If you look toward the hotel behind you, you can see where Union Street in downtown Flint is where the old brick apartment building stood. It looked just like any of the other buildings at the time, with its weathered facade and narrow windows, but those who know the history of this place will tell you to tread lightly. For the parking lot holds a tragic tale of jealousy and despair that still lingers, haunting the grounds and sending chills down the spine of anyone who dares to walk it.

It was July 14th, 1917, when Fred and Margaret Shanaghan’s love story came to a violent end. The couple had moved to their Union Street apartment two years earlier, seeking a new life in the bustling city. Fred found work as the manager of the Harry W. Watson Cigar Store on Saginaw Street, while Margaret became consumed by the city’s relentless pace, her heart twisted by jealousy.

Day after day, Margaret would sit by the window, her eyes fixed on the cigar store across the street, convinced that Fred was unfaithful. Neighbors often heard her accusations and the heated arguments that followed when Fred returned home. They whispered about the way Margaret’s jealousy had darkened her soul, transforming her love into something dangerous.

One fateful morning, their arguments reached a terrifying climax. Margaret, consumed by rage, threatened to end both their lives. Fred, weary of the constant accusations, retorted that she would never get the chance to say such words again. But before he could leave, Margaret grabbed a gun and as Fred turned to close the door behind him, she fired, the bullet striking him in the eye. A second shot pierced his heart, and Fred staggered, collapsing at the top of the stairway.

In a final act of despair, Margaret retreated to her bedroom, pressing the gun to her chest, and pulling the trigger. The neighbors, drawn by the sound of gunfire, called the police, but it was too late. Fred died on the way to Hurley Hospital, and Margaret, despite the surgeons’ efforts, succumbed to her wounds in the operating room.

But their story did not end there.

To this day, passer byers have reported strange occurrences where the building once stood. Some claim to hear the echo of heated arguments, muffled screams, and the sound of a gunshot, even when the area is empty. Others have seen the figure of a woman, standing by the window in surrounding buildings, her face twisted in sorrow and rage, watching the street below as if still searching for her husband.
As you walk down Union Street, keep your eyes on the path ahead. The ghosts of the Shanaghans are said to be restless, and if you’re not careful, you might find yourself caught in their tragic cycle, where love turned to jealousy, and jealousy turned to death.