Pungo, Virginia, December 2001. 
As part of a visit to Virginia Beach several years ago, hubby and I decided to take advantage of a few free days, the gorgeous countryside, and some gloomy weather (perfect for photography) to go on a photographic tour of the surrounding area. Several people had told me that if I liked old houses, I should go see the Witch of Pungo's house. Stories of the witch and her "haunted" house were part of the folk legends that everyone around there grew up on, so we decided to check it out. Directions were vague, but Pungo being a small town you could see all of standing in one place, we were told there was no way to miss it. It didn't take much to get me in the car and on our way to see what the fascination with this old place was. We drove to Pungo, and it was immediately evident that what we had been told was true, because the house had a presence all it's own. The sky was dark, cloudy, and foreboding, and the house was definitely living up to it's ghoulish reputation. The atmosphere was far from comfortable, so I quickly cranked off a couple shots while the hair stood up on the back of my neck, and then we hightailed it out of there as fast as we could.
As part of a visit to Virginia Beach several years ago, hubby and I decided to take advantage of a few free days, the gorgeous countryside, and some gloomy weather (perfect for photography) to go on a photographic tour of the surrounding area. Several people had told me that if I liked old houses, I should go see the Witch of Pungo's house. Stories of the witch and her "haunted" house were part of the folk legends that everyone around there grew up on, so we decided to check it out. Directions were vague, but Pungo being a small town you could see all of standing in one place, we were told there was no way to miss it. It didn't take much to get me in the car and on our way to see what the fascination with this old place was. We drove to Pungo, and it was immediately evident that what we had been told was true, because the house had a presence all it's own. The sky was dark, cloudy, and foreboding, and the house was definitely living up to it's ghoulish reputation. The atmosphere was far from comfortable, so I quickly cranked off a couple shots while the hair stood up on the back of my neck, and then we hightailed it out of there as fast as we could.
Here's where the story gets creepy though. In one of the articles, it said that all that remained in recent history of Grace Sherwood's house was the chimneys, and that they had been torn down in November 1998 due to safety issues. If that is true, then whose house is this that I photographed in Pungo in the end of 2001?
