married in December 1821.

Hellman, characterized as a fiend, bloody devil, etc., had added to his epitaphs “unnatural father” when Louisa was born in 1822. Two more children followed by 1836, and these were Henry and John. (Apparently this “unnatural father” declared to his wife that if a fourth child were ever to be born, he would kill her.) Hellman bought a farm not far from a brother-in-law’s in Logan County, Ohio, and proceeded to “deny his family everything but the bare necessities of life.” He attempted and failed to poison his wife, and then poisoned his three children; John and Louisa died in April. (For what it’s worth, old Hellman denied having poisoned them.) Five months later, Hellman completely flipped his lid, if you will, and went after Mary with a hatchet. (According to Henry’s own testimony, his mother sent him out of the house to his uncle’s, thus saving his life.) “The mutilated remains of the poor wife were found in a room of the house,” and old Andy H. was arrested. He tried to say that there had been a robber who had wounded him, but a physician pronounced him unharmed. Despite being arrested, he broke out of jail in Bellefontaine, Ohio, and escaped. His wife was buried with Louisa and John in Harrod Cemetery in McArthur Township, the final resting place of a great deal of the Abel clan.

Part II. Andy escapes from prison in Bellefontaine, flees to Maryland, and adopts the name Adam Horn. For some reason, he gets married again, this time to Malinda Hinkle. The honeymoon didn’t last long, as shortly after that, he not only killed her, but cut up her body and hid the remains all over the farm. “The head was severed from the trunk, and was never found, despite the most minute search. The body was found partly in an up-stairs room of the house, and the remainder buried in a coffee sack in a gully which traversed Hellman’s orchard.” (Instant urban legend material.) He was tried and pronounced guilty. He was subsequently executed in Champaign County, Ohio. (Declaration and death warrant.) (Also, interestingly, a review of his confession.) (Description of the execution.)

Now, perhaps I’ve given too many details and too many citations for it to be much of a ghost story, so I’ll get on with it. According to the legend, Andrew Hellman, buried in the same cemetery as his first wife and three children, haunts the nearby Township Road 56, terrorizing drivers, particularly females, whose cars break down on the road. His tombstone is also said to glow.

I know there weren’t any pictures in this post. I’m leaving it there. Tomorrow I’ll be back to BUST this story . . . I hope.