Gravity Hill of Sterling, CT. Sterling's "Gravity Hill," on a quiet, rural, residential stretch of Main Street, has long been recognized as a place where cars and other objects roll up instead of down hill, or seem to, at least. According to local Connecticut lore, the phenomenon is caused by the anger of a long-dead witch named Margaret Henry. There's a nearby town road named for Henry, but according to tradition it is this section of Main Street where she actually lived, and where her anger at trespassers causes her to reach from beyond the grave to bend the rules of gravity to her will as she "pushes" cars off her property. But is normally dismissed as an optical illusion. Have you've seen a gravity hill?

Melon Heads. There are several primary Connecticut variations. According to one variation of the myth, Fairfield County was the location of an asylum for the criminally insane that burned down in the fall of 1960, resulting in the death of all of the staff and most of the patients with 10-20 inmates unaccounted for, supposedly having survived and escaped to the woods. The legend states that the melon heads' appearance is the result of them having resorted to cannibalism in order to survive the harsh winters of the region and to inbreeding, which in turn caused them to develop hydrocephalus. Some retellings of this version substitute the asylum or prison with places of business or camp grounds and the inmates/patients with employees, staff or camp-goers. Individual variations will modify what town these individuals were originally from and where they end up. According to the second variation, the melon heads are descendants of a Colonial-era family from Shelton-Trumbull who were banished after accusations of witchcraft were made against them causing them to retreat to the woods. As with the first version of this legend, this variation attributes the appearance of the melon heads to inbreeding. Melon Heads allegedly prey upon humans who wander into their territory. Like the first version, individual retellings will modify what town the family was originally from and where they end up. Have you heard of this urban legend?

The Old Leatherman. A vagabond clad completely in leather, he regularly appeared walking through various towns taking hand-outs of food and drink but never tarrying long enough to be bothered by the law. His sightings were regular, and it soon appeared that the mysterious man was following a regular route. The Port Chester Journal of February 17, 1870, claimed the people of North Greenwich described the man as a passerby at least once a week, while a December 4, 1875, account in the Connecticut Valley Advisor claimed he passed through Middletown about once every five weeks. By 1880, most newspaper accounts had him appearing once about every thirty-four days. Living in rock shelters and "leatherman caves", as they are now locally known the Leatherman stopped at towns along his 365-mile (587 km) loop about every five weeks for food and supplies. He was dubbed the "Leatherman" as his adornment of hat, scarf, clothes, and shoes were handmade from leather. He ultimately died from cancer of the mouth. His body was found on March 24, 1889, in his Saw Mill Woods cave on the farm of George Dell in the town of Mount Pleasant, New York, near Ossining. Have you heard of the Leatherman?

Glawackus. The Glawackus is a cryptid, a mythical creature described in folklore and legend from the 19th and early 20th centuries, particularly in New England. It's depicted as a hybrid creature, resembling a mix of a bear, panther, and lion, and is known for its fearsome screech and the ability to wipe victims' memories by looking into its eyes. Its cries are likened to the hyena's cackle. It is believed to be blind and rely on its sense of smell and sound. The Glawackus is strongly associated with Glastonbury, Connecticut, where it was reportedly first named and documented in 1939. Not much else can be said about such a odd crypid. But have you've heard of this mythical creature before?

Little People's Village. One of the allegedly creepiest places in Connecticut is Little People's Village, tucked away in the woods of Middlebury. A complex of crumbling doll-sized houses and odd structures next to the remains of a stone house, it's rumored to be the damned legacy of insanity brought on by the little people. One of the many versions of the story goes that back about a century ago, a man and his wife (who may or may not have been a witch) were living peacefully in Middlebury when she started seeing small fairy folk in the woods around their home. To accommodate these pixie-like creatures, she demanded her husband build a tiny village. As the years passed and the village grew, the enchantment faded into madness. The abandoned smurf-scale town is all that's left to mark the couple's anguished demise. Another variation of the story is that a man living by himself in the stone house heard the voices of the little people, who commanded him to build the village. Eventually, this tale goes, he was driven nuts by the voices, which were now inside his head, and killed himself. As such, many of the people who visit now claim it's haunted by the spirits of the little people or the ghosts of those tormented by them and that strong fields of negative energy abound. Others claim that if you linger long enough, you can hear the voices of the little people yourself, and that you too will soon be plunged into insanity. Have you heard of this story?