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Tales of the twisted
podcast
The Circleville Letters: The Poison Pen Mystery
Episode Title:
Full Transcript
This is Tales of the Twisted. True stories of the strange, weird, bizarre, and eerie.
Today we go to Circleville, Ohio — a small town famous for pumpkins, parades, and friendly, quiet streets. But in 1976, something sinister arrived in Circleville. Something that slipped into mailboxes, crawled into classrooms, and pried open the deepest secrets of its residents.
Someone out there — someone who knew everyone's business, everyone's mistakes, everyone's sins — began writing letters. Threatening letters. Violent letters. Letters that named names… and delivered consequences.
For years, the town lived in terror. And even after an arrest, even after a conviction, the letters continued.
This is the haunting, unsolved nightmare known as the Circleville Letters mystery.
It began quietly in February 1976. A school bus driver named Mary Gillispie opened her mailbox and froze. Inside was a letter handwritten in blocky, unnerving capital letters. It accused her of having an affair with the school superintendent. It demanded she stop immediately. It warned that the writer was watching her.
Mary was confused and frightened, but she hid the letter. She didn’t tell her husband Ron — not yet.
But the letters kept coming. More accusing. More threatening. More personal.
The writer claimed to know where she lived, where her children played, and what she was doing at every moment. Circleville was being watched.
The letters expanded beyond Mary. Neighbors began receiving their own messages. Threats. Warnings. Accusations of affairs, theft, embezzlement — and crimes no one knew were real or not.
The writer demanded Mary confess her supposed affair. She denied it. Her husband denied it. Her family denied it.
But the letters kept coming.
In one, the writer warned: “Your husband will pay the price.”
Months later… he did.
On August 19th, 1977, Ron Gillispie received a phone call. According to his family, the caller was the letter writer. Ron grabbed his gun and stormed out the door.
Minutes later, his truck crashed into a tree. He was killed instantly.
Authorities declared it an accident — but many disagreed.
The gun Ron carried had been fired… yet no bullet was ever found. No one knew what he shot at. Or who.
Some locals believed Ron encountered the letter writer that night… and paid for it with his life.
After Ron's death, the letters became more vicious. Mary was called a liar, a killer, a “__”. Signs appeared along her bus route — crude, humiliating signs about her young daughter.
One day, Mary stopped the bus and tore down a sign herself. Behind it was a small box. Inside: a loaded gun. A booby trap intended to kill her.
Investigators traced the gun. The serial number had been filed off — poorly. They managed to restore part of the number, and it led back to Mary's former brother-in-law, **Paul Freshour**.
Paul denied everything. He said the gun had been stolen from his garage months earlier. He said he had nothing to do with the trap or the letters.
But police insisted he was responsible. In 1983, Paul was arrested and charged with attempted murder.
The trial was strange. He was tried only for the booby trap — but the letters were read aloud to the jury anyway. Page after page of threats, accusations, and venom.
Paul was convicted. He received a sentence of 7 to 25 years.
Circleville breathed a sigh of relief.
But the letters didn’t stop.
They got worse.
Paul Freshour arrived in prison in 1983 — and almost immediately, Circleville residents began receiving new letters. Same handwriting. Same tone.
Some even mocked Paul directly:
“Now you know I’m still out here.”
Paul was placed in solitary confinement. He was denied access to paper, envelopes, writing tools — everything.
Still… the letters continued.
One was even postmarked from Columbus, Ohio. Paul physically could not have sent it.
The sheriff said Paul must have convinced someone outside to mail the letters for him — but they never proved it.
Paul served 10 years and was paroled in 1994. He died in 2012 still insisting he had been framed.
So who was the writer?
Suspects include:
— A jealous coworker
— A family member with deep grudges
— Mary’s alleged lover, the superintendent
— Someone connected to Ron’s death
— A postal worker with access
— A complete outsider
— Or multiple writers over time
Handwriting tests were inconclusive. Envelopes came from different counties. The tone shifted. Some letters seemed written by someone else entirely.
To this day, **no one knows**.
Circleville never recovered. For years, residents whispered about the poison-pen stalker. Children feared the mailbox. Marriages collapsed. Friendships died. People moved away.
Even after the letters stopped, the scars remained.
In 1993, *Unsolved Mysteries* investigated the case. Their crew received a chilling letter themselves:
“Forget Circleville. Do nothing to hurt Circleville. If you come here, you will be sorry.”
It was postmarked Columbus. Same handwriting.
Paul was still in prison.
The Circleville Letters remain one of the most disturbing unsolved cases in American history — a mystery involving anonymous threats, psychological warfare, a suspicious death, attempted murder, a possible wrongful conviction, and a writer who has never revealed their face.
A writer who always seemed to know when someone lied, when someone cheated, when someone was afraid — and when someone opened their mailbox.
Because letters can kill.
This has been Tales of the Twisted — true stories of the strange, weird, bizarre, and eerie. Follow the show, leave a rating, and join us next time as we dive into another unsettling mystery hiding in the shadows.
Until then: stay cautious, stay curious… and remember: the most terrifying messages are the ones written by someone who refuses to be seen.
Today we go to Circleville, Ohio — a small town famous for pumpkins, parades, and friendly, quiet streets. But in 1976, something sinister arrived in Circleville. Something that slipped into mailboxes, crawled into classrooms, and pried open the deepest secrets of its residents.
Someone out there — someone who knew everyone's business, everyone's mistakes, everyone's sins — began writing letters. Threatening letters. Violent letters. Letters that named names… and delivered consequences.
For years, the town lived in terror. And even after an arrest, even after a conviction, the letters continued.
This is the haunting, unsolved nightmare known as the Circleville Letters mystery.
It began quietly in February 1976. A school bus driver named Mary Gillispie opened her mailbox and froze. Inside was a letter handwritten in blocky, unnerving capital letters. It accused her of having an affair with the school superintendent. It demanded she stop immediately. It warned that the writer was watching her.
Mary was confused and frightened, but she hid the letter. She didn’t tell her husband Ron — not yet.
But the letters kept coming. More accusing. More threatening. More personal.
The writer claimed to know where she lived, where her children played, and what she was doing at every moment. Circleville was being watched.
The letters expanded beyond Mary. Neighbors began receiving their own messages. Threats. Warnings. Accusations of affairs, theft, embezzlement — and crimes no one knew were real or not.
The writer demanded Mary confess her supposed affair. She denied it. Her husband denied it. Her family denied it.
But the letters kept coming.
In one, the writer warned: “Your husband will pay the price.”
Months later… he did.
On August 19th, 1977, Ron Gillispie received a phone call. According to his family, the caller was the letter writer. Ron grabbed his gun and stormed out the door.
Minutes later, his truck crashed into a tree. He was killed instantly.
Authorities declared it an accident — but many disagreed.
The gun Ron carried had been fired… yet no bullet was ever found. No one knew what he shot at. Or who.
Some locals believed Ron encountered the letter writer that night… and paid for it with his life.
After Ron's death, the letters became more vicious. Mary was called a liar, a killer, a “__”. Signs appeared along her bus route — crude, humiliating signs about her young daughter.
One day, Mary stopped the bus and tore down a sign herself. Behind it was a small box. Inside: a loaded gun. A booby trap intended to kill her.
Investigators traced the gun. The serial number had been filed off — poorly. They managed to restore part of the number, and it led back to Mary's former brother-in-law, **Paul Freshour**.
Paul denied everything. He said the gun had been stolen from his garage months earlier. He said he had nothing to do with the trap or the letters.
But police insisted he was responsible. In 1983, Paul was arrested and charged with attempted murder.
The trial was strange. He was tried only for the booby trap — but the letters were read aloud to the jury anyway. Page after page of threats, accusations, and venom.
Paul was convicted. He received a sentence of 7 to 25 years.
Circleville breathed a sigh of relief.
But the letters didn’t stop.
They got worse.
Paul Freshour arrived in prison in 1983 — and almost immediately, Circleville residents began receiving new letters. Same handwriting. Same tone.
Some even mocked Paul directly:
“Now you know I’m still out here.”
Paul was placed in solitary confinement. He was denied access to paper, envelopes, writing tools — everything.
Still… the letters continued.
One was even postmarked from Columbus, Ohio. Paul physically could not have sent it.
The sheriff said Paul must have convinced someone outside to mail the letters for him — but they never proved it.
Paul served 10 years and was paroled in 1994. He died in 2012 still insisting he had been framed.
So who was the writer?
Suspects include:
— A jealous coworker
— A family member with deep grudges
— Mary’s alleged lover, the superintendent
— Someone connected to Ron’s death
— A postal worker with access
— A complete outsider
— Or multiple writers over time
Handwriting tests were inconclusive. Envelopes came from different counties. The tone shifted. Some letters seemed written by someone else entirely.
To this day, **no one knows**.
Circleville never recovered. For years, residents whispered about the poison-pen stalker. Children feared the mailbox. Marriages collapsed. Friendships died. People moved away.
Even after the letters stopped, the scars remained.
In 1993, *Unsolved Mysteries* investigated the case. Their crew received a chilling letter themselves:
“Forget Circleville. Do nothing to hurt Circleville. If you come here, you will be sorry.”
It was postmarked Columbus. Same handwriting.
Paul was still in prison.
The Circleville Letters remain one of the most disturbing unsolved cases in American history — a mystery involving anonymous threats, psychological warfare, a suspicious death, attempted murder, a possible wrongful conviction, and a writer who has never revealed their face.
A writer who always seemed to know when someone lied, when someone cheated, when someone was afraid — and when someone opened their mailbox.
Because letters can kill.
This has been Tales of the Twisted — true stories of the strange, weird, bizarre, and eerie. Follow the show, leave a rating, and join us next time as we dive into another unsettling mystery hiding in the shadows.
Until then: stay cautious, stay curious… and remember: the most terrifying messages are the ones written by someone who refuses to be seen.
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