The Haunting of Mary Jane Reed

A young couple found dead on a lover’s lane. A grieving mother tormented by shadows. A ghost that won’t rest until the truth is known. What really happened to Mary Jane Reed in 1948 — and why has her spirit never left Oregon, Illinois?

The moon hung thin in the sky on the night of June 24, 1948, when seventeen-year-old Mary Jane Reed climbed into Stanley Skridla’s Buick for a date from which neither would return. The small town of Oregon, Illinois—nestled along the shadowy banks of the Rock River—would never be the same after that night. What unfolded became more than just another small-town tragedy; it spawned a dark legacy of whispered conspiracies, restless spirits, and a blood-stained mystery that refuses to die even decades later.

The Last Night

Mary Jane worked the switchboard at the DeKalb/Ogle Telephone Company, connecting calls between the living with no inkling that she would soon be speaking only to the dead. It was there she met Stanley Skridla, a 28-year-old Navy veteran whose eyes lingered on her a moment too long. Despite the age difference, something sparked between them. Mary Jane had always been different from other girls—dropping out of school at 15 to care for her ailing mother, she carried herself with a determination that suggested she knew time was precious.

The Reed family home stood in Sandtown, the “wrong side” of Oregon where factory workers lived in the shadow of the silica plant. The fine white dust from the plant settled on everything, like a premature burial shroud over the neighborhood. None of this deterred Mary Jane, who dressed carefully for her first—and final—date with Stan.

As darkness fell, the couple drifted from tavern to tavern across Oregon. Witnesses later recalled seeing them at the Stenhouse, now known as the Roadhouse. Some said they appeared to argue with another couple; others mentioned two men watching them intently from the shadows. After midnight, they drove to a secluded lover’s lane on County Farm Road, a place where teenagers went to escape prying eyes. No one knows what horrors awaited them there in the darkness.

The Body in the Ditch

Dawn broke cold and gray the next morning. John Eckerd was driving to work when something caught his eye—a lone shoe on County Farm Road, as if marking a path to follow. The trail led him to Stan Skridla’s bullet-riddled body, face-down in a ditch still wet with morning dew. Five brass bullet casings glinted in the early light. A dark smear of blood traced the path where someone had dragged Stan’s body from the road, attempting to hide their sin beneath the tall grass.

Stan’s empty Buick was discovered a mile away, abandoned at a crossroads. On the floorboard, a single cigarette stained with lipstick—Mary Jane’s last mark on the world. Or so it seemed.

Back in Sandtown, the Reed household grew increasingly frantic. Mary Jane had never stayed out all night without calling. When news of Stan’s murder reached them, a cold dread settled over the family like a shroud. Two of Mary Jane’s siblings sought answers from a local psychic, who spoke of their sister still alive—imprisoned in a shack by an older man with cruel intentions. Hope, it turned out, could be more cruel than truth.

The Weeds Whisper Her Name

Stan Skridla was laid to rest on June 28, his secrets buried with him. The very next day, two somber police officers appeared at the Reed family door. Five-year-old Warren Reed, clutching his mother’s hand, felt something terrible pass through her body—”I could feel the energy just drain out of her,” he would later recall. The officers spoke words that would haunt the family forever: Mary Jane’s body had been found.

She lay among the weeds along Silica Road—a route now ominously known to locals as Devil’s Backbone Road. The tall grass had concealed her for days, despite police searches and her own father passing by repeatedly on his way to work. Only when Harold Sigler’s truck cab rose high enough above the weeds did her pale form finally reveal itself, as if she had been waiting for the right moment to be found.

Mary Jane had been shot in the back of the head, execution-style. Strangely, her brown slacks were folded neatly on her back, as if her killer had performed some bizarre ritual. She still wore her mother’s wedding ring, a final connection to the life that had been ripped away. A single bullet casing lay nearby, a cold metal testament to her final moments.

The Reed family’s wounds deepened. Mary Jane’s brother Donald had been set to marry just days after her disappearance. His sister was to have stood beside his bride in celebration of new beginnings. Instead, the wedding was postponed for a funeral. On June 30, they laid Mary Jane to rest in Daysville Cemetery—but as events would prove, neither Mary Jane nor her secrets would remain buried for long.

Voices in the Dark

The investigation began with urgency but soon faltered in the shadows. Chief Deputy Willard “Jiggs” Burright sought motive in Mary Jane’s past relationships, stirring up jealousies and old wounds. The search spread like a dark stain across neighboring towns—Dixon, Rockford, Freeport, Chicago. Witnesses spoke of arguments, mysterious couples, men lurking in shadows. Each lead dissipated like morning fog under the harsh light of scrutiny.

As weeks passed, Mary Jane’s story faded from headlines, but never from the consciousness of Oregon. Her mother, Ruth Reed, descended into paranoia, hiding young Warren behind furniture, convinced that the killer watched them from the darkness outside their windows, waiting to complete what had been started that June night.

The case reopened in the 1950s, then again in 1970 when Jerry Brooks became sheriff. Each time, investigators found less than before—evidence vanishing like ghosts at daybreak. Bullet casings, photographs, interview notes—all disappeared from files as if the case itself resisted solution. Brooks rewrote reports from memory, trying to recapture what had been lost, but witnesses had died or memories had grown clouded by time and fear.

The Phantom of the Roadhouse

In 1999, the case took an eerie turn when Mike Arians, a former insurance fraud investigator elected as Oregon’s mayor, became entangled in the mystery. Arians owned the Roadhouse—formerly the Stenhouse, where Mary Jane had last been seen alive.

It began with music—the same haunting song playing repeatedly on the jukebox when no one had selected it. Sergio Mendes and Brasil ’66’s “After Sunrise” would fill the empty restaurant, its melody drifting through rooms where no one sat. Then came the apparitions—glimpses of a young woman in 1940s clothing reflected in mirrors, vanishing when approached. Cold spots appeared in the warmest rooms, bringing with them the overwhelming scent of funeral flowers.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Arians would later confess, lowering his voice. “But she’s here. Mary Jane and her mother both. They won’t rest until this thing is resolved.”

The haunting intensified when Arians began his investigation. One morning, staff arrived to find flower arrangements delivered to the closed restaurant—addressed to Mary Jane Reed. No sender was identified. Later, Arians discovered it had been Mary Jane’s birthday.

Disturbing the Dead

Warren Reed, the little boy who felt his mother’s life force drain away that terrible day, grew into a man obsessed with his sister’s unsolved murder. In 2005, with Arians’ help, he secured a court order to exhume Mary Jane’s body from its not-so-peaceful resting place.

On a gray August morning, cemetery workers opened the grave. The onlookers fell silent as the casket emerged from the earth after nearly sixty years. Inside, to everyone’s surprise, lay Mary Jane—her body eerily preserved, skin still covering her frame, as if she had been waiting all this time to tell her story.

The exhumation dispelled some of the darkest rumors that had circulated through decades—or so it seemed at first. But wrapped in yellowed newspapers from June 25, 1948, investigators found additional clothing inside the vault—a dress and slip never mentioned in any report, the headlines on the papers screaming about Mary Jane’s own murder, as if someone had performed a macabre ritual at her burial.

Initially, detectives thought they might finally close the case when the exhumation pointed toward two persons of interest. But by 2006, both suspects had followed Mary Jane to the grave, taking their secrets with them. Captain Rick Wilkinson’s official report concluded what many had whispered for years—the investigation had been “tainted and mishandled from the start,” as if invisible hands had worked to ensure the truth remained buried.

The Body That Wasn’t There

December 2007 brought the most chilling revelation of all. Forensic anthropologist Lisa Klepinger, hired by Warren Reed and Mike Arians, examined the remains from Mary Jane’s casket. Her conclusion sent ripples of horror through the community: the skull and part of the spine in the casket belonged to someone else entirely.

The grim rumors that had persisted for decades suddenly gained new life—had Mary Jane’s killer truly kept her head as a trophy of his obsession? Warren Reed pondered the possibility with a grim resignation: “Maybe someone wanted a trophy. Maybe they’ve got it sitting on a shelf or in a box somewhere, still looking at her after all these years.”

Officials suggested more mundane explanations—perhaps the bones were accidentally switched during examination. Others dismissed the findings completely. But in a town where a jukebox plays without being touched and the scent of funeral flowers fills empty rooms, rational explanations hold less weight than they might elsewhere.

The Dead Don’t Sleep

The case remains officially open but increasingly shrouded in darkness. Warren Reed and Mike Arians continue their lonely vigil, waiting for evidence that seems determined never to surface. The mystery has become part of Oregon’s identity—a dark stain that cannot be washed away.

Late at night, when the wind blows cold off the Rock River, locals say you can sometimes see a young woman in 1940s clothing walking along Devil’s Backbone Road, searching for something lost. Patrons at the Roadhouse occasionally glimpse her reflection in mirrors or feel her presence as a sudden chill. The jukebox still plays that haunting melody without being prompted.

Some say Mary Jane will never rest until her killer is named. Others believe darker forces conspired to ensure her murder would remain unsolved. The truth, like Mary Jane herself, remains suspended between worlds—neither fully revealed nor completely hidden, a ghost story that happens to be true.

In Oregon, Illinois, the past refuses to stay buried. The unsolved murder of Mary Jane Reed continues to haunt the living, a reminder that some secrets refuse to die—even when their keepers have long since turned to dust.

(Source: Rockford Register Star | Cover Photo: Rockford Register Star)