Hello, fellow ghost hunters and followers! You know we love a good spine-chilling story, especially one that lingers in the mind long after the streetlights go out. Laurie here, working in the Brin building by myself. Today, I'm sharing a legend from a little farther down the road, but one that hits chillingly close to home for me—the infamous tale of the Lady of the Lake at White Rock Lake, told from a perspective I was privy to as a child. This recollection comes from my own father, who saw the Lady of the Lake himself. Here is the story as he told me:
“It was a cold, misty night many years ago. I was driving home, taking the scenic route around White Rock Lake, a place I’d always found beautiful but never unsettling. The fog was thick, and the lake was completely hidden, its presence known only by the damp, earthy smell in the air. I had the windows down just a crack, enjoying the quiet hum of the engine and the solitude.
That's when I saw her.
She was standing on the side of the road, just ahead of a sharp bend. Her long, dark hair was matted and looked dripping wet, clinging to a pale face. She was wearing a beautiful, but tattered, white dress that seemed to shimmer in my headlights. She didn't look like she was hitchhiking; she just looked…lost. Distressed. In the rearview mirror, I could see my own face, a frown of concern. I slowed down, my mind racing. No one should be out here alone on a night like this.
I pulled over, my heart thumping a little faster than usual. When she got in, the air in the car immediately turned cold. I mean, not a gentle chill, but a deep, penetrating cold that had nothing to do with the outside temperature. She didn't speak a word, just sat silently, staring straight ahead with an unsettling emptiness in her eyes. I could even smell it now—the faint, clean scent of lake water that clung to her.
"Where can I take you?" I asked, trying to sound normal.
Her voice, when it came, was a soft, hollow whisper. "Just down the road... to my home."
I drove on, the silence in the car thicker than the fog outside. She gave me simple, almost detached, directions that led us to a small, isolated street I barely knew. I was getting a bad feeling. The address she gave me was for a crumbling, old house that looked like it had been abandoned for decades. There were no lights on, no signs of life, just a front door hanging loosely on a single hinge.
"Here you are," I said, a knot forming in my stomach. I turned to look at her, expecting a word of thanks.
But there was no one there.
The passenger seat was empty. The cold was gone, replaced by the familiar warmth of my car's heater. But my eyes fell on a dark, wet patch on the seat fabric—a perfect outline of where a person had been sitting just a moment ago. I sat there, stunned, the silence of the night pressing in on me, my mind replaying every detail.”
As an adult now, I’ve since learned that the legend of the Lady of the Lake, a ghost of a young woman who drowned and who is said to be forever seeking a ride home, is one of the most famous in Dallas. I've heard the stories, but never truly believed them until I heard it from my father. That encounter changed my understanding of what a ghost story is. It’s not just a spooky tale to tell around a fire; for some of us, it’s a memory.
Have you ever had an encounter with the unexplained? A story that became real to you? Let's hear them in the comments below! Stay safe out there, and keep your eyes on the road. You never know who—or what—might be waiting to catch a ride.