An article titled “Werewolves of Wisconsin: Why an Elkhorn legend refuses to die,” written by Christopher Borrelli, was published in the Chicago Tribune on November 8. Although that article is behind a paywall, the News Tribune of Jefferson City, MO has republished the entire article about the Beast of Bray Road, without a paywall, through the Tribune News Service. That article may be found here. The Whitewater Banner is quoting a few passages below.
ELKHORN, Wis. — Bray Road runs for 3 miles through Elkhorn, Wisconsin. At the south, it begins not far from Lake Geneva. Enter off U.S. Route 12, curl east, and other than a slight jog, it’s pretty much a straight shot to State Route 11. Hence all the snaking peel-out marks left by amateur racers. Foliage rustles in the autumn wind here, and where there aren’t corn husks swaying, there are flat, lonely expanses of dirt where crops have been harvested.
As Midwestern scenes go, there’s nothing remarkable about Bray Road.
Other than the werewolf that has stalked it for nearly a century…..
Dan Hess, of the Wisconsin Historical Society — which hosts its own annual autumn folklore event starring an appearance by the Beast — lives in Elkhorn, not far from Bray Road. “To me, the best part of this is that as a local story, it’s been handed down for a century. But as a resident, it’s telling that though it’s a farm area, you can’t really see everything around here. The Kettle Moraine State Forest is right at our edge, and there are nooks and crannies where something could hide. And the further north you go here, the more forest and rivers there are, and the more believable a legend like this could seem.”
He’s referring to the fact that the legend actually originates 40 minutes north, in Jefferson County. A night watchman named Mark Shackleman at St. Coletta School for Exceptional Children — a facility for people with developmental disabilities, and for more than 50 years, home of Rosemary Kennedy, oldest sister of John F. Kennedy — was making his rounds and heard a scratching. Surrounding this former Franciscan convent were orchards and open fields and Native American burial mounds. Shackleman saw what he initially thought was a large dog digging in one. It ran off, only to return the next night, and this time it bared its fangs, and seemed to growl out a word: “Gar-dar-rah …”……..
