Every corner of New England has a monster story, but Connecticut's best one doesn't have fangs, claws, or a forked tail. It's a dog. A small, short-haired, perfectly ordinary-looking black dog. The legend of the Black Dog of the Hanging Hills has been creeping out hikers in Meriden for well over a hundred years, and the rules are simple: see it once, and it's for joy. See it twice, and it's for sorrow. See it a third time, and you're not coming down off that mountain.
So grab a flashlight, leash up the dog you actually own, and let's take a walk up West Peak. If you get spooked halfway through, the Kiss Me I'm Sheet-Faced Ghost T-Shirt is the official uniform of people who'd rather hear about the ghost story at the bar.
What Is the Black Dog of the Hanging Hills?
The Black Dog of Meriden is a phantom pup said to roam the Hanging Hills, the rocky ridges that tower over the city. In the story that made it famous, it's described as "a short haired black dog of moderate size, with nothing particularly noticeable in its actual appearance." That's the creepy part. No glowing red eyes, no hellhound drool. Just a friendly-looking mutt with two tells: "men have seen it bark, but have heard no sound; and it leaves no footprint behind it on the dust of summer or the snow of winter."
Where Are the Hanging Hills, Anyway?
The Hanging Hills are a horseshoe of trap rock ridges in Meriden, Southington, and Berlin, smack in the middle of the state. From east to west you've got Cathole Mountain, South Mountain, East Peak, and West Peak, which tops out at 1,024 feet. That's not exactly the White Mountains, but the cliffs rise more than 700 feet straight up from the landscape, so it feels a lot bigger when you're standing on the edge.
The rock itself is basalt from lava flows roughly 200 million years old. Fresh basalt is nearly black, but the iron in it weathers to a rusty red, which gives the ledges that moody, burnt look. Throw in some stunted cedars, a February wind, and a dog that doesn't leave tracks, and you've got yourself a legend.
The Rules: Once for Joy, Twice for Sorrow
Here's the deal, according to the old saying: meet the Black Dog once and it brings you joy. Meet it twice and it brings sorrow. Meet it a third time and it brings death. It's basically a three-strikes policy, except the umpire is a silent mutt and you don't get to argue the call.
Most folks who swear they've seen it only claim one sighting, which is the good one. Nobody ever brags about strike two.
The Story That Started It All
Unlike a lot of New England legends that nobody can trace, this one has a birthday. In 1898, a story called "The Black Dog" ran in The Connecticut Quarterly. Its narrator, a young Harvard-trained geologist, describes visiting West Peak in the spring of 1894 to collect rock samples. A scruffy black dog trots up and tags along with his wagon all day. It never barks, and it never kicks up a puff of dust on the dry road. Cute, right?
Three years later, in February, the narrator comes back to see the peak under snow. He's joined by Herbert Marshall, a geologist with the U.S. Geological Survey, who admits he's already seen the black dog twice and knows the local legend. Marshall laughs it off, and the two of them climb the icy cliffs anyway.
The Third Sighting
On the way down, high on the rocks above them, the dog appears. The narrator can see its breath steaming from its jaws, but no sound comes out. It looks down at them once with gleaming eyes, then bounds out of sight. At that moment, the ledge under Marshall gives way, and he falls to his death. That was his third time.
And the narrator? A postscript to the story says he was found years later near the very spot where Marshall fell. Readers were left to do the math on how many times he'd seen the dog.
Plot Twist: It Was Fiction (and the Author Was a Pynchon)
Here's the part most ghost-tour guides leave out. "The Black Dog" was written by W. H. C. Pynchon, a Harvard-educated scientist who taught at Trinity College in Hartford, and The Connecticut Quarterly ran it as fiction. If the last name rings a bell, it should: he was the grandfather of novelist Thomas Pynchon. As far as anyone can tell, it's the only piece of fiction he ever published.
Because Pynchon was a young scientist writing as a young scientist, the story read a lot like a true account. Over the next century, ghost-story collections started retelling it as nonfiction, and a short story turned into "real" Connecticut folklore. Whether Pynchon was inventing something brand new or dressing up a superstition he'd heard around Meriden is still up for debate. Either way, the dog took off and never came back.
Why People Still Believe It
For one thing, black dog legends are old and everywhere. England is crawling with them, from Black Shuck in East Anglia to the hounds of Dartmoor that inspired The Hound of the Baskervilles. New Englanders brought plenty of that folklore across the pond, so a phantom dog on a Connecticut cliff fits right in.
For another, the Hanging Hills are a busy park, and busy parks have dogs. Hikers still report spotting a quiet black dog near the trails, and once you know the story, every off-leash Lab looks a little suspicious. Most people only see it once, which, if you're keeping score, is the lucky one.
The Hanging Hills Have Real History, Too
Even without a ghost dog, these hills are a trip. Castle Craig, the little stone tower on East Peak, was built in 1900 and has views that stretch toward Long Island Sound on a clear day. The surrounding 1,800-acre Hubbard Park was bankrolled by local businessman Walter Hubbard, who brought in famed landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted to help design it.
And West Peak has a nerdy claim to fame: radio pioneer Edwin Howard Armstrong, the guy who invented FM radio, used it for one of the first FM broadcasts in 1939. His original 70-foot mast still stands up there, and today the peak is crowded with broadcast towers. So if your car radio ever goes quiet near Meriden, you know who to blame.
Visiting the Hanging Hills Without Pushing Your Luck
Hubbard Park is a great day trip for anyone in the Nutmeg State. The blue-blazed Metacomet Trail runs right across the range, and in season a park road takes you up to Castle Craig. Check the City of Meriden's website for current road hours before you go. Stay off the cliff edges, especially in winter, since the real danger up there is ice and loose rock, not a phantom pup.
Driving in from out of state? Show some hometown pride in the Custom Connecticut License Plate T-Shirt so the locals know you're one of them, even if you can't pronounce Berlin the way they do.
How to Tell If You've Met the Black Dog
- It's black, medium-sized, and weirdly forgettable looking.
- It barks, but you can't hear a thing.
- You look behind it and there are no paw prints in the snow or dust.
- It's friendly, follows you for a while, then just isn't there anymore.
- Your hiking buddy suddenly remembers this is "number two" for them. Go home.
So, Is the Black Dog of Meriden Real?
The honest answer: the Black Dog of the Hanging Hills as we know it comes from an 1898 short story, written by a Pynchon and labeled fiction from day one. But that hasn't stopped generations of Nutmeggers from side-eyeing every quiet black dog on the trail up West Peak. That's what makes it a great New England legend. The facts are clear, the story is better, and nobody wants to be the one who tests the three-strikes rule.
See it once and enjoy your good luck. If you see it twice, maybe pick a different hike.
Stay wicked spooky, Connecticut,
Ryan & the Chowdaheadz Crew