The story begins long ago, in a time when the Ohio River was a bustling artery for traders and travelers. A small group of men, likely merchants, had tied their modest boat to the riverbank for the night, confident they were safe from the dangers that plagued early frontier life. They were wrong. Under the cover of darkness, two thieves crept upon the unsuspecting travelers. In a swift and brutal act, they murdered the men, stealing several heavy bags filled with silver coins—a fortune in that era. To cover their tracks, the thieves hid the bodies beneath a rocky ledge along the river’s edge and set the empty boat adrift, letting the current carry it far downstream.
The thieves, now burdened with their ill-gotten wealth, grew paranoid. The sheer weight and volume of the coins made it impossible to carry the loot without drawing attention. Fearing they’d be caught if they tried to flee with it all at once, they devised a plan. They traveled downriver until they reached a secluded, steep hillside between what are now Hartford City and New Haven. There, under the moon’s faint glow, they buried the silver coins in multiple spots across the rugged slope, carefully marking each location with subtle signs—perhaps a carved tree or a stacked pile of stones. Their intention was to return later, when the heat of suspicion had cooled, to retrieve their treasure.
Fate, however, had other plans. The thieves joined a band of Native Americans engaged in conflict with encroaching settlers. In the chaos of battle, both robbers met their end, their lives snuffed out before they could ever return to the hillside. But as the last thief lay dying, he made a chilling confession. With his final breaths, he admitted to the robbery and murders, and, in a desperate attempt to unburden his soul, he scratched out a crude map revealing the locations of the hidden coins on the hillside.
News of the confession spread, but no one rushed to scour the hill for the treasure. The area was remote, the terrain treacherous, and the story too grim for most to pursue. Yet, almost immediately after the thieves’ deaths, something strange began to happen. Residents of Syracuse, living across the Ohio River from the hillside, started noticing peculiar lights flickering on the slope at night. These weren’t the steady glow of a campfire or the predictable beam of a lantern—they were small, bobbing orbs that seemed to dance up and down the hill, appearing and vanishing without explanation.
Boatmen navigating the river told eerie tales of their own. One recounted following a glowing light, thinking it was a signal, only to stumble upon a ghastly sight: a headless figure, shrouded in shadow, clawing at a massive boulder as if trying to unearth something beneath it. Steamboat crews, accustomed to the river’s mysteries, spoke frequently of the hillside aglow with an otherworldly radiance, the lights weaving through the trees like restless spirits.
The hillside itself, now known as Sliding Hill, has a reputation for instability. For as long as roads have existed there, rocks and earth have tumbled down, blocking West Virginia Route 62 or the railway tracks that run nearby. The slippage is so frequent that the road is occasionally closed for cleanup, earning the hill its ominous name. Locals say the land itself is restless, as if the very ground is disturbed by the secrets it holds.
The Lights Today
The ghost lights of Sliding Hill remain a living legend. If you drive along WV Route 62 from Hartford City to New Haven, especially on a dark, quiet night, you might catch a glimpse of something unusual. Look up toward the hillside, where the trees cling to the steep incline. There, among the shadows, you might see faint, glowing orbs drifting aimlessly, as though searching for something lost long ago. Some say these are the spirits of the murdered travelers, forever bound to the place where their lives were stolen. Others believe they’re the ghosts of the thieves, cursed to wander the hill in an endless hunt for their buried silver.
The story of Sliding Hill is more than just a ghost tale—it’s a reminder of the river’s wild, lawless past, when greed could drive men to unspeakable acts and leave echoes that linger for centuries. So, the next time you find yourself on that stretch of Route 62, slow down and glance at the hillside. You might just see the lantern lights flickering, or catch a fleeting glimpse of a spectral figure, still searching for a treasure that will never be claimed.
We hope you enjoyed this post on The Sliding Hill ghost story. Want more spooky stories? Be sure to subscribe to Spooky Appalachia on YouTube.
Source: West Virginia Ghost Stories, Legends, and Haunts by Jannette Quackenbush
