The Devil’s Backbone

High above Elk Creek in Girard, a jagged cliff known as Devil’s Backbone has long drawn wanderers, thrill-seekers, and those with heavier hearts. Its name alone stirs unease, but the stories etched into its steep face are what truly haunt. Over the decades, multiple lives have ended here—some by accident, others by choice. The terrain is unforgiving: a sheer drop of over 180 feet, tangled with roots and slick with moss. One of the most chilling incidents occurred in 1952, when a 15-year-old girl fell to her death from the cliff’s edge. Her companion, a 46-year-old woman, was badly injured in the same plunge. The newspaper diagram traced the path of the fall like a grim map, marking the tree where her body came to rest.

Locals still speak of the strange quiet that settles over the Backbone, especially near dusk. Some say the air feels heavier there, as if grief itself lingers in the leaves. Though the Gudgeonville Bridge nearby has its own legends, the cliff’s sorrowful history stands apart. Another tragedy unfolded when a young boy, Gerard Serfozo, drowned in the creek below—his body found tangled in branches, just downstream. The area was described as “beautiful but treacherous,” a phrase that could well define the Backbone itself.

There are whispers, too, of ghostly figures seen near the edge—silent silhouettes that vanish when approached. Hikers have reported the feeling of being watched, of footsteps echoing behind them on empty trails. Whether these are echoes of the past or tricks of the mind, the cliff seems to hold memory in its stone. It’s not just the deaths that haunt—it’s the way the land seems to remember.

Devil’s Backbone remains one of Erie County’s most quietly chilling landmarks. No plaques mark the tragedies. No signs warn of the weight carried here. But for those who know the stories—or feel them in the hush between the trees—it’s a place where the veil thins, and the past is never quite gone.