The best stories are always those that come from personal experience. The following are actual experiences people have had while visiting or investigating these haunted locations. What is chilling is that this book contains only a fraction of the innumerable haunted places around the nation, let alone around the world. Ghosts and their like are everywhere, and perhaps, the ground we all stand upon is filled with beings that exist in a dimension beyond ours. The fact that there isn’t a culture, region, or belief system on the planet that doesn’t embrace the world of the paranormal is telling. Even though scientists insist this type of phenomenon is impossible to prove, this writer counters with the sheer number of reports, sightings, experiences, cases, hauntings, possessions, and encounters people have reported for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
The unknown scares us, but we are drawn to it like moths to a flame. Our curiosity gets the best of us, and often, we are not prepared for what we might find. But we are drawn nonetheless. Our motives may differ. Some people seek out ghosts and paranormal activity to prove that life goes on after death. Others love the adrenaline-filled rush of coming face-to-face with bizarre cryptids, spirits, or entities. Most of us love the idea that there are other forms of life out there somewhere, even if they terrify us.
Chances are, most of the people reading this book have their own stories to tell, maybe not personally but certainly of family experiences. Our history, individually and collectively, includes the things we cannot prove alongside the things we can because they are tangible, repeatable. Yet, just mention encounters with spirits, cryptids, or ghosts at a large gathering, and no doubt, several people will lean forward, whispering, “It happened to me, too. Want to hear my story?”
BEING AT GETTYSBURG
By Peaches Veatch
We all know that what happened to soldiers on the battlefield during the Civil War was tragic. Young men perished, and families lost 750,000 fathers, brothers, sons, nephews.… Most of us have a general understanding of the Civil War, but do many know what it felt like to be there? I took a trip there nearly eight years ago with my husband and met some friends in the paranormal community. My husband loves history, especially the Civil War. Me? I love the paranormal and wanted to see what I could find or who I could contact. I sense things … sometimes, I see things … things of the paranormal kind. And this trip truly opened my eyes about what it’s like during a war.
Soon after arriving for our seven-day stay in Gettysburg, we visited many of the familiar places of the area, including the preserved battlefields. The grounds are vast and well kept, of course, but I wanted to roam and let my senses take over. I wanted to see if anything could be felt there. I was not disappointed.
Late one evening, in an area named Cemetery Hill, the night was damp and quiet. There isn’t too much that happens in the evening in Gettysburg. Before summer hours, the parks close earlier, and there isn’t much traffic through the town. It was extremely quiet, and as we were on the hill, I just stood there overlooking a field lined with trees. The longer I stood there, the longer I was certain I saw movement on the ground below us—movement of people, hundreds of people. They all appeared to be small, white shadows in the distance, like individual clouds of people moving about. I gathered if they were spirits, they may have been fighting for ground there. Then came the sounds of cannons. As far as we could investigate, we found that no actual cannons were fired that evening, but after speaking to my paranormal friends, I found that they heard it as well. We all heard it the same night, at the same time, but we had been spread out all over town.
I’m not as keen on some details as my husband when it comes to history. He remembers it all; he’s studied it for decades. I’m glad I didn’t know the details when we visited because I don’t like to have my experiences with the paranormal tainted by already knowing previous events that happened there. A general idea is fine, but knowing what’s happened like a movie playing in front of me is not something I need when I want to try to explore things for myself. One of these times was at Little Round Top. I decided to go exploring through the field, and suddenly, I was hit with a flood of emotions. Knowing many men died where I stood would bring some heavy emotions to anyone, but this was different. I suddenly realized I was feeling what the soldiers felt. They were scared. Many of them had thoughts of not knowing if they would see their mom again, their girl again. And in the instant those emotions washed over me, they were gone, but they left me still and somber. I couldn’t imagine feeling what they did, not knowing if you would be alive or dead at the end of the day.
Across the driveway where one of the lookout towers stands, I suddenly began feeling emotions of arrogance, like someone who felt like he needed to prove something, and was sending troops where they shouldn’t have been. My husband identified this person as Major Daniel Sickles, who disobeyed orders and nearly collapsed the Union defense line. Not knowing details about this but being able to relay what I felt was an interesting way to approach learning history!
We also spent time in the home where Jennie Wade lived. Jennie Wade was the only civilian to die in the Battle of Gettysburg. Pierced by a stray bullet through her back, she perished on July 3, 1863, as she made bread for the Union soldiers. During the evening I was in the Wade house, I experienced a few things that weren’t explainable. Sitting on the floor upstairs trying to communicate with Miss Wade, I felt someone brush past me as if they were wearing a long, full skirt, possibly with petticoats. No one corporeal walked through that doorway. During this time, I also felt a piercing pain through my back near the same area Jennie had been shot. I knew she had been shot there but did not know the area of her back where she’d been hit.
Skeptical or not, Gettysburg holds the imprint of one of the bloodiest times in American history, and it gave me a greater appreciation for what our soldiers, and American people of the time, experienced during the war.
Peaches has been seeking answers to the paranormal since she was a child. After joining a paranormal research group in the 2000s, she has conducted hundreds of investigations and is the director of the California Paranormal Private Investigations (CPPI), located in southern California.
DENVER’S WILDEST HAUNTED LANDMARKS
By Jalynn Venis
Denver, Colorado, has been home to gold and silver tycoons, oil barons, and legends of the historic West such as Buffalo Bill Cody. It’s a town of big dreams, rich passions, and legendary haunts.
With the Rocky Mountains to the west, Denver lies in the South Platte River Valley—a place of beauty with universal appeal for those who live large, think big, and are rarely ready to exit the good life for an uncertain afterlife. As an intuitive and paranormal investigator, I know that any structure fifty years or older has a good chance of being haunted. The more magnificent the building or remarkable the landscape, the more likely it is that some people just can’t say goodbye—ever. Denver is as spirited as any city can be.
Here is a sampling of some of the most delightful stories filed under the heading of Dead in Denver.
THE BROWN PALACE HOTEL (1892): 321 17TH ST., DENVER
When walking into the Brown Palace Hotel, a time shift creeps over you as you step through the doors of the sandstone and red, granite walls onto the onyx floors of the atrium lobby. The cast-iron railings with ornate, metal panels and elaborate chandeliers that hang high overhead thrill and delight the senses.
This iconic, western hotel was built in the style of Italian Renaissance by Henry Brown. He made his money in land speculation and once grazed his cow on this triangular plot of land that would become the center of downtown Denver and some of the most expensive real estate in the world. The Brown Palace has hosted almost every president since 1905 along with a pantheon of other notable guests such as Thomas Edison, Desmond Tutu, Andrew Carnegie, and the Beatles.
It’s also hosted some guests who simply refused to leave. Louise Crawford Hill was a socialite who lived in room 904 during the 1940s and ‘50s. Although long since dead, she still calls the switchboard for room service with a static hiss and even did so when the room was under renovation and had no phone or lights. Other long-term guests include an old-fashioned train conductor, a crying baby in the boiler room, a uniformed waiter in the service elevator, and, of course, those pesky children who run up and down the halls of this grand hotel throughout the night. But the most unusual group to haunt the hotel is a ghostly string quartet in formal attire that plays in the restaurant called Ellyngton’s. The musicians have been known to tell people that they live there.
Denver’s Brown Palace Hotel is home to several spirit guests who refuse to check out.
THE BUCKHORN EXCHANGE (1893): 1000 OSAGE ST., DENVER
The Buckhorn Exchange sits in a building that looks like the finest old saloon in the city, although it was originally built to be a trading post for pioneers, miners, and fur traders, who would occasionally get into gunfights there. It has the distinction of holding Liquor License #1. The walls display more than five hundred wild animal trophies (both head and full body of bear, moose, elk, mountain goat, fox, cougar, and anything else indigenous to North America) and more than two hundred antique weapons that include rifles, hand guns, knives, swords, and arrowhead collections.
The wild game menu is delicious at this popular restaurant, but what people remember best about the Buckhorn is all of the animal eyes staring at them while they dine on buffalo prime rib, elk, salmon, quail, alligator tail, and Rocky Mountain oysters.
Evidently, other eyes watch the patrons and the wait staff, who sometimes see tables move and chairs slide away from tables. Other phenomena include footsteps and disembodied voices, especially conversations heard in the bar area when it’s empty.
BYERS-EVANS HOUSE MUSEUM (1883): 1310 BANNOCK STREET, DENVER
Built by William Byers, founding editor of the Rocky Mountain News, this Italianate structure was bought six years later by William Evans, the son of Colorado’s second territorial governor. The home remained in the Evans family for almost ninety years until it was given to the preservation organization History Colorado. Throughout that time, Denver’s cultural elite and power brokers of the day attended parties and meetings in the house. They imbued it with a sense of history and purpose that few houses of its era could match.
Today, the structure rests in the shadow of the Denver Art Museum and is open daily for tours. Many feel that because of the Evans family’s long history with the home and the fact that many of their belongings remain there, several deceased members of the Evans clan still are attached to the lovely, old house.
Both visitors and docents have heard voices coming from empty rooms and seen ghostly forms dressed in early 1900s clothing moving around the building. Among the other spectral manifestations are doors that open and close on their own, furniture that moves around, and books that appear in different places in the library.
On one visit to the house, I helped clear the spirit of a distraught young woman from a room in the servant’s quarters. While there, photographs were made of some large and colorful orbs in the library and in the front sitting room. One large orb followed the investigating party out to the sidewalk and stayed with us as we discussed the house. This was the first time I became aware of a multigenerational haunting that shared visions of the family getting together every Sunday for dinner. It was a beautiful and fascinating experience unlike any other paranormal investigation.
CHEESMAN PARK (1907): 1599 EAST 8TH AVENUE (AT FRANKLIN STREET), DENVER
It’s been said that Cheesman Park was the inspiration for the film Poltergeist because the park was built over the 1858 Mount Prospect Hill Cemetery. After the cemetery fell into disuse and became overgrown, city leaders thought it would be a good idea to turn the cemetery into a park.
After serving notice to the community of the planned park and giving residents ample time to remove the remains of loved ones, the city hired a man to remove the remaining bodies. After it was discovered that he was cutting up bodies and packing them along with multiple remains into children’s caskets to move to another cemetery, public outcry cost him his job. Lacking a better solution, thousands of graves were then left for future gardeners and other workers to uncover the hard way as subsequent years rolled by.
Soon after the park was created, people living in the homes near Cheesman began to report sightings of specters that would knock on their second-story windows at night and wander through their houses.
The Cheesman Memorial was built in 1908 in a Neoclassical style to commemorate the philanthropic work of Denver pioneer Walter Cheesman, known for funding the Colorado Humane Society and aiding children in need. Late at night, the spirits come out to play. People have seen apparitions standing on the marble flooring that fade in and out under the moonlight. Some have heard a man whispering, “Get out!”
I observed an individual walking late one evening in Cheesman Park who vanished into a small tree. People nearby heard eerie noises and “someone talking on the wind.” Cheesman Park—beautiful by day, very eerie at night.
CROKE-PATTERSON MANSION (1891): 420 EAST 11TH AVENUE, DENVER
The Croke-Patterson Mansion was built in the Châteauesque style by Thomas Croke between 1890 and 1891 for just $18,000. Its red, sandstone walls with gables and turrets are representative of a French castle.
The landmark is now known as the Patterson Inn after its second owner, Thomas Patterson. He was an attorney and U.S. senator as well as publisher of the Rocky Mountain News. Patterson traded Croke 1,440 acres (583 hectares) of ranchland for the home, which remains one of the most spectacular buildings in Denver.
It’s said that Croke entered the finished mansion only once, and he left the house shaken by what he experienced there. He never returned, and he traded it to Patterson just two years later.
The building was used for many things after being sold in the 1930s by Patterson’s granddaughter: a boardinghouse, a dance studio, an office building. While being renovated in the 1970s, the house came alive again. Workers returned to find the previous day’s work undone on several occasions. Thinking someone was being mischievous, the owner of the building left guard dogs inside the house. The next day, he found his two Dobermann Pinschers dead on the sidewalk—apparently, they jumped from a third-story window.
Later, office workers reported that typewriters and copy machines turned themselves on, and several people witnessed a spectral form gliding up and down the main floor staircase. An apparition that looked like Thomas Patterson was seen many times in the courtyard between the mansion and the carriage house. An apparition of his wife, Kate Patterson, also has been seen inside the house. Occupants who lived there when the mansion was an apartment building often complained of hearing wild parties on the third floor, but when management investigated, the rooms were dead quiet.
I visited the Croke-Patterson Mansion late one night when it was empty and, once again, waiting to be repurposed. Of the three people with me, two of them would not exit the car. Even in the moonlight, the structure had a desolate darkness to it that repelled visitors. Our photos showed clouds of orbs hovering above.
DENVER FIREFIGHTERS MUSEUM (1909): 1326 TREMONT PLACE, DENVER
Old Fire Station No. 1 served the city when horse-drawn engines were the norm. It was a working firehouse for sixty-six years. Today, it houses several exhibits from Denver firefighters and caters to museum visitors and paranormal investigators alike.
While on an investigation, I felt energy swirling in the firemen’s bathroom and saw orbs streaking overhead. Other paranormal phenomena included the smell of hay in what would have been the horse stables one hundred years earlier, orbs in the main exhibit among the old firefighting equipment, orbs around the firemen’s lockers, and an ominous presence in what is known as “Caleb’s closet” in the basement.
Other reported haunting high jinks include ringing bells on the engines, shuffling papers, printers that turn on and spit paper uncontrollably, ghosts in photographs, disembodied footsteps, laughter, and children’s voices.
The Denver Firefighters Museum was established in 1978 and is maintained in a 1909 station that is on the National Register of Historic Places.
MOLLY BROWN HOUSE MUSEUM (1889): 1340 PENNSYLVANIA STREET, DENVER
Built in the Capitol Hill district by Isaac Large, a silver tycoon, this beautiful, Victorian home was designed in the classic Queen Anne and Richardsonian Romanesque styles by famed architect William Lang. It had all the luxuries that Mrs. Large wanted—electricity, indoor plumbing, heat, and even a telephone. When the Silver Crash hit in 1893, Mr. Large had to sell his wife’s beloved home. The buyers were the very well known James Joseph (J. J.) and Margaret (Molly) Brown—yes, the “Unsinkable Molly Brown” of the Titanic disaster.
At the time, the Browns owned a gold mine that was one of the largest in the world. They were generous people who always seemed to have others living with them. It’s not surprising that the gregarious Browns, and some of their family members and servants, remain there in the afterlife.
Ghostly activity at the Molly Brown House includes J. J.’s pipe and cigar smoke wafting through the halls and cold spots in Molly’s bedroom, where a rocking chair rocks now and then. Many have reported seeing a woman in a Victorian dress going around corners in the house and in the dining room. She is believed to be Molly. The staff reports that she sits at the dining table and has even tolerated people taking photos of her there. Sometimes, she moves chairs around in the dining room. One needy guest claimed that Molly pointed her in the direction of a bathroom.
Other apparitions that have been spotted include a grumpy butler, no doubt wearied of the forty-five thousand people who visit the Molly Brown House each year, a maid in the library, and Johanna (Molly’s mother who lived with the Browns after their young daughter died). Johanna lived in the girls’ room, and it’s reported that the shades in that room rise and lower on their own.
The last time I was in the Molly Brown House, I smelled pipe and cigar tobacco in the halls and, for an instant, I thought I saw a woman in elegant, Victorian attire rounding a corner and glancing back at me. Sadly, I left without taking selfies in the dining room with Molly.
THE OXFORD HOTEL (1891): 1600 17TH STREET, DENVER
The Oxford Hotel and the Brown Palace Hotel argue about being the oldest hotel in Denver. They were built at the same time, and the Oxford opened first. Each was designed by architect Frank E. Edbrooke and built at the peak of the Silver Rush. The Oxford had many amenities, including gas heating, an elevator, and its own power plant.
The Oxford’s updated Art Deco style is elegantly functional and worth taking a moment to savor before starting your investigation. The beautiful Cruise Room Martini Bar is a must—there’s also a nightly Bourbon Hour to ease paranormal jitters. The Cruise was the first bar in Denver to open after the repeal of Prohibition in 1933. It was a pretty good place to drink back then, and it’s even better now.
Paranormal activity falls into the classic category of flickering lights, bathroom sink faucets turning on by themselves, and guests getting mysteriously locked into their bedrooms for a good, old-fashioned ghostly scare.
There’s a story that in room 320, Florence Montague bedded a married man in 1898, got jealous when she learned he had a wife, and she shot him and then herself for having done the deed. It’s said that she rips the covers off of single men who stay in that room.
A woman was murdered in one of the bedrooms when her husband discovered her there with a lover. Some have seen an apparition of a woman standing in various rooms. People also have reported seeing the face of an extra woman in their photos.
One of the saddest stories involves a postal worker who stopped into the bar for a beer in the 1930s to warm up from the snowy outdoors. He muttered, “The children, I have to get gifts to the children,” then left. Later, the Oxford staff read the news story of a postal carrier who disappeared en route to deliver Christmas gifts to Central City. His decomposing body was later discovered during the spring thaw along with bags of Christmas presents. The ghost still stops by the bar now and then to order a drink, appearing fully human. Bartenders see him drink, but the liquor level in his glass never goes down.
RED ROCKS AMPHITHEATER: 18300 WEST ALAMEDA PARKWAY, MORRISON
Many people who enjoy rock concerts have visited Red Rocks, the awesome park and outdoor concert venue in the foothills west of Denver. The amphitheater is built between enormous rock formations with magnificent views of city lights. The greatest musical acts that come to Colorado play Red Rocks, and the Colorado Music Hall of Fame is located there.
Before concertgoers were visiting this region, its natural beauty was well loved by Native American tribes, too. For those who are vibrationally sensitive, there is energy around these natural wonders that many identify as soothing and healing. Many people have reported seeing Native American apparitions dressed in ceremonial clothing at Red Rocks.
The most striking legend of Red Rocks is that of the Hatchet Lady, who wanders among the rocks looking for young couples getting intimate at the park. Sometimes she’s reported wearing a red cloak and sometimes she’s naked, and she’s also been seen riding a horse through the rocks headless. The Hatchet Lady appears to people waving a bloody hatchet to scare them away. This story is probably based on reports of a homeless woman who lived in a cave nearby during the 1950s.
An old, weathered miner also has been seen standing in an off-limits area near the Red Rocks stage. He often appears to be drinking from a liquor bottle and is described as grouchy.
Jalynn Venis is an intuitive and paranormal consultant who has lived in five haunted houses. She and Richard Gorey are the coauthors of the supernatural thriller Ghost Island, and Jalynn is the author of its nonfiction companion book Cassandra’s Field Guide to Ghostly Encounters.
HAUNTED NEW JERSEY STORIES
By Gary S. Crawford
MOUNT PROSPECT CEMETERY
I offered to help clean up an old cemetery in Neptune, New Jersey. My stepfather was donating his time there, and I volunteered to help. The Mount Prospect Cemetery was established in 1881 and was the first area cemetery that was more of a memorial park than a church-owned graveyard. All races and religions were accepted. My stepdad had relatives buried there, the reason he became involved.
Offering my help in the ongoing cleanup, I was asked to become a trustee of the nonprofit cemetery corporation. (I had a pulse, was warm, and showed an interest.) I accepted, and a few years later, the president, now approaching his ninetieth birthday, decided it was time to make that move to Florida. By popular vote, I became the president.
People look at cemetery officials as they see funeral directors—macabre individuals who need to be avoided as long as possible. Weird people who love the dead. The Addams family and the Munsters.
The truth is, the time required to run a cemetery is around 85 percent for landscaping. People aren’t crazy about visiting cemeteries, but they expect them to be well groomed and parklike in appearance. Cutting the grass and trimming trees—85 percent. Administration—10 percent. Burying the deceased—5 percent.
Adding to this, my wife created a database listing all the burials—some fifteen thousand. It took her over six years to accomplish this.
Not very creepy, is it?
I also took it upon myself to place American flags at the graves of veterans in time for each Memorial Day. My American Legion Post Color Guard fires twenty-one-gun volleys over this and eleven other cemeteries each year. I place almost five hundred flags here along with another three hundred in other local cemeteries.
Cutting the grass and placing flags, I’ve easily walked the entire 33 acres (13 hectares) in the course of a year. I knew the names on the monuments and knew some of them personally while they were alive. A place of honor, respect, love, and dignity, although Stephen King might disagree. Working the land, I often saw things from the corner of my eye. You’d almost see someone standing there, but when you turned that way, the figure was gone. It happened almost constantly. Always a shadow, even in the daytime.
The biggest example came when my wife and I were standing up the toppled stone of a Civil War veteran. As we secured the old stone, my wife said she saw someone in a Civil War-style uniform standing nearby. She is a little better at seeing things than I am. I didn’t see him, but my wife claimed he looked happy. Maybe it was his headstone?
I get a good feeling when working there, no matter what job I’m doing. A feeling of general content. The same feeling you get in a room full of happy people, that kind of energy.
I’ve never investigated these “shadows” at night, but seeing them during the day is enough to convince me the place is haunted but not in a bad way.
THE MORRO CASTLE SHIP DISASTER
As a historian specializing in local history, I’ve researched the SS Morro Castle ship disaster of 1934 to the point where I’m considered an expert on the event and asked to speak at various group meetings. It began with my walking-history-book grandfather, whose sister was married to one of the ship’s crewmen involved in the disaster. A family matter, you might say.
The 520-foot SS Morro Castle was a cruise ship launched in 1930, making 172 round trips between New York and Cuba, a very popular, inexpensive vacation, even during the Depression.
On its return trip on September 8, 1934, fire broke out aboard the ship three miles off the Jersey Shore. Chased by a hurricane from the south and heading into another storm to the north, the fierce winds fanned the flames until the entire ship was ablaze. Passengers and crewmembers were caught in the fire, and many jumped off the ship into the raging, twenty-foot seas.
An aerial photo of the SS Morro Castle captures the fateful disaster on September 8, 1934, when the ship caught fire, killing 137 people.
Everything that could go wrong did. The crew was accused of cowardice and dereliction of duty to the passengers, and the crew countered that the passengers panicked and wouldn’t follow orders to assist them. Firefighting systems failed, power was lost, and over thirty minutes were wasted before an SOS could be sent. The First Officer, already on duty for thirty hours before the captain died from mysterious circumstances and had to take over, wavered in his command, not sure of what to do.
One hundred and thirty-seven passengers and crewmembers, exactly 25 percent of those 549 on board, died as a result of the fire or from trying to escape the flames.
The burning ship drifted for several hours until beaching itself at Asbury Park, New Jersey, within striking distance of Convention Hall.
The burned hulk of the ship rested in the sand at Asbury Park for six months before it could be pulled free. It was certainly one of the biggest draws to the Jersey Shore. Happening a week after Labor Day, the wreck brought business to the town for months after the summer season.
Asbury Park seems to have more than its share of ghostly apparitions roaming around town. It is believed that many of them are Morro Castle casualties seen in and around Convention Hall and the boardwalk where the burned and rusted hulk of the Morro Castle rested until March 1935.
THE THEATERS OF ASBURY PARK, NEW JERSEY
They were all haunted: the Baronet, the Lyric, the Savoy, the St. James, the Mayfair, and the Paramount. Add to that the Palace, later known as the Beach Cinema, in nearby Bradley Beach. I started working as a projectionist in 1972 as a relief operator, giving the regular workers a night off. I was in a different theater each night, an opportunity the other projectionists didn’t have, as they were assigned one work location for most of their careers.
The theaters were all old, the first opening in 1913, the last in 1929. All were ornate—some more than others—Golden Age gems of architecture.
After two weeks of training in different venues, I was on my own for the first time in the Paramount, part of the Convention Hall complex on the oceanfront boardwalk. All seemed to be going well for an hour or so. But then, strange things began to happen.
A carbon arc lamp shut off. It didn’t just go out; the switch was turned off. No one was there but me, but somehow, the switch was turned off. Then, I got a call from the manager downstairs that I was out of focus. Again, no one was there but me, and the focus knob was moved about a quarter turn. Using two projectors, the other lamp was shut off a little later. Then, a stack of empty film reels fell over. Outside of the projection booth were the catwalks over the ceiling of the auditorium. I heard someone talking out there. I went to see, and no one was there. I felt my skin begin to crawl.
After the show, the local projectionists all met at a nearby tavern for a drink. I came in, white as a sheet as they told me, and demanded a drink. They wanted to know what was wrong. I told them of my experiences of the evening. They all waved me off, saying I was just jumpy on my first night alone. I insisted on what went on. They kept laughing at me. I was starting to get angry. I know what happened.
Finally, one of the guys came over and told me, quite frankly, that the theaters were all haunted. Various employees, from stagehands to projectionists and even patrons, existed in the theaters. A few died while working, but most of the others died naturally but came back to haunt their former jobs. One stagehand was robbed and murdered while walking home from work one night.
One of the ghost hunter TV shows featured the Paramount. They found evidence of spirits along the long corridor of dressing rooms.
As I worked the other theaters, I caught many just-out-of-vision sightings. Shadows. But not all the time. Here and there, one would pass by. One cinema often has the figure of a person in the front row as the place closes each night. Look again, and it’s gone. Employees would all claim to have seen someone still sitting in the front row. Some walked down there to see if a patron had fallen asleep. But no one was there.
In a recent theater job, the town was putting on a fireworks show for the Fourth of July. The window in the booth faced the wrong way, so you could only hear the fireworks. This seemed to shake up two spirits I saw running around. Just shadows, but I saw them moving around. They were acting scared, as if hearing the explosions as incoming fire. Perhaps they were war veterans. When the noise stopped, so did they. That was the most activity I had ever witnessed by possible ghosts.
MADAME JOHN’S LEGACY
By Alexandrea Weis
Tucked away at the bend in the Mississippi River, the French Quarter of New Orleans has seen three hundred years of fires, plagues, hurricanes, floods, murder, mayhem, and a lot of drunkenness. Such energy leaves a spiritual residue on the plaster and cypress Creole cottages, keeping the dead tethered to the place they once called home.
Anyone who has visited the Big Easy can tell you about the many spooky mansions. But there is one home famous for a certain vampire movie filmed there, which happens to have several spiritual residents trapped within its brick and wood foundation—ghosts no one dares mention.
How do I know about them? I grew up across the street from Madame John’s Legacy.
The current house, built in 1788, sits atop the remains of a first structure destroyed by fire and is one of the few homes to survive the devastating conflagration of 1794 that wiped out most of the French Quarter. The simple, unadorned French West Indies design pales next to romantic iron balconies of the Spanish Colonial homes surrounding it. Named after a story by New Orleans author George Washington Cable, it’s one of the oldest structures in the city.
Numerous legends persist about the property and its former owner, Renato Beluche. Ghost tour guides intrigue tourists with tales of the lieutenant in Jean Lafitte’s band of pirates and how he purchased the home with treasure earned while sailing with the city’s famous hooligan. His ghost is said to whisper in the ears of pretty women who grace the halls of his former residence, enticing them to stay.
No one I knew living around Madame John’s ever ran into anyone resembling a pirate. They had encounters with several other apparitions—ones never mentioned on the ghost tours.
The best known by the locals is the woman in black who walks the balcony in front of the mansion. She paces back and forth in a black gown dating to the 1700s. Residents of the 600 block of Dumaine call her Madame Pascal, widow of a sea captain named Jean Pascal who purchased the land in 1727. Neighbors in the know often walk on the other side of the street in front of the cottage where I grew up to not “upset the madame.” A few avoided the house altogether, often heading the other way to evade the gaze of the old lady on the balcony.
She wasn’t just an apparition; she also got hostile. If she didn’t want you close to her home, she would toss pebbles at you. I got hit by a few of them when I played on the sidewalk in front of our cottage as a child. No one was ever on the street behind me. I didn’t give it a second thought, but I never liked getting close to the house. An uncomfortable feeling in my gut told me to stay away.
During this time, the state of Louisiana owned the mansion as a registered landmark, but due to its dilapidated condition, no one was allowed inside, and the front was kept boarded up with a padlock on the door—a lock that always seemed to be open every morning before the workmen arrived.
My father befriended the workers renovating the home, having them over for coffee on several occasions. In exchange, we often got to roam the building, exploring the main house and courtyard.
With tons of broken boards, glass, cracked brick, and rusted nails, it wasn’t the safest place, but it was a museum of artifacts. Even though it had been lived in as a private residence until the forties and used as a museum in the sixties, the closed portions of the mansion, not yet updated, offered glimpses into the past. The kitchen still housed its original hearth and swing hooks to hold cooking pots over an open fire, but the attic was the real treasure trove. Furniture, lanterns, books, and portraits left by previous owners still waited for removal. I got the chance to go through several corners of the cramped space with my father. We never ran across anything sinister—at least not in the attic—but the odd thing I discovered was a family Bible dated to 1867, with all the names and family tree listed in French on the inside cover. The Bible sat open to a page in Revelations on a short, wooden table next to an old-fashioned hurricane lamp. The part about God casting the demon into a bottomless pit had blackened fingerprints on it, blotting out the verse. The fingerprints never went away, no matter how many times we wiped the page to read the passage. Today, the Bible remains on the site, and some say the eerie fingerprints are still there.
The workmen shared stories of the children they encountered when renovating the courtyard. They often ran around the pond and could be seen when people walked on the balconies or heard laughing when they were in other rooms of the house. Neighbors who lived on either side of the home reported children laughing, especially on humid, summer evenings. These ghosts were also mischievous. Workmen recounted strange occurrences. Equipment moved, radios turned on and off, and lights flickered when there was no electricity running to them. One plumber had problems with someone pulling at his shoestrings as he tried to fix the broken pipes under the house.
But there were more than children appearing during the renovations. One day, a terrified painter knocked on our cottage door, spooked by what he had seen in the main living room. A woman in old-fashioned dress had yelled at him in French. He didn’t know what was said, but when she vanished before his eyes, he figured out she wasn’t real. He swore never to return to the house again.
If ghostly laughter and furious Frenchwomen weren’t enough, there was the music. Many people living around Madame John’s reported the music. I heard it on several occasions. Sometimes it was a violin, other times a piano, and it always came at night in faint wisps carried on the wind. It was as if the essence of a long-ago party still lingered in the air. Music in the French Quarter is hardly noticeable to many because of the frequent bars and clubs open all night, probably why many people shrugged it off. But this music was very different from the local jazz and upbeat tempos offered on Bourbon Street. It was somber, ethereal, and came when you were all alone on the street, when no one else was around to bear witness, adding to the spine-tingling unease of it. Then as soon as you heard it, it would disappear, making you second-guess your sanity.
Stories about the historic property differed, and neighbors would often gather to debate their creepiest experiences, but despite all the tales, there was one unanimous consensus about Madame John’s—it left everyone with an unpleasant sense of sorrow. It was not a happy place, and every time you stepped into its dark rooms, you could almost touch the sadness on the walls.
So, if you ever come to New Orleans, be sure to check out the unassuming mansion at 632 Dumaine Street. And if you see Madame Pascal pacing the balcony, give her my love.
From New Orleans and raised in the motion picture industry, Alexandrea Weis began writing at the age of eight. With twenty-seven published novels to her credit and over a dozen national writing awards, Weis continues to work tirelessly to hone her craft. She has worked with Lucas Astor on the Magnus Blackwell series as well as the YA thriller Death by the River, with more books planned in the future. Her works include the Nicci Beauvoir series, the Corde Noire series, the Cover to Cover series, Acadian Waltz, Broken Wings, The Ghosts of Rue Dumaine, and the soon to be released YA historical epic, Realm. A permitted wildlife rehabber, Weis rescues orphaned and injured animals. She is married and lives in New Orleans.
HAUNTED GEORGIA
Lesia Miller Schnur
HENRY GREENE COLE HOUSE, MARIETTA, GEORGIA
Henry Greene Cole was a Union sympathizer living in the Confederate South. He was also wealthy. He built a small house on Washington Avenue just outside the Marietta Square. It is told that his father-in-law urged General Sherman not to burn the Fletcher House Hotel because of his relation to Cole. Cole donated the land adjacent to his home for the Union National Cemetery, where over ten thousand Union soldiers are buried. Cole endeavored to build a larger home a block down from his small house. Although he died before it was completed, his family resided in the grand house for many years. Today, the house is a commercial building; however, it still boasts the architectural elements of a Georgian home.
It is also haunted. A local resident, whose grandparents lived down the street, spoke of walking past the house and seeing a woman in the upper left-hand corner. She saw this girl many times over the years. For several decades, the house was home to several law firms. Attorneys and their employees reported feeling cold drafts and hearing voices. One attorney experienced her clock running backward. People walking past claim to see curtains shifting and lights turning on and off at night. The house sits directly across from the National Cemetery.
KENNESAW HOUSE, MARIETTA, GEORGIA
The Great Locomotive Chase began in Cobb County, Georgia. On April 12, 1862, civilian James J. Andrews and several Union soldiers stole The General, the prize steam locomotive, that was essential to the Confederate rail system. The Andrews Raiders, the name given to the men, stayed at the Fletcher House Hotel the night before commandeering the train.
The Kennesaw House has been restored to look as it did back in 1862. It is home to the Marietta Museum of History.
The Fletcher House Hotel served as the Confederate hospital and mortuary during the Civil War. The Union Army took control of the hotel shortly before they marched toward Atlanta. When the city of Marietta burned, the hotel was spared. Today, it is known as the Kennesaw House and serves as the Marietta Museum of History for the city.
The front-facing, second-floor room where the Andrews Raiders stayed has been reconstructed to look like it did back in 1862. The museum has an extensive military weapon and uniform collection. Visitors have experienced paranormal phenomena within the museum. One visitor described shadows forming on the wall. Others claim to hear the screams of possible Civil War-era patients who linger. A woman dressed in a dress with pink trimmings has been seen by children visiting the museum. These sightings appear to be benign.
PIGEON HILL, KENNESAW MOUNTAIN
NATIONAL BATTLEFIELD PARK, MARIETTA, GEORGIA
Five thousand, three hundred and fifty soldiers were killed during the Battle of Kennesaw from June 18, 1864, to July 2, 1864. Most of these casualties were killed at Little Kennesaw Mountain, today known as Pigeon Hill. The Confederacy claimed the small victory here; however, they ultimately lost the Civil War. Today, the souls of both Confederate and Union soldiers haunt the area around the battlefield.
People driving along Old Highway 41 report seeing men dressed in Civil War military uniforms walking among the woods. Some reason that they’re seeing actors engaged in the frequent re-enactment activities; however, others look closer to notice the ghostlike appearance of these men. The national park contains several monuments dedicated to different divisions, memorial markers along the hiking trails, and cannons. Reported paranormal activity includes residual hauntings where soldiers repeat prepping the cannons for battle as well as soldiers walking along the woods. Homeowners in several subdivisions surrounding the area also report activity. Some see the ghosts of soldiers walking in their homes and outside along their driveways. Others have claimed to see soldiers hiding and ducking in backyards. None of the reports have indicated malicious behavior.
SOUTHERN AIRWAYS FLIGHT 242 PLANE CRASH, NEW HOPE, GEORGIA
Annette “Annetta” Snell just finished recording new tracks for her debut album and was heading home to New York City on Monday, April 4, 1977. Formerly of the R&B all-female group called The Fabulettes, Snell had secured a record deal with Epic Records and a recording session in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. She boarded Southern Airways Flight 242 carrying the studio session tapes. Unfortunately, Snell and sixty-two other passengers and crewmembers died in a fiery crash along Highway 92 during a torrential hailstorm. The crash was the worst airline disaster in Georgia history.
In total, seventy-two people died following the airline’s crash along the highway as the pilot attempted to make an unpowered emergency landing. The wings clipped a gas station and burst into flames as the plane traveled along the highway. The plane broke into five pieces. The highway remains intact today, as does a house that has since been turned into a thrift store. A memorial/historical marker stands outside a cemetery near the crash site.
Annetta’s family initially thought they saw her walking dazed in the background on local news broadcasts. Though her body was never recovered, a partial bridge found at the site matched her dental records. To this day, people claim to have seen victims from the crash walking along the highway. Patrons at a local restaurant tell stories of seeing ghosts from the flight. Finally, customers at the thrift store have reported seeing ghostlike people walking in the front yard.
ST. JAMES EPISCOPAL CEMETERY, MARIETTA, GEORGIA
Best known as the final resting place for murdered child beauty queen JonBenét Ramsey, St. James Episcopal Cemetery is located at the intersection of Polk Street and Winn Street across from the Marietta Middle School. The cemetery was established in 1844 and houses the remains of some of the city’s most important residents. Surrounded by a beautiful, wrought iron fence, the cemetery has an active nightlife.
Daytime visitors come to pay respects to JonBenét, her mother Patsy, and her half sister, Elizabeth Pasch Ramsey. JonBenét’s Christmas Day murder remains unsolved and incredibly popular. Despite tabloid reports, the ghost of JonBenét does not haunt the cemetery. However, others do.
Marion “Mary” R. Meinert died at age thirty-four. The mother of twins, Mary’s monument is a young woman holding two babies. Visitors claim to hear a woman crying at night. Others claim to have seen tears coming from the statue’s eyes.
Students at the middle school across the narrow street report seeing ghostlike apparitions walking in the small cemetery. Others have heard voices.
The cemetery is owned and operated by St. James Episcopal Church. The gates are usually open daily; however, the city police actively patrol the area at night.
Lesia Miller Schnur is a former librarian who goes by the name “The Haunted Librarian.” Her website, www.thehauntedlibrarian.com is listed as one of the Top 50 Paranormal Websites and offers paranormal news, pop culture, and Lesia’s investigations into popular theories. She has been on the radio, appeared at Dragon Con and academic conferences, and also writes paranormal mysteries, short stories, and screenplays. She resides in Atlanta, Georgia.
OLD PAULDING JAIL
Kat Hobson
I have been fortunate enough to investigate Old Paulding Jail in Paulding, Ohio, several times. I have been there with an event company group and had some small experiences in various areas of the building. I have been there filming with a much smaller and experienced group and had ghostly fingers placed over my lips in a shushing fashion when I pushed too hard for answers. I have been there to broadcast a live episode of my radio show Paranormal Experience and basically caused a ghostly riot to break out in the first-floor cellblock. And I have been there for a birthday/death day party for one of the known spirits who haunts there, who was found hanged in the cellblock area on his birthday. Such sad irony.
With each visit to the jail, my paranormal experiences have escalated. The first two times I felt nothing threatening, heard nothing that would cause a loss of sleep. The owner of the event company and the owner of the jail both shared the history of the facility, and that was interesting, well documented, and matched the experiences well.
When I went to Old Paulding Jail to do a live broadcast for my show, everything seemed to be very mellow, and it felt as though the spirits were not going to react negatively to my presence. I was staying in the jail a couple of nights in an upstairs room that used to be part of the sheriff’s living quarters. The owner of the jail, Shelly Burk Robertson, has a bedroom there, as she commutes from her home for events and often stays there. When the activity occurred, she and I and one other member of her team were the only living people present in the building. When we were upstairs on the third floor (ironically, where people will not spend any time alone, including the owner), we tested my equipment and Internet connections to verify that we would be able to broadcast live. Everything was fine. There.
We next moved down to the first-floor cellblock, where I set my computer on the only table in the area. It just happened to be where an inmate was found hanged one morning in what could only be described as unusual circumstances. The moment I sat down to test the connection with my producer, all hell broke loose. I believe that to be a literal statement. Immediately, the settings on my computer started resetting themselves, and it was showing no Internet connection. That was an impossibility. While I had wifi connectivity with the jail’s network, I was using my hardwired connection to their router. There was no way I could have lost connection unless their entire service went out, which wasn’t the case. We checked.
The more I tried to understand what was happening with my computer, the louder the cellblock became. There was stomping all around me. The cell doors, while not moving, were making sounds of slamming shut and banging open. The fire doors on all three levels of the building, whose stairs are still enclosed with fencing from when it was an active jail, were being banged on. And meanwhile, my producer is Skype messaging me to just keep going, that I WAS still connected, and he was recording what was happening around me. I became just as irritated with the ghosts as they were with me at that point. It never dawned on me that if they were striking objects, they could strike me too! After struggling with the connections for a bit longer, I got a message from my producer that things were escalating and it would be good idea to wrap up what I was doing and leave that area. He was becoming concerned for my safety.
Shelly and I left the cellblock at that point. She went into the kitchen to make coffee, and I took my computer to the office to see what I could do to get things working properly in order to do my show that night. Once I stepped out of the cellblock, my computer settings immediately corrected themselves. I had a clear Skype connection, I had full Internet connectivity, and everything else was functioning normally as well. I had never experienced anything like that!
I immediately went into the kitchen, where a communication device is always set up to ask the owner to initiate a voice box session. When she did, a very arrogant voice answered her question of who had been messing with my computer settings with “I did!” After about thirty minutes of back-and-forth conversation, including my reasons for doing the show there, all of us seemed calmer. She explained that I was there to help raise awareness for the jail as a paranormal research center and that her projects were how she could keep the jail up and running. Then she asked if we could broadcast from the cellblock. The response? “Absolutely not!” She asked if we could broadcast from the third floor, and the response was “Yeah, sure.” So, we did, with no difficulty, but with a lot of electronic voice phenomena and shadow play around us. It was definitely one of the most bizarre experiences I have had to date in the paranormal and the only time I felt threatened as well.
Kat Hobson is the owner of WBHM-DB Paranormal Talk Radio and host of Fate Magazine Radio, and Paranormal Experienced Radio, as well as a paranormal investigator.
By Laurie Hull
Gettysburg is a town with so many hauntings! Thousands of soldiers gave their lives there during the Civil War battle, and many of their spirits are believed to still roam the battlefields. The story I found most compelling is in a location off the battlefield in a small house now called the Jennie Wade House, named after its most celebrated visitor. Jennie Wade (full name Mary Virginia Wade, also known as Ginnie Wade) didn’t live in the house named for her. She was born and raised in Gettysburg in a home not far from the Jennie Wade House. At the end of June 1863, Union soldiers were gathering in anticipation of conflict, and Jennie Wade came to stay with her sister, Georgia McClellan, who lived in part of the house. Georgia was about to have a baby, and Jennie Wade occupied her time baking bread for soldiers before and during the battle.
It was during this chore that Jennie became the only civilian killed in the Battle of Gettysburg. A bullet traveled through the house and hit her, killing her instantly as she was kneading bread dough. Her family decided to then take refuge in the basement of the house, and two soldiers helped carry the body with them to the relative safety of the underground cellar.
It is this area where the most spirit activity takes place. I have visited the house on several occasions during regular and ghost tours. The basement always draws me in. There is an uncomfortable feeling, as if you are intruding on someone. Could this be members of the family still mourning Jennie? Once I stayed behind in the basement as everyone else on the tour moved on. As I sat, I felt a cold settle in around me, colder than the air of the basement. Very faintly, I heard a heavy sighing sound like the beginning or end of a crying session. It sounded like someone trying to catch their breath. When I asked the tour guide about it, they indicated that crying and sighing sounds have often been heard in the basement area and are believed to be one the parents mourning their lost daughter.
An early 1900s photo of the house in Gettysburg in which Jennie Wade was accidentally killed by a bullet while kneading bread for Union soldiers.
Some people believe that one spirit that haunts the house is Jennie Wade herself. Often, people who pass away suddenly or in a violent manner tend to linger at the site of their death. She was only twenty years old when she was tragically killed. She could be waiting to hear the fate of her fiancé, Jack, who was fighting for the Union. Jack was taken prisoner and died from his wounds at Winchester. Sadly, she never found out his fate, and he never found out hers. The ghost of Jennie Wade has been seen by visitors and guides, who have also caught the scent of her favorite perfume, Rose Water.
In addition to these ghosts, the spirit of a young boy has been reported. He is known to run about the house and cause the chain in the upstairs bedroom display to swing on its own. During one of my visits to the house, I saw a flash of a young child run up the kitchen stairs out of the corner of my eye. As we went upstairs to the bedrooms, I noticed the chain on the toy display was swinging, even though there was no one in the room.
The ghost of the young boy is not believed to be connected to Jennie Wade’s family but is likely a previous resident. Mortality rates among young children were very high in the early 1800s, and many children did not live to adulthood. He seems to be having fun with the visitors to the house, as many have reported having their hands touched and clothing and jewelry tugged on. If you visit the house, make sure to take lots of photos! I have several photos of the interior of this house that contain unexplained misty shapes.
Laurie Hull is an author, psychic, and paranormal investigator from Springfield, Pennsylvania and has had a lifelong interest in ghosts and the supernatural that began while she was growing up in a haunted house. She is the founder and director of Tri-County Paranormal Research, which can be found at www.tricountyprs.com.
CHILDREN GHOSTS OF ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA
By Sara Harrison
During the first of many visits to Florida’s St. Augustine, I went on a ghost walk to see for myself if the town lived up to its reputation of being the “most haunted” city in America.
The guide was a black-cloaked woman with a black hat and lighted, antique lantern. Taking some pauses at locations along the way, she wove intriguing yarns about the town’s origins and its spectral events. Just in case, I took photos to record any unusual phenomena.
Halfway through the tour, we came to a large set of limestone pillars. As we passed through, I saw a girl in a dress scampering along the top of one wall. I was instantly judgmental. Why would any parents allow her to do that? When I turned my attention back to the guide, she explained that there had once been a guard at the city gate whose job it was to keep newcomers out of the city due to an outbreak of typhoid fever. The disease had hit the city hard and caused the deaths of so many residents that they were eventually buried in mass graves, and some were accidentally buried before they had even died. By the time we reached the mass grave area, she explained that the gatekeeper did his best but eventually succumbed to the illness, so his daughter, Elizabeth, took up his post in the absence of anyone else to do the job. (She also fell ill and died shortly thereafter.) I was chilled when our guide revealed Elizabeth had always accompanied him at the gates, often playing atop the stone wall to pass the time. That was the girl I had seen! I had never thought a ghost would look so three-dimensional.
When we reached another graveyard that was from a more recent time—the Civil War—the tour guide’s candle mysteriously went out. She asked if anyone had a lighter. Because I stepped forward to give her mine, I was allowed a closer view of the cemetery. Inside, I saw a huge tree that seemed pretty cool; the child in me wanted to break into the cemetery and climb it. At the end of her presentation, the guide explained that a child named James was often seen in the graveyard looking for relatives who, unfortunately, were buried elsewhere. His remains were buried just under the tree I was enamored with, one he had had great affection for and often climbed. I then knew that his spirit and mine had connected, but I didn’t know how attached he was to me until I was leaving for the trip home and drove past the Civil War graveyard. Upon reaching the entry gate, my car stereo crackled and changed from rock to nineteenth-century orchestra music, the music of James’s lifetime. I recognized his desire to get my attention and was grateful.
“Goodbye, little James,” I said aloud.
Once home again, I examined my photos on my computer and realized there were many with odd light anomalies. I made a slideshow with them and inserted the DVD into my player, but soon, it refused to work—it would not release the slideshow. When I tried to reburn the slideshow on my computer, that machine, too, crashed and would not start again. Both electronic devices were ruined beyond repair, and the ghost walk photos were gone forever. Perhaps the experiences were meant for me and me alone. For my part, I no longer needed concrete proof that ghosts existed because I had more than enough evidence to be convinced.
Sara Harrison, M.A., B.Ed., is a freelance writer, artist, and evidential medium. She lives with her soul mate, Lee, in Napanee, Ontario, Canada. sara.lee@cogeco.ca.
THE LADY OF THE LAKE
By Dennis Waller
Growing up in Dallas, Texas, our home was just a few blocks from White Rock Lake. My father, who loved to fish, practically lived on the lake. During the fall, our routine was to run to the lake before work and school to check his trot lines. We could be from front door to water in five minutes and most times be back home within the hour.
I was seven years old when, on one of these fall mornings, I came face-to-face with the Lady of the Lake. On this particular morning, the weather was cold and blustery, so my father suggested that I stay onshore while he went out on the boat. Even staying onshore, I still had my duty to man the ropes, tying off the boat to the dock when he came in. I kept an eye out across the water, straining to see my father’s boat when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. Turning to my left, I saw a beautiful woman in a long, white dress walking on the water, and she was walking toward me! I stood there, unable to move, while I watched her walk. There was something melancholy about her gait and expression. As she approached me, she gave me one of those crooked smiles, the kind that was civil but masked some sort of pain. She came within ten feet of me, then slowly turned and, as she walked toward the road, I heard my father call out to me. I turned to see that he was almost to the dock. When I looked back to the road, the lady was gone, simply vanished. It couldn’t have been a second, but she was gone.
Frustrated at me for being distracted, he asked what I was doing. I told him, “I was watching the lady.” Of course, he replied, “What lady!?” During the process of storing away the boat and loading the truck, I told my father what I had seen. He sternly said that he was watching me from the boat and that there was nobody else there but me, to stop my daydreaming and get in the truck.
I soon forgot about the incident until a few weeks later, my father came back from the morning trip to the lake. It was too cold and windy for me to go, so I had stayed home. I’ll never forget the look on his face. I can count on one hand the times I had seen my father visually shaken. Being a very stoic man, not much could get to him. But this morning was different. He sat down next to me while I ate my breakfast. To be honest, I was scared, not knowing what brought on this change in behavior. With his arms resting on the table, he leaned in and asked in a soft voice, “Tell me about the woman you saw at the lake.” Revived, knowing that I was in the clear, I recounted the story down to the color of her hair and the color of her eyes. As I told my story, I noticed that he started tapping his fingers on the table in a rapid manner while he seemed to be staring out into space. At one point, he stopped me and said, “Let’s keep this to ourselves; let it be our secret.”
There was never another word spoken about the incident, nor his admission to seeing the Lady of the Lake, but I am convinced that my father had come face-to-face with the strange, eerie woman like I had.
It wasn’t until years later that I heard the alleged stories about the famed “Lady of the Lake.” Some say she was a heartbroken bride-to-be who committed suicide upon her groom leaving her at the altar. Others say she was a socialite who drove her car into the lake in distress.
Over the years, the story has become an urban legend, one that is brought up every year around Halloween. Those who claimed to have seen her are often ridiculed and mocked. Keeping my word to my father until now, I haven’t spoken of my experience on that day. What I have learned, though, is that it doesn’t matter what people think is true or not, whatever they believe, none of it matters because it doesn’t change the fact that my father and I have both seen her, the woman in the white gown walking on the water, the Lady of the Lake.
BRIAN KEITH ELLIS HAS AN AMAZING EXPERIENCE AT GETTYSBURG
This is where I died.
As I stepped out of the tree line, I stared across the stretch of open ground. Aghast. There, almost a mile away, was the fence line where ten thousand Union guns waited for the Confederate charge to commence. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was still in 2010 or if this was July 3, 1863. The emotion was so charged in me, so raw and clear, that I fell to my knees and dug my hands into the dirt beneath the early grass of spring.
Gettysburg.
The name itself is so mythical now. Legends and stories of tides of battle and outcomes of single events that would shape the future of a nation. For me, though, this moment was so intensely personal that all of that lore, all of that intriguing history that I had learned was gone.
Because this is where I died.
I’ve always been inexplicably drawn to Gettysburg. I remember a friend talking about past lives and telling me, “Think of places and times that draw you, over and over, for an unknown reason—these are where and when you lived.” At the time, I wasn’t really a “past lives” guy. But that explanation kept gnawing at me as I thought of a place like Gettysburg. I’d never been there. Until Ken Burns’s Civil War documentary, I knew only that it was a turning point in the war. Why, then, was I so drawn to it? Now I knew.
Visiting the Gettysburg Battlefield, author Brian Keith Ellis had a profound experience, a sense that, in a previous life, he had died there.
This is where I died.
I got up and walked farther out into that field where General George Pickett had led us out toward the Union lines. I closed my eyes and let myself immerse into the moment, trying to connect with those valiant soldiers who knew, knew, the slaughter that was coming. I could feel the emotion of that moment. Time enough in battle to know that the upcoming action was not in our favor. Looking in each others’ faces, seeking encouragement to find some shred of belief that the outcome might be a successful one. Each one of us knowing that this action was as hopeless as one could imagine. But we’d been there before. So many times, we’d faced an enemy of far superior numbers and equipment and, time after time, we’d whupped them. It was with that mix of fear, grimness, and hope that we stepped out onto that field.
I’d finally come to Gettysburg for the history, not knowing that I would find this incredible well of feelings under the surface. Driving along the road that passes through the trees where the massive Confederate Army emerged, I was suddenly overcome with emotion at the location of the Tennessee memorial. It was there that I got out of my car and walked out onto that expanse of grass. I ran my fingers over the engraved monument, connecting to the notes of the Tennessee 14th Regiment.
Now, partway across the open ground, it was as if I could hear sounds not there on this April morning. Shots. Booms of cannon. Shouts of pain and bravado. Heat and bugs and crunching grass as we, against all odds, moved closer and closer to the fence line. All for naught. The 14th Tennessee got close enough that Union soldiers were able to dart out and capture the flag, but that was as far as they got—as far, it turns out, as the Confederate Army got during that war. As far as I got before the dark.
I continue to try to research who I might have been. I keep thinking that if I find the right photo of the men of the 14th Tennessee, I’ll know the body I inhabited for a short while. Or perhaps I’ll never know. What I do know is that in that moment, on that field, I felt, saw, and heard things that I can’t explain in traditional “scientific” terms. Emotions that really shouldn’t exist in a dude from southern California visiting an old, historic battlefield. Perhaps it’s just because:
This is where I died.
Brian Keith Ellis is a screenwriter and producer with a number of film projects in development.
Jason Roberts
Having spent the last twelve years investigating and researching the paranormal, there is one building that always comes to mind as possibly being the most haunted location our team has ever encountered. The Forum Theater, which is what we’ll keep with calling it since that is what it was turned into during the years we were able to investigate, is located on the east side of Wichita, Kansas. The building is three stories, including the basement, not to mention the creepiest organ room, hidden high above the stage. It was built in 1926 and has massive, stone pillars out front, a school built on the side over the years, and had been a church for different religions for decades. The church is hard to miss driving along the road, and it was a popular place for Sunday mornings. That is, until the congregation abandoned their place of worship.
The new owners, Janet and Grant, were the eleventh to make an offer when the building was finally up for sale. They thought it was strange that a building of this size and beauty was just left behind. Hymn books laid on the seats, dishes were still in the sink in the downstairs kitchen, and so many random things were stored everywhere inside from the basement on up past the main floor and filtered to the third floor. Grant wanted to make it into a place for auction, but Janet wanted a theater for stage performances; Janet won the argument. So, they hired a crew to redesign the complete inside of this former church to prepare for theater acting, weddings and dinners in the reception hall downstairs, and anything else that could entertain guests. Everything seemed to be going well until Grant wanted to work on the old pastor’s study. That is the time everything took a turn they never expected and opened their eyes to the thought that they were not the only ones who were there. One day while Grant was working in the study, he noticed the door kept closing. Years of being abandoned had left the old church victim to vagrants who broke in and stole the brass doorknobs, parts of the balcony railings, and anything else they could find. So, Grant kept getting locked in the room every time the door closed, and he had to pry the door open with tools. He finally had enough and took the door off its hinges, placing it upright in the hall. About that time, he saw his wife and the foreman walking his way, so he turned and stepped forward to them, and just as he did, the door went slamming past him to the other side of the hall. The door just missed him and shocked them all so badly that they knew they needed help.
Our team was called in to check the old church out, which excited us all since it has such a history and, well, investigating old churches is exciting in itself. We walked in, and the place was more than we expected. It was huge inside, with different staircases, multiple rooms, and closets everywhere. Janet began to explain that they and the construction crew were experiencing giggling, footsteps, equipment being moved, crying in the main auditorium, the sound of a full orchestra playing, and seeing full-body apparitions. The spirits started off being little kids peeking around doors watching the workers and, knowing there were no children in the building, it began to upset everyone. The most frightening of the spirits were the angry man upstairs and the woman who screams. I wanted to find out the history of this place, but it was very difficult to find any information. So, we began our investigation by setting up the DVR and cameras along with other tools that we hoped would be able to communicate with the spirits. Splitting up into small groups, we went all over trying to find some good spots to start. Three of us went to the study to start with and noticed a strange closet just outside the study. We assumed it was merely the door to a closet, but it just had a weird vibe. We got comfortable in the room and started asking questions of who was there and if they could help us out with what was happening. Some taps here and there, possibly some activity, but it was mostly quiet, so we started the knocking game. One of the investigators said that we’ll go around the room and knock, but the last person cannot knock until whoever was there made a noise or knocked themselves. We had three handheld recorders in the room and started our game. When it came time for the spirit to make a knock, it did, and it was very clearly in the room, and we were hooked with this location. The team also moved downstairs to check out the kitchen and other offices down there. We got up to the office on the south side of the basement and went to open the office door to see what was inside. As soon as the door opened, we were greeted by the loudest scream right in our faces, making each of us almost drop to the ground. It was female and, after checking ourselves for a change of underwear, we searched the office for any clues or signs to indicate whether it was fake or real. Nothing was found, and the scream was recorded on all three levels of the building.
Checking over evidence, we listened to the recordings from the pastor’s study and were shocked at what we heard. On two of the recorders, we caught the knock we asked for, but on the third recorder, we caught a voice instead of a knock. It was a name, but we had no idea who it could be. We had just been asking who was in there, and the voice said Ernest. Over the next few weeks, we pored over the evidence to find answers of who he was and why he was there. Why was there a woman screaming in the basement? Finally, Janet called and said she had found a book of history on the old church. She said, “Jason, you’ll never guess who the first pastor was! His name was Ernest.” I was excited to put a name with the voice, but it seemed confusing why he was still there. Nevertheless, we continued to work inside the church that was transformed into a beautiful theater that put on large performances of classic theater and dinners downstairs.
One investigation turned into four years of research and investigations with several hours of evidence of the hauntings inside. We have caught the sound of children running the stairs, the giggling in the hallways, crying, and even heard a little girl singing “Jesus Loves Me” in the old classrooms. We often encountered the sounds of growling coming in and around the old study as if possibly, Ernest did not like us up there near his room or the creepy closet next to it. Often, we wondered if there was a connection between him being there and the children crying but never could find the answer. On the last night I was ever inside there, I took an old friend that had heard the stories and wanted to see or hear for himself. While walking along the balcony just talking, we were startled to hear loud orchestra music coming from near the stage. It was 1:00 A.M., and no one was there but us. Janet and Grant had to sell the Forum Theater after working so hard to get it going, which ended our time inside there as well. To this day, we are told by people who went to the plays or worked for the production company of all the scary things that happened to them while there. Some were touched, whispered to, and locked in closets and changing rooms as well as seeing Ernest himself watching people angrily as if he did not want people inside there. Many have even driven by the old church and have seen a man in the window staring out as if lost to the past.
Jason Roberts has been a member of Everyday-Legacy Paranormal and a tour guide for the Wichita Ghost Tour, which is owned by Ghost Tours of Kansas, since 2009. He took ownership of Road Trip Paranormal in 2013 and provides public events all over Kansas. Go to www.everyday-legacy.com to hear some evidence from the forum or www.roadtripparanormal.com to learn about our events.
PARANORMAL INVESTIGATIONS
Paranormal View’s Henry Foister
WAVERLY HILLS SANATORIUM
When I started doing The Paranormal View radio show on para-x.com and CBS Radio, I was able to travel to some of the famous haunted places in America. The first place was an event with Para-X at Waverly Hills Sanatorium in Louisville, Kentucky. It was a very large building, five floors, and had very long halls. On the fifth floor, I witnessed a doppelganger of one member in our group, and on the fourth floor, I heard footsteps behind me, but when I turned around, they stopped, and no one was there. I could only capture unintelligible EVPs.
HILLVIEW MANOR
Hillview Manor is located in New Castle, Pennsylvania. This is one of the most active places I have ever been. We caught good EVPs of a man who worked in the boiler room. He was trying to get our attention by saying “hey” very softly. When we were on the third floor in the Hairdresser Room, I caught an EVP saying “go on in there” in a very hushed voice.
We went into the caretaker’s apartment to the private bathroom. Two members of my group, Tim and Kerri, were in the bathroom asking questions. I was just coming from the Hairdresser Room and entering the caretaker’s room, and as I turned to go down the hall to the private bathroom, I heard two very loud stomps as Tim and Kerri started hollering “What the heck!” They came out and asked me if I had seen anyone come out. I had not, but my recorder caught the whole episode.
The next time we were at Hillview Manor, a docent took our crew to some of the known active spots. We were shown where the servers had been and how the patients came along in line to walk in front of the counter to get their food. The docent said EVPs had never been gotten on the servers’ side but had been heard on the patients’ side of the line.
In the evening, we did our Internet radio show The Paranormal View. I felt very sick and feverish during the show. Afterward, we did an investigation and also returned to the cafeteria. There, I said, “I am sick. I have a fever and sore throat. Do you have any coffee?” Later, when I listened to my recording, a man’s voice could be heard softly answering my question: “Yeah.”
THE DAVID STEWART FARM, GETTYSBURG
I have been on location in Gettysburg many times for The Paranormal View. On one occasion, we were at the David Stewart Farm, which was used as a Confederate field hospital during the retreat from the Battle of Gettysburg. The barn on the property was known to be active with the ghosts of Confederate soldiers. There were about ten of us inside the old barn standing at one end looking toward the other end. As I was listening and asking questions, some of the mediums there were talking to some of the spirits, and I noticed seven or eight red dots at the far end of the barn. The lights appeared, got brighter, then dimmed out. After a few minutes, more red dots would come on, brighten, then go out. I could discern no source of reflection or cause for the lights. After observing for about fifteen minutes, I finally asked, “Does anyone else see those red lights?” and in unison, they all said, “Yes.” So, I asked, “What are they?” and the others said they were the lights from cigarettes the Confederate soldiers were smoking.
THE BELL NURSING HOME
The Bell Nursing Home, located in Kimbolton, Ohio, was a very interesting place to investigate. When the nursing home closed, all the patients were moved to another facility in Cambridge, Ohio, but all the beds, equipment, records, staff logs, and calendars were left behind. Some spirits who did not want to leave also stayed behind.
We did The Paranormal View radio show live from the Bell Nursing Home one evening. After the show, a group of seven of us were eager to make contact with the “residents.” We broke into two groups. My group included Kat K. and Tim Foister. Our group started with the north wing day room and patient rooms. As I walked into one room, I heard a low, audible sigh, and we could feel a presence.
While we were sitting at the nurses’ station on the south wing, we heard bed curtains being pulled open and closed in one room. When we checked the floor in that room, it was evident that the curtains had not been moved because tape had been placed on the floor to mark their original position. The light in the room across from the nurses’ station came on by itself at times, and we heard footsteps on the stairs. The best piece of evidence we caught was an EVP in the day room. Kat and I were there talking, and on the recorder, we heard a little girl’s voice say, “Please wake up.” We speculated that she was either trying to wake a sleeping patient or that a patient had passed away and she was trying to wake the person.
