With Halloween approaching, what better time for those in the United States to get yourself a REAL haunt by staying at a haunted hotel?
Autumn is the perfect time, in my opinion, to try out a new haunt. Dry leaves rustle outside the windows; the air is sharp and scented with wood smoke; the full moon highlights increasingly bare branches.
With haunted lodging so popular, and advertised so well, chances are excellent that there's a place near you where you can take a weekend break or a longer vacation. Haunted hotels are all over the U.S., and you should be able to find one within your affordability range. Some of the larger hotels also offer ghost tours as part of their services (though not all tours are included in the price of your stay).
This link will provide you with information on hotels, prices, locations, and best of all, ghost stories from the hotels!
Enjoy your frightful night.
Review Ghostly Prague
Showing posts with label ghost stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ghost stories. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Gettysburg ghosts
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, was the site of one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War, in 1863. Ghosts - on the battlefield and in various buildings - have been reported for decades.
Gettysburg College - or as it was then called, Pennsylvania College - is one of the haunted buildings. During the war, there were only three buildings forming the college; there were only about one hundred students at the time. The campus served as a field hospital during and after the battle.
Pennsylvania Hall, built in 1837, is one of the worst haunted of the college buildings. The Confederates seized it during the battle for use as a lookout point and hospital. Robert E. Lee himself used the cupola as a lookout point to watch the battle.
The field hospital, with its wounded and maimed soldiers, may be the most haunted area. There was no anesthesia in those days; antiseptic surgery was still in the future; bullet wounds were often treated by amputation. The area outside the operating rooms was used to put the soldiers who couldn't be saved. They were left there to die.
One night, two administrators were working on the fourth floor. As they left work, they boarded the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. The elevator moved down, past the first floor, coming to a stop in the basement. The doors opened, and the administrators saw a sight they had never imagined they would see.
1863 had come to vivid, gory life in the basement. The walls were spattered with blood. Wounded soldiers were sprawled on the floor, with doctors attending to them. To add to the eerie effect, the whole scene was silent.
The administrators pushed the elevator button frantically, trying to close the doors and leave the scene. Just before the doors closed, though, one of the orderlies looked up and directly at them, as if he were asking for help.
After this ordeal, whenever either of the administrators had to work at night, they took the stairs.
Gettysburg College - or as it was then called, Pennsylvania College - is one of the haunted buildings. During the war, there were only three buildings forming the college; there were only about one hundred students at the time. The campus served as a field hospital during and after the battle.
Pennsylvania Hall, built in 1837, is one of the worst haunted of the college buildings. The Confederates seized it during the battle for use as a lookout point and hospital. Robert E. Lee himself used the cupola as a lookout point to watch the battle.
The field hospital, with its wounded and maimed soldiers, may be the most haunted area. There was no anesthesia in those days; antiseptic surgery was still in the future; bullet wounds were often treated by amputation. The area outside the operating rooms was used to put the soldiers who couldn't be saved. They were left there to die.
One night, two administrators were working on the fourth floor. As they left work, they boarded the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. The elevator moved down, past the first floor, coming to a stop in the basement. The doors opened, and the administrators saw a sight they had never imagined they would see.
1863 had come to vivid, gory life in the basement. The walls were spattered with blood. Wounded soldiers were sprawled on the floor, with doctors attending to them. To add to the eerie effect, the whole scene was silent.
The administrators pushed the elevator button frantically, trying to close the doors and leave the scene. Just before the doors closed, though, one of the orderlies looked up and directly at them, as if he were asking for help.
After this ordeal, whenever either of the administrators had to work at night, they took the stairs.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
William Terriss
Good-looking actor William Terriss (born William Lewin) was a very popular stage figure of Victorian England. He was noted for his portrayals of heroes, which earned him the nickname of "Breezy Bill". He was popular offstage as well, being noted for his generosity, especially towards fellow actors. One night, he arrived at the theatre dripping wet, as his contemporary, Ellen Terry, recalled. He shrugged off the usual jokes ("Is it raining, Terriss?"). It was only later that everyone learned he had dived into the Thames to rescue a child in danger.
Terriss would, eventually, have enormous cause to regret his generosity towards Richard Archer Price. Terriss had helped Price to find work as a struggling young actor, but Price's alcohol problems and mental illness made him difficult to deal with. Eventually, Terriss had Price fired, though he continued to send Price money (through the Actors' Benevolent Fund) and tried to help him to find work elsewhere.
On December 16, 1897, now desperate and out of money, but impossible to work with, Price caught up with Terriss at the door to the Adelphi Theatre, which Terriss was unlocking. Price stabbed Terriss in the back, and as Terriss turned towards him, stabbed him in the side and again in the back. Actress Jessie Millward, Terriss' leading lady and lover, heard the commotion and opened the door from the inside, when Terriss fell against her. His last words were whispered to Millward: "I will come back." He was buried in London's Brompton Cemetery.
Price was caught instantly, telling the police, "I did it for revenge. He had kept me out of employment for ten years, and I had either to die in the street or kill him." Though Price was found guilty of murder, he was also found to be insane. He died at Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum in 1936, frequently writing and acting in his own plays, performed for the amusement of thrill-seekers who enjoyed visiting psychiatric hospitals.
True to his word, Terriss has indeed come back, and stayed. His ghost has been seen at the Adelphi, as well as making frequent appearances at the Covent Garden tube station. (Terriss was murdered ten years before the tube station opened; he used to buy goods from a bakery that stood on that spot, hence his tendency to revisit the area.) In 1955, ticket collector Jack Hayden saw the ghost of Terriss, wearing an opera cloak and gloves, holding a cane, and "with a very, very sad face and sunken cheeks"; the specter was seen walking the platform or climbing the spiral staircase. Once, the ghost entered the former cafeteria through a closed door. He stood, wordless and unmoving, before leaving through the same closed door; the employees were thunderstruck.
In distinct contrast to the kindly nature of Terriss during his lifetime, his ghost is often a frightening one. The spirit made itself known for what may have been the first time in a dressing room at the Adelphi in 1928, when a young actress known only as "June" was trying to sleep before a performance. First, the couch underneath her began to shake. When she investigated, she found nothing. The couch continued to shake, and then she saw a greenish mist. Her arms were clutched tightly by unseen fingers. A sound of two knocks ended the supernatural display.
Later, June found that her dressing room was once used by Jessie Millward. Terriss, during his life, was in the habit of knocking twice on her door with his walking stick as he passed it.
June's arms were bruised for several days.
Several Adelphi employees witnessed Terriss' last appearance at the theatre, in 1950. He tended to appear (as with June's experience) from a green mist, frightening spectators. The last sighting of the ghost in the Covent Garden Station occurred in 1972, but staff members still hear footsteps and whispering in the station.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Newgate Prison
If any place should be haunted, a prison is a likely candidate. Newgate, dating to Roman times, was torn down in 1901 to create room for the Central Criminal Court. Newgate was said to be haunted by a Black Dog, of which the first written mention is dated 1596, though it was known in folklore long before that time. An indistinct, yet horrifying, shape was seen to crawl along the wall (also dating to Roman times) that once separated the prison from Amen Court. On the side of the wall where Newgate once stood, a narrow pathway led from the prison to quicklime pits, where the bodies of the executed were buried. Not surprisingly, it was dubbed "Dead Man's Walk".
A Mr. Scott, once Chief Warder of Newgate, had a grim story to tell of a haunting in the prison. He was one of those present at the hanging of Amelia Dyer on June 10, 1896. Mrs. Dyer was a "baby farmer", a woman who offered to take care of children born out of wedlock so that their mothers could escape disgrace. A fee was involved for this "service", and Dyer insisted on full payment up front. She then murdered the babies entrusted to her care; she avoided detection (despite many close calls) for many years before her crimes caught up to her.
As Mrs. Dyer was taken to the scaffold, she looked at Mr. Scott and said in a low voice, "I'll meet you again, sir."
Not long before Newgate was closed permanently, several of the warders gathered to share a bottle of whiskey, celebrating the end of their employment in the prison. The room where they held the little party was next to the Women Felons Yard. A door, with a window in it, led to the yard. Scott became aware that someone was watching him, and the words "Meet you again some day, sir," echoed through his head.
He looked towards the door, and saw Mrs. Dyer's unmistakable face in the window. She looked at Scott for a moment, then left. Scott quickly opened the door, and saw nothing... except a woman's handkerchief, which floated to the ground at his feet.
There were no female prisoners at the prison at that time, and there had been none for several years.
When Scott was photographed outside the execution shed, Mrs. Dyer's face appeared over his shoulder in the print.
A Mr. Scott, once Chief Warder of Newgate, had a grim story to tell of a haunting in the prison. He was one of those present at the hanging of Amelia Dyer on June 10, 1896. Mrs. Dyer was a "baby farmer", a woman who offered to take care of children born out of wedlock so that their mothers could escape disgrace. A fee was involved for this "service", and Dyer insisted on full payment up front. She then murdered the babies entrusted to her care; she avoided detection (despite many close calls) for many years before her crimes caught up to her.
As Mrs. Dyer was taken to the scaffold, she looked at Mr. Scott and said in a low voice, "I'll meet you again, sir."
Not long before Newgate was closed permanently, several of the warders gathered to share a bottle of whiskey, celebrating the end of their employment in the prison. The room where they held the little party was next to the Women Felons Yard. A door, with a window in it, led to the yard. Scott became aware that someone was watching him, and the words "Meet you again some day, sir," echoed through his head.
He looked towards the door, and saw Mrs. Dyer's unmistakable face in the window. She looked at Scott for a moment, then left. Scott quickly opened the door, and saw nothing... except a woman's handkerchief, which floated to the ground at his feet.
There were no female prisoners at the prison at that time, and there had been none for several years.
When Scott was photographed outside the execution shed, Mrs. Dyer's face appeared over his shoulder in the print.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Elliott O'Donnell
His books scare the hell out of me. O'Donnell (1872 - 1965) became famous, after working at various odd jobs, as a ghost hunter and writer on various subjects of the supernatural.
O'Donnell liked to relate the story of his father's death, which occurred when Elliott was only six months old. The O'Donnell family was haunted by a banshee, which woke the whole house with its shrieks one night. His mother asked one of the servants what the noise was; the servant replied that one of the O'Donnell's had died that night. The following night, the family heard his father's footsteps ascending the stairs to the nursery. O'Donnell's nurse heard the nursery door open, then saw a light and heard a voice, which she recognized as her employer's, speaking; the voice was too fast, however, and she was too frightened, to make out anything he said. The voice stopped, the light went out, and the footsteps went downstairs again.
These events occurred at the same time the following night, and each subsequent night, for six weeks. At no time was anyone able to speak to the ghost, or to understand what it said; they were overwhelmed with fear. Finally, Mrs. O'Donnell received a letter informing her that her husband was dead, under suspicious circumstances. On vacation, and having taken it into his head to visit Abyssina (as it was then called), he was later found in the town of Arkiko, on the coast of the Red Sea. Mrs. O'Donnell heard later from people familiar with the area that they had no doubt he had been murdered by a local gang, one who murdered and robbed any foreigner with money.
Henry O'Donnell's murder occurred around noon of the day the banshee made itself heard at his home in Ireland.
O'Donnell claimed that the banshee next manifested itself to his youngest sister. As she was climbing the stairs one day (years after Henry O'Donnell's death), she saw a head looking at her from above. The head was so frightening that O'Donnell's sister was frozen to the spot, but finally, she turned and rain downstairs. As she did, laughter echoed after her, so loudly that everyone in the house could hear it. A few days later, one of their aunts (on his father's side) died, and a week after the appearance, Mrs. O'Donnell was dead.
This is a pretty good background for someone who would later become well-known for his supernatural experiences and writings. O'Donnell was always ready to check out stories of hauntings; to hold vigils in abandoned houses; to talk to those who had tales to tell; to take a look at haunted rooms.
I will say that I've discovered quite a few discrepancies in his stories. In one book, he writes a few stories in the first person, as if they happened to him. In another book, he writes them as having been related to him by the person who experienced them. His stories are so detailed, too, that I wonder how much he just invented - after all, the man must have been very aware of the power of a good story. He must have listened to a hell of a lot of people, too, to be able to come up with so many compilations. He also wrote fiction (well, stories that he admitted were fiction, anyway). He was very interested in folklore, too, and wove it into his works. Some of his writings deal with the "classic" stories, such as Raynham Hall, Borley Rectory, and the like. (More on these in other posts, by the way.)
His stories were highly regarded by horror author August Derleth, who wrote that he used to wait for Sundays to come so he could read another story by O'Donnell in The American Weekly. Harry Ludlam edited some story collections of O'Donnell's, and Bernhardt J. Hurwood was another fan.
He did a series of radio shows based on his works for CBS in the 1930s, and if anyone knows where I can get copies of those shows, I'd be very grateful.
When I started reading him, his books were out of print, and hard to find. As it is, even now his books often sell for staggeringly huge prices. Fortunately for all of us who love a good ghost story, many of his books are now in print again. They aren't cheap, but it's a far better alternative than paying eight hundred dollars for one of his works.
O'Donnell heads my list of a good, scary author of ghost stories.
O'Donnell liked to relate the story of his father's death, which occurred when Elliott was only six months old. The O'Donnell family was haunted by a banshee, which woke the whole house with its shrieks one night. His mother asked one of the servants what the noise was; the servant replied that one of the O'Donnell's had died that night. The following night, the family heard his father's footsteps ascending the stairs to the nursery. O'Donnell's nurse heard the nursery door open, then saw a light and heard a voice, which she recognized as her employer's, speaking; the voice was too fast, however, and she was too frightened, to make out anything he said. The voice stopped, the light went out, and the footsteps went downstairs again.
These events occurred at the same time the following night, and each subsequent night, for six weeks. At no time was anyone able to speak to the ghost, or to understand what it said; they were overwhelmed with fear. Finally, Mrs. O'Donnell received a letter informing her that her husband was dead, under suspicious circumstances. On vacation, and having taken it into his head to visit Abyssina (as it was then called), he was later found in the town of Arkiko, on the coast of the Red Sea. Mrs. O'Donnell heard later from people familiar with the area that they had no doubt he had been murdered by a local gang, one who murdered and robbed any foreigner with money.
Henry O'Donnell's murder occurred around noon of the day the banshee made itself heard at his home in Ireland.
O'Donnell claimed that the banshee next manifested itself to his youngest sister. As she was climbing the stairs one day (years after Henry O'Donnell's death), she saw a head looking at her from above. The head was so frightening that O'Donnell's sister was frozen to the spot, but finally, she turned and rain downstairs. As she did, laughter echoed after her, so loudly that everyone in the house could hear it. A few days later, one of their aunts (on his father's side) died, and a week after the appearance, Mrs. O'Donnell was dead.
This is a pretty good background for someone who would later become well-known for his supernatural experiences and writings. O'Donnell was always ready to check out stories of hauntings; to hold vigils in abandoned houses; to talk to those who had tales to tell; to take a look at haunted rooms.
I will say that I've discovered quite a few discrepancies in his stories. In one book, he writes a few stories in the first person, as if they happened to him. In another book, he writes them as having been related to him by the person who experienced them. His stories are so detailed, too, that I wonder how much he just invented - after all, the man must have been very aware of the power of a good story. He must have listened to a hell of a lot of people, too, to be able to come up with so many compilations. He also wrote fiction (well, stories that he admitted were fiction, anyway). He was very interested in folklore, too, and wove it into his works. Some of his writings deal with the "classic" stories, such as Raynham Hall, Borley Rectory, and the like. (More on these in other posts, by the way.)
His stories were highly regarded by horror author August Derleth, who wrote that he used to wait for Sundays to come so he could read another story by O'Donnell in The American Weekly. Harry Ludlam edited some story collections of O'Donnell's, and Bernhardt J. Hurwood was another fan.
He did a series of radio shows based on his works for CBS in the 1930s, and if anyone knows where I can get copies of those shows, I'd be very grateful.
When I started reading him, his books were out of print, and hard to find. As it is, even now his books often sell for staggeringly huge prices. Fortunately for all of us who love a good ghost story, many of his books are now in print again. They aren't cheap, but it's a far better alternative than paying eight hundred dollars for one of his works.
O'Donnell heads my list of a good, scary author of ghost stories.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)