![]() Haunting rumors have swirled for decades. Was he trying to keep an evil secret hidden? Whoever the six other folks were or how they met their end, the whole gang was reinterred in a concrete sepulcher that, while still located in the middle of East 400 S, is now surrounded by yellow caution paint. At this news, some locals viewed the aggression of Barnett’s posthumous protector with a different eye. When the remains were exhumed a few years ago during a road widening project, archaeologists found not just Barnett but also the bones of at least six other people: a man, four children, and another woman. It’s said he sat on the grave for days, threatening all who came near. When workmen attempted to move her grave, Barnett’s nephew (or grandson-accounts vary) with gun in hand persuaded them to leave her be. It lies smack in the middle of East 400 S, a two-lane blacktop ribbon that splits in the middle just long enough to bracket Barnett’s final resting place near Franklin. The automotive carnage wasn’t accomplished by her disembodied spirit but by something more corporeal: She resides in what is both Indiana’s most unusual grave and one of its most potentially hazardous. NANCY BARNETT died in 1831 at age 38, but that didn’t stop her from causing car accidents throughout the 20th century on the lonely stretch of country road where she’s interred. “It generates a lot of conversation and traffic.” Illustration by Evangeline Gallagher “I would say she’s a net plus,” says George Carter, executive director of the Willard Public Library. While the idea of spying the silvery wisp of a long-dead bookworm slinking around may seem a bit unsettling, there’s no denying she’s done wonders for the library’s popularity in an age when the traditional function of libraries has all but shifted to the internet. ![]() Be alert not only for a fleeting glimpse of the Gray Lady but also for fluctuating cold spots and the occasional out-of-nowhere scent of heady perfume. Or, if you happen to find yourself in Evansville, you can simply stop by the library during business hours to try your luck. If you’ve got the fortitude to brave an in-person encounter and a penchant for scones, you can purchase a $35 ticket to the Gray Lady Afternoon Tea, taking place October 7 from 2 to 4 p.m. That area, by the way, is one of the six locations kept under constant watch by the building’s CCTV system. The last reported sighting of the Gray Lady was in 2010, when the assistant children’s librarian spotted her gliding down a basement hallway. “It’s usually pretty uneventful here during the day, but it’s a different story at night,” says one staffer, who professes to have seen the elevator doors open and close on their own and books fall off shelves on multiple occasions after hours. The specter in question is nicknamed the Gray Lady, and over the decades, both visitors and library employees have reported seeing her translucent form lurking among the stacks. They’ve fitted out the Victorian Gothic building with half a dozen webcams and invite would-be ghostbusters to watch the live (or, rather, dead) feed 24/7 online. But what’s unexpected is the 21st century way in which the staff approaches the otherworldly incursion. GIVEN THAT Evansville’s Willard Public Library is, at 136 years of age, the oldest public library building in the state of Indiana, no wonder it has a ghost story attached to it.
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