Haunted Iowa: In this episode of The Midnight Drive, we cross into Iowa after dark and explore several of the state’s strangest legends and historical mysteries.

Transcript

Host:

The highway signs change quietly.

One moment, you’re in one state.

The next, you’re crossing into another.

Tonight, we’re driving into Iowa.

Late at night, the highways here stretch for miles
through open farmland.

Fields fade into darkness.

Small towns appear suddenly along the roadside.

A few streetlights, a gas station still open,
a quiet main street that feels almost frozen in time.

From the outside, Iowa looks peaceful, quiet, ordinary.

But every place has its stories.

Stories that don’t always make it into the history books.

Stories people tell on college campuses and old cemeteries.

In towns where something strange once happened,
never quite went away.

Tonight on the Midnight Drive,
we’re crossing into Iowa after dark.

Now, if you drive into Iowa City late at night and follow the quiet roads toward Oakland Cemetery,
you’ll eventually come across one of the state’s most famous legends, a statue known as the Black Angel.

At first glance, it looks like an ordinary cemetery monument, a tall bronze angel standing over a family grave.

Her wings spread wide, her expression solemn.

The statue rises more than eight feet tall and stands on a stone pedestal among the older graves in the cemetery.

During the day, visitors often walk past without paying much attention at all.

But at night, the statue feels different.

It feels darker.

Almost watchful.

And that darkness is part of the legend, because the angel wasn’t always black.

The statue was installed in 1912.

It was commissioned by a woman named Teresa Feldeweg.

Teresa had lived a life marked by tragedy.

Her first husband had died young.

Later, she remarried, only to lose her second husband as well.

After his death, she arranged for the monument to be built in Oakland Cemetery.

The sculpture was created by artist Mario Korbel and cast in bronze.

When it was first installed, the statue had the typical appearance of polished bronze.

A warm metallic color.

But over time, something unusual happened.

It didn’t start to turn green.

The statue began to darken, and bronze naturally oxidizes as it ages.

But exposure to air and weather slowly changed the surface of the metal.

And in the case of the black angel, the transformation actually happened very quickly.

Within a few years, the statue had turned almost completely black.

And in a cemetery filled with pale stone markers and weathered headstones, the dark figure began to stand out.

Needless to say, people noticed.

And as often happens with unusual monuments, stories began to grow around it.

Some said the statue turned black because of a curse.

Others claimed that it was a sign of Teresa Feldevert’s troubled past.

A few versions of the story even suggested darker rumors.

What Teresa herself?
That she had committed terrible acts.

That the statue had somehow absorbed those sins.

None of those claims have any historical evidence, but legends rarely depend on evidence.

They usually depend entirely on imagination.

And on the quiet atmosphere of places like Oakland Cemetery after dark,
over time the black angel becomes a local tradition for students at the nearby University of Iowa.

Especially late at night.

College folklore has a way of spreading quickly.

One generation of students tells the story to the next generation of students.

And before long, the story becomes a ritual.

Students begin daring each other to go and visit the statue at midnight.

Some said touching the statue would bring bad luck.

Others claiming that kissing the statue could cause something even worse.

One rumor warned that anyone who kissed the statue would die within six months.

Another claimed that pregnant women who touched the statue would lose their child.

These stories, of course, were never supported by real events.

But that didn’t stop the legends from spreading.

In fact, the uncertainty only made the tradition more popular.

Because part of the thrill was testing the story.

Walking through the cemetery at night.

Approaching the statue in the dark.

And wondering, just for a moment, if the rumors might be true.

Even today, students occasionally make late night visits to the black angel.

Some bring friends.

Some go alone.

Most of them laugh and laugh and laugh about it afterwards.

But many still admit that standing near the statue after midnight feels different than seeing it during the day.

There’s something about the setting.

The quiet cemetery.

The dark bronze wings rising above the graves.

And the knowledge that the statue has been standing there for more than a century.

Watching generations of visitors come and go.

Of course, historians and preservationists have a much simpler explanation of the statue’s color.

Bronze oxidizes.

That’s it.

Exposure to air, moisture, and time can turn it dark.

Almost black.

The black angel’s transformation is simply the natural aging process of the metal.

But knowing the scientific explanation doesn’t always make the legend disappear.

Because stories have a way of attaching themselves to places.

And once they take hold, they often outlive the people who first told them.

The black angel has stood in Oakland Cemetery for more than a hundred years now.

Students have come and they’ve gone.

Generations have passed through Iowa City.

But the statue remains.

Dark.

Silent.

Watching over the graves beneath her wings.

And like many legends, the story of the black angel reminds us that every town has its own strange traditions.

Stories whispered after midnight.

Stories passed from one generation to the next.

Sometimes those stories begin in cemeteries.

Sometimes they begin on college campuses.

And sometimes they begin with a ghost.

Because a few miles south of Des Moines, on another quiet college campus, students have been sharing a very different story for decades.

A story about a spirit simply known as Millie.

And according to the students at Simpson College, Millie may still be walking the halls after dark.

What do you make of all this?
Let us know in the comments below wherever you’re listening.

If you have a story that you’d like to share with us, please leave us a message on our hotline, The Midnight Drive at 402-610-2836.

We would love to hear from you.

You, my friends, are listening to The Midnight Drive.

About 20 miles south of Des Moines sits the small town of Indianola, Iowa.

At the center of town is a quiet college campus.

Tree-lined walkways, old brick academic buildings, residence halls filled with students studying late into the night.

This is Simpson College, a private liberal arts school that’s been part of the town since the late 1860s.

During the day, the campus feels calm and familiar.

Students cross the lawns between classes.

Faculty offices glow softly in the evening.

The buildings themselves carry the kind of quiet history you’d expect from a college that’s existed for more than a century.

But like many older campuses, Simpson also has its share of stories.

Stories that tend to circulate among students after dark.

Stories passed down through generations of freshmen.

Stories about a presence that some people claim still walks the halls of certain campus buildings.

Students have a simple name for her.

Millie.

No one is completely certain who Millie was.

Like many campus legends, the details change depending on who’s telling the story.

Some versions say Millie was once a student at Simpson College many decades ago.

Others say she was connected to the building that now bears her name.

But the place most often associated with her story is Mildred Hall.

Mildred Hall is one of the residence halls on campus, a traditional college dormitory.

Long hallways, rows of student rooms, shared lounges where people gather to talk or study late into the night.

On most evenings, the building feels exactly like any other dorm.

Laughter echoes down the hallway.

Doors open, doors close.

Music plays softly from someone’s room.

But students who have lived in Mildred Hall sometimes share quieter stories.

Stories about strange sounds.

Footsteps in empty hallways.

Doors opening when no one is there.

And occasionally, sightings.

One of the most common stories describes students hearing footsteps late at night when the hallway appears empty.

The sound of someone walking slowly down the corridor.

Soft.

Unhurried.

But then when someone opens their door to look, the hallway is quiet.

No one is there.

Other students have reported hearing doors gently tapping or rattling as though someone had passed by them.

Still others describe the feeling that someone is standing nearby.

Even when they’re all alone.

Of course, residence halls are full of noises.

Pipes shift in old buildings.

Air vents hum.

People move around at all hours.

It’s easy for ordinary sounds to take on a mysterious quality when the lights are low and the building has grown quiet.

But over the years, certain experiences have kept the story of Millie alive.

One story, often repeated by students, involves lights turning on or off in rooms that were supposedly empty.

Another describes objects moving silently overnight.

It’s nothing dramatic.

They’re just small changes.

A chair slightly out of place.

A door that had been closed, now standing wide open.

A few students have claimed to briefly see a figure at the end of a hallway late at night.

Usually it’s only for a moment.

A shadow moving past a doorway or a shape disappearing around a corner.

By the time someone walks down the hallway to investigate, nothing is there.

Whether these experiences are simply imagination or something else entirely is impossible to know.

But that uncertainty is exactly what allows this legend to continue.

College campuses are perfect environments for ghost stories.

Students are often living away from home for the very first time.

Buildings carry decades, sometimes more than a century of history.

And late night conversations have a way of turning ordinary events into memorable stories.

A strange noise becomes a haunting.

A flickering light becomes a ghostly signal.

And before long, the story becomes part of campus tradition.

And at Simpson College, Millie has become exactly that.

A piece of shared folklore.

Upper classmen tell the story to the new students.

Resident assistants sometimes mention it during late night conversations.

And occasionally, someone decides to test the legend.

Just like the students who visit the Black Angel in Iowa City.

Simpson students sometimes challenge each other to explore the hallways late at night.

Walking through Mildred Hall after midnight.

Waiting to see if anything unusual happens.

Most of the time, of course, nothing does.

But every now and then, someone experiences something they can’t quite explain.

A sound.

A shadow.

Strange feeling that they’re not alone.

And those are the moments that become the next chapter in the story.

Because that’s exactly how legends grow.

Each generation adds something new.

A new sighting.

A new experience.

A new version of the story that gets told to the next group of students arriving on campus.

Over time, the original details may fade.

But the atmosphere remains.

A sense that certain places hold memories.

Echoes of the people who once lived there.

Historians often point out that many ghost stories on college campuses begin simply because the buildings are old.

Old buildings make noises.

Old buildings carry history.

And human imagination is very good at filling in the blanks.

But there’s something interesting about how consistently these stories appear.

Visit almost any college campus in the United States and you will hear a similar legend.

A dormitory ghost.

A library spirit.

A building where something strange is said to happen after midnight.

Sometimes the stories are lighthearted and sometimes they’re meant to scare the incoming freshmen.

And sometimes they’re simply part of the culture of a place.

At Simpson College, Millie has become part of that culture.

Most students don’t claim to believe the story literally, but they still tell it.

They still share their experiences.

Because the story itself becomes part of the college experience.

Late night conversations.

Walking back to the dorm after midnight.

Looking down an empty hallway and remembering the legend.

And wondering, just for a moment, what if it were true?
But not all Iowa stories are quiet ghost tales whispered in dormitory hallways.

Some of them are much, much stranger.

Because more than a century ago, in a small Iowa town called Van Meter,
residents reported something far more unusual than footsteps in an empty hallway.

They reported seeing a creature.

A creature with wings.

A glowing horn.

And eyes that shined in the darkness.

A creature that frightened an entire town.

And for several nights in 1903, people claimed it was flying above the rooftops.

In our next segment, we’re going to be talking about the Van Meter visitor.

If you’ve got stories from your college experience that are a little bit ghostly, a little bit creepy,
we would love to hear them and we’ll even share them on the program.

Please feel free to let us know in the comments wherever you’re listening
or reach out to us at our hotline and leave us a message, 402-610-2836.

In the fall of 1903, the small town of Van Meter, Iowa experienced something that residents would talk about for generations.

At the time, Van Meter was a quiet community.

A railroad town just west of Des Moines, surrounded by farmland and rolling hills.

The kind of place where most nights passed quietly.

Streetlights were few.

Most of the town went dark not long after sunset.

Which meant that when something unusual appeared in the sky, people noticed.

The first sighting reportedly happened in late September.

A local businessman named U.

G.

Griffith was closing up his store for the evening.

As he stepped outside, he noticed something strange moving in the darkness nearby.

At first, he assumed it was a large bird.

But as the creature moved closer, Griffith realized it was something far more unusual.

The figure appeared to have wings.

Large wings that stretched outward as it moved through the night air.

But what frightened Griffith most was the creature’s head.

Because according to his account, the creature seemed to have a glowing horn protruding from its forehead.

And from that horn came a strange beam of light.

Griffith later described the light as narrow and focused, almost like a lantern.

But instead of being held in the creature’s hand, it appeared to shine directly from its head.

Before Griffith could get a better look, the creature had vanished into the darkness.

The sighting may have remained nothing more than an odd story.

But in the days that followed, other people in the town began reporting something similar.

Another resident claimed to see a large winged creature perched on top of a building.

Someone else reported seeing a shadowy figure flying between rooftops late at night.

The descriptions varied slightly, but certain details appeared again and again.

Particularly the wings, the glowing horn, the strange beam of light.

For several nights, these sightings continued.

And the town began to grow uneasy.

Remember, this was 1903.

Electric lighting was still very limited.

And nighttime could feel very dark and very quiet.

And when something unusual appeared in the darkness, it had a way of capturing everyone’s attention.

Soon, the creature began appearing in the local newspaper.

Reporters referred to it as a mysterious flying monster.

Some compared it to a giant bat.

Others said it almost looked like a dragon.

Whatever it was, the sightings were convincing enough that the townspeople decided that they needed to investigate.

One night, a group of armed residents formed what only could be described as a hunting party.

Men gathered with rifles and lanterns, determined to track the creature down.

They spread out through the town, watching the rooftops and nearby fields.

And eventually, someone spotted movement near an abandoned coal mine at the edge of town.

The mine entrance was located along a hillside outside Van Meter.

Dark.

Silent.

A place that seemed like the perfect hiding spot for something that preferred to stay out of sight.

According to the story, the hunting party soon spotted the creature again.

Witnesses described it as a large winged figure emerging from the darkness near the mine.

Some accounts say the glowing horn appeared again, casting its strange beam of light across the ground.

The men fired their rifles.

The creature reportedly retreated into the mine shaft.

The group approached cautiously.

Lanterns raced.

But the mine itself was deep and dangerous.

Instead of entering, the townspeople decided to seal the entrance.

They rolled large stones toward the opening and blocked the shaft.

The idea was simple.

If the creature was hiding inside, it would be trapped there.

And with that, the story seemed to end.

The sighting stopped.

The creature was never seen again.

But the legend had already taken hold.

In the years that followed, the strange events of 1903 became known as the story of the Van Meter visitor.

And like many stories of unexplained creatures, the details evolved over time.

Some versions describe the creature as larger than a man.

Others say it had glowing eyes in addition to the horn.

A few versions even claim there may have been more than one creature hiding in the mine.

Historians looking back on the story have offered a number of possible explanations.

Some suggest the witnesses may have encountered a large owl or another nocturnal bird.

Others believe the sightings may have been exaggerated through rumor and retelling.

And it’s also possible that the excitement of the situation influenced how people interpreted what they saw.

When several people are already expecting something strange, ordinary events can quickly become extraordinary.

But even with those explanations, the story remains one of Iowa’s most unusual local legends.

Because the details are so specific.

The glowing horn.

The beam of light.

The idea of a winged creature hiding in an abandoned mine.

Those elements give the story a vivid quality that continues to capture people’s imaginations.

Today, Van Meter has embraced the legend.

The town even hosts an annual Van Meter visitor festival, celebrating the strange events of 1903.

Visitors gather to hear the story.

Local artists create artwork inspired by the creature.

And people speculate about the witnesses and what they may have actually seen.

Was it a misunderstood animal?
A trick of the darkness?
Or simply a story that grew way more dramatic each time it was told?
Whatever the explanation, the Van Meter visitor has become part of Iowa’s folklore.

A reminder that even quiet towns can have strange chapters in their history.

But not every story we’ve explored tonight is a legend.

Some events are documented.

Recorded in police reports.

In newspaper headlines.

Events that left real families grieving.

Events that remain unsolved more than a century later.

Because in 1912, in another small Iowa town called Villisca, something far darker happened.

An entire family was murdered in their home.

The crime shocked the country.

And more than a hundred years later, no one has ever been able to say exactly who was responsible.

What do you make of the Van Meter visitor?
Would you ever go to that festival?
It sounds really, really fun.

Let us know what you’re thinking in the comments below.

If you’ve got a story yourself, feel free to reach out to us in the Midnight Drive hotline at 402-610-2836.

In our next segment, we’re going to be going to Villisca to talk about the Villisca Axe Murder House.

In the southwestern corner of Iowa sits the small town of Villisca.

It’s the kind of town you might drive through without noticing.

A few quiet streets, old houses spaced out along tree-lined blocks, a grain elevator rising above the rooftops in the distance.

During the day, the town feels calm and ordinary.

But one particular house on East Second Street has drawn visitors from all over the country.

Because for more than a century, people have claimed that something inside that house refuses to remain quiet.

The building itself is modest, a simple white wooden home built in the late 1800s.

About two stories tall, a small front porch.

From the outside, it looks like many other homes built during that era.

But inside those walls, an event in 1912 changed the history of the house forever.

In the early morning hours of June 10, 1912, the Moore family and two visiting children were killed inside of the home.

The crime shocked the entire country.

Investigators searched for answers.

Suspects were questioned.

But despite years of investigation, the case was never definitively solved.

The identity of the killer was never proven.

And as the decades passed, the tragedy slowly became part of the town’s history.

For many years, the house changed owners and served as an ordinary residence.

Families lived there.

Children played in the yard.

Life moved forward.

But eventually, stories began to circulate.

Stories about strange experiences inside of the home.

At first, they were small things.

Unusual sounds during the night.

Footsteps on the stairs when no one else was awake.

Doors that seemed to open slowly on their own.

Old houses can make many sounds.

Wood expands and contracts with changes in temperature.

Pipes shift inside the walls.

Floors creak when someone walks across them.

But some visitors to the Villisca house began describing experiences that were harder to explain.

Over time, the house developed a reputation as one of the most haunted locations in the Midwest.

And that reputation has drawn thousands of curious visitors.

Paranormal investigators.

History enthusiasts.

And people who simply want to see the place for themselves.

Today, the house has been restored to resemble what it looked like in the early 1900s.

The rooms are simple.

Wooden floors.

Narrow staircases.

Small bedrooms arranged beneath the sloped roof of the second floor.

Walking through the house during the day can feel like stepping back in time.

But many visitors say the atmosphere changes once the sun goes down.

The quiet becomes deeper.

The shadows stretch longer across the walls.

And the old wooden structure begins to make its nighttime sounds.

Investigators who spend the night inside often bring equipment designed to detect unusual activity.

Audio recorders.

Motion sensors.

Temperature monitors.

Devices that measure electromagnetic fields.

Whether these tools truly detect paranormal activity is a matter of debate.

But the experiences people report inside the house have become part of its legend.

One of the most frequently described occurrences involves children’s toys.

During overnight investigations, some groups bring simple objects that might attract the attention of spirits.

Small balls.

Toy blocks.

Sometimes even dolls.

The idea is that if children’s spirits were present, they might interact with something familiar.

Several investigators have claimed that small balls placed on the floor have moved unexpectedly.

In a few cases, people say they rolled back and forth across the floor as though someone were gently pushing them.

Some visitors have reported hearing laughter.

Very faint.

Almost like the sound of children playing somewhere in another room.

Others describe the sound of footsteps on the staircase when no one else is there.

The creaking of the steps.

A slow movement upward or downward.

Followed by silence.

Electronic voice recordings taken inside the house have also contributed to its reputation.

Investigators sometimes leave audio recorders running overnight in empty rooms.

When they review the recordings later, they occasionally claim to capture faint voices.

Whispers.

Single words.

Sometimes something that sounds almost like a child speaking.

Skeptics point out that human brains are extremely good at finding patterns and random noises.

A faint sound in an old building can easily be interpreted as something meaningful.

But the recordings have added to the mystery surrounding the house.

Temperature changes are another commonly reported experience.

Some visitors describe sudden cold spots in certain areas of the home.

A room that suddenly feels much colder than the rest of the building.

Or a brief chill that seems to pass through the air before disappearing again.

Others say they feel a strange sensation of being watched.

Not in a threatening way.

But with a quiet awareness that they might not be completely alone in the house.

Now whether these sensations are psychological or something else is difficult to determine.

Places with strong emotional histories often affect how people perceive their surroundings.

When you enter a building, knowing that something tragic once happened there, your senses become more alert.

Every sound feels amplified.

Every shadow draws your attention.

And the mind begins to imagine possibilities.

But for many people who visit the Veliska house, the experience feels very different from ordinary imagination.

Some leave convinced they witnessed something unusual.

Others leave with stories they continue telling long afterward.

Stories about a ball rolling across a wooden floor.

About faint laughter echoing down a hallway.

About a house that seems to remember the past more clearly than most places.

Paranormal investigators have been visiting Veliska for decades now.

Some approach the house with scientific equipment.

Others rely on intuition and observation.

But nearly everyone who spends the night inside agrees on one thing.

The house has a powerful atmosphere.

An atmosphere shaped by its history.

Because whether or not the house is truly haunted, the events that happened there left a permanent mark on the place.

Buildings absorb history in strange ways.

They hold the memories of the people who once lived inside of them.

The laughter, the arguments, the ordinary moments of everyday life, and sometimes the tragedies.

When enough time passes, those memories become stories.

Stories that attach themselves to walls, staircases, and quiet rooms.

Stories that people continue telling long after the original events have faded into the past.

Today, visitors come to Veliska for many reasons.

Some come because they believe the house is haunted.

Some come because they’re fascinated by the history.

And some come because they want to stand in a place where something mysterious still seems to linger.

But regardless of why people visit, the house continues to occupy a strange place between history and folklore.

A place where documented events and unexplained experiences intersect.

Like many locations with long histories, the house has become something more than just a building.

It’s become part of a landscape of American ghost stories.

Tonight, we crossed into Iowa after dark.

We’ve passed an angel statue standing quietly in a cemetery.

We’ve passed an angel statue standing watch in a quiet cemetery.

We walked through the halls of an old college dormitory where students whisper about a ghost named Millie.

We looked into the sky above Van Meter where people once claimed to see something flying through the darkness.

And finally, we stopped at a house where strange stories continue to echo through the rooms more than a century later.

But Iowa still has more stories waiting along its highways.

And over the next few nights, the Midnight Drive will keep going.