Hidden Kernersville

Jule Gilmer Körner's bizarre Victorian home has long been whispered about by locals as haunted. Visitors report footsteps on empty stairs, furniture that moves overnight, and cold spots lingering in unexpected rooms.

Some say Jule himself still roams the halls, unwilling to let go of his masterpiece. His obsession with constant remodeling—endless trapdoors, secret passages, weirdly-sized rooms—is said to have "imprinted" his restless energy into the house itself.

Paranormal investigators who visited the property claim to have recorded EVPs (electronic voice phenomena) and sudden electromagnetic field spikes. Today, visitors on tours occasionally report feeling watched while standing alone in certain rooms, particularly the Little Theatre upstairs.

Near Hopkins Road, there's a huge split boulder known as Witch Rock. Legend says that in the late 1700s, a woman accused of witchcraft was chased into the woods by townsfolk and cursed them before vanishing.

The ground reportedly shook, and the giant boulder split in half overnight. For generations, parents warned children to stay away from the rock after dark, and some older residents still avoid the area entirely.

Locals say if you stand between the halves on Halloween night, you'll hear whispering voices in the woods.

Legend says that in the mid-1970s, while traveling through North Carolina, Elvis Presley made an unannounced stop at a diner in Kernersville. Wearing sunglasses and a ballcap pulled low, he allegedly ordered a slice of pecan pie to-go, left a huge tip, and slipped back out before anyone realized who he was.

No known photos exist to prove it—but the story has stuck around, passed down by diner employees and locals. Some even claim Elvis said it was "the best darn pie in the South."

Before all the tracks were torn up, old railroad workers swore that some nights at Piney Grove Crossing you could hear a steam train whistle and rumbling... even though no train was scheduled.

Town kids used to race to the crossing trying to "catch the ghost train" when they heard the horn. Some say it's the spirit of a train derailed by sabotage during the Civil War—a Confederate plot gone wrong.

In the 1930s, a woman named Eliza Greene was hit by a trolley while crossing Main Street near where the old post office stood. Witnesses said she was wearing a bright red Sunday dress.

Every decade or so, usually in June, drivers report seeing a woman in a red dress darting across Main Street, only to vanish into thin air. Locals call it "Eliza's Crossing." Truckers delivering at night refuse to park near that section of town alone.

At the old crossroads where Main Street meets Mountain Street, residents used to report seeing a flaming horse-drawn wagon barrel through the night.

It was said to be the spirit of a farmer who tried to outrun Confederate raiders during the Civil War carrying gold hidden in grain sacks. Raiders caught him, set his wagon on fire, and killed him on the spot.

Every few decades, during lightning storms, drivers swear they glimpse the burning wagon out of the corner of their eye.

In the 1880s, a girl named Rebecca Alston vanished while picking flowers behind her family's home (near modern Kernersville Lake). Despite massive searches, she was never found.

Parents began warning their children: "Stay out of the woods—or Rebecca will call you away." Later sightings include a small figure seen standing at the woods' edge, a childish giggle heard right before someone went missing, and dogs barking at "nothing" along the treelines.

Into the 1990s, hikers claimed to hear faint singing in the old lakebed, especially near dusk.

The old Dobson Tavern, where George Washington once ate breakfast, supposedly hid a stash of British gold coins left behind by a fleeing Loyalist officer during the Revolution. Legend says it was buried somewhere near the old tavern site (modern-day Main Street area), but no one has ever found it.

Multiple treasure hunters have quietly dug in town over the years, but the gold remains lost. Some local lore suggests the tavern's original well might still hide something at the bottom.

When sewer workers dug under Cherry Street in the 1960s, they reportedly found a small limestone crypt, unmarked, right where no cemetery had ever been mapped. It was resealed immediately, with no pictures taken publicly.

Some old-timers believe it was an early Moravian settler burial, hidden because of scandal, or possibly a plague victim dumped quietly during the yellow fever years. To this day, basements along Cherry Street report frequent plumbing problems, which some attribute to the disturbance of the mysterious tomb.

South of modern Union Cross Road, tucked behind farmland, there's strong oral tradition that an unmarked slave graveyard lies buried and forgotten. After emancipation, a landowner reportedly plowed over the graves, refusing to acknowledge them.

For generations, families warned their children: "Don't walk that field at dusk." Hunters and hikers occasionally report finding sunken ground depressions—unnaturally aligned in rows, suggesting burial sites. Some local historians have advocated for archaeological investigation of the area to properly honor those potentially buried there.

Older than St. Paul's, there was once a tiny, unofficial graveyard out near Piney Grove where poor farmers and travelers were buried without markers.

In the 1950s, during highway expansions, the land was sold off and paved over—without relocating the bodies. Rumors suggest cars would mysteriously break down on the new road, people would see shadowy figures standing at the edge of the woods, and dogs refused to walk past the area at night.

True locals still call the spot "the Field of Bones."

One of the oldest Moravian churches near Kernersville (now abandoned) supposedly has a hidden crypt beneath it. Oral tradition says the church hid plague victims' bodies there during outbreaks, and they were sealed inside when the entrances were bricked up after the epidemics ended.

Teenagers dared each other for decades to find the sealed vault. Some claim to have found a bricked archway deep under the ruins, and swear they heard tapping sounds from the stone itself.

Workers remodeling an old hardware store in the 1970s reportedly broke through the floor and found an ancient stone well shaft. It wasn't on any town maps and was lined with carvings—strange symbols, almost Viking or Celtic-looking.

The owners ordered it re-sealed immediately, fearing insurance liability. Locals now say it was an ancient settler wishing well, or possibly a portal used in folk rituals.

In the 1950s, old-timers talked about a house that "appeared and disappeared" along Piney Grove Road. People claimed they would drive the road at night and see a fully lit house where there wasn't one during the day.

Some said it was an optical illusion; others swore it was a leftover from the Civil War—a spiritual imprint of a farmhouse burned to the ground by Union soldiers. Locals today still say Piney Grove has "weird air"—even GPS occasionally glitches there.

In the early 1900s, a traveling preacher named Brother Levi made waves—and headlines—by insisting that "every creature must be saved." His unconventional ministry included baptizing possums in creek water while hymns were sung.

Behind Piney Grove, he set up a makeshift "revival tent," where caged possums were ceremoniously dipped into a tin washtub. Locals treated the event half as a religious service, half as entertainment. Children watched in awe, while some adults snickered at the strangeness of it all. No possum baptisms have been recorded since, but the legend persists as one of Kernersville's most unusual religious moments.

Melvin "Puddin'" Swisher became a local legend through both his racecar driving exploits at Bowman Gray Stadium and his family business, S&R Motor Company—Kernersville's oldest surviving business.

Known for his fearless driving style and mechanical ingenuity, Swisher was as famous for his colorful personality as his racing achievements. Stories of his exploits—both on and off the track—continue to be told at local gatherings, making him one of Kernersville's most beloved characters.

After the 1884 train crash near Kernersville, one of the brakemen's bodies was reportedly never fully recovered—his head was missing. Railmen said his spirit roamed the tracks, lantern in hand, searching for his lost head.

Even into the 1950s, engineers reported seeing a swinging lantern on the tracks at night and hearing footsteps on the roof of moving trains passing through Kernersville. The old railroaders believed the Brakeman would never leave until his skull was found, creating one of Kernersville's most enduring ghost stories.

In the 1970s (records suggest around 1975–76), Kernersville was rocked when a body was found hanging from the town's water tower. Officially ruled a suicide, locals whispered it was something darker—a lynching or a secret revenge killing covered up to avoid racial tensions.

A small rescue helicopter dispatched from Greensboro attempted to assist in the recovery but crashed just yards away from the base of the tower. Miraculously, no one died in the crash, but it rattled the entire town.

Afterwards, the town quietly put a security fence around the tower—something that had never existed before. To this day, residents report strange radio interference, bad dreams, and "a feeling of being watched" near the site.

In the late 1700s, before Kernersville was even incorporated, a woman accused of witchcraft was hunted down near Bunker Hill Crossing. Her cabin was burned to the ground. Her last words were a curse: "You will dig your own graves with your hands."

Decades later, fields plowed by hand turned up bones and strange clay idols. At least two farmers reportedly went mad—attacking family members without warning. Even today, older farmers refuse to plow at night along certain ridges east of Bunker Hill.

In the 1890s, townsfolk talked about an old woman who lived alone in a cabin near modern-day Cherry Street. She was accused of witchcraft after supposedly curing children's illnesses with strange candle rituals—where she'd melt wax into bowls and "read" the shapes.

Some claimed she could predict deaths and disasters. Others believed she cursed crops that failed after she was insulted. After she died, locals said her cabin glowed blue at night for years, even after it rotted to the ground.

On a clear summer night in 1996, several Kernersville residents reported seeing a silent, black triangular craft gliding low over NC Highway 66. Witnesses described three white lights at each point of the triangle and claimed the object hovered soundlessly above the treetops for nearly five minutes before vanishing at impossible speed.

Skeptics suggested experimental military aircraft, while believers insisted it was something extraterrestrial. No official explanation was ever released, and the Kernersville UFO remains one of the town's most talked-about mysteries.

Though more commonly associated with the Appalachians, whispers of Bigfoot sightings near Kernersville have surfaced sporadically for decades. Hunters report distant howls that don't match any known animal. Hikers talk about unnaturally snapped tree branches and massive footprints in the mud east of town.

One sighting in the 1980s described a "tall, broad, hairy shadow" crossing a trail deep in the woods after sunset. Skeptics blame black bears—believers think the "wild man" of North Carolina may have paid Kernersville a few secret visits.

In the 1920s, a small farmhouse on East Mountain Street became infamous after furniture was reportedly thrown across rooms with no visible cause, crockery shattered spontaneously, and a Bible was found torn to pieces in a locked desk drawer.

A minister from Salem was called to bless the house. The same night, a lightning bolt struck the chimney and destroyed half the home. Locals whispered that the land itself was cursed—built on an unmarked burial site—and avoided it for years.

Kernersville's old (now drained) Kernersville Lake—around the 1920s-1930s—had an abandoned well that older generations called "The Witch's Well." Legend said it was used by a suspected witch who cursed the town's crops during a drought in the 1800s.

People claimed they could hear "chanting" from it at night. Kids dared each other to lower buckets down and pull up black, oily water—"poisoned by the witch." The well was sealed with concrete in the 1960s, but even today, locals claim strange echoes come from the area near the old lakebed.

Before it was a nice community park, Beeson Park was farmland. In the 1800s, farmers reported finding perfect cloven hoofprints burned into the dirt in a perfect circle, no animal tracks leading in or out. Townsfolk called it "The Devil's Track."

No crops would grow where the prints were. Horses refused to walk over the spot. It eventually had to be covered with a layer of lime and blessed by a Moravian minister to make it safe again. To this day, there's a weird bare patch of earth near one of the Beeson Park trails—nothing grows there for long.

There's a cluster of infant graves near the back of St. Paul's ME Cemetery from the 1870s–1880s—all children who died under the age of 2. Legend says a local midwife was blamed for cursing births after being accused of witchcraft and turned away by town elders.

After she died, Kernersville suffered a wave of stillbirths and infant deaths. Mothers who pass through the graveyard at night sometimes hear crying where no living child is present.

Whispered by old-timers: Somewhere near Bodenhamer Street, a grove was used by outcasts and heretics for Devil's Candle rituals. At midnight, candles made from animal fat were lit in pentagrams. Participants "sold their sorrows"—promising their future children's souls for good harvests.

Hunters claim to have found melted candle stubs and burned tree rings arranged in unnatural shapes even into the 1990s. Some say those families prospered... but their descendants suffer from a "curse of madness" even today.