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Shared from https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/scary-ghost-stories-legends  PHOTOGRAPHED BY ALI GAVILLET. From the Stanley Hotel to the Amityville House, the U.S. has plenty of iconic, haunted landmarks for budding paranormal investigators to visit. But, you likely have a supernatural site tucked away in your own backyard, too — you just have to listen to the local legends. Every town and neighborhood has that eerie house, defunct warehouse, or plain old scary cemetery that people avoid when night falls — and, if they must pass by, hold their breath until it's far behind them. These are the sites that serve as inspiration for generations of spooky stories. We asked Refinery29 readers to share their hometown's scariest story and they did not disappoint. Between apparitions, disappearances, and disembodied sounds, these tales prove that no town is without its share of eerie history. ADVERTISEMENT Of course, for all the chills and thrills they bring, these creepy stories aren't without a tinge of sadness. A mother loses her daughter. A young woman dies by suicide. The state takes advantage of people with mental illnesses. We may only have rumors and memories to go on now, but there are often real people behind the legends (sometimes, that's what makes them so frightening). Ahead, read eight local legends from around the U.S. and Canada. And then share your own hometown's haunted history in the comments. “On June 10th, 1912, two adults and six children were bludgeoned and murdered in their beds. ” Name: Molly Hometown: Sidney, IA "There's a haunted home in a neighboring town known as the Villisca Axe Murder House. On June 10th, 1912, two adults and six children were bludgeoned and murdered in their beds there. This case is still unsolved, although rumors and theories abound about the identity of the killer. Today, the house has been restored to the condition it was in on the eve of the slayings, and it's now on the National Registrar of Historic Places. They do tours. However, I did not book in any official capacity. Instead, I visited the site late at night with my cheer squad back when I was in high school. We all were joking around and went up the the door, poking around to see if we could get a look inside. Then we heard a loud bump, and immediately screamed and sprinted away to the van we drove up in. I never went back. " “Ghosts, phantom trucks, and the Devil. ” Name: Lizzy Hometown: Middletown, New Jersey "There's this spooky dirt road called Whipporwhill Valley Road in my town. Everyone would joke about driving there at night in high school and seeing ghosts or phantom trucks, or even spotting the Devil. There are a ton of stories about this road, but the creepiest one is this: Legend has it that a baby drowned under the bridge that is now known as "Cry Baby Bridge." If you drive there at 1 a.m., you can apparently hear the baby start to cry. If you stop on the bridge and turn your car off, it also won't start back up again — leaving you to hear its ghostly cries." “We called it the Texas Chainsaw house. ” Name: Molly Hometown: Storm Lake, Iowa "There was this haunted house outside of town. We called it the Texas Chainsaw house, because there was a rumor that at night you could hear an echo of a chainsaw. And the home still had unopened cans of food in the cabinets and newspapers from 1980s on the kitchen table, almost as if the family up and left and didn't pack a thing. They tore it down because kids were going there and trespassing in this old abandoned creepy house with like a weird amount of dolls and toys from the '80s. I didn't believe in ghosts at the time, but, looking back, I'd bet money that it was actually haunted." “They...still live up here. ” Name: Margaret Hometown: Deer Isle, Maine "There was the ghost of a lobsterman — a fisherman who went lobstering. He found one that was shaped like his wife and took it home to her. They laughed and boiled it and ate it, and when they were done, his wife had turned into a lobster. They had many children and still live up here." “She now drags one man into the lake each year. ” Name: Courtney Hometown: Ronkonkoma, New York "Lake Ronkonkoma is Long Island’s largest freshwater lake and was a popular summer destination. According to legend, it is also cursed. This body of water is said to be the home of a vengeful spirit that claims one male life per year. "Supposedly, Ronkonkoma was the name of a Native American princess who fell in love with a white settler who lived near the lake. [Ed. note: The princess is also known as Tuskawanta in some versions of the legend.] Upon their meeting, the princess and the settler immediately fell in love, but their union was forbidden by her father. Every night, they would sneak out to send messages of love to one another. Ronkonkoma would paddle her canoe out to the middle of the lake, where she would then float a message the rest of the way to her lover waiting on the opposite shore. This continued for years, until one day the princess was unable to deal with this arrangement. She sent a final farewell note to her lover. He received it on the shore and minutes later, the canoe washed up in front of him as well. Inside it was the princess’s body — she had died by suicide in the middle of the lake. "Since that day Ronkonkoma has haunted the lake, becoming known to many as the Lady of the Lake. Angered because she wasn’t allowed to love in life, she now drags one man into the lake each year. People say that at least one person has drowned each year in Lake Ronkonkoma for the past 200 years, the large majority of them male. Many others have reported being drawn by some unseen force out to the center of the lake, as if something was trying to drag them in. These souls have been able to resist the pull of the Lady of the Lake, and have been lucky enough to live to report the existence of this strange phenomenon." “You cannot interrupt their march or look directly at them. ” Name: Jen Hometown: Honolulu, Hawaii "In Hawaii there are many local ghost stories, but the one that scared me the most as a child were the Night Marchers. They have been known to make appearances on several islands and in several areas in Honolulu. The most talked about place is along the Pali highway on Oahu where the final battle of King Kamehameha took place — one that ended with driving warriors off the cliff to their deaths. Legend says that during certain phases of the moon, a procession of ghost warriors marches through, and should you be unfortunate enough to encounter them, you are supposed to drop to the ground and avert your eyes. You cannot interrupt their march or look directly at them, or you or someone you know will die! It's a common warning to never walk along the Pali highway alone at night, or any location where Night Marchers are known to pass through." “One staircase was fully closed off because of strange events. ” Name: Elyse Hometown: Dundas, Ontario, Canada "My middle school (now condos) was haunted. A train crashed on Christmas Day, 1934, and the school's basement was used as a morgue. It's said a girl from the crash haunted the school. "It was also haunted by a former janitor named Russell who would joke with other staff that whoever died first would haunt the school — he died first. One staircase was fully closed off because of strange events (named the Russell staircase) and janitors had to work in pairs. People would frequently hear whistling, banging, and clashing when nobody else was around, and motion detectors were similarly set off. "The school puts on an excellent charity haunted house every year, always different and built by the students." “You can still hear her calling for her daughter. ” Name: Bridget Hometown: Rochester, New York "Growing up, my dad loved to tell scary stories. This story was my favorite, because my dad tried to find this scary ghost when he was a wild teenager. The tale goes back all the way to the 1800s and everyone in Rochester knows about the White Lady. "According to the legend, the White Lady lived near Durand Eastman Park (a local park near Lake Ontario) and she had a teenage daughter and the daughter asked if she could walk down to the lake. As the story goes, she never came back home. The mother went out to search and she couldn't find her. The mother spent the rest of her life looking for her. It's said, on misty nights, she'd glide over the lake, all in white. "Many people try to find her at night (like my teenage dad!), and it has been rumored that you can still hear her calling for her daughter. There's also a rumor that two big dogs accompany her on her hunt. People still search for the White Lady, and there was even a reported sighting last year! Every time I drive by, I feel chills and hope that one day, she finds her daughter." “Car radios go haywire when driving by the restricted site. ” Name: Fiona Hometown: Exeter, Rhode Island "The Ladd School in Rhode Island was the epitome of creep and was even featured on the Travel Channel. Originally, the Ladd School was an institution for 'the feeble minded' and operated from 1908 to 1986, when it was deinstitutionalized. The school was well known for horrible, immoral acts against its residents, such as forced sterilizations, lobotomies, electric shock therapy — and the patients themselves committed many criminal acts. By 1950, the population reached nearly 1,000. At this point they were overcrowded and ill-quipped. The location is now revered as one of the most haunted in New England. Car radios go haywire when driving by the restricted site. For those who trespass and try to get an up close glimpse at the abandoned premises, they come back with stories of orbs, disembodied voices, doors that close by themselves, and shapes or figures floating around." SCARY GHOST STORIES & HORROR FOLKLORE FROM REAL TOWNS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON SEPTEMBER 25, 2018, 11:30 AM HALLOWEEN • SPIRIT • WELLNESS WRITTEN BY SARA COUGHLIN WRITTEN BY ELIZABETH GULINO PHOTOGRAPHED BY ALI GAVILLET.  Mosquito Shield of Southeast Houston
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Shared from https://www.outsideonline.com/ These spooky tales will make you feel like you're out in the backwoods—almost We’ve given up so much outdoor recreation this year. Not that we’re mad about it. Saving lives matters more than backpacking trips and summer marathons. But as the days get warmer, I feel myself craving the smoke-in-my hair smell from a campfire. I miss the sound of owls, the dwindling supply of beer in the cooler, and the way time suspends as you wait for the flames to die. Mostly, though, I miss the stories. There’s something about the light of the fire in the backcountry darkness that makes you lean in and listen a little closer. And, of course, a few sips of whiskey never hurt a good tall tale. We can’t bring back your spring campfires with friends. We can, however, bring our favorite campfire stories to you. Save these three for retelling when things return to normal—or tell them now over a Zoom call with your friends. The Ghost of Oxford Milford Road The storyteller: Writer and editor Brad Culp When Brad Culp was a student at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, there was a rumor that the town was one of the most haunted places in America. When Culp started an on-campus magazine, he couldn’t wait to write about several of the area’s most famous phantoms. Not long after his story published, though, he kept finding himself thinking about one ghost in particular—the ghost of Oxford Milford Road. As the story goes, many decades ago, probably sometime in the 1940s, there was a young man courting a young woman in a rural part of town. Because the woman’s parents didn’t approve of the match, each night he visited under the cover of darkness. After her parents went to bed, the young woman would sneak out of her farmhouse and flash the lights of her parent’s car three times. Then her young suitor would ride his motorcycle down the road. “One night he took the turn right before her house a little too sharp,” says Culp. The motorcycle went one way, he went the other. His injuries were so severe that he did not survive. Rumor has it, however, that his lovestruck ghost still haunts this stretch of Milford Road. Curious, Culp, his girlfriend (now his wife), and a friend decided to head out there one night to see if they could verify the tale. His girlfriend was worried she’d be completely freaked out. “She believes more in that stuff than I do,” Culp says. But he was mostly concerned that his suspicions—that none of this was actually true—would be confirmed. On this particular night, as Culp passed the abandoned farm, an idea came to him, and he pitched it to his girlfriend (how could she not say yes?). Though reluctant, she relented, and Culp turned a short way into the farmhouse driveway. He killed the engine and flashed his lights three times. “No joke, there was a single headlight that appeared three-quarters of a mile down the road,” Culp says. “You saw it start to come, going pretty slow. It kept coming and coming. My wife was freaking out. It was coming closer and closer.” As a collision seemed imminent, Culp turned on his car’s lights. He expected to see a kid on a bike, bailing out from his prank now that he’d been caught. “But there’s nothing there. The light is just gone,” he says. They got out of the car. They walked around, trying to figure out what it was they could have seen. “To this day, we still talk about it. I saw something I cannot explain,” he says. If you get him and his wife around a campfire, they’ll swear up and down that the story is true. And if you’re ever in Oxford, Ohio, consider parking for just a few minutes on Oxford Milford Road at night to test your own nerve. Was It People or Was It Aliens? Storyteller: Doug Averill, retired owner and manager of the Flathead Lake LodgeDoug Averill grew up as one of eight boys on his parents’ sprawling dude ranch, the Flathead Lake Lodge, in rural Montana. As a teen, the Averill boys ran wild. “We rode around as a little gang of cowboys,” he remembers. They’d saddle up and head off to check cattle on the three giant tracts of land the family managed, which formed a triangle around some of the state’s most remote rangelands. One summer in the 1960s, the brothers came across a ghastly sight. There, on the ground, were three dead cows neatly arranged in a circle. No obvious wounds were visible, but their reproductive organs had been removed. “But there was never any blood. It was almost surgical removal,” Averill remembers. During this decade, America was obsessed with aliens, and write-ups in the local newspapers posited that perhaps this was the work of extraterrestrials. People mused that aliens had taken the reproductive organs for testing. But one day, Averill and his friends came across a lance in their path. Attached to it was a cryptic note with a threatening message. “That’s when we thought, It’s gotta be people doing this,” he says. Then things got really strange. Over the next few days, a series of odd events unfolded. First, the brothers stopped in at a local bar to grab a hamburger, leaving their horses in the back of a stock truck. The horses were packed in tightly, and the Averills were only gone for a few minutes. When they came back, the horse packed into the middle of the truck was mysteriously out—with no signs of a struggle. “We had no idea how they possibly could have gotten that horse unloaded without unloading all the others,” he says. The next day, a new wrangler on the ranch fell off his horse and was badly injured. They’d all been riding together, but not a single other member of the crew saw the accident. “It was the weirdest thing,” Averill says. The man’s injuries were so severe that he was left permanently disabled. Finally, the last terrible thing happened. An old camp cook drove out to meet the brothers and ride for a day. But when he arrived, the tailgate on his stock truck had somehow gone missing, even though it had been there when he’d loaded up. His horse, Betsy, had fallen out of the truck and been dragged behind the vehicle for who knows how long. They had to put her down on the spot. “To be honest, it just killed him to see what had happened to Betsy. We probably should have put him down, too,” remembers Averill. “Those three events were just boom, boom, boom—three things in a row that were so weird all tied together, because they were right after we saw that spear,” he remembers. Three things: like the three dead cows left in a circle. Averill used to tell the stories from that summer around the campfire quite a lot. But over the years, he’s gotten new stories, and so they’ve been shifted out of rotation. Besides, they’re awfully grim. But he recently got a call about a downed bull, a buffalo. It was out in one of the most remote parts of his ranch. “A neighbor had seen a pack of 16 wolves, and normally, wolves don’t bother buffalo, but 16 of them? I thought, Well, maybe.” He went to investigate. There, lying in a snow-covered field, was the bull. But there were no bullet holes or teeth marks or gashes on its corpse. Even stranger, scavenging animals and birds hadn’t touched it. “Not even the buzzards, which is really unusual,” he says. One other thing was amiss: its reproductive organs were gone. And there wasn’t a single footprint in the snow around it—or anywhere along the mile-long walk into the ranch from the nearest road. Ask Averill whether he thinks he’s dealing with aliens or humans, and he’ll tell you he’s pretty sure it’s humans. “But I’d rather it was aliens,” he adds. After that summer back in the sixties, seeing what humans were capable of, he’d pick aliens any day. The Ghost of La Parva Ski ResortStoryteller: Drew Tabke, professional skier Throughout Latin America, you’ll hear variations of the story of La Llorona, or the wailing woman. Sometimes she’s lost her husband. Sometimes she’s lost her children. Sometimes it’s both. But in La Parva, a ski spot in the Chilean Andes, the wailing woman is named Lola, and everyone in the area swears they knew her before she died. “A local restaurant owner said he dated her,” pro skier Drew Tabke says, adding that the ski patroller he heard the story from pointed at the exact hut where this tale takes place. The story starts on a nice day in peak ski season. Lola and her young son planned to spend the day on the slopes. “As can happen in the Andes, a thick fog rose up from the valley, which often precedes the arrival of a real storm. The clouds enveloped the two as they were making their way down from the top of the mountain, and they lost contact with one another,” Tabke says. Desperate to find her son, Lola began screaming his name as she ran through the thick fog. Unable to see clearly, though, she stumbled down a steep slope and began sliding toward a rocky couloir. “By chance, a local lift operator who was returning to his cabin came across her body. He was afraid she was dead, but on closer inspection, he found she was still alive, just barely,” Tabke says. Her body was covered in lacerations from sharp rocks, and the only word she said—in the faintest whisper—was her son’s name. The lift operator worked to carefully pull her body to his cabin, which was just up the hill. He bandaged her cuts as best he could and then ran to fetch the doctor. Together the doctor and lift operator made their way back to his hut, the fog hanging thickly in the air. When they arrived, though, the bed was empty. Just the bloody sheets remained. “Neither the woman nor her son were ever found,” Tabke says. But locals report hearing her wail for her child whenever they’re near that lift operator’s cabin. And here’s the thing: Tabke does not believe in ghosts. Something, however, changes when he arrives in Chile each winter. Maybe it’s the fact that, from La Parva, you can see up to Cerro el Plomo, an Incan child-sacrifice site. Maybe it’s because Tabke has simply read so many magical realism books by authors like Juan Rulfo and Gabriel García Márquez. But sitting alone in his cabin in the Andes, with the wind whipping and the candles flickering, he swears that every now and then he just can’t tell if what he’s hearing is a woman or the wind.  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We sympathize with you when a plumbing emergency happens as we know how it does affect you and your family. We know how damage from a plumbing issue can have an impact on other parts of your home or business as well. Call The Plumber and let us come to your rescue.service@theoverallplumber.com theoverallplumber.com 13733 Highway 6, Santa Fe, TX 1 281-668-8055 The Body Snatcher was first published in the Pall Mall Christmas 'Extra' in December 1884. It is featured in our collection of Halloween Stories Every night in the year, four of us sat in the small parlour of the George at Debenham--the undertaker, and the landlord, and Fettes, and myself. Sometimes there would be more; but blow high, blow low, come rain or snow or frost, we four would be each planted in his own particular arm-chair. Fettes was an old drunken Scotchman, a man of education obviously, and a man of some property, since he lived in idleness. He had come to Debenham years ago, while still young, and by a mere continuance of living had grown to be an adopted townsman. His blue camlet cloak was a local antiquity, like the church-spire. His place in the parlour at the George, his absence from church, his old, crapulous, disreputable vices, were all things of course in Debenham. He had some vague Radical opinions and some fleeting infidelities, which he would now and again set forth and emphasise with tottering slaps upon the table. He drank rum - five glasses regularly every evening; and for the greater portion of his nightly visit to the George sat, with his glass in his right hand, in a state of melancholy alcoholic saturation. We called him the Doctor, for he was supposed to have some special knowledge of medicine, and had been known, upon a pinch, to set a fracture or reduce a dislocation; but beyond these slight particulars, we had no knowledge of his character and antecedents. One dark winter night--it had struck nine some time before the landlord joined us--there was a sick man in the George, a great neighbouring proprietor suddenly struck down with apoplexy on his way to Parliament; and the great man's still greater London doctor had been telegraphed to his bedside. It was the first time that such a thing had happened in Debenham, for the railway was but newly open, and we were all proportionately moved by the occurrence. 'He's come,' said the landlord, after he had filled and lighted his pipe. 'He?' said I. 'Who?--not the doctor?' 'Himself,' replied our host. 'What is his name?' 'Doctor Macfarlane,' said the landlord. Fettes was far through his third tumbler, stupidly fuddled, now nodding over, now staring mazily around him; but at the last word he seemed to awaken, and repeated the name 'Macfarlane' twice, quietly enough the first time, but with sudden emotion at the second. 'Yes,' said the landlord, 'that's his name, Doctor Wolfe Macfarlane.' Fettes became instantly sober; his eyes awoke, his voice became clear, loud, and steady, his language forcible and earnest. We were all startled by the transformation, as if a man had risen from the dead. 'I beg your pardon,' he said, 'I am afraid I have not been paying much attention to your talk. Who is this Wolfe Macfarlane?' And then, when he had heard the landlord out, 'It cannot be, it cannot be,' he added; 'and yet I would like well to see him face to face.' 'Do you know him, Doctor?' asked the undertaker, with a gasp. 'God forbid!' was the reply. 'And yet the name is a strange one; it were too much to fancy two. Tell me, landlord, is he old?' 'Well,' said the host, 'he's not a young man, to be sure, and his hair is white; but he looks younger than you.' 'He is older, though; years older. But,' with a slap upon the table, 'it's the rum you see in my face--rum and sin. This man, perhaps, may have an easy conscience and a good digestion. Conscience! Hear me speak. You would think I was some good, old, decent Christian, would you not? But no, not I; I never canted. Voltaire might have canted if he'd stood in my shoes; but the brains'--with a rattling fillip on his bald head--'the brains were clear and active, and I saw and made no deductions.' 'If you know this doctor,' I ventured to remark, after a somewhat awful pause, 'I should gather that you do not share the landlord's good opinion.' Fettes paid no regard to me. 'Yes,' he said, with sudden decision, 'I must see him face to face.' There was another pause, and then a door was closed rather sharply on the first floor, and a step was heard upon the stair. 'That's the doctor,' cried the landlord. 'Look sharp, and you can catch him.' It was but two steps from the small parlour to the door of the old George Inn; the wide oak staircase landed almost in the street; there was room for a Turkey rug and nothing more between the threshold and the last round of the descent; but this little space was every evening brilliantly lit up, not only by the light upon the stair and the great signal-lamp below the sign, but by the warm radiance of the bar-room window. The George thus brightly advertised itself to passers-by in the cold street. Fettes walked steadily to the spot, and we, who were hanging behind, beheld the two men meet, as one of them had phrased it, face to face. Dr. Macfarlane was alert and vigorous. His white hair set off his pale and placid, although energetic, countenance. He was richly dressed in the finest of broadcloth and the whitest of linen, with a great gold watch-chain, and studs and spectacles of the same precious material. He wore a broad-folded tie, white and speckled with lilac, and he carried on his arm a comfortable driving-coat of fur. There was no doubt but he became his years, breathing, as he did, of wealth and consideration; and it was a surprising contrast to see our parlour sot--bald, dirty, pimpled, and robed in his old camlet cloak--confront him at the bottom of the stairs. 'Macfarlane!' he said somewhat loudly, more like a herald than a friend. The great doctor pulled up short on the fourth step, as though the familiarity of the address surprised and somewhat shocked his dignity. 'Toddy Macfarlane!' repeated Fettes. The London man almost staggered. He stared for the swiftest of seconds at the man before him, glanced behind him with a sort of scare, and then in a startled whisper, 'Fettes!' he said, 'You!' 'Ay,' said the other, 'me! Did you think I was dead too? We are not so easy shut of our acquaintance.' 'Hush, hush!' exclaimed the doctor. 'Hush, hush! this meeting is so unexpected--I can see you are unmanned. I hardly knew you, I confess, at first; but I am overjoyed--overjoyed to have this opportunity. For the present it must be how-d'ye-do and good-bye in one, for my fly is waiting, and I must not fail the train; but you shall--let me see--yes--you shall give me your address, and you can count on early news of me. We must do something for you, Fettes. I fear you are out at elbows; but we must see to that for auld lang syne, as once we sang at suppers.' 'Money!' cried Fettes; 'money from you! The money that I had from you is lying where I cast it in the rain.' Dr. Macfarlane had talked himself into some measure of superiority and confidence, but the uncommon energy of this refusal cast him back into his first confusion. A horrible, ugly look came and went across his almost venerable countenance. 'My dear fellow,' he said, 'be it as you please; my last thought is to offend you. I would intrude on none. I will leave you my address, however--' 'I do not wish it--I do not wish to know the roof that shelters you,' interrupted the other. 'I heard your name; I feared it might be you; I wished to know if, after all, there were a God; I know now that there is none. Begone!' He still stood in the middle of the rug, between the stair and doorway; and the great London physician, in order to escape, would be forced to step to one side. It was plain that he hesitated before the thought of this humiliation. White as he was, there was a dangerous glitter in his spectacles; but while he still paused uncertain, he became aware that the driver of his fly was peering in from the street at this unusual scene and caught a glimpse at the same time of our little body from the parlour, huddled by the corner of the bar. The presence of so many witnesses decided him at once to flee. He crouched together, brushing on the wainscot, and made a dart like a serpent, striking for the door. But his tribulation was not yet entirely at an end, for even as he was passing Fettes clutched him by the arm and these words came in a whisper, and yet painfully distinct, 'Have you seen it again?' The great rich London doctor cried out aloud with a sharp, throttling cry; he dashed his questioner across the open space, and, with his hands over his head, fled out of the door like a detected thief. Before it had occurred to one of us to make a movement the fly was already rattling toward the station. The scene was over like a dream, but the dream had left proofs and traces of its passage. Next day the servant found the fine gold spectacles broken on the threshold, and that very night we were all standing breathless by the bar-room window, and Fettes at our side, sober, pale, and resolute in look. 'God protect us, Mr. Fettes!' said the landlord, coming first into possession of his customary senses. 'What in the universe is all this? These are strange things you have been saying.' Fettes turned toward us; he looked us each in succession in the face. 'See if you can hold your tongues,' said he. 'That man Macfarlane is not safe to cross; those that have done so already have repented it too late.' And then, without so much as finishing his third glass, far less waiting for the other two, he bade us good-bye and went forth, under the lamp of the hotel, into the black night. We three turned to our places in the parlour, with the big red fire and four clear candles; and as we recapitulated what had passed, the first chill of our surprise soon changed into a glow of curiosity. We sat late; it was the latest session I have known in the old George. Each man, before we parted, had his theory that he was bound to prove; and none of us had any nearer business in this world than to track out the past of our condemned companion, and surprise the secret that he shared with the great London doctor. It is no great boast, but I believe I was a better hand at worming out a story than either of my fellows at the George; and perhaps there is now no other man alive who could narrate to you the following foul and unnatural events. In his young days Fettes studied medicine in the schools of Edinburgh. He had talent of a kind, the talent that picks up swiftly what it hears and readily retails it for its own. He worked little at home; but he was civil, attentive, and intelligent in the presence of his masters. They soon picked him out as a lad who listened closely and remembered well; nay, strange as it seemed to me when I first heard it, he was in those days well favoured, and pleased by his exterior. There was, at that period, a certain extramural teacher of anatomy, whom I shall here designate by the letter K. His name was subsequently too well known. The man who bore it skulked through the streets of Edinburgh in disguise, while the mob that applauded at the execution of Burke called loudly for the blood of his employer. But Mr. K- was then at the top of his vogue; he enjoyed a popularity due partly to his own talent and address, partly to the incapacity of his rival, the university professor. The students, at least, swore by his name, and Fettes believed himself, and was believed by others, to have laid the foundations of success when he had acquired the favour of this meteorically famous man. Mr. K- was a BON VIVANT as well as an accomplished teacher; he liked a sly illusion no less than a careful preparation. In both capacities Fettes enjoyed and deserved his notice, and by the second year of his attendance he held the half-regular position of second demonstrator or sub- assistant in his class. In this capacity the charge of the theatre and lecture-room devolved in particular upon his shoulders. He had to answer for the cleanliness of the premises and the conduct of the other students, and it was a part of his duty to supply, receive, and divide the various subjects. It was with a view to this last--at that time very delicate--affair that he was lodged by Mr. K- in the same wynd, and at last in the same building, with the dissecting-rooms. Here, after a night of turbulent pleasures, his hand still tottering, his sight still misty and confused, he would be called out of bed in the black hours before the winter dawn by the unclean and desperate interlopers who supplied the table. He would open the door to these men, since infamous throughout the land. He would help them with their tragic burden, pay them their sordid price, and remain alone, when they were gone, with the unfriendly relics of humanity. From such a scene he would return to snatch another hour or two of slumber, to repair the abuses of the night, and refresh himself for the labours of the day. Few lads could have been more insensible to the impressions of a life thus passed among the ensigns of mortality. His mind was closed against all general considerations. He was incapable of interest in the fate and fortunes of another, the slave of his own desires and low ambitions. Cold, light, and selfish in the last resort, he had that modicum of prudence, miscalled morality, which keeps a man from inconvenient drunkenness or punishable theft. He coveted, besides, a measure of consideration from his masters and his fellow-pupils, and he had no desire to fail conspicuously in the external parts of life. Thus he made it his pleasure to gain some distinction in his studies, and day after day rendered unimpeachable eye-service to his employer, Mr. K-. For his day of work he indemnified himself by nights of roaring, blackguardly enjoyment; and when that balance had been struck, the organ that he called his conscience declared itself content. The supply of subjects was a continual trouble to him as well as to his master. In that large and busy class, the raw material of the anatomists kept perpetually running out; and the business thus rendered necessary was not only unpleasant in itself, but threatened dangerous consequences to all who were concerned. It was the policy of Mr. K- to ask no questions in his dealings with the trade. 'They bring the body, and we pay the price,' he used to say, dwelling on the alliteration--'QUID PRO QUO.' And, again, and somewhat profanely, 'Ask no questions,' he would tell his assistants, 'for conscience' sake.' There was no understanding that the subjects were provided by the crime of murder. Had that idea been broached to him in words, he would have recoiled in horror; but the lightness of his speech upon so grave a matter was, in itself, an offence against good manners, and a temptation to the men with whom he dealt. Fettes, for instance, had often remarked to himself upon the singular freshness of the bodies. He had been struck again and again by the hang-dog, abominable looks of the ruffians who came to him before the dawn; and putting things together clearly in his private thoughts, he perhaps attributed a meaning too immoral and too categorical to the unguarded counsels of his master. He understood his duty, in short, to have three branches: to take what was brought, to pay the price, and to avert the eye from any evidence of crime. One November morning this policy of silence was put sharply to the test. He had been awake all night with a racking toothache--pacing his room like a caged beast or throwing himself in fury on his bed--and had fallen at last into that profound, uneasy slumber that so often follows on a night of pain, when he was awakened by the third or fourth angry repetition of the concerted signal. There was a thin, bright moonshine; it was bitter cold, windy, and frosty; the town had not yet awakened, but an indefinable stir already preluded the noise and business of the day. The ghouls had come later than usual, and they seemed more than usually eager to be gone. Fettes, sick with sleep, lighted them upstairs. He heard their grumbling Irish voices through a dream; and as they stripped the sack from their sad merchandise he leaned dozing, with his shoulder propped against the wall; he had to shake himself to find the men their money. As he did so his eyes lighted on the dead face. He started; he took two steps nearer, with the candle raised. 'God Almighty!' he cried. 'That is Jane Galbraith!' The men answered nothing, but they shuffled nearer the door. 'I know her, I tell you,' he continued. 'She was alive and hearty yesterday. It's impossible she can be dead; it's impossible you should have got this body fairly.' 'Sure, sir, you're mistaken entirely,' said one of the men. But the other looked Fettes darkly in the eyes, and demanded the money on the spot. It was impossible to misconceive the threat or to exaggerate the danger. The lad's heart failed him. He stammered some excuses, counted out the sum, and saw his hateful visitors depart. No sooner were they gone than he hastened to confirm his doubts. By a dozen unquestionable marks he identified the girl he had jested with the day before. He saw, with horror, marks upon her body that might well betoken violence. A panic seized him, and he took refuge in his room. There he reflected at length over the discovery that he had made; considered soberly the bearing of Mr. K-'s instructions and the danger to himself of interference in so serious a business, and at last, in sore perplexity, determined to wait for the advice of his immediate superior, the class assistant. This was a young doctor, Wolfe Macfarlane, a high favourite among all the reckless students, clever, dissipated, and unscrupulous to the last degree. He had travelled and studied abroad. His manners were agreeable and a little forward. He was an authority on the stage, skilful on the ice or the links with skate or golf-club; he dressed with nice audacity, and, to put the finishing touch upon his glory, he kept a gig and a strong trotting-horse. With Fettes he was on terms of intimacy; indeed, their relative positions called for some community of life; and when subjects were scarce the pair would drive far into the country in Macfarlane's gig, visit and desecrate some lonely graveyard, and return before dawn with their booty to the door of the dissecting-room. On that particular morning Macfarlane arrived somewhat earlier than his wont. Fettes heard him, and met him on the stairs, told him his story, and showed him the cause of his alarm. Macfarlane examined the marks on her body. 'Yes,' he said with a nod, 'it looks fishy.' 'Well, what should I do?' asked Fettes. 'Do?' repeated the other. 'Do you want to do anything? Least said soonest mended, I should say.' 'Some one else might recognise her,' objected Fettes. 'She was as well known as the Castle Rock.' 'We'll hope not,' said Macfarlane, 'and if anybody does--well, you didn't, don't you see, and there's an end. The fact is, this has been going on too long. Stir up the mud, and you'll get K- into the most unholy trouble; you'll be in a shocking box yourself. So will I, if you come to that. I should like to know how any one of us would look, or what the devil we should have to say for ourselves, in any Christian witness-box. For me, you know there's one thing certain--that, practically speaking, all our subjects have been murdered.' 'Macfarlane!' cried Fettes. 'Come now!' sneered the other. 'As if you hadn't suspected it yourself!' 'Suspecting is one thing--' 'And proof another. Yes, I know; and I'm as sorry as you are this should have come here,' tapping the body with his cane. 'The next best thing for me is not to recognise it; and,' he added coolly, 'I don't. You may, if you please. I don't dictate, but I think a man of the world would do as I do; and I may add, I fancy that is what K- would look for at our hands. The question is, Why did he choose us two for his assistants? And I answer, because he didn't want old wives.' This was the tone of all others to affect the mind of a lad like Fettes. He agreed to imitate Macfarlane. The body of the unfortunate girl was duly dissected, and no one remarked or appeared to recognise her. One afternoon, when his day's work was over, Fettes dropped into a popular tavern and found Macfarlane sitting with a stranger. This was a small man, very pale and dark, with coal-black eyes. The cut of his features gave a promise of intellect and refinement which was but feebly realised in his manners, for he proved, upon a nearer acquaintance, coarse, vulgar, and stupid. He exercised, however, a very remarkable control over Macfarlane; issued orders like the Great Bashaw; became inflamed at the least discussion or delay, and commented rudely on the servility with which he was obeyed. This most offensive person took a fancy to Fettes on the spot, plied him with drinks, and honoured him with unusual confidences on his past career. If a tenth part of what he confessed were true, he was a very loathsome rogue; and the lad's vanity was tickled by the attention of so experienced a man. 'I'm a pretty bad fellow myself,' the stranger remarked, 'but Macfarlane is the boy--Toddy Macfarlane I call him. Toddy, order your friend another glass.' Or it might be, 'Toddy, you jump up and shut the door.' 'Toddy hates me,' he said again. 'Oh yes, Toddy, you do!' 'Don't you call me that confounded name,' growled Macfarlane. 'Hear him! Did you ever see the lads play knife? He would like to do that all over my body,' remarked the stranger. 'We medicals have a better way than that,' said Fettes. 'When we dislike a dead friend of ours, we dissect him.' Macfarlane looked up sharply, as though this jest were scarcely to his mind. The afternoon passed. Gray, for that was the stranger's name, invited Fettes to join them at dinner, ordered a feast so sumptuous that the tavern was thrown into commotion, and when all was done commanded Macfarlane to settle the bill. It was late before they separated; the man Gray was incapably drunk. Macfarlane, sobered by his fury, chewed the cud of the money he had been forced to squander and the slights he had been obliged to swallow. Fettes, with various liquors singing in his head, returned home with devious footsteps and a mind entirely in abeyance. Next day Macfarlane was absent from the class, and Fettes smiled to himself as he imagined him still squiring the intolerable Gray from tavern to tavern. As soon as the hour of liberty had struck he posted from place to place in quest of his last night's companions. He could find them, however, nowhere; so returned early to his rooms, went early to bed, and slept the sleep of the just. At four in the morning he was awakened by the well-known signal. Descending to the door, he was filled with astonishment to find Macfarlane with his gig, and in the gig one of those long and ghastly packages with which he was so well acquainted. 'What?' he cried. 'Have you been out alone? How did you manage?' But Macfarlane silenced him roughly, bidding him turn to business. When they had got the body upstairs and laid it on the table, Macfarlane made at first as if he were going away. Then he paused and seemed to hesitate; and then, 'You had better look at the face,' said he, in tones of some constraint. 'You had better,' he repeated, as Fettes only stared at him in wonder. 'But where, and how, and when did you come by it?' cried the other. 'Look at the face,' was the only answer. Fettes was staggered; strange doubts assailed him. He looked from the young doctor to the body, and then back again. At last, with a start, he did as he was bidden. He had almost expected the sight that met his eyes, and yet the shock was cruel. To see, fixed in the rigidity of death and naked on that coarse layer of sackcloth, the man whom he had left well clad and full of meat and sin upon the threshold of a tavern, awoke, even in the thoughtless Fettes, some of the terrors of the conscience. It was a CRAS TIBI which re-echoed in his soul, that two whom he had known should have come to lie upon these icy tables. Yet these were only secondary thoughts. His first concern regarded Wolfe. Unprepared for a challenge so momentous, he knew not how to look his comrade in the face. He durst not meet his eye, and he had neither words nor voice at his command. It was Macfarlane himself who made the first advance. He came up quietly behind and laid his hand gently but firmly on the other's shoulder. 'Richardson,' said he, 'may have the head.' Now Richardson was a student who had long been anxious for that portion of the human subject to dissect. There was no answer, and the murderer resumed: 'Talking of business, you must pay me; your accounts, you see, must tally.' Fettes found a voice, the ghost of his own: 'Pay you!' he cried. 'Pay you for that?' 'Why, yes, of course you must. By all means and on every possible account, you must,' returned the other. 'I dare not give it for nothing, you dare not take it for nothing; it would compromise us both. This is another case like Jane Galbraith's. The more things are wrong the more we must act as if all were right. Where does old K- keep his money?' 'There,' answered Fettes hoarsely, pointing to a cupboard in the corner. 'Give me the key, then,' said the other, calmly, holding out his hand. There was an instant's hesitation, and the die was cast. Macfarlane could not suppress a nervous twitch, the infinitesimal mark of an immense relief, as he felt the key between his fingers. He opened the cupboard, brought out pen and ink and a paper-book that stood in one compartment, and separated from the funds in a drawer a sum suitable to the occasion. 'Now, look here,' he said, 'there is the payment made--first proof of your good faith: first step to your security. You have now to clinch it by a second. Enter the payment in your book, and then you for your part may defy the devil.' The next few seconds were for Fettes an agony of thought; but in balancing his terrors it was the most immediate that triumphed. Any future difficulty seemed almost welcome if he could avoid a present quarrel with Macfarlane. He set down the candle which he had been carrying all this time, and with a steady hand entered the date, the nature, and the amount of the transaction. 'And now,' said Macfarlane, 'it's only fair that you should pocket the lucre. I've had my share already. By the bye, when a man of the world falls into a bit of luck, has a few shillings extra in his pocket--I'm ashamed to speak of it, but there's a rule of conduct in the case. No treating, no purchase of expensive class-books, no squaring of old debts; borrow, don't lend.' 'Macfarlane,' began Fettes, still somewhat hoarsely, 'I have put my neck in a halter to oblige you.' 'To oblige me?' cried Wolfe. 'Oh, come! You did, as near as I can see the matter, what you downright had to do in self-defence. Suppose I got into trouble, where would you be? This second little matter flows clearly from the first. Mr. Gray is the continuation of Miss Galbraith. You can't begin and then stop. If you begin, you must keep on beginning; that's the truth. No rest for the wicked.' A horrible sense of blackness and the treachery of fate seized hold upon the soul of the unhappy student. 'My God!' he cried, 'but what have I done? and when did I begin? To be made a class assistant--in the name of reason, where's the harm in that? Service wanted the position; Service might have got it. Would HE have been where I am now?' 'My dear fellow,' said Macfarlane, 'what a boy you are! What harm HAS come to you? What harm CAN come to you if you hold your tongue? Why, man, do you know what this life is? There are two squads of us--the lions and the lambs. If you're a lamb, you'll come to lie upon these tables like Gray or Jane Galbraith; if you're a lion, you'll live and drive a horse like me, like K-, like all the world with any wit or courage. You're staggered at the first. But look at K-! My dear fellow, you're clever, you have pluck. I like you, and K- likes you. You were born to lead the hunt; and I tell you, on my honour and my experience of life, three days from now you'll laugh at all these scarecrows like a High School boy at a farce.' And with that Macfarlane took his departure and drove off up the wynd in his gig to get under cover before daylight. Fettes was thus left alone with his regrets. He saw the miserable peril in which he stood involved. He saw, with inexpressible dismay, that there was no limit to his weakness, and that, from concession to concession, he had fallen from the arbiter of Macfarlane's destiny to his paid and helpless accomplice. He would have given the world to have been a little braver at the time, but it did not occur to him that he might still be brave. The secret of Jane Galbraith and the cursed entry in the day-book closed his mouth. Hours passed; the class began to arrive; the members of the unhappy Gray were dealt out to one and to another, and received without remark. Richardson was made happy with the head; and before the hour of freedom rang Fettes trembled with exultation to perceive how far they had already gone toward safety. For two days he continued to watch, with increasing joy, the dreadful process of disguise. On the third day Macfarlane made his appearance. He had been ill, he said; but he made up for lost time by the energy with which he directed the students. To Richardson in particular he extended the most valuable assistance and advice, and that student, encouraged by the praise of the demonstrator, burned high with ambitious hopes, and saw the medal already in his grasp. Before the week was out Macfarlane's prophecy had been fulfilled. Fettes had outlived his terrors and had forgotten his baseness. He began to plume himself upon his courage, and had so arranged the story in his mind that he could look back on these events with an unhealthy pride. Of his accomplice he saw but little. They met, of course, in the business of the class; they received their orders together from Mr. K-. At times they had a word or two in private, and Macfarlane was from first to last particularly kind and jovial. But it was plain that he avoided any reference to their common secret; and even when Fettes whispered to him that he had cast in his lot with the lions and foresworn the lambs, he only signed to him smilingly to hold his peace. At length an occasion arose which threw the pair once more into a closer union. Mr. K- was again short of subjects; pupils were eager, and it was a part of this teacher's pretensions to be always well supplied. At the same time there came the news of a burial in the rustic graveyard of Glencorse. Time has little changed the place in question. It stood then, as now, upon a cross road, out of call of human habitations, and buried fathom deep in the foliage of six cedar trees. The cries of the sheep upon the neighbouring hills, the streamlets upon either hand, one loudly singing among pebbles, the other dripping furtively from pond to pond, the stir of the wind in mountainous old flowering chestnuts, and once in seven days the voice of the bell and the old tunes of the precentor, were the only sounds that disturbed the silence around the rural church. The Resurrection Man--to use a byname of the period--was not to be deterred by any of the sanctities of customary piety. It was part of his trade to despise and desecrate the scrolls and trumpets of old tombs, the paths worn by the feet of worshippers and mourners, and the offerings and the inscriptions of bereaved affection. To rustic neighbourhoods, where love is more than commonly tenacious, and where some bonds of blood or fellowship unite the entire society of a parish, the body-snatcher, far from being repelled by natural respect, was attracted by the ease and safety of the task. To bodies that had been laid in earth, in joyful expectation of a far different awakening, there came that hasty, lamp-lit, terror-haunted resurrection of the spade and mattock. The coffin was forced, the cerements torn, and the melancholy relics, clad in sackcloth, after being rattled for hours on moonless byways, were at length exposed to uttermost indignities before a class of gaping boys. Somewhat as two vultures may swoop upon a dying lamb, Fettes and Macfarlane were to be let loose upon a grave in that green and quiet resting-place. The wife of a farmer, a woman who had lived for sixty years, and been known for nothing but good butter and a godly conversation, was to be rooted from her grave at midnight and carried, dead and naked, to that far-away city that she had always honoured with her Sunday's best; the place beside her family was to be empty till the crack of doom; her innocent and almost venerable members to be exposed to that last curiosity of the anatomist. Late one afternoon the pair set forth, well wrapped in cloaks and furnished with a formidable bottle. It rained without remission--a cold, dense, lashing rain. Now and again there blew a puff of wind, but these sheets of falling water kept it down. Bottle and all, it was a sad and silent drive as far as Penicuik, where they were to spend the evening. They stopped once, to hide their implements in a thick bush not far from the churchyard, and once again at the Fisher's Tryst, to have a toast before the kitchen fire and vary their nips of whisky with a glass of ale. When they reached their journey's end the gig was housed, the horse was fed and comforted, and the two young doctors in a private room sat down to the best dinner and the best wine the house afforded. The lights, the fire, the beating rain upon the window, the cold, incongruous work that lay before them, added zest to their enjoyment of the meal. With every glass their cordiality increased. Soon Macfarlane handed a little pile of gold to his companion. 'A compliment,' he said. 'Between friends these little d-d accommodations ought to fly like pipe-lights.' Fettes pocketed the money, and applauded the sentiment to the echo. 'You are a philosopher,' he cried. 'I was an ass till I knew you. You and K- between you, by the Lord Harry! but you'll make a man of me.' 'Of course we shall,' applauded Macfarlane. 'A man? I tell you, it required a man to back me up the other morning. There are some big, brawling, forty-year-old cowards who would have turned sick at the look of the d-d thing; but not you--you kept your head. I watched you.' 'Well, and why not?' Fettes thus vaunted himself. 'It was no affair of mine. There was nothing to gain on the one side but disturbance, and on the other I could count on your gratitude, don't you see?' And he slapped his pocket till the gold pieces rang. Macfarlane somehow felt a certain touch of alarm at these unpleasant words. He may have regretted that he had taught his young companion so successfully, but he had no time to interfere, for the other noisily continued in this boastful strain:- 'The great thing is not to be afraid. Now, between you and me, I don't want to hang--that's practical; but for all cant, Macfarlane, I was born with a contempt. Hell, God, Devil, right, wrong, sin, crime, and all the old gallery of curiosities--they may frighten boys, but men of the world, like you and me, despise them. Here's to the memory of Gray!' It was by this time growing somewhat late. The gig, according to order, was brought round to the door with both lamps brightly shining, and the young men had to pay their bill and take the road. They announced that they were bound for Peebles, and drove in that direction till they were clear of the last houses of the town; then, extinguishing the lamps, returned upon their course, and followed a by-road toward Glencorse. There was no sound but that of their own passage, and the incessant, strident pouring of the rain. It was pitch dark; here and there a white gate or a white stone in the wall guided them for a short space across the night; but for the most part it was at a foot pace, and almost groping, that they picked their way through that resonant blackness to their solemn and isolated destination. In the sunken woods that traverse the neighbourhood of the burying-ground the last glimmer failed them, and it became necessary to kindle a match and re-illumine one of the lanterns of the gig. Thus, under the dripping trees, and environed by huge and moving shadows, they reached the scene of their unhallowed labours. They were both experienced in such affairs, and powerful with the spade; and they had scarce been twenty minutes at their task before they were rewarded by a dull rattle on the coffin lid. At the same moment Macfarlane, having hurt his hand upon a stone, flung it carelessly above his head. The grave, in which they now stood almost to the shoulders, was close to the edge of the plateau of the graveyard; and the gig lamp had been propped, the better to illuminate their labours, against a tree, and on the immediate verge of the steep bank descending to the stream. Chance had taken a sure aim with the stone. Then came a clang of broken glass; night fell upon them; sounds alternately dull and ringing announced the bounding of the lantern down the bank, and its occasional collision with the trees. A stone or two, which it had dislodged in its descent, rattled behind it into the profundities of the glen; and then silence, like night, resumed its sway; and they might bend their hearing to its utmost pitch, but naught was to be heard except the rain, now marching to the wind, now steadily falling over miles of open country. They were so nearly at an end of their abhorred task that they judged it wisest to complete it in the dark. The coffin was exhumed and broken open; the body inserted in the dripping sack and carried between them to the gig; one mounted to keep it in its place, and the other, taking the horse by the mouth, groped along by wall and bush until they reached the wider road by the Fisher's Tryst. Here was a faint, diffused radiancy, which they hailed like daylight; by that they pushed the horse to a good pace and began to rattle along merrily in the direction of the town. They had both been wetted to the skin during their operations, and now, as the gig jumped among the deep ruts, the thing that stood propped between them fell now upon one and now upon the other. At every repetition of the horrid contact each instinctively repelled it with the greater haste; and the process, natural although it was, began to tell upon the nerves of the companions. Macfarlane made some ill-favoured jest about the farmer's wife, but it came hollowly from his lips, and was allowed to drop in silence. Still their unnatural burden bumped from side to side; and now the head would be laid, as if in confidence, upon their shoulders, and now the drenching sack-cloth would flap icily about their faces. A creeping chill began to possess the soul of Fettes. He peered at the bundle, and it seemed somehow larger than at first. All over the country-side, and from every degree of distance, the farm dogs accompanied their passage with tragic ululations; and it grew and grew upon his mind that some unnatural miracle had been accomplished, that some nameless change had befallen the dead body, and that it was in fear of their unholy burden that the dogs were howling. 'For God's sake,' said he, making a great effort to arrive at speech, 'for God's sake, let's have a light!' Seemingly Macfarlane was affected in the same direction; for, though he made no reply, he stopped the horse, passed the reins to his companion, got down, and proceeded to kindle the remaining lamp. They had by that time got no farther than the cross-road down to Auchenclinny. The rain still poured as though the deluge were returning, and it was no easy matter to make a light in such a world of wet and darkness. When at last the flickering blue flame had been transferred to the wick and began to expand and clarify, and shed a wide circle of misty brightness round the gig, it became possible for the two young men to see each other and the thing they had along with them. The rain had moulded the rough sacking to the outlines of the body underneath; the head was distinct from the trunk, the shoulders plainly modelled; something at once spectral and human riveted their eyes upon the ghastly comrade of their drive. For some time Macfarlane stood motionless, holding up the lamp. A nameless dread was swathed, like a wet sheet, about the body, and tightened the white skin upon the face of Fettes; a fear that was meaningless, a horror of what could not be, kept mounting to his brain. Another beat of the watch, and he had spoken. But his comrade forestalled him. 'That is not a woman,' said Macfarlane, in a hushed voice. 'It was a woman when we put her in,' whispered Fettes. 'Hold that lamp,' said the other. 'I must see her face.' And as Fettes took the lamp his companion untied the fastenings of the sack and drew down the cover from the head. The light fell very clear upon the dark, well-moulded features and smooth-shaven cheeks of a too familiar countenance, often beheld in dreams of both of these young men. A wild yell rang up into the night; each leaped from his own side into the roadway: the lamp fell, broke, and was extinguished; and the horse, terrified by this unusual commotion, bounded and went off toward Edinburgh at a gallop, bearing along with it, sole occupant of the gig, the body of the dead and long-dissected Gray. The Body Snatcher was featured as The Short Story of the Day on Sat, Nov 13, 2021 You may also enjoy reading Stevenson's classic gothic tale, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde  Mayes Middleton
Conservative Republican Candidate for Texas Senate District 11. http://www.mayesmiddleton.com/ info@mayesmiddleton.com Pol. Adv. Pd. for by Mayes Middleton for Texas Senate #galvestoncounty#memes.#socialmedia.#like.#photooftheday. #facebookmarketing.#trending #smallbusiness #votemayes #republican #conservative #vote #tacos #shoplocal #eatlocal #community #friends #mycuprunnethover #blessed #getoutandvote The Pale Man (1934) is featured in our collection of Halloween Stories. |
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Once referred to as the Playground of the Southwest, this 226-room hotel conjures images of Galveston's gilded age – when Galveston was once the Vegas of the South, frequented by Frank Sinatra, Duke Ellington, and Dean Martin.
The Hotel Galvez even operated as a temporary White House for Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Despite its celebrity guest list, the Hotel Galvez is better known for its less temporary tenants. Guests who checked in, yet never checked out.
One inhabitant, a bride-to-be, met her grisly end in Room 501. Another, Sister Katherine, perished alongside ninety orphans – who had been tied by a rope to her waist.
From staggering storms to the supernatural, the Hotel Galvez is a hallmark for haunted phenomena.
Is the Hotel Galvez Haunted?
It's no secret that the Hotel Galvez is haunted. With over a century of history, it's more surprising that there aren't other ghosts gallivanting about.
From Galveston's Love Lorn Lady to the Sisters of Charity, the Hotel Galvez is crawling with paranormal activity. Plus, some suspect that the hotel stands above a mass grave.
Before we get into that, though – Who was Galveston's Love Lorn Lady? Oh, and why were ninety orphans tied by a rope to anyone's waist?
The Love Lorn Lady
Meet Audra, the hotel's most infamous inhabitant. Audra was a twenty-five-year-old bride-to-be in the mid-1950s. Young, exuberant, optimistic. You know the type, soon-to-be-newlywed.
Audra's husband was a mariner who often sailed in and out of the Port of Galveston, leaving Audra occasionally alone. During his offshore excursions, Audra would rent Room 501 at the Hotel Galvez. Room 501 was in particular proximity to the elevator, which Audra would use to access the ladder.
Audra would climb this precarious ladder to the red-tiled rooftop, where she would await the ship of her fiance. Wakeful, watchful – wild with love, Audra sat inside the hotel's rooftop turret, impatient and persistent.
After a catastrophic storm, Audra was informed that her fiance's ship had capsized – that all hands were lost. Inconsolable and overcome with despair, Audra hung herself in the west turret of the hotel.
Audra Ghost.
If that's not tragic enough, her groom arrived at Galveston a few days later. He had survived the collapse, eager to re encounter his bride. Audra, of course, had been recently interred.
Visitors to the Hotel Galvez claim that Audra frequents the fifth floor, though her most popular place of residence remains her matrimonial room.
Some claim to feel the sudden chill of her specter, while others hear the inexplicable slamming of doors. Televisions turn off and on without explanation; lights, too, flicker back and forth. A housekeeper once reported a strange light emitted from the vacant room.
Attendants of the front desk have a particularly difficult time making electronic keys for the room. They claim that an unseen force interferes with the equipment, making the cards unreliable or unreadable.
When Audra does venture out of Room 501, she roams the west turret. Visitors occasionally witness light there, though neither candles nor flashlights are found.
These reports frequently occur while renovations are underway, though the turrets remain unlit. Although the hotel staff once investigated the claims, no electrical sources were discovered.
Jackie Hasan, the senior concierge of the Hotel Galvez, alleges that her spirit is locked inside the hotel – she never crossed over. Do let us know if you see her.
Her spirit is locked inside the hotel - she never crossed over.
The Nun Sister Katherine
Newspaper.Sister Katherine is another haunted host of this historic hotel. Sister Katherine belonged to the Sisters of Charity, which, at the time, oversaw the St. Mary's Orphans Asylum.
The Hurricane of 1900 ravaged the Island of Galveston and, with it, the St. Mary's Orphans Asylum. In an attempt to save as many as possible, the sisters cut cloth into rope, which they then tied to the children.
These ropes were then attached to the waists of the sisters, who hoped to withstand the storm's belligerent winds. Some suspect that the ropes were counterproductive – actually leading, or at least contributing to the deaths of the orphans.
Ninety children and ten sisters perished in the hurricane. Still attached to one another, their remains were found along the beach of the Hotel Galvez.
Their bodies were buried where they were discovered, leading some to suspect that the Hotel Galvez stands above their mass grave. It's no surprise that visitors claim to catch their apparitions.
Phantom Children
The Hotel Galvez also safeguards a small, ghostly girl. Visitors witness this unexplained apparition near the hotel lobby, gift shop, and staircase. Often seen bouncing her ball, guests report that she wears nineteenth-century clothing.
Even construction workers have claimed to see this ghoulish girl. They didn't know that she was a ghost at the time, of course, and notified the front desk that a child was playing near the construction area.
Guests hear other phantom children running and laughing throughout the hotel – playing the piano in the lobby, or running amok through the halls. You can listen to the sound of their laughter if you look closely enough – though the children themselves remain unseen.
Some suspect that these are the orphans killed during the Hurricane of 1900. If so, perhaps Sister Katherine lurks close-at-hand?
Designing the Galvez Hotel
Designed by Mauran, Russell and Crowell of St. Louis, Missouri, the Hotel Galvez applies a combination of Mission Revival and Spanish Revival styles. It's a spectacular structure that stretches 9,328 square feet.
Fun Fact: although Galvez began as a 275-room hotel, it was later reduced to 226. The reduction was to accommodate the inclusion of in-room bathrooms, which had become an anticipated amenity!
Why Is It Named the Galvez Hotel?
Curiously, the Hotel Galvez derives its name from Bernardo de Galvez, a hero of the American Revolutionary War. Yet Galvez never visited the island, making his namesake an eccentric addition to this historic structure.
The History of the Galvez Hotel Established at the price of one million dollars, the Galvez Hotel was decidedly decadent, outstandingly opulent. Its creation was, however, slow-to-start.
Although civic leaders decided to build the hotel as early as 1898, their progress was lackadaisical. Yet the urgency for the hotel accelerated after the Hurricane of 1900: Galveston thought the hotel would galvanize the island, bolstering tourism. It was erected by June 10 of 1911.
Galvez Hotel. World War II This haunted hotel wasn't always open for visitors, however. Acquired by William Lewis Moody, Jr. in 1940, the Hotel Galvez was soon commandeered by the United States Coast Guard during World War II.
Tourists were barred from renting rooms, and the hotel was instead used for barracks. This obstruction was temporary, of course. The Hotel Galvez resumed public patronage by the early 1950s.
Vegas of the South The Hotel Galvez reached prominence once gambling became particularly popular on the island, leading to Galveston's moniker, the Vegas of the South.
Notable inhabitants of the time include American Presidents such as Franklin D. Roosevelt, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and Lyndon B. Johnson as well as celebrity personalities such as Jimmy Stewart, Frank Sinatra, and Howard Hughes.
The Hotel Galvez depreciated in the mid-1950s once gambling was outlawed.
Renovations and the Change of Hands The hotel received a major renovation in 1965 – six years before it was purchased by Harvey O. McCarthey and Dr. Leon Bromberg.
Although it encountered a boom in business, it then changed hands throughout the seventies and eighties – undergoing various refurbishing and rebrandings. It even became a Marriott in 1989!
The Hotel Galvez Returns to 1911Luckily, the Hotel Galvez was again purchased in 1995 – though this time by George P. Mitchell, a Galveston native. Mitchell chose to restore the hotel to its 1911 appearance, preserving and restoring this historic structure.
Mr. Mitchell has an extraordinary vision for his hometown.”
The Hotel Galvez now features 226 rooms and suites, and reflects Galveston's gilded age.
Damage to the Galvez Hotel Hurricane Ike damaged the Hotel Galvez dismally in 2008: tiles were lost from the roof while floodwaters engulfed the lower level. The lower level featured the spa, health club, business office, and laundry, making it an exceptionally destructive loss.
The Hotel Galvez Today Now a constituent of Wyndham Hotels, the Hotel Galvez offers short-term lodgings and spa. It's the only historic hotel on the beachfront, making it a popular tourist destination.
Whether you're investigating the once bride-to-be or Galveston's ghastly girls, the Hotel Galvez is a must-see. Plus, it was added to the Historic Hotels of America in 1994, so it’s a fascinating stopover for the skeptics and superstitious alike.
Visiting the Hotel Galvez You can find the Hotel Galvez at 2024 Seawall Blvd. Whether you're strolling through the strand or alongside the seawall, stop by the Hotel Galvez. Do let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity, of course.
Our Galveston Ghost Tours
The Hotel Galvez even operated as a temporary White House for Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Despite its celebrity guest list, the Hotel Galvez is better known for its less temporary tenants. Guests who checked in, yet never checked out.
One inhabitant, a bride-to-be, met her grisly end in Room 501. Another, Sister Katherine, perished alongside ninety orphans – who had been tied by a rope to her waist.
From staggering storms to the supernatural, the Hotel Galvez is a hallmark for haunted phenomena.
Is the Hotel Galvez Haunted?
It's no secret that the Hotel Galvez is haunted. With over a century of history, it's more surprising that there aren't other ghosts gallivanting about.
From Galveston's Love Lorn Lady to the Sisters of Charity, the Hotel Galvez is crawling with paranormal activity. Plus, some suspect that the hotel stands above a mass grave.
Before we get into that, though – Who was Galveston's Love Lorn Lady? Oh, and why were ninety orphans tied by a rope to anyone's waist?
The Love Lorn Lady
Meet Audra, the hotel's most infamous inhabitant. Audra was a twenty-five-year-old bride-to-be in the mid-1950s. Young, exuberant, optimistic. You know the type, soon-to-be-newlywed.
Audra's husband was a mariner who often sailed in and out of the Port of Galveston, leaving Audra occasionally alone. During his offshore excursions, Audra would rent Room 501 at the Hotel Galvez. Room 501 was in particular proximity to the elevator, which Audra would use to access the ladder.
Audra would climb this precarious ladder to the red-tiled rooftop, where she would await the ship of her fiance. Wakeful, watchful – wild with love, Audra sat inside the hotel's rooftop turret, impatient and persistent.
After a catastrophic storm, Audra was informed that her fiance's ship had capsized – that all hands were lost. Inconsolable and overcome with despair, Audra hung herself in the west turret of the hotel.
Audra Ghost.
If that's not tragic enough, her groom arrived at Galveston a few days later. He had survived the collapse, eager to re encounter his bride. Audra, of course, had been recently interred.
Visitors to the Hotel Galvez claim that Audra frequents the fifth floor, though her most popular place of residence remains her matrimonial room.
Some claim to feel the sudden chill of her specter, while others hear the inexplicable slamming of doors. Televisions turn off and on without explanation; lights, too, flicker back and forth. A housekeeper once reported a strange light emitted from the vacant room.
Attendants of the front desk have a particularly difficult time making electronic keys for the room. They claim that an unseen force interferes with the equipment, making the cards unreliable or unreadable.
When Audra does venture out of Room 501, she roams the west turret. Visitors occasionally witness light there, though neither candles nor flashlights are found.
These reports frequently occur while renovations are underway, though the turrets remain unlit. Although the hotel staff once investigated the claims, no electrical sources were discovered.
Jackie Hasan, the senior concierge of the Hotel Galvez, alleges that her spirit is locked inside the hotel – she never crossed over. Do let us know if you see her.
Her spirit is locked inside the hotel - she never crossed over.
The Nun Sister Katherine
Newspaper.Sister Katherine is another haunted host of this historic hotel. Sister Katherine belonged to the Sisters of Charity, which, at the time, oversaw the St. Mary's Orphans Asylum.
The Hurricane of 1900 ravaged the Island of Galveston and, with it, the St. Mary's Orphans Asylum. In an attempt to save as many as possible, the sisters cut cloth into rope, which they then tied to the children.
These ropes were then attached to the waists of the sisters, who hoped to withstand the storm's belligerent winds. Some suspect that the ropes were counterproductive – actually leading, or at least contributing to the deaths of the orphans.
Ninety children and ten sisters perished in the hurricane. Still attached to one another, their remains were found along the beach of the Hotel Galvez.
Their bodies were buried where they were discovered, leading some to suspect that the Hotel Galvez stands above their mass grave. It's no surprise that visitors claim to catch their apparitions.
Phantom Children
The Hotel Galvez also safeguards a small, ghostly girl. Visitors witness this unexplained apparition near the hotel lobby, gift shop, and staircase. Often seen bouncing her ball, guests report that she wears nineteenth-century clothing.
Even construction workers have claimed to see this ghoulish girl. They didn't know that she was a ghost at the time, of course, and notified the front desk that a child was playing near the construction area.
Guests hear other phantom children running and laughing throughout the hotel – playing the piano in the lobby, or running amok through the halls. You can listen to the sound of their laughter if you look closely enough – though the children themselves remain unseen.
Some suspect that these are the orphans killed during the Hurricane of 1900. If so, perhaps Sister Katherine lurks close-at-hand?
Designing the Galvez Hotel
Designed by Mauran, Russell and Crowell of St. Louis, Missouri, the Hotel Galvez applies a combination of Mission Revival and Spanish Revival styles. It's a spectacular structure that stretches 9,328 square feet.
Fun Fact: although Galvez began as a 275-room hotel, it was later reduced to 226. The reduction was to accommodate the inclusion of in-room bathrooms, which had become an anticipated amenity!
Why Is It Named the Galvez Hotel?
Curiously, the Hotel Galvez derives its name from Bernardo de Galvez, a hero of the American Revolutionary War. Yet Galvez never visited the island, making his namesake an eccentric addition to this historic structure.
The History of the Galvez Hotel Established at the price of one million dollars, the Galvez Hotel was decidedly decadent, outstandingly opulent. Its creation was, however, slow-to-start.
Although civic leaders decided to build the hotel as early as 1898, their progress was lackadaisical. Yet the urgency for the hotel accelerated after the Hurricane of 1900: Galveston thought the hotel would galvanize the island, bolstering tourism. It was erected by June 10 of 1911.
Galvez Hotel. World War II This haunted hotel wasn't always open for visitors, however. Acquired by William Lewis Moody, Jr. in 1940, the Hotel Galvez was soon commandeered by the United States Coast Guard during World War II.
Tourists were barred from renting rooms, and the hotel was instead used for barracks. This obstruction was temporary, of course. The Hotel Galvez resumed public patronage by the early 1950s.
Vegas of the South The Hotel Galvez reached prominence once gambling became particularly popular on the island, leading to Galveston's moniker, the Vegas of the South.
Notable inhabitants of the time include American Presidents such as Franklin D. Roosevelt, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and Lyndon B. Johnson as well as celebrity personalities such as Jimmy Stewart, Frank Sinatra, and Howard Hughes.
The Hotel Galvez depreciated in the mid-1950s once gambling was outlawed.
Renovations and the Change of Hands The hotel received a major renovation in 1965 – six years before it was purchased by Harvey O. McCarthey and Dr. Leon Bromberg.
Although it encountered a boom in business, it then changed hands throughout the seventies and eighties – undergoing various refurbishing and rebrandings. It even became a Marriott in 1989!
The Hotel Galvez Returns to 1911Luckily, the Hotel Galvez was again purchased in 1995 – though this time by George P. Mitchell, a Galveston native. Mitchell chose to restore the hotel to its 1911 appearance, preserving and restoring this historic structure.
Mr. Mitchell has an extraordinary vision for his hometown.”
The Hotel Galvez now features 226 rooms and suites, and reflects Galveston's gilded age.
Damage to the Galvez Hotel Hurricane Ike damaged the Hotel Galvez dismally in 2008: tiles were lost from the roof while floodwaters engulfed the lower level. The lower level featured the spa, health club, business office, and laundry, making it an exceptionally destructive loss.
The Hotel Galvez Today Now a constituent of Wyndham Hotels, the Hotel Galvez offers short-term lodgings and spa. It's the only historic hotel on the beachfront, making it a popular tourist destination.
Whether you're investigating the once bride-to-be or Galveston's ghastly girls, the Hotel Galvez is a must-see. Plus, it was added to the Historic Hotels of America in 1994, so it’s a fascinating stopover for the skeptics and superstitious alike.
Visiting the Hotel Galvez You can find the Hotel Galvez at 2024 Seawall Blvd. Whether you're strolling through the strand or alongside the seawall, stop by the Hotel Galvez. Do let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity, of course.
Our Galveston Ghost Tours
The Haunted Old City Cemetery
Fast Facts
- The Old City Cemetery is the oldest burial ground in Galveston.
- Some graves of the Old City Cemetery are three bodies deep.
- Galveston’s “Demented Mother” is buried within the Old City Cemetery.
- It’s one of the few instances where a murderer is buried alongside their victim.
Yet even the infrastructure of this cemetery isn’t as eerie as its inhabitants: victims of the Yellow Fever Epidemic or the Hurricane of 1900 – Elize Roemer Alberti, who newspapers called “the demented mother.” Plus, with twelve hundred tombs, there’s bound to be a few poltergeists prattling about. Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered – the Old City Cemetery is alive with the undead.
“The Demented Mother ”The Old City Cemetery's most renowned resident? Elize Roemer Alberti. Alberti murdered her four children in 1894, earning her the moniker, "the demented mother." Yet Alberti's living history is more grievous than her ghost lore. At the age of seventeen, Alberti was a high-spirited newlywed. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Alberti was a far cry from Galveston's "killer mom."
Catastrophe Comes in Threes Alberti began to change after the loss of her firstborn in 1884. Louis had died of lockjaw at the age of seven. Alberti was shell shocked – acting "queerly" or "unwell." Alberti lost her fifteen-year-old sister to lung congestion shortly after, multiplying her melancholy. Some suspect that Alberti struggled with postpartum depression amidst the deaths of her son and sister, too: Alberti had given birth to Caroline the same year.
Alberti’s First Signs of “Insanity”
If Alberti did recover from either death, the death of her second child threw her over the edge. Alberti became volatile – unpredictably violent, daft and deranged. It was decided that she was to be sent to her parents, who could oversee, and perhaps overcome, Alberti's bereavement. Yet Alberti returned home after a few weeks – despite some professing that Alberti was "not herself,” still.
There's Poison in the Wine
December 4, 1894. Alberti called her children into the kitchen to administer a few sips of wine – not an unusual custom for chilly, winter weather. Her husband, too, was unapprehensive of the ordeal, even requesting a bit of wine for himself. He remained unalarmed as Alberti poured his glass from a separate bottle. He was even unfazed as the children cried out that the wine contained morphine. How could it, whenever he had just had a glass himself?
Louis retired to his workplace, unaware that Alberti had spared him her lethal concoction. Alberti, who denied the accusation, sent the children to bed.
The Children Show Symptoms
The children began to complain of cramps before they reached their bedrooms – writhing, screeching, twisting, shrieking. Their bodies uncontrollably convulsed. Louis, who ran from his workplace, was terror-stricken at the sight of his afflicted offspring.
Young Lizzie carried four-year-old Willie, both in seizures. Dore and Ella, too, convulsed. Alberti was the only one who remained calm, her hands folded neatly above her lap. When Louis, in hysterics, begged his wife to tell him what had occurred, Alberti replied that she had poisoned the wine. She, too, had intended to drink the wine, but she had been interrupted by Louis' early arrival.
The Deaths of Four Alberti Children
Willie was the first to die, then Dora and Ella. Lizzie was the last, passing away before midnight. There were survivors, too: Emma, the oldest, was resuscitated by the hospital. And Wilhelmina, age fourteen, was able to escape altogether. She was studying in the south room of the household at the time, yet to venture into the kitchen.
Why Did Alberti Kill Her Children?
Alberti attempted to justify her action by explaining that she had been "ill for the last eight months." She's was even reported to say, "I could not fill my obligations to my babies. They are better off." Whether Alberti was a stone-cold killer or was misguided though well-meaning is anyone's argument. The tragedy of her tale remains irrefutable.
Alberti is Sent to the Asylum
After the murders, Alberti was sent to the San Antonio Asylum. She returned to Galveston upon her release, where she committed suicide. There are few details of either her death or her deposition.
Alberti’s Burial
Curiously, Alberti shares the burial plot of her children. It’s one of the few instances where a murderer is interred with their victim.
Does Alberti haunt the Old City Cemetery? Does her poltergeist still prepare poisons? Do her children seek to escape the grave?
The History of the Old City Cemetery
Established in 1839, the Old City Cemetery is one of seven burial grounds in the Broadway Cemetery District. It’s also the district’s earliest, claiming the most distinctive, diversified demographic. Though, bizarrely, some of those first buried had been – well, long dead.
Beginning the Broadway Cemetery District
Before the Old City Cemetery, settlers would often bury their dead in sand dunes near the Gulf of Mexico. They were convenient yet ineffective methods to deter the dead – unfit for, long-term interments. They were especially unfit for the Yellow Fever Epidemic, which had claimed 250 Galveston lives in 1839 alone. So, to improve burial conditions, the Galveston City Charter was tasked with the creation of a public burial ground. The Old City Cemetery was their first installment.
Exhuming the Dead
Those who were buried in the dunes beforehand were exhumed and reinterred within the new cemetery. Not everyone made the relocation, of course. Some were too disfigured by the elements. There were newly discovered residents, too – unidentifiable bodies unearthed from unnamed graves.
As Above, So Below?
Grade raises occurred throughout the twentieth century with burials occurring above burials. Because of these man-made elevations, some graves of the Old City Cemetery are three bodies deep.
Who lurks beneath the surface? Does Alberti circle the Old City Cemetery by herself, or with company? Though there aren’t any documented reports of ghost sightings, paranormal enthusiasts are cautiously optimistic to one day catch Alberti, or one of her murdered children, lurking about the graveyard.
Visiting Old City Cemetery
You can find the Old City Cemetery between Broadway and 43rd Street. Watch Out – You won’t want to visit the Old City Cemetery alone.
The Ghosts of St. Mary's Orphanage
On the 8th of September of 1900, a hurricane gutted St. Mary's Orphan Asylum of Galveston, Texas. The hurricane's catastrophic impact ultimately claimed 6,000 lives, engulfing the city as well as its inhabitants. By the beachside, ten nuns held tight to ninety-three children, their wrists roped with clotheslines. They had fastened the clothesline to themselves, fettering the children to their waists in a futile attempt to save their lives. Only three survived, though the Liberty Vindicator reported that they were "bruised and scarred and crippled." It was the deadliest natural disaster in the history of the United States.
What happened to St. Mary's Orphan Asylum? – Where ninety children met their death?
Quick Facts
Ghosts are inevitable once tragedy strikes an orphanage – especially one with such a haunting history. Fire had devastated St. Mary's Orphan Asylum in 1875, while a storm surge later struck the surviving structures. Although Galveston rebuilt the orphanage, residual energy remained.
Later, the "Saffron Scourge" saturated this hard-hit city. The orphanages were overwhelmed, overcome with those who had prematurely lost their parents. The infection had not yet afflicted their bodies, yet their lives would be short-lived. They were later lost to the Hurricane of 1900, found with their wrists still wound with ropes. As for their spirits – some say that they stray the seaside, waifish and wind-swept, still.
Spirits of the Seawall Wal-Mart
Some suspect that the children’s spirits still roam the structures where St. Mary’s once stood. Employees of the Seawall Wal-Mart report lost toys and misplaced pallets – the mischief of playful poltergeists. Sometimes they overhear the disembodied laughter of adolescent apparitions. One employee even noticed a small girl crying out to her mother, yet she could see neither the child nor her caretaker. Employees and customers alike searched for the source of the noise, yet the girl was never found. Perhaps this poltergeist was motherless before death? Is she an orphaned spirit of the asylum?
The Hotel Galvez
Some suspect that Galveston built their famous on top of the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum’s dead. That would certainly explain the prevalence of paranormal activity. Guests hear phantom children running and laughing throughout the hotel – playing the piano in the lobby, or running amok through the halls. You can hear the sound of their laughter if you listen closely, though the children themselves remain unseen.
Travelers regularly report one particular ward near the hotel lobby, gift shop, and staircase. Often seen bouncing her ball, visitors report that this small, ghostly girl wears nineteenth-century clothing. Even construction workers have claimed to see this “wayward waif.”
The History of the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum
By 1900, the Sisters of Charity of the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum were fostering ninety-three children between the ages of two and thirteen. Not all of these wards were Texas natives: some had arrived by "orphan trains," a welfare program that transported orphaned, urban children to the American Midwest.
A Brief Account of the Asylum
These trains, alongside the Yellow Fever Epidemic, demanded larger, more extensive accommodations. Claude Dubuis was one of the first of Galveston to provide an updated facility, offering a thirty-five-acre plantation for use as a permanent orphanage. In 1874, the Sisters of Mary's Infirmary founded the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum at Dubuis’ location. A two-story, girls-only facility was established the same year. By 1896, St. Mary's was granted a Texas Charter.
The Hurricane of 1900
On September 7 of 1900, a Category Four hurricane ravaged the Island of Galveston. It was the deadliest natural disaster in the history of the United States, with winds up to fourteen miles-per-hour. One of the surviving three children described the fifteen-foot-storm surge striking the sand dunes “as if they were made of flour.”
In an attempt to save as many children as possible, the Sisters of Charity fastened themselves to the bodies of the adolescents. Their young wrists were wound with clothesline, wrapped to the waists of the nuns. They had hoped to withstand the storm surge, yet some suspect that the ropes were counterproductive: these fatal fetters may have led to their ultimate loss.
Nevertheless, the nuns held tight to their ninety-three children. They chanted the “Queen of the Waves” in either panic or prayer, consummating a macabre choir: help, then sweet Queen, in our exceeding danger, by thy seven griefs, in pity Lady save – think of the Babe that slept within the manger, and help us now, dear Lady of the Wave. It was traditionally sung by French fishermen during weary weather, but not even the “Lady of the Wave” could protect them from these irregular winds.
Finding the Bodies, Burying the Dead
One hundred bodies were found from the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum, their wrists still wound with ropes. On October 5, the Liberty Vindicator reported that nothing remained “but strips of black robes and blue working aprons of the Sisters fluttering on the trees.” The asylum was now a “sandy waste.”
The Vindicator even accounted for eight of the sisters, who had “been found scattered miles apart, and buried where they lay.” Some “were found with their cinctures tied round a few orphans, manifestly, in their efforts to save them.” As for the three that survived? They “clung to a tree, and by some mysterious way which they cannot explain came through with their lives, bruised and scarred and crippled.”
Remembering the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum
In 1901, Galveston reopened the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum at 40th and Q Street, where it remained until 1967. Although the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum is no more, the legacies of this heroic sisterhood live on. Newspapers had once written that these “noble” nuns were “too good for earth.” Although these women have been largely lost to history, Galveston agrees. On the ninety-fourth anniversary of the storm, a marker was placed at the site of the former orphanage, memorializing – and immortalizing – these steadfast sisters. As for their orphaned wards? Some say they frequent the seaside today.
Visiting the Former Site of the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum
You can find the historical marker for the original site of the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum at 6801 Seawall Boulevard. For ghost-hunters, the Hotel Galvez is located at 2024 Seawall Boulevard. You can also find Galveston’s most haunted storehouse, the Seawall Wal-Mart, upon the same street. Do let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
What happened to St. Mary's Orphan Asylum? – Where ninety children met their death?
Quick Facts
- The St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum was destroyed by the Hurricane of 1900.
- Ninety orphans and ten Sisters of Charity died.
- Their bodies were found bound together, tethered by rope.
- Only three of the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum survived.
Ghosts are inevitable once tragedy strikes an orphanage – especially one with such a haunting history. Fire had devastated St. Mary's Orphan Asylum in 1875, while a storm surge later struck the surviving structures. Although Galveston rebuilt the orphanage, residual energy remained.
Later, the "Saffron Scourge" saturated this hard-hit city. The orphanages were overwhelmed, overcome with those who had prematurely lost their parents. The infection had not yet afflicted their bodies, yet their lives would be short-lived. They were later lost to the Hurricane of 1900, found with their wrists still wound with ropes. As for their spirits – some say that they stray the seaside, waifish and wind-swept, still.
Spirits of the Seawall Wal-Mart
Some suspect that the children’s spirits still roam the structures where St. Mary’s once stood. Employees of the Seawall Wal-Mart report lost toys and misplaced pallets – the mischief of playful poltergeists. Sometimes they overhear the disembodied laughter of adolescent apparitions. One employee even noticed a small girl crying out to her mother, yet she could see neither the child nor her caretaker. Employees and customers alike searched for the source of the noise, yet the girl was never found. Perhaps this poltergeist was motherless before death? Is she an orphaned spirit of the asylum?
The Hotel Galvez
Some suspect that Galveston built their famous on top of the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum’s dead. That would certainly explain the prevalence of paranormal activity. Guests hear phantom children running and laughing throughout the hotel – playing the piano in the lobby, or running amok through the halls. You can hear the sound of their laughter if you listen closely, though the children themselves remain unseen.
Travelers regularly report one particular ward near the hotel lobby, gift shop, and staircase. Often seen bouncing her ball, visitors report that this small, ghostly girl wears nineteenth-century clothing. Even construction workers have claimed to see this “wayward waif.”
The History of the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum
By 1900, the Sisters of Charity of the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum were fostering ninety-three children between the ages of two and thirteen. Not all of these wards were Texas natives: some had arrived by "orphan trains," a welfare program that transported orphaned, urban children to the American Midwest.
A Brief Account of the Asylum
These trains, alongside the Yellow Fever Epidemic, demanded larger, more extensive accommodations. Claude Dubuis was one of the first of Galveston to provide an updated facility, offering a thirty-five-acre plantation for use as a permanent orphanage. In 1874, the Sisters of Mary's Infirmary founded the St. Mary's Orphan Asylum at Dubuis’ location. A two-story, girls-only facility was established the same year. By 1896, St. Mary's was granted a Texas Charter.
The Hurricane of 1900
On September 7 of 1900, a Category Four hurricane ravaged the Island of Galveston. It was the deadliest natural disaster in the history of the United States, with winds up to fourteen miles-per-hour. One of the surviving three children described the fifteen-foot-storm surge striking the sand dunes “as if they were made of flour.”
In an attempt to save as many children as possible, the Sisters of Charity fastened themselves to the bodies of the adolescents. Their young wrists were wound with clothesline, wrapped to the waists of the nuns. They had hoped to withstand the storm surge, yet some suspect that the ropes were counterproductive: these fatal fetters may have led to their ultimate loss.
Nevertheless, the nuns held tight to their ninety-three children. They chanted the “Queen of the Waves” in either panic or prayer, consummating a macabre choir: help, then sweet Queen, in our exceeding danger, by thy seven griefs, in pity Lady save – think of the Babe that slept within the manger, and help us now, dear Lady of the Wave. It was traditionally sung by French fishermen during weary weather, but not even the “Lady of the Wave” could protect them from these irregular winds.
Finding the Bodies, Burying the Dead
One hundred bodies were found from the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum, their wrists still wound with ropes. On October 5, the Liberty Vindicator reported that nothing remained “but strips of black robes and blue working aprons of the Sisters fluttering on the trees.” The asylum was now a “sandy waste.”
The Vindicator even accounted for eight of the sisters, who had “been found scattered miles apart, and buried where they lay.” Some “were found with their cinctures tied round a few orphans, manifestly, in their efforts to save them.” As for the three that survived? They “clung to a tree, and by some mysterious way which they cannot explain came through with their lives, bruised and scarred and crippled.”
Remembering the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum
In 1901, Galveston reopened the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum at 40th and Q Street, where it remained until 1967. Although the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum is no more, the legacies of this heroic sisterhood live on. Newspapers had once written that these “noble” nuns were “too good for earth.” Although these women have been largely lost to history, Galveston agrees. On the ninety-fourth anniversary of the storm, a marker was placed at the site of the former orphanage, memorializing – and immortalizing – these steadfast sisters. As for their orphaned wards? Some say they frequent the seaside today.
Visiting the Former Site of the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum
You can find the historical marker for the original site of the St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum at 6801 Seawall Boulevard. For ghost-hunters, the Hotel Galvez is located at 2024 Seawall Boulevard. You can also find Galveston’s most haunted storehouse, the Seawall Wal-Mart, upon the same street. Do let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
The Haunted Stewart's Mansion
Did You Know?
Once the campsite for a coastal tribe that practiced ceremonial cannibalism, this property later witnessed warfare, massacres, and murder. It's a hair-raising history that you're sure to remember long after you've left. The poltergeists are just another perk of the premise. What's the story of Stewart's Mansion? Are there really bodies buried in the walls?
The Karankawa Tribe
The site's earliest occupants were the Karankawa, a nomadic tribe that traveled in small bands of thirty to forty members. The Karankawa were known for their athleticism and migratory lifestyles, though they were also known for their ceremonial cannibalism. Evidence shows that they would eat the flesh of their traditional enemies, consuming bits of their bodies in the ultimate act of revenge. They may have engaged in ceremonial cannibalism to absorb the properties of their opposition, such as their vitality. Yet these were no flesh-eating fiends. It was a ritualistic practice, though sensationalists sometimes exploit the Karankawa for creative license.
Jean Lafitte’s Pirate Colony
The Karankawa did rely on crude weapons and modes of transportation, putting them at a disadvantage against colonial intruders. Jean Lafitte's Pirate Colony found them particularly hindered against modern warfare.
In 1821, Lafitte's men kidnapped a Karankawa woman. Understandably, Karankawa warriors retaliated. The Karankawa killed only five of Lafitte's men, yet Lafitte's corsairs returned with two-hundred men and two cannons, decimating the Karankawa. Their arrows were no match for Lafitte's contemporary weapons.
Is that why visitors allege to see poltergeists of either side? Phantom pirates patrol the perimeters. Apparitions appear from indigenous tribes. The property's caretakers overhear cannon or musket fire alongside spectral screams and ghoulish ongoings.
The Voodoo Queen
One visitor to the premise witnessed the apparition of a woman in rags. A necklace of bones accentuated her neck, leading some to suspect that she was a Voodoo Queen. Lafitte did traffick enslaved peoples throughout the property, so this specter may be the victim of the transatlantic smuggling operation. This woman may also be the Priestess of local legend: Laffitte demanded a canine pack from a Voodoo Priestess, yet the Priestess cursed them upon their release. These became known as the “Campeche Devil Dogs,” a popular poltergeist of Galveston’s Maison Rouge. It’s now a common superstition that seeing a pack of dogs is an ominous omen, foretelling tragedy or trouble.
The Ghosts of the Stewarts
Maco Stewart offered much more than the property’s namesake. He also provided the property’s most petrifying poltergeists. Legend says that Marco murdered his wife and children within Stewart Mansion, later interring them within the walls. Maco allegedly committed suicide after the massacre.
However, records prove that this is verifiably false. The Stewart Cemetery also debunks the myth, showing the Maco and his family underwent traditional interments. Maco didn’t murder them, either. Maco died before both his wife and children, suffering a heart attack in 1950. His (very much alive) wife later donated the property to the University of Texas Medical Branch, who repurposed the mansion into a convalescent home for ill or disabled children. In Stewart’s case, fiction is stranger than fact.
The History of Stewart’s Mansion
Industrialist and union-buster George Sealy Jr. built the Stewart Mansion in 1926, referring to the residence as "Isla Ranch." The property wouldn't receive its namesake until 1933 once Maco purchased the 8,200-square-foot estate. Maco's wife later sold the mansion to the University of Texas Medical Branch, who maintained it until 1968. The estate then fell into disrepair.
An Abandoned Attraction
In "Pioneers of West Galveston Island," Roberta Marie Christensen described the abandoned attraction through "the once beautiful plaster walls, the architecture of the second-floor balcony," and "the Spanish tile work [of] the four bathrooms." Christensen detailed how the marble walls were "covered with vivid, larger than life murals of pirates," and how a "huge leering pirate" guarded the entranceway. The opposite wall depicted another pirate bearing a bandana and sword. It was a striking sight, made spookier by its state of decay.
The Stewart Mansion Today
George Mitchell and Norman Dobbins purchased Stewart Mansion in 1968, intending to develop the property into a resort. This was never actualized, and the mansion remained as it was. Stonehenge Real Estate Investment Company now owns Stewart's Mansion, and are repurposing the structure into timeshares. Will they hire ghost hunters to cleanse the condominiums?
Although neither Maco Stewart nor his family died within the house, the property is a hotspot for paranormal activity. After all, it does have a history of piracy, cannibalism, smuggling, and slaughter.
Visiting Stewart’s Mansion
Stewart’s Mansion is located at 14520 Stewart Road. Let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
- This was the former campsite of the Karankawa, a cannibalistic tribe.
- Jean Lafitte’s pirate colony massacred the Karankawa at the location.
- Allegedly, Maco Stewart buried his family within the building.
- It’s now being repurposed into condominiums.
Once the campsite for a coastal tribe that practiced ceremonial cannibalism, this property later witnessed warfare, massacres, and murder. It's a hair-raising history that you're sure to remember long after you've left. The poltergeists are just another perk of the premise. What's the story of Stewart's Mansion? Are there really bodies buried in the walls?
The Karankawa Tribe
The site's earliest occupants were the Karankawa, a nomadic tribe that traveled in small bands of thirty to forty members. The Karankawa were known for their athleticism and migratory lifestyles, though they were also known for their ceremonial cannibalism. Evidence shows that they would eat the flesh of their traditional enemies, consuming bits of their bodies in the ultimate act of revenge. They may have engaged in ceremonial cannibalism to absorb the properties of their opposition, such as their vitality. Yet these were no flesh-eating fiends. It was a ritualistic practice, though sensationalists sometimes exploit the Karankawa for creative license.
Jean Lafitte’s Pirate Colony
The Karankawa did rely on crude weapons and modes of transportation, putting them at a disadvantage against colonial intruders. Jean Lafitte's Pirate Colony found them particularly hindered against modern warfare.
In 1821, Lafitte's men kidnapped a Karankawa woman. Understandably, Karankawa warriors retaliated. The Karankawa killed only five of Lafitte's men, yet Lafitte's corsairs returned with two-hundred men and two cannons, decimating the Karankawa. Their arrows were no match for Lafitte's contemporary weapons.
Is that why visitors allege to see poltergeists of either side? Phantom pirates patrol the perimeters. Apparitions appear from indigenous tribes. The property's caretakers overhear cannon or musket fire alongside spectral screams and ghoulish ongoings.
The Voodoo Queen
One visitor to the premise witnessed the apparition of a woman in rags. A necklace of bones accentuated her neck, leading some to suspect that she was a Voodoo Queen. Lafitte did traffick enslaved peoples throughout the property, so this specter may be the victim of the transatlantic smuggling operation. This woman may also be the Priestess of local legend: Laffitte demanded a canine pack from a Voodoo Priestess, yet the Priestess cursed them upon their release. These became known as the “Campeche Devil Dogs,” a popular poltergeist of Galveston’s Maison Rouge. It’s now a common superstition that seeing a pack of dogs is an ominous omen, foretelling tragedy or trouble.
The Ghosts of the Stewarts
Maco Stewart offered much more than the property’s namesake. He also provided the property’s most petrifying poltergeists. Legend says that Marco murdered his wife and children within Stewart Mansion, later interring them within the walls. Maco allegedly committed suicide after the massacre.
However, records prove that this is verifiably false. The Stewart Cemetery also debunks the myth, showing the Maco and his family underwent traditional interments. Maco didn’t murder them, either. Maco died before both his wife and children, suffering a heart attack in 1950. His (very much alive) wife later donated the property to the University of Texas Medical Branch, who repurposed the mansion into a convalescent home for ill or disabled children. In Stewart’s case, fiction is stranger than fact.
The History of Stewart’s Mansion
Industrialist and union-buster George Sealy Jr. built the Stewart Mansion in 1926, referring to the residence as "Isla Ranch." The property wouldn't receive its namesake until 1933 once Maco purchased the 8,200-square-foot estate. Maco's wife later sold the mansion to the University of Texas Medical Branch, who maintained it until 1968. The estate then fell into disrepair.
An Abandoned Attraction
In "Pioneers of West Galveston Island," Roberta Marie Christensen described the abandoned attraction through "the once beautiful plaster walls, the architecture of the second-floor balcony," and "the Spanish tile work [of] the four bathrooms." Christensen detailed how the marble walls were "covered with vivid, larger than life murals of pirates," and how a "huge leering pirate" guarded the entranceway. The opposite wall depicted another pirate bearing a bandana and sword. It was a striking sight, made spookier by its state of decay.
The Stewart Mansion Today
George Mitchell and Norman Dobbins purchased Stewart Mansion in 1968, intending to develop the property into a resort. This was never actualized, and the mansion remained as it was. Stonehenge Real Estate Investment Company now owns Stewart's Mansion, and are repurposing the structure into timeshares. Will they hire ghost hunters to cleanse the condominiums?
Although neither Maco Stewart nor his family died within the house, the property is a hotspot for paranormal activity. After all, it does have a history of piracy, cannibalism, smuggling, and slaughter.
Visiting Stewart’s Mansion
Stewart’s Mansion is located at 14520 Stewart Road. Let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
The Haunted Tremont House Hotel
Fast Facts
With a breezy, four-story atrium, the Tremont House Hotel seems natural enough. Birdcage elevators offer a bird's-eye view of the foyer, well-kept and uncluttered. It's an airy atmosphere, complete with tropical palms and pianos. Visitors will be surprised to know that a Civil War Soldier lurks about the building, marching in time to a phantom melody. Or that "Lucky Man" Sam still frequents the establishment – though he's long-dead. What about "Young Jimmy," the playful poltergeist? Or the Ghosts of the Great Galveston Storm?
The Civil War Soldier
Tremont’s most popular poltergeist is the “Civil War Soldier.” Guests witness this armed apparition marching throughout the front lobby, rhythmically stepping past the elevator shaft. He turns towards the front desk, then back again. Whenever he isn’t seen, he’s heard – his boots clack and clatter across the floor. Employees have seen the Civil War Soldier in the bar, dining, and office areas. Is this a Union troop, defending his Texas retreat? Or a Confederate, reclaiming the Tremont?
The Tremont House Hotel changed hands throughout the Civil War, so this specter may pledge himself to either side.
"Sam" the Salesman
Sam the Salesman is another infamous inhabitant of this haunted hotel. "Lucky Man" Sam returned from the Belmont Boarding House after a night of gambling. He packed his pockets with his prize. Yet Sam's grand-slam was short-lived: he was murdered in his sleep the same night, his life, as well as his winnings, stolen.
Some skeptics disagree with Sam's ghost lore, arguing that he was the victim of a Victorian murder. They claim that burglars bludgeoned Sam in the hallway. Both legends include Sam's limp, by which he’s best identified. He drags himself across this historic, hair-raising hotel with one foot – the primary suspect of unidentified knocks from unseen hands, or the patter of one-footed plodding.
Ghosts of the Great Galveston Storm
It’s no surprise that poltergeists are active during rowdy weather. In 1900, Galveston was hit by the worst natural disaster in United States history: the “Great Galveston Storm,” which claimed over 6,000 lives.
During storms, televisions turn off and on again, untouched by human hands. Ceiling fans, too, turn themselves on, stirring and spinning around. For Islander Magazine, Amy Matsumoto records how one guest witnessed strange lights followed by “three low deep moans in our room very close to our faces.” The guest continued, claiming that they “felt an unusual pain, like a knife stabbed into my ribcage.” The guest had never believed in ghosts, yet one night at the Tremont House Hotel changed everything.
Are these poltergeists the lingering souls of the storm?
Young Jimmy
Employees of the Tremont House Hotel often witness a young boy at the front desk. Attendants mainly see him during their first month of work – as if he's their introduction to the property poltergeist. Attendants say that they can sometimes catch his small silhouette from the corner of their eye, though he disappears once they turn around. Jimmy's most popular prank? Overturning cups on the tabletop. Whenever there's mischief afoot, you should suspect this adolescent specter.
The History of the Tremont House Hotel
Built 1839, the Tremont House Hotel was the largest boarding house in the Republic of Texas. Although the Austin Business Journal described the structure as a “sturdy, two-story building,” the Tremont House Hotel was an extravagant establishment, frequented by presidents, foreign ministers, celebrities, chieftains, and soldiers alike. The Tremont House Hotel hosted dazzling banquets, homecomings, and speeches, astonishing guests with unprecedented glamor.
Plus, the Tremont House Hotel was a historic landmark from its onset: the Tremont House Hotel officially opened on April 19 to commemorate San Jacinto, the last battle of the Texas Revolution. Texas wouldn’t join the United States until seven years later, making the historic hotel older than its flagship state. Yet Tremont’s first structure would be short-lived. Its address on Post Office Street, too, would be temporary.
The Tremont House Hotel During the Civil War
In 1861, Sam Houston delivered cautionary advice upon the hotel’s north gallery. Houston warned an inhospitable mob that the Civil War would bring “fire and rivers of blood,” discouraging the secession of the southern states. Texas Governor Francis R. Lubbock spoke from the hotel’s east gallery the following year, advising Galvestonians to “lay waste” to the city. Lubbock wanted Union Soldiers to find neither shelter nor water once they arrived. His advice was futile – Union Soldiers would occupy the same hotel from which he delivered his speech.
The Tremont House Hotel caught fire in 1865. Galveston's once lavish landmark was devastated. It remained deserted and in disrepair until 1871, saved at last by the Galveston Hotel Company.
The Second Tremont House Hotel
The Galveston Hotel Company plotted a second structure that would rival the first. It would surpass its predecessor in every imaginable way, becoming the "Pride of the South." Unlike the first Tremont, the second sat on Tremont, Church, and 24th Streets.
Supervised by Architect Nicholas J. Clayton, the second Tremont House Hotel opened in 1872. It sat at four-stories high, already exceeding its prototype. The second establishment also boasted a grander guest-list: Presidents Rutherford Hayes, Ulysses S. Grant, Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, James Garfield, and Chester Arthur alongside General Sam Houston, Edwin Booth, Buffalo Bill Cody, Anna Pavlova, Clara Barton, and Stephen Crane.
One notable night, General Phil Sheridan had such a fantastic experience that he apologized for an earlier comment. He had once remarked, "If I owned Texas and all hell, I'd rent out Texas and live in hell." His time at the Tremont was so exceptional that he felt compelled to confess that he was mistaken.
The Tremont and the Hurricane of 1900
In 1900, Galveston was hit by the worst natural disaster in the history of the United States. The hurricane claimed over 6,000 Galvestonian lives, irreparably marking the island. Yet the Tremont House Hotel survived the storm, and later provided sanctuary for Clara Barton. Barton was the organizer of the American Red Cross, arriving at Galveston Island to assist victims of the storm.
The Third Tremont House Hotel
By November of 1928, the Tremont House Hotel had slipped into an irreversible state of decay. Galveston demolished the establishment by December. The second installment of this historic, haunted hotel had met its end.
The third and current Tremont was established in the former Leon & H. Blum Co. Building in the 1980s. With 119 rooms, the Tremont rivals its predecessors in size and splendor. Victorian decor rests beneath vaulted ceilings, creating an airy, opulent atmosphere. It's a treat for ghost-hunters and globetrotters alike.
Visiting the Tremont House Hotel
Visitors will find the Tremont House Hotel at 2300 Ship's Mechanic Row. It’s home to Galveston’s only rooftop bar, making it a must-see for night festivities.Let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity. There's more than meets the eye in this Wyndham Hotel.
- The Tremont House Hotel was built before Texas joined the United States.
- The Tremont House Hotel was occupied by both the Union and Confederate Army.
- The Tremont House Hotel was first destroyed by fire.
- Clara Barton stayed at the Tremont House Hotel after the Hurricane of 1900.
- There have been three Tremont House Hotels on Galveston Island.
With a breezy, four-story atrium, the Tremont House Hotel seems natural enough. Birdcage elevators offer a bird's-eye view of the foyer, well-kept and uncluttered. It's an airy atmosphere, complete with tropical palms and pianos. Visitors will be surprised to know that a Civil War Soldier lurks about the building, marching in time to a phantom melody. Or that "Lucky Man" Sam still frequents the establishment – though he's long-dead. What about "Young Jimmy," the playful poltergeist? Or the Ghosts of the Great Galveston Storm?
The Civil War Soldier
Tremont’s most popular poltergeist is the “Civil War Soldier.” Guests witness this armed apparition marching throughout the front lobby, rhythmically stepping past the elevator shaft. He turns towards the front desk, then back again. Whenever he isn’t seen, he’s heard – his boots clack and clatter across the floor. Employees have seen the Civil War Soldier in the bar, dining, and office areas. Is this a Union troop, defending his Texas retreat? Or a Confederate, reclaiming the Tremont?
The Tremont House Hotel changed hands throughout the Civil War, so this specter may pledge himself to either side.
"Sam" the Salesman
Sam the Salesman is another infamous inhabitant of this haunted hotel. "Lucky Man" Sam returned from the Belmont Boarding House after a night of gambling. He packed his pockets with his prize. Yet Sam's grand-slam was short-lived: he was murdered in his sleep the same night, his life, as well as his winnings, stolen.
Some skeptics disagree with Sam's ghost lore, arguing that he was the victim of a Victorian murder. They claim that burglars bludgeoned Sam in the hallway. Both legends include Sam's limp, by which he’s best identified. He drags himself across this historic, hair-raising hotel with one foot – the primary suspect of unidentified knocks from unseen hands, or the patter of one-footed plodding.
Ghosts of the Great Galveston Storm
It’s no surprise that poltergeists are active during rowdy weather. In 1900, Galveston was hit by the worst natural disaster in United States history: the “Great Galveston Storm,” which claimed over 6,000 lives.
During storms, televisions turn off and on again, untouched by human hands. Ceiling fans, too, turn themselves on, stirring and spinning around. For Islander Magazine, Amy Matsumoto records how one guest witnessed strange lights followed by “three low deep moans in our room very close to our faces.” The guest continued, claiming that they “felt an unusual pain, like a knife stabbed into my ribcage.” The guest had never believed in ghosts, yet one night at the Tremont House Hotel changed everything.
Are these poltergeists the lingering souls of the storm?
Young Jimmy
Employees of the Tremont House Hotel often witness a young boy at the front desk. Attendants mainly see him during their first month of work – as if he's their introduction to the property poltergeist. Attendants say that they can sometimes catch his small silhouette from the corner of their eye, though he disappears once they turn around. Jimmy's most popular prank? Overturning cups on the tabletop. Whenever there's mischief afoot, you should suspect this adolescent specter.
The History of the Tremont House Hotel
Built 1839, the Tremont House Hotel was the largest boarding house in the Republic of Texas. Although the Austin Business Journal described the structure as a “sturdy, two-story building,” the Tremont House Hotel was an extravagant establishment, frequented by presidents, foreign ministers, celebrities, chieftains, and soldiers alike. The Tremont House Hotel hosted dazzling banquets, homecomings, and speeches, astonishing guests with unprecedented glamor.
Plus, the Tremont House Hotel was a historic landmark from its onset: the Tremont House Hotel officially opened on April 19 to commemorate San Jacinto, the last battle of the Texas Revolution. Texas wouldn’t join the United States until seven years later, making the historic hotel older than its flagship state. Yet Tremont’s first structure would be short-lived. Its address on Post Office Street, too, would be temporary.
The Tremont House Hotel During the Civil War
In 1861, Sam Houston delivered cautionary advice upon the hotel’s north gallery. Houston warned an inhospitable mob that the Civil War would bring “fire and rivers of blood,” discouraging the secession of the southern states. Texas Governor Francis R. Lubbock spoke from the hotel’s east gallery the following year, advising Galvestonians to “lay waste” to the city. Lubbock wanted Union Soldiers to find neither shelter nor water once they arrived. His advice was futile – Union Soldiers would occupy the same hotel from which he delivered his speech.
The Tremont House Hotel caught fire in 1865. Galveston's once lavish landmark was devastated. It remained deserted and in disrepair until 1871, saved at last by the Galveston Hotel Company.
The Second Tremont House Hotel
The Galveston Hotel Company plotted a second structure that would rival the first. It would surpass its predecessor in every imaginable way, becoming the "Pride of the South." Unlike the first Tremont, the second sat on Tremont, Church, and 24th Streets.
Supervised by Architect Nicholas J. Clayton, the second Tremont House Hotel opened in 1872. It sat at four-stories high, already exceeding its prototype. The second establishment also boasted a grander guest-list: Presidents Rutherford Hayes, Ulysses S. Grant, Grover Cleveland, Benjamin Harrison, James Garfield, and Chester Arthur alongside General Sam Houston, Edwin Booth, Buffalo Bill Cody, Anna Pavlova, Clara Barton, and Stephen Crane.
One notable night, General Phil Sheridan had such a fantastic experience that he apologized for an earlier comment. He had once remarked, "If I owned Texas and all hell, I'd rent out Texas and live in hell." His time at the Tremont was so exceptional that he felt compelled to confess that he was mistaken.
The Tremont and the Hurricane of 1900
In 1900, Galveston was hit by the worst natural disaster in the history of the United States. The hurricane claimed over 6,000 Galvestonian lives, irreparably marking the island. Yet the Tremont House Hotel survived the storm, and later provided sanctuary for Clara Barton. Barton was the organizer of the American Red Cross, arriving at Galveston Island to assist victims of the storm.
The Third Tremont House Hotel
By November of 1928, the Tremont House Hotel had slipped into an irreversible state of decay. Galveston demolished the establishment by December. The second installment of this historic, haunted hotel had met its end.
The third and current Tremont was established in the former Leon & H. Blum Co. Building in the 1980s. With 119 rooms, the Tremont rivals its predecessors in size and splendor. Victorian decor rests beneath vaulted ceilings, creating an airy, opulent atmosphere. It's a treat for ghost-hunters and globetrotters alike.
Visiting the Tremont House Hotel
Visitors will find the Tremont House Hotel at 2300 Ship's Mechanic Row. It’s home to Galveston’s only rooftop bar, making it a must-see for night festivities.Let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity. There's more than meets the eye in this Wyndham Hotel.
The Ghosts of the Van Alstyne House
Fast Facts
Whenever Alfred Albert and Catherine commissioned the Van Alstyne, they were unaware of what this memorable mansion would one day withstand. In 1900, it was hit by the worst natural disaster in United States history: the “Great Galveston Storm,” which claimed over 6,000 Galvestonian lives. Letters reveal that Catherine kept fifty citizens safe beneath the staircase, where they “huddled under the stairs.” Catherine also remarked upon the day’s passing, when they “had nowhere else to look but through the window and count their blessings, as wagons of bodies passed by.”
Curiously, the house weathered the whirlwind. Although the surrounding neighborhood was devastated, the Van Alstyne was one of the few surviving structures of the storm. Some, like Kathleen Maca, think the poltergeists that frequent the property today are “distraught Galvestonians” who know the Van Alstyne as a “place of refuge.” Others suspect that these may be the lost souls swept away by the squall. The Hurricane of 1900 claimed over 6,000 lives, so the former beings of the disembodied are anyone’s guess.
The Ghost of Alfred Albert Van Alstyne
Albert died within the Van Alstyne House in 1926, and Catherine in 1940. They were both buried in Trinity Episcopal Cemetery, located a few blocks from the estate. Their proximity to the property may explain its unusual ongoings: alarms go off despite the building being unoccupied, toy trucks inexplicably slide, and glide across the halls. A young man was once witnessed within the residence, though his demeanor was ghoulish, and his body soon disappeared.
Perhaps this is the “man in the attic,” that the boys’ youth shelter saw? The Van Alstyne House once provided youth services, supporting and protecting male adolescents. Yet wards often spoke of a “man in the attic” who would frighten rebellious boys back to their bedrooms. The man never spoke but was undoubtedly spooky. One boy later claimed to have witnessed the man staring at him from outside the window. The man wore Victorian attire, appearing to hover above the ground.
The “man in the attic” is such a common occurrence that later proprietors were often asked, “Have you seen the man?” Is this the late Alfred Albert Van Alstyne? Does he frequent his former residence?
Paranormal Accounts from Antebellum Antiques
The Van Alstyne House later became Antebellum Antiques, which increased the property's paranormal activity. Scottie Ketner, the former owner of Antebellum, told Islander Magazine how alarms would activate even whenever the building was empty. The police were called to the estate so frequently that they were unaffected by the alarms.
Once, two police arrived at the site after being alerted by the system. A toy truck "suddenly came from one of the rooms and glided across the hall," upon their arrival. The younger officer was visibly spooked, but the older office told him "not to bother." He informed his coworker that they weren't "going to find anyone up here," suggesting that an unseen specter was on-the-spot. The younger officer put away his gun yet “replaced it with a cross from the shop." Perhaps a different type of protection?
The paranormal activity continued once Ketner removed the wall to the third floor. Ketner recalls that they found it mysteriously barricaded once they purchased the property. After they removed the wall, they all "experienced that door to the attic slamming shut at one point or another." There was "something about the attic," Ketner continued. Once, when taking a moment to herself, she experienced something truly bizarre. She overheard a "strange collection of voices of different European accents, and most definitely from another time." Eerie, since the Van Alstynes had been American. Could these be attachments on some of the antiques in the store?
Kenter later vacated the premises, overwhelmed by the prevalence of paranormal activity. Yet Ketner advocates that the spirits were benevolent: “I felt very protected. In fact, [one time] a man I knew walked into the store while I was upstairs. I remember feeling inexplicably compelled to call out his name as if to discover his whereabouts. Later, I realized he had been stealing from us. Had I not been overwhelmed with the need to call his name, we might not have caught him. And that was the one and only time we were vandalized. We never had any trouble from the neighborhood because people living around us were so afraid of the house that they stayed away!”
Residual Energies?
Although these may be lingering poltergeists from the Hurricane of 1900, antique shops are popular sites for paranormal activity. Residual energies attach to relics of bygone eras, disturbing the magnetic field. Some explain residual hauntings as trauma imprinting itself upon the atmosphere.
If a location or an object undergoes trauma, that location or object may “record” the energy of the experience, repeating or replicating it later. For example, antique toys or staircases may reproduce noises that they’ve experienced throughout time – regardless if there’s an unseen specter nearby. These paranormal disturbances may be attached to a disembodied spirit, but they may also occur on their own.
Of course, these paranormal ongoings may be playful poltergeists. Or they’re sinister specters? Perhaps it’s most likely that they’re the lost souls of 1900, lingering about Broadway.
Visiting the Van Alstyne House
The Van Alstyne House is located on 2901 Broadway Street. This mysterious mansion is currently closed to the public, but it’s still worth the stop! Let us know if you experience any paranormal activity.
- Alfred Albert commissioned the Van Alstyne in 1891.
- Fifty Galvestonians hid beneath the staircase during the Hurricane of 1900.
- Both Alfred Albert and Catherine died within the Van Alstyne.
- The Van Alstyne later became Antebellum Antiques.
- A popular site for paranormal activity.
Whenever Alfred Albert and Catherine commissioned the Van Alstyne, they were unaware of what this memorable mansion would one day withstand. In 1900, it was hit by the worst natural disaster in United States history: the “Great Galveston Storm,” which claimed over 6,000 Galvestonian lives. Letters reveal that Catherine kept fifty citizens safe beneath the staircase, where they “huddled under the stairs.” Catherine also remarked upon the day’s passing, when they “had nowhere else to look but through the window and count their blessings, as wagons of bodies passed by.”
Curiously, the house weathered the whirlwind. Although the surrounding neighborhood was devastated, the Van Alstyne was one of the few surviving structures of the storm. Some, like Kathleen Maca, think the poltergeists that frequent the property today are “distraught Galvestonians” who know the Van Alstyne as a “place of refuge.” Others suspect that these may be the lost souls swept away by the squall. The Hurricane of 1900 claimed over 6,000 lives, so the former beings of the disembodied are anyone’s guess.
The Ghost of Alfred Albert Van Alstyne
Albert died within the Van Alstyne House in 1926, and Catherine in 1940. They were both buried in Trinity Episcopal Cemetery, located a few blocks from the estate. Their proximity to the property may explain its unusual ongoings: alarms go off despite the building being unoccupied, toy trucks inexplicably slide, and glide across the halls. A young man was once witnessed within the residence, though his demeanor was ghoulish, and his body soon disappeared.
Perhaps this is the “man in the attic,” that the boys’ youth shelter saw? The Van Alstyne House once provided youth services, supporting and protecting male adolescents. Yet wards often spoke of a “man in the attic” who would frighten rebellious boys back to their bedrooms. The man never spoke but was undoubtedly spooky. One boy later claimed to have witnessed the man staring at him from outside the window. The man wore Victorian attire, appearing to hover above the ground.
The “man in the attic” is such a common occurrence that later proprietors were often asked, “Have you seen the man?” Is this the late Alfred Albert Van Alstyne? Does he frequent his former residence?
Paranormal Accounts from Antebellum Antiques
The Van Alstyne House later became Antebellum Antiques, which increased the property's paranormal activity. Scottie Ketner, the former owner of Antebellum, told Islander Magazine how alarms would activate even whenever the building was empty. The police were called to the estate so frequently that they were unaffected by the alarms.
Once, two police arrived at the site after being alerted by the system. A toy truck "suddenly came from one of the rooms and glided across the hall," upon their arrival. The younger officer was visibly spooked, but the older office told him "not to bother." He informed his coworker that they weren't "going to find anyone up here," suggesting that an unseen specter was on-the-spot. The younger officer put away his gun yet “replaced it with a cross from the shop." Perhaps a different type of protection?
The paranormal activity continued once Ketner removed the wall to the third floor. Ketner recalls that they found it mysteriously barricaded once they purchased the property. After they removed the wall, they all "experienced that door to the attic slamming shut at one point or another." There was "something about the attic," Ketner continued. Once, when taking a moment to herself, she experienced something truly bizarre. She overheard a "strange collection of voices of different European accents, and most definitely from another time." Eerie, since the Van Alstynes had been American. Could these be attachments on some of the antiques in the store?
Kenter later vacated the premises, overwhelmed by the prevalence of paranormal activity. Yet Ketner advocates that the spirits were benevolent: “I felt very protected. In fact, [one time] a man I knew walked into the store while I was upstairs. I remember feeling inexplicably compelled to call out his name as if to discover his whereabouts. Later, I realized he had been stealing from us. Had I not been overwhelmed with the need to call his name, we might not have caught him. And that was the one and only time we were vandalized. We never had any trouble from the neighborhood because people living around us were so afraid of the house that they stayed away!”
Residual Energies?
Although these may be lingering poltergeists from the Hurricane of 1900, antique shops are popular sites for paranormal activity. Residual energies attach to relics of bygone eras, disturbing the magnetic field. Some explain residual hauntings as trauma imprinting itself upon the atmosphere.
If a location or an object undergoes trauma, that location or object may “record” the energy of the experience, repeating or replicating it later. For example, antique toys or staircases may reproduce noises that they’ve experienced throughout time – regardless if there’s an unseen specter nearby. These paranormal disturbances may be attached to a disembodied spirit, but they may also occur on their own.
Of course, these paranormal ongoings may be playful poltergeists. Or they’re sinister specters? Perhaps it’s most likely that they’re the lost souls of 1900, lingering about Broadway.
Visiting the Van Alstyne House
The Van Alstyne House is located on 2901 Broadway Street. This mysterious mansion is currently closed to the public, but it’s still worth the stop! Let us know if you experience any paranormal activity.
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If you're looking for a spooky time on a Ghost Tour, you're looking for Ghost City Tours. Widely regarded as the best Ghost Tours you can take, our Tours take you to the most haunted locations in your favorite haunted cities.
Let's get you on a Ghost Tour you won't soon forget!
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VIEW ALL OF OUR LOCATIONS
It might not get the press that cities like New Orleans, Savannah, or Salem gets - but Galveston could easily be one of the most haunted cities in the United States. Sometimes described as a 'cemetery with its own beach', Galveston has been the scene of much death and many tragic events. It is no wonder that Galveston is as haunted as it is.
Here at Ghost City Tours, we put together a list of the Most Haunted Places in Galveston.
If you're coming to Galveston and you're looking for a few haunted places to check out, look below.
We've even included a few haunted hotels for those brave souls who are seeking the spirits of Galveston Island.
If you're really interested in Galveston's most haunted places, we invite you to join us on a Galveston Ghost Tour!
Nightly, we visit the most haunted locations that Galveston has to offer.
Our Ghost Tours are a great way to spend a spooky evening while visiting Galveston
Here at Ghost City Tours, we put together a list of the Most Haunted Places in Galveston.
If you're coming to Galveston and you're looking for a few haunted places to check out, look below.
We've even included a few haunted hotels for those brave souls who are seeking the spirits of Galveston Island.
If you're really interested in Galveston's most haunted places, we invite you to join us on a Galveston Ghost Tour!
Nightly, we visit the most haunted locations that Galveston has to offer.
Our Ghost Tours are a great way to spend a spooky evening while visiting Galveston
Making the Moody MansionBuilt 1895 for Narcissa Willis, the Moody Mansion was, first, the Willis Mansion. Narcissa had actually wanted the house much sooner.
A Galveston socialite, Narcissa always wanted a sizable, stately home to impress her ever-growing social sphere. Her husband, Richard, controlled the purse strings.
Richard had been a prosperous cotton broker who could afford the mansion. Unlike Narcissa, Richard preferred to keep his assets liquid. Cash was easier to inherit than property, especially whenever you were dividing it amongst ten children.
Regrettably, the Willis children would never receive their inheritance: Richard died in 1892, and Narcissa funneled his fortune into the then-Willis Mansion against her late husband’s wishes.
Narcissa commissioned the home within a year of his death. For this, Narcissa was estranged from her family - her children never even visited the home. She thought that the extravagance of the estate would encourage her children to bury the hatchet.
Avoided, abhorred, and alienated from her offspring, Narcissa remained in the Moody Mansion. Outside of the housekeeper, Narcissa was the estate’s only occupant.
Narcissa’s sad isolation was at least short-lived. Narcissa died in 1899, and her daughter, Beatrice, put the Moody Mansion for sale.
A Wispy Widow?While there have been no specific hauntings, guests have overheard disembodied voices alongside unidentified footsteps. Perhaps Narcissa still considers the Moody Mansion her own?
The most common phenomenon appears within photographs: pictures that are taken at the site often reveal unaccountable guests. These guests are blurred or otherwise indistinct, leading some to believe that they’re apparitions.
Spirit photography is particularly popular at the Moody Mansion. Visitors have even sworn to see faces appear in their pictures. Are these portraits of the paranormal – or something else?
In 1900, a hurricane swept through Galveston, nearly destroying the entire city. The Moody Mansion stood strong,but over 6,000 Texans died. Perhaps some of their spirits wandered to the Moody Mansion...and never left.
Haunted or not, the unearthly appearance of the property is peerlessly matched, foreboding and phantom-like. It’s sure to spook the skeptic and superstitious alike. Plus, your camera may catch what the naked eye couldn’t.
Enter the MoodysLibbie Moody convinced her husband William to enter a bid on the mansion. Theirs was just one of many bids, but after the 1900 hurricane, most of the other bidders withdrew.
El huracán de 1900.The home had been valued at around $100,000, but the Moodys acquired it for just $20,000.
Libbie and William’s tenure at the Moody Mansion was pretty unremarkable. They had a quiet, successful existence. Members of the Moody Family remained in the house until 1986, with the last resident being William and Libbie’s daughter Mary.
The only scandal that involved the Moody family occurred when William left everything to Mary, cutting his other children out of his will. Even that was resolved with quiet dignity.
William Moody died in 1954, and flags across Texas were flown at half mast. The respect he garnered from his fellow Texans was a testament to his upstanding character.
Living LegacyWilliam Moody had his fingers in every pie imaginable: cotton, banking, land, ranching, insurance, publishing, hotels. If anyone had a Midas Touch, it was William.
Libbie was actually worried that her husband was working himself to death. His reply? Check it out:
Do not worry about me, for my capacity for work seems endless, and I really enjoy it. It is just like playing cards, and succeeding is winningThe Moody name lives on in the form of the Moody Foundation, set up by William and Libbie in 1942.
The Moody Foundation funds programs involving social services, children’s needs, community development, and education. Buildings on campus at SMU in Dallas and University of Houston bear the Moody name as a result of the foundation’s contributions.
Their enterprise, and empire, was so esteemed in Galveston that the Moody Mansion became the Moody Museum in 1986. The museum commemorated the achievements of the family while preserving the historic home.
Behind the Design of the Moody Mansion
La Mansión Moody.This Romanesque 31-room mansion was designed by the architect William H. Tyndall. It features stained glass windows, hand-carved woodwork, and rounded arches among brick walls and limestone dressing.
Tyndall designed the estate specifically to Narcissa’s tastes, which may explain its singularity. Tyndall likewise utilized cross-culture features, making the Moody Mansion difficult to categorize or classify.
Anachronistic, extravagant, eclectic – the Moody Mansion is one-of-a-kind. The Moody Mansion was also considered the first in Texas to be built on a steel frame.
The mansion’s interiors were designed by the New York Firm of Pottier, Stymus, and Company, who likewise worked for Thomas Edison, William Rockefeller, and President Ulysses S. Grant.
All 31 rooms reflect popular turn-of-the-century themes, perfect for any aging socialite. Furnished with collectibles from the Moody Estate, they make for a strikingly sophisticated setup.
Damage to the Moody MansionThe Moody Mansion was damaged in 2008 by Hurricane Ike, which flooded the basement while devastating the kitchen, servants’ quarters, and potting room.
Luckily, the City of Galveston was able to save the basement and later convert it to the Galveston’s Children’s Museum. Hurricanes continue to shape or shift the history of the Moody Mansion, yet the Moody Mansion remains.
The Moody Mansion MuseumThe Moody Mansion Museum was opened to the public in 1991, though it set out to recreate the personality of the property from 1911. Special effect lighting was likewise installed to emphasize the exhibits, which depict the daily ongoings of the Moody Family.
Family papers and photographs are on display amidst period interiors, allowing for an interactive, immersive experience.
The Moody Mansion’s archive is also available to scholars for study. At 1,500 feet of linear material, it’s a remarkable collection of turn-of-the-century paraphernalia.
The archive includes – but is not limited to – familial documents, architectural blueprints, postcards, catalogs, and trade cards.
Only twenty of the mansion’s thirty-one rooms are available for tours. Events, as well as art exhibits, are additionally held at the Moody Mansion.
The Moody Mansion likewise acts as a venue for parties, weddings, and meetings. Bolder brides will love this haunted house. Bewitching banquets, spooky soirees… The Moody Mansion will keep your company captivated. (It’s beautiful to boot.)
The Moody Mansion was added to the National Register of Historic Places on May 13, 1994.
Visiting the Moody MansionYou can find the Moody Mansion at 2618 Broadway Avenue J in Galveston, Texas. Guided tours are available on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 10 to 5. You’re sure to love this spooky, sprawling estate. Oh, and do let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
A Galveston socialite, Narcissa always wanted a sizable, stately home to impress her ever-growing social sphere. Her husband, Richard, controlled the purse strings.
Richard had been a prosperous cotton broker who could afford the mansion. Unlike Narcissa, Richard preferred to keep his assets liquid. Cash was easier to inherit than property, especially whenever you were dividing it amongst ten children.
Regrettably, the Willis children would never receive their inheritance: Richard died in 1892, and Narcissa funneled his fortune into the then-Willis Mansion against her late husband’s wishes.
Narcissa commissioned the home within a year of his death. For this, Narcissa was estranged from her family - her children never even visited the home. She thought that the extravagance of the estate would encourage her children to bury the hatchet.
Avoided, abhorred, and alienated from her offspring, Narcissa remained in the Moody Mansion. Outside of the housekeeper, Narcissa was the estate’s only occupant.
Narcissa’s sad isolation was at least short-lived. Narcissa died in 1899, and her daughter, Beatrice, put the Moody Mansion for sale.
A Wispy Widow?While there have been no specific hauntings, guests have overheard disembodied voices alongside unidentified footsteps. Perhaps Narcissa still considers the Moody Mansion her own?
The most common phenomenon appears within photographs: pictures that are taken at the site often reveal unaccountable guests. These guests are blurred or otherwise indistinct, leading some to believe that they’re apparitions.
Spirit photography is particularly popular at the Moody Mansion. Visitors have even sworn to see faces appear in their pictures. Are these portraits of the paranormal – or something else?
In 1900, a hurricane swept through Galveston, nearly destroying the entire city. The Moody Mansion stood strong,but over 6,000 Texans died. Perhaps some of their spirits wandered to the Moody Mansion...and never left.
Haunted or not, the unearthly appearance of the property is peerlessly matched, foreboding and phantom-like. It’s sure to spook the skeptic and superstitious alike. Plus, your camera may catch what the naked eye couldn’t.
Enter the MoodysLibbie Moody convinced her husband William to enter a bid on the mansion. Theirs was just one of many bids, but after the 1900 hurricane, most of the other bidders withdrew.
El huracán de 1900.The home had been valued at around $100,000, but the Moodys acquired it for just $20,000.
Libbie and William’s tenure at the Moody Mansion was pretty unremarkable. They had a quiet, successful existence. Members of the Moody Family remained in the house until 1986, with the last resident being William and Libbie’s daughter Mary.
The only scandal that involved the Moody family occurred when William left everything to Mary, cutting his other children out of his will. Even that was resolved with quiet dignity.
William Moody died in 1954, and flags across Texas were flown at half mast. The respect he garnered from his fellow Texans was a testament to his upstanding character.
Living LegacyWilliam Moody had his fingers in every pie imaginable: cotton, banking, land, ranching, insurance, publishing, hotels. If anyone had a Midas Touch, it was William.
Libbie was actually worried that her husband was working himself to death. His reply? Check it out:
Do not worry about me, for my capacity for work seems endless, and I really enjoy it. It is just like playing cards, and succeeding is winningThe Moody name lives on in the form of the Moody Foundation, set up by William and Libbie in 1942.
The Moody Foundation funds programs involving social services, children’s needs, community development, and education. Buildings on campus at SMU in Dallas and University of Houston bear the Moody name as a result of the foundation’s contributions.
Their enterprise, and empire, was so esteemed in Galveston that the Moody Mansion became the Moody Museum in 1986. The museum commemorated the achievements of the family while preserving the historic home.
Behind the Design of the Moody Mansion
La Mansión Moody.This Romanesque 31-room mansion was designed by the architect William H. Tyndall. It features stained glass windows, hand-carved woodwork, and rounded arches among brick walls and limestone dressing.
Tyndall designed the estate specifically to Narcissa’s tastes, which may explain its singularity. Tyndall likewise utilized cross-culture features, making the Moody Mansion difficult to categorize or classify.
Anachronistic, extravagant, eclectic – the Moody Mansion is one-of-a-kind. The Moody Mansion was also considered the first in Texas to be built on a steel frame.
The mansion’s interiors were designed by the New York Firm of Pottier, Stymus, and Company, who likewise worked for Thomas Edison, William Rockefeller, and President Ulysses S. Grant.
All 31 rooms reflect popular turn-of-the-century themes, perfect for any aging socialite. Furnished with collectibles from the Moody Estate, they make for a strikingly sophisticated setup.
Damage to the Moody MansionThe Moody Mansion was damaged in 2008 by Hurricane Ike, which flooded the basement while devastating the kitchen, servants’ quarters, and potting room.
Luckily, the City of Galveston was able to save the basement and later convert it to the Galveston’s Children’s Museum. Hurricanes continue to shape or shift the history of the Moody Mansion, yet the Moody Mansion remains.
The Moody Mansion MuseumThe Moody Mansion Museum was opened to the public in 1991, though it set out to recreate the personality of the property from 1911. Special effect lighting was likewise installed to emphasize the exhibits, which depict the daily ongoings of the Moody Family.
Family papers and photographs are on display amidst period interiors, allowing for an interactive, immersive experience.
The Moody Mansion’s archive is also available to scholars for study. At 1,500 feet of linear material, it’s a remarkable collection of turn-of-the-century paraphernalia.
The archive includes – but is not limited to – familial documents, architectural blueprints, postcards, catalogs, and trade cards.
Only twenty of the mansion’s thirty-one rooms are available for tours. Events, as well as art exhibits, are additionally held at the Moody Mansion.
The Moody Mansion likewise acts as a venue for parties, weddings, and meetings. Bolder brides will love this haunted house. Bewitching banquets, spooky soirees… The Moody Mansion will keep your company captivated. (It’s beautiful to boot.)
The Moody Mansion was added to the National Register of Historic Places on May 13, 1994.
Visiting the Moody MansionYou can find the Moody Mansion at 2618 Broadway Avenue J in Galveston, Texas. Guided tours are available on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 10 to 5. You’re sure to love this spooky, sprawling estate. Oh, and do let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
Is Bishop’s Palace Haunted?Galveston is infamous for ghosts, so it's no surprise that Bishop's Palace is haunted. The Hurricane of 1900 was particularly catastrophic for the island, killing 6,000 to 8,000 people. Yet Bishop Palace withstood the storm, big enough that it even saved the lives of 200 people who ran to it for refuge.
The Bishop’s Palace was a beacon for safety in Galveston then, but today witnesses report inexplicable pushing, scratching, tripping, and punching from unseen or unidentified forces while they stand or pass by the front of the house.
There are no reports of tragedies inside the home, but those who are sensitive to spirits say that Bishop's Palace is saturated in paranormal activity. Are these sinister specters? Or overprotective poltergeist?
The Gresham GhostsWalter and Josephine Gresham lived in the house from 1892 to 1920
The most infamous inhabitants of Bishop Palace are undoubtedly Walter and Josephine Gresham. Of course, their presence is no surprise: Walter and Josephine Gresham commissioned the estate, living within it with their nine children until their deaths.
Walter and Josephine Gresham lived in the house from 1892 to 1920.The Gresham Ghosts allegedly move about the mansion, attentive to the property's improvements and progressions. Keep your eyes peeled, Walter's known to pace the halls. He's particularly active during hurricanes, leading some to believe that his frequency is protective rather than pugnacious. Some even say that he's an anxious apparition, nervously fretting about.
Josephine's most notable haunting involves her former card box: the box remains within the home, though it's said to move about on its own. It contains relics from her travels, making it especially sensitive to supernatural energies. Perhaps that explains why it's never where you left it? Although it's an ultimately innocuous incident, it's still spooky.
Building Bishop’s Palace
Photo of Gresham’s Castle.Designed by architect Nicholas J. Clayton, Bishop's Palace was built for Colonel Walter and Josephine Gresham at a whopping $250,000. The Gresham's themselves tagged the property "Gresham's Castle," no doubt referring to its Châteauesque style and sprawling square feet. With steep roofs and steeper turrets, Bishop's Palace appears from a fever dream.
It took over six years to build, which may account for its intricate ornamentation and flamboyant features. Although the foundation is constructed from carved limestone, the property's facade is supplemented with sandstone and granite. Together, they span three stories high – making for a formidable, albeit foreboding estate.
The facade is likewise embellished with etchings of people, animals, and plants alongside those of mythical creatures. Yet Bishop's Palace is somehow more remarkable on the inside: stained glass windows flank fireplaces, floors and staircases are wrought from rare wood. One fireplace within the estate is even lined in silver.
You can see why Bishop's Palace looks as if it sprang from the pages of a storybook, singular and spectacular. (The palace's proximity to the seaside is another plus.)
Who Was Walter Gresham?
Walter sitting in his library.Born in 1841, Walter Gresham founded the Gulf, Colorado, and Sante Fe Railroad, earning his reputation as a railway magnate. Yet Gresham was likewise a Civil War Veteran, and, later, an attorney and politician. Gresham was one of the highest paid attorneys in the state of Texas, and no stranger to success.
By 1868, he opened a law office and married Josephine Mann. By 1872, he was elected as Galveston County's District Attorney. Gresham was elected to Texas Legislature in 1887, which is the same year that he commissioned Clayton to design the home. Six years later, in 1893, Walter and Josphine formally opened Gresham's Castle.
Even in the 19th century, most politicians like Gresham couldn’t escape some kind of controversy. According to a Fort Worth Star Telegram article from 1911, Gresham was put in custody of the Galveston County Sheriff when he refused to show up for a senate investigating committee about politicians receiving funding from liquor companies to push a anti-prohibition agenda.
However, Gresham’s reputation in Galveston remains squeaky clean. He is known for being instrumental in the construction of Galveston’s Seawall, traveling to Washington D.C. to push for federal funding for the island’s harbor.
Colonel Gresham’s sudden death in Washington cast gloom throughout the city, so closely was he linked to the commercial and business life of the island.
The Daily Galveston NewsGresham died in the United States Capital during 1920, and Gresham's Castle was sold three years later. Gresham was returned to Galveston, however, where he was interred. You can find his gravestone in Lakeview Cemetery – though, again, you'll find his ghost elsewhere.
Who Was Josephine Gresham?
Pillows on the staircase of Gresham's Palace.Like many affluent women of her time, Josephine Gresham loved throwing extravagant parties and playing the role of hostess. She was so thoughtful about her guests' comfort in Gresham’s Castle she laid pillows on the staircase during parties. They were there so guests could stop and take a nap if they grew tired of the festivities.
Her love of greenery transformed the home into a residential jungle with vines crawling, covering walls and staircase banisters. Does her dedication to hospitality keep her spirit tied to Bishop’s Palace today?
Josephine was an artist and painted murals throughout the home, including angels on the ceiling above the dining room. If you look closely, you will see each angel has distinct facial characteristics. They reportedly were painted to represent each of her nine children. You can still see Josephine's impressive work in the Palace today above the dining room table.
Why Call It Bishop's Palace?
Christopher C.E. Byrne.The Galveston-Houston Diocese of the Catholic Church purchased the Gresham House in 1923 for $40,500. "Gresham's Castle" then became Bishop's Palace, renamed for the Most Reverend Christopher C. E. Byrne.
The Bishop lived in the home until he died of a heart attack at age 82. He was so well-respected that 8,000 people attended his funeral.
The Bishop's Palace was turned over to the Newman Club in 1963. Three months later, the diocese opened the estate to the public.
Bishop’s Palace TodayBishop's Palace is now owned by the Galveston Historical Foundation, who acquired the property in 2013. According to Road Trippers, "the mansion is recognized as one of America's finest examples of Victorian exuberance and Gilded-Age extravagance."
The American Institute of Architects even listed Bishop's Palace as one of the 100 most important buildings in America.
Yet with its ghastly ongoings, Bishop's Palace is more than a historical house. Apparitions appear and disappear; specters are seen, then recede. Walter and Josephine Gresham remain the home's haunted hosts – vigilant to visitors, wakeful and watchful.
Visiting Bishop’s PalaceOn the lookout for the Gresham Ghosts? Bishop's Palace offers tours during the full moon. Keep watch for any eerie encounters, of course! Oh, and be sure to let us know if you come across any paranormal activity.
Bishop's Palace is available for daytime tours seven days a week. A portion of the admission price supports the Bishop's Palace, aiding its restoration and preservation. You'll find this architectural treasure Galveston's East End Historic District at 1402 Broadway.
The Bishop’s Palace was a beacon for safety in Galveston then, but today witnesses report inexplicable pushing, scratching, tripping, and punching from unseen or unidentified forces while they stand or pass by the front of the house.
There are no reports of tragedies inside the home, but those who are sensitive to spirits say that Bishop's Palace is saturated in paranormal activity. Are these sinister specters? Or overprotective poltergeist?
The Gresham GhostsWalter and Josephine Gresham lived in the house from 1892 to 1920
The most infamous inhabitants of Bishop Palace are undoubtedly Walter and Josephine Gresham. Of course, their presence is no surprise: Walter and Josephine Gresham commissioned the estate, living within it with their nine children until their deaths.
Walter and Josephine Gresham lived in the house from 1892 to 1920.The Gresham Ghosts allegedly move about the mansion, attentive to the property's improvements and progressions. Keep your eyes peeled, Walter's known to pace the halls. He's particularly active during hurricanes, leading some to believe that his frequency is protective rather than pugnacious. Some even say that he's an anxious apparition, nervously fretting about.
Josephine's most notable haunting involves her former card box: the box remains within the home, though it's said to move about on its own. It contains relics from her travels, making it especially sensitive to supernatural energies. Perhaps that explains why it's never where you left it? Although it's an ultimately innocuous incident, it's still spooky.
Building Bishop’s Palace
Photo of Gresham’s Castle.Designed by architect Nicholas J. Clayton, Bishop's Palace was built for Colonel Walter and Josephine Gresham at a whopping $250,000. The Gresham's themselves tagged the property "Gresham's Castle," no doubt referring to its Châteauesque style and sprawling square feet. With steep roofs and steeper turrets, Bishop's Palace appears from a fever dream.
It took over six years to build, which may account for its intricate ornamentation and flamboyant features. Although the foundation is constructed from carved limestone, the property's facade is supplemented with sandstone and granite. Together, they span three stories high – making for a formidable, albeit foreboding estate.
The facade is likewise embellished with etchings of people, animals, and plants alongside those of mythical creatures. Yet Bishop's Palace is somehow more remarkable on the inside: stained glass windows flank fireplaces, floors and staircases are wrought from rare wood. One fireplace within the estate is even lined in silver.
You can see why Bishop's Palace looks as if it sprang from the pages of a storybook, singular and spectacular. (The palace's proximity to the seaside is another plus.)
Who Was Walter Gresham?
Walter sitting in his library.Born in 1841, Walter Gresham founded the Gulf, Colorado, and Sante Fe Railroad, earning his reputation as a railway magnate. Yet Gresham was likewise a Civil War Veteran, and, later, an attorney and politician. Gresham was one of the highest paid attorneys in the state of Texas, and no stranger to success.
By 1868, he opened a law office and married Josephine Mann. By 1872, he was elected as Galveston County's District Attorney. Gresham was elected to Texas Legislature in 1887, which is the same year that he commissioned Clayton to design the home. Six years later, in 1893, Walter and Josphine formally opened Gresham's Castle.
Even in the 19th century, most politicians like Gresham couldn’t escape some kind of controversy. According to a Fort Worth Star Telegram article from 1911, Gresham was put in custody of the Galveston County Sheriff when he refused to show up for a senate investigating committee about politicians receiving funding from liquor companies to push a anti-prohibition agenda.
However, Gresham’s reputation in Galveston remains squeaky clean. He is known for being instrumental in the construction of Galveston’s Seawall, traveling to Washington D.C. to push for federal funding for the island’s harbor.
Colonel Gresham’s sudden death in Washington cast gloom throughout the city, so closely was he linked to the commercial and business life of the island.
The Daily Galveston NewsGresham died in the United States Capital during 1920, and Gresham's Castle was sold three years later. Gresham was returned to Galveston, however, where he was interred. You can find his gravestone in Lakeview Cemetery – though, again, you'll find his ghost elsewhere.
Who Was Josephine Gresham?
Pillows on the staircase of Gresham's Palace.Like many affluent women of her time, Josephine Gresham loved throwing extravagant parties and playing the role of hostess. She was so thoughtful about her guests' comfort in Gresham’s Castle she laid pillows on the staircase during parties. They were there so guests could stop and take a nap if they grew tired of the festivities.
Her love of greenery transformed the home into a residential jungle with vines crawling, covering walls and staircase banisters. Does her dedication to hospitality keep her spirit tied to Bishop’s Palace today?
Josephine was an artist and painted murals throughout the home, including angels on the ceiling above the dining room. If you look closely, you will see each angel has distinct facial characteristics. They reportedly were painted to represent each of her nine children. You can still see Josephine's impressive work in the Palace today above the dining room table.
Why Call It Bishop's Palace?
Christopher C.E. Byrne.The Galveston-Houston Diocese of the Catholic Church purchased the Gresham House in 1923 for $40,500. "Gresham's Castle" then became Bishop's Palace, renamed for the Most Reverend Christopher C. E. Byrne.
The Bishop lived in the home until he died of a heart attack at age 82. He was so well-respected that 8,000 people attended his funeral.
The Bishop's Palace was turned over to the Newman Club in 1963. Three months later, the diocese opened the estate to the public.
Bishop’s Palace TodayBishop's Palace is now owned by the Galveston Historical Foundation, who acquired the property in 2013. According to Road Trippers, "the mansion is recognized as one of America's finest examples of Victorian exuberance and Gilded-Age extravagance."
The American Institute of Architects even listed Bishop's Palace as one of the 100 most important buildings in America.
Yet with its ghastly ongoings, Bishop's Palace is more than a historical house. Apparitions appear and disappear; specters are seen, then recede. Walter and Josephine Gresham remain the home's haunted hosts – vigilant to visitors, wakeful and watchful.
Visiting Bishop’s PalaceOn the lookout for the Gresham Ghosts? Bishop's Palace offers tours during the full moon. Keep watch for any eerie encounters, of course! Oh, and be sure to let us know if you come across any paranormal activity.
Bishop's Palace is available for daytime tours seven days a week. A portion of the admission price supports the Bishop's Palace, aiding its restoration and preservation. You'll find this architectural treasure Galveston's East End Historic District at 1402 Broadway.
Before the Broadway Cemetery District
Established in 1839, Galveston’s cemetery complex replaced a more temporary burial fashion. Before the Broadway Cemetery District, settlers would often bury their dead in sand dunes near the Gulf of Mexico. Yet the sand would shift or reshape, uncovering coffins and migrating markers. These burial markers were typically hand-carved or constructed from salvaged materials, making them unsustainable against Galveston’s natural catastrophes.
The sand dunes were a simple way to inter the dead, yet ultimately ineffective. If you wanted your beloved to stay buried, that is.
The Yellow Fever EpidemicThe Galveston City Company soon recognized that these burying methods were unfit for extensive, long-term interments. They were especially unfit for the Yellow Fever Epidemic, which had claimed 250 Galveston lives in 1839 alone. The “Saffron Scourge” had saturated this hard-hit city.
So, to improve burial conditions, the Galveston City Charter was tasked with the creation of a public burial ground. That’s where the Broadway Cemetery District comes in.
Building the Broadway Cemetery DistrictThe Galveston City Company donated four blocks of land for the cause, erecting the Old City Cemetery and adjacent Potter’s Field. These burial grounds were, at the time, outside of city limits. Their location was then particularly appropriate – remote from residential and commercial properties, yet near enough to transport bodies.
Those who were buried in the dunes beforehand were exhumed and reinterred within the new cemeteries. Not everyone made the relocation, of course. Some were too disfigured by the elements. There were newly discovered residents, too – unidentifiable bodies unearthed from unnamed graves.
Two more blocks of land were donated in 1844, allowing for the creation of the Trinity Episcopal Cemetery and the Old Catholic Cemetery. Five additional cemeteries were established throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, together comprising the Broadway Cemetery District.
Yet grade raises occurred throughout the twentieth century with burials occurring above burials. Because of these man made elevations, some graves of the Broadway Cemetery District are three bodies deep.
The Old(est) City Cemetery At 200 years old, Galveston’s Old City Cemetery is the region’s earliest. The burial ground initially allotted additional space for the German Lutheran Church, the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, and the Protestant Orphans Burial Ground – making for a distinctive, diversified demographic. It’s no surprise that the Old City Cemetery is also considered the district’s most unnerving graveyard.
“The Demented Mother” For starters, the Old City Cemetery is the final resting place of Elize Roemer Alberti. Alberti murdered her four children in 1894, earning her the moniker, “the demented mother.” It’s suspected that she suffered from severe postpartum depression, which may shed light on why she poisoned her four children. Alberti’s method? Morphine in wine. That’s right, she gave her young children wine (and morphine).
Alberti attempted to justify her action by explaining that she had been “ill for the last eight months.” She’s even quoted saying, “I could not fill my obligations to my babies. They are better off." Whether Alberti was a stone cold killer or was misguided though well-meaning is anyone’s argument. The tragedy of her tale, however, remains irrefutable.
After the murders, Alberti was sent to the San Antonio Asylum. She was ultimately returned to Galveston upon her release, where she committed suicide. Later interred in the same burial plot as her children. Alberti’s death was as grievous as Alberti’s life. She also makes for one of the few instances where a murderer is buried alongside their victim.
Potter’s Field and Oleander Cemetery Established in 1839, Potter’s Field is Galveston’s second oldest cemetery. Otherwise known as a pauper’s grave or common grave, a Potter’s Field was historically where “indigents are buried.” The origins of the moniker come from the New Testament. For example, Judas is interred in a “Potter’s Field,” the “burying place for strangers.”
Galveston’s is no exception, so it’s no surprise that the few gravestones in Potter’s Field are unmarked. Records reveal that nearly 1,000 interments occurred in Potter’s Field, however. A Confederate Potter’s Field was likewise erected within the burial grounds after the Battle of Galveston in 1863, providing formal burial space for veterans. If you were without money or family, you could still rest easy.
In 1939, Potter’s Field was renovated, refurbished, and enlarged. To further the sense of renewal, the City of Galveston renamed Potter’s Field to Oleander Cemetery. Their renovations didn’t rid them of their haunted hosts, however…
Confederate Army Deserter Executed by Firing Squad One of Oleander’s most infamous inhabitants is, no doubt, Nicaragua Smith. Smith was an arsonist and burglar who abandoned the Confederate Army in 1862. Ultimately tried for desertion, he was executed by a firing squad on the 8th of January, 1863.
Kathleen Maca, author of "Galveston's Broadway Cemeteries,” alleges that Smith “got six bullets in him and a few in the coffin, and he fell into the coffin and they buried him where he laid.” As Broadway Cemeteries’ most notable resident, Smith is sure to spook the skeptics. There are even rumors that Smith frequents his unmarked grave on the anniversary of his death.
New Cahill and Evergreen Cemetery New Cahill Cemetery is often remarked upon for its splendid, sprawling landscape. Yet these cemeteries are more than a pretty picture. Erected in 1900, though later renamed “Evergreen Cemetery,” these two burial grounds were meant to memorialize those who perished in the Great Storm of 1900. It’s suspected to contain 900 burials total, though as many as 12,000 died from the disaster. There’s no doubt that a few lingering souls idle about.
Episcopal Cemetery The Episcopal Cemetery was established in 1844, though enlarged in 1864. Its haunted history is self-evident: Confederate and Union soldiers were often buried in the Episcopal Cemetery after the Battle of Galveston in 1863.
The cemetery’s monuments were upheaved and elevated during a grade raising of 1904-1910, though the graves were left undisturbed. That’s what’s alleged, at least.
Old Catholic Cemetery Like the Episcopal Cemetery, the Old Catholic Cemetery was established in 1844. The two cemeteries were organized alongside one another, catering to families of different faiths. Approximately 900 souls call the Old Catholic Cemetery home.
Old Cahill Cemetery or the Yellow Fever Yard Established in 1867, the Old Cahill Cemetery was initially named after the sexton M. Cahill. It was later renamed the New City Cemetery after The Great Storm of 1900, which had desecrated the City of Galveston. Galveston thought that renaming the burial ground would inspire or galvanize the city, instilling a renewed sense of optimism. So, in 1900, the Old Cahill Cemetery became the New City Cemetery.
Yet it’s sometimes referred to by its sequestered allotment, the “Yellow Fever Yard.” The Yellow Fever Yard had been initiated in response to the yellow fever epidemic that occurred in 1867 – Galveston lost 725 citizens to the epidemic. The burials occurred so quickly, however, that the deceased were often left unidentified. To this day, their graves remain unmarked.
Hebrew Benevolent Society Cemetery After the six-year-old son of Isadore Dyer died, a small section of Potter’s Field was allotted to Galveston’s Jewish community. They were able to establish their own private burial ground in 1868, however – the Hebrew Benevolent Society Cemetery. This was at the bequest of Rosanna Osterman, who died in a steamboat explosion the preceding year.
Is the Broadway Cemetery District Haunted? Elize Roemer Alberti and Nicaragua Smith are the district’s most notable haunts, though many more are suspected.
Yet murderers and madmen aren’t the only inhabitants of this urban burial ground: the Broadway Cemetery District likewise inters soldiers and sailors, statesmen and scientists, philanthropists and pioneers. For example, John Allen, Galveston’s first mayor, is interred within the district, as is George Campbell Childress, who authored the Texas Declaration of Independence.
Another notable inhabitant? Noah Noble John. John had survived three shipboard disasters before his untimely death. The Brownsville’s sinking, the Stare State’s burning, the Farmer’s explosion – John was there for all three of them. Does Noah Noble John lurk his landlocked lodging?
The cemeteries grade raising also means that there are those that rest below what we can see. Who lurks beneath the surface?
Visit the Broadway Cemetery District The Broadway Cemetery District occupies six city blocks, and can be located midtown. As one of the few remaining urban cemeteries, it’s an invaluable location. Whether you’re into philanthropists, pirates, or politicians, the Broadway Cemetery District is a must-see. Do let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
Established in 1839, Galveston’s cemetery complex replaced a more temporary burial fashion. Before the Broadway Cemetery District, settlers would often bury their dead in sand dunes near the Gulf of Mexico. Yet the sand would shift or reshape, uncovering coffins and migrating markers. These burial markers were typically hand-carved or constructed from salvaged materials, making them unsustainable against Galveston’s natural catastrophes.
The sand dunes were a simple way to inter the dead, yet ultimately ineffective. If you wanted your beloved to stay buried, that is.
The Yellow Fever EpidemicThe Galveston City Company soon recognized that these burying methods were unfit for extensive, long-term interments. They were especially unfit for the Yellow Fever Epidemic, which had claimed 250 Galveston lives in 1839 alone. The “Saffron Scourge” had saturated this hard-hit city.
So, to improve burial conditions, the Galveston City Charter was tasked with the creation of a public burial ground. That’s where the Broadway Cemetery District comes in.
Building the Broadway Cemetery DistrictThe Galveston City Company donated four blocks of land for the cause, erecting the Old City Cemetery and adjacent Potter’s Field. These burial grounds were, at the time, outside of city limits. Their location was then particularly appropriate – remote from residential and commercial properties, yet near enough to transport bodies.
Those who were buried in the dunes beforehand were exhumed and reinterred within the new cemeteries. Not everyone made the relocation, of course. Some were too disfigured by the elements. There were newly discovered residents, too – unidentifiable bodies unearthed from unnamed graves.
Two more blocks of land were donated in 1844, allowing for the creation of the Trinity Episcopal Cemetery and the Old Catholic Cemetery. Five additional cemeteries were established throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, together comprising the Broadway Cemetery District.
Yet grade raises occurred throughout the twentieth century with burials occurring above burials. Because of these man made elevations, some graves of the Broadway Cemetery District are three bodies deep.
The Old(est) City Cemetery At 200 years old, Galveston’s Old City Cemetery is the region’s earliest. The burial ground initially allotted additional space for the German Lutheran Church, the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, and the Protestant Orphans Burial Ground – making for a distinctive, diversified demographic. It’s no surprise that the Old City Cemetery is also considered the district’s most unnerving graveyard.
“The Demented Mother” For starters, the Old City Cemetery is the final resting place of Elize Roemer Alberti. Alberti murdered her four children in 1894, earning her the moniker, “the demented mother.” It’s suspected that she suffered from severe postpartum depression, which may shed light on why she poisoned her four children. Alberti’s method? Morphine in wine. That’s right, she gave her young children wine (and morphine).
Alberti attempted to justify her action by explaining that she had been “ill for the last eight months.” She’s even quoted saying, “I could not fill my obligations to my babies. They are better off." Whether Alberti was a stone cold killer or was misguided though well-meaning is anyone’s argument. The tragedy of her tale, however, remains irrefutable.
After the murders, Alberti was sent to the San Antonio Asylum. She was ultimately returned to Galveston upon her release, where she committed suicide. Later interred in the same burial plot as her children. Alberti’s death was as grievous as Alberti’s life. She also makes for one of the few instances where a murderer is buried alongside their victim.
Potter’s Field and Oleander Cemetery Established in 1839, Potter’s Field is Galveston’s second oldest cemetery. Otherwise known as a pauper’s grave or common grave, a Potter’s Field was historically where “indigents are buried.” The origins of the moniker come from the New Testament. For example, Judas is interred in a “Potter’s Field,” the “burying place for strangers.”
Galveston’s is no exception, so it’s no surprise that the few gravestones in Potter’s Field are unmarked. Records reveal that nearly 1,000 interments occurred in Potter’s Field, however. A Confederate Potter’s Field was likewise erected within the burial grounds after the Battle of Galveston in 1863, providing formal burial space for veterans. If you were without money or family, you could still rest easy.
In 1939, Potter’s Field was renovated, refurbished, and enlarged. To further the sense of renewal, the City of Galveston renamed Potter’s Field to Oleander Cemetery. Their renovations didn’t rid them of their haunted hosts, however…
Confederate Army Deserter Executed by Firing Squad One of Oleander’s most infamous inhabitants is, no doubt, Nicaragua Smith. Smith was an arsonist and burglar who abandoned the Confederate Army in 1862. Ultimately tried for desertion, he was executed by a firing squad on the 8th of January, 1863.
Kathleen Maca, author of "Galveston's Broadway Cemeteries,” alleges that Smith “got six bullets in him and a few in the coffin, and he fell into the coffin and they buried him where he laid.” As Broadway Cemeteries’ most notable resident, Smith is sure to spook the skeptics. There are even rumors that Smith frequents his unmarked grave on the anniversary of his death.
New Cahill and Evergreen Cemetery New Cahill Cemetery is often remarked upon for its splendid, sprawling landscape. Yet these cemeteries are more than a pretty picture. Erected in 1900, though later renamed “Evergreen Cemetery,” these two burial grounds were meant to memorialize those who perished in the Great Storm of 1900. It’s suspected to contain 900 burials total, though as many as 12,000 died from the disaster. There’s no doubt that a few lingering souls idle about.
Episcopal Cemetery The Episcopal Cemetery was established in 1844, though enlarged in 1864. Its haunted history is self-evident: Confederate and Union soldiers were often buried in the Episcopal Cemetery after the Battle of Galveston in 1863.
The cemetery’s monuments were upheaved and elevated during a grade raising of 1904-1910, though the graves were left undisturbed. That’s what’s alleged, at least.
Old Catholic Cemetery Like the Episcopal Cemetery, the Old Catholic Cemetery was established in 1844. The two cemeteries were organized alongside one another, catering to families of different faiths. Approximately 900 souls call the Old Catholic Cemetery home.
Old Cahill Cemetery or the Yellow Fever Yard Established in 1867, the Old Cahill Cemetery was initially named after the sexton M. Cahill. It was later renamed the New City Cemetery after The Great Storm of 1900, which had desecrated the City of Galveston. Galveston thought that renaming the burial ground would inspire or galvanize the city, instilling a renewed sense of optimism. So, in 1900, the Old Cahill Cemetery became the New City Cemetery.
Yet it’s sometimes referred to by its sequestered allotment, the “Yellow Fever Yard.” The Yellow Fever Yard had been initiated in response to the yellow fever epidemic that occurred in 1867 – Galveston lost 725 citizens to the epidemic. The burials occurred so quickly, however, that the deceased were often left unidentified. To this day, their graves remain unmarked.
Hebrew Benevolent Society Cemetery After the six-year-old son of Isadore Dyer died, a small section of Potter’s Field was allotted to Galveston’s Jewish community. They were able to establish their own private burial ground in 1868, however – the Hebrew Benevolent Society Cemetery. This was at the bequest of Rosanna Osterman, who died in a steamboat explosion the preceding year.
Is the Broadway Cemetery District Haunted? Elize Roemer Alberti and Nicaragua Smith are the district’s most notable haunts, though many more are suspected.
Yet murderers and madmen aren’t the only inhabitants of this urban burial ground: the Broadway Cemetery District likewise inters soldiers and sailors, statesmen and scientists, philanthropists and pioneers. For example, John Allen, Galveston’s first mayor, is interred within the district, as is George Campbell Childress, who authored the Texas Declaration of Independence.
Another notable inhabitant? Noah Noble John. John had survived three shipboard disasters before his untimely death. The Brownsville’s sinking, the Stare State’s burning, the Farmer’s explosion – John was there for all three of them. Does Noah Noble John lurk his landlocked lodging?
The cemeteries grade raising also means that there are those that rest below what we can see. Who lurks beneath the surface?
Visit the Broadway Cemetery District The Broadway Cemetery District occupies six city blocks, and can be located midtown. As one of the few remaining urban cemeteries, it’s an invaluable location. Whether you’re into philanthropists, pirates, or politicians, the Broadway Cemetery District is a must-see. Do let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
Fast Facts
Yet the museum's most infamous inhabitants are unseen: passengers that never left their terminals, their spirits forever stranded at the station. William Watson is one such poltergeist. Decapitated by the railway train, travelers claim that he practices handstands on the cattle guards of the engines. Another inhabitant committed suicide off the fourth floor, where visitors sometimes spot her at the windowsill. Her legs dangle off the ledge, lax or limply hanging.
Who are these railway apparitions? What binds them to the building?
The Ghost of William WatsonWilliam Watson was a thirty-two-year-old engineer from New York who had arrived at Galveston by steamship. Yet Watson's legend varies. Some say that he was a thrill-seeker who would regularly perform tricks by the train, entertaining travelers. Others say that Watson had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, his death an unanticipated accident.
Those that buy into Watson's myth as a daredevil claim that he was practicing handstands on the train's "cowcatcher." It was a reckless act that he had performed before, yet this time there was an unexpected ending. Watson slipped, sliding too quickly to scream for help. He was unable to save himself and was immediately decapitated. Spectators were shellshocked, stopped still as Watson flailed against the train-track. They discovered his head a quarter-mile from the site of the accident, still bound by his derby hat. It was September 1, 1900 – just a few days before the “Great Galveston Storm.” His decapitated body was “mangled beyond recognition.”
Employees of Galveston Railroad Museum blame Watson for strange, unidentified noises. They even allege that he misplaces objects. (A common prank of poltergeists.) Is Watson a headless specter, still searching for his scalp? Or is he a mischievous apparition – entertaining travelers with his tricks?
The Woman at the WindowsillMore recently, a woman committed suicide off of the fourth-floor windowsill. The woman met her untimely end in the early 1980s, propelling herself out of the bathroom of an office. The office had been reserved for psychiatric patients, yet little else is known of her life. There are few accounts of the tragedy.
Visitors witness her specter roaming the restroom, or running nervously throughout the halls. Some visitors are surprised to her sitting on the windowsill, her legs dangling loosely off the ledge.
The History of the Galveston Railroad Museum The history of the Galveston Railroad Museum is much less grisly than the ghost lore. The south half of the structure was established in 1913 as the Santa Fe depot and railyard. An eleven-story tower and eight-story north wing were added in 1931, impressively expanding the site. These additions incorporated aspects of art deco architecture by which it’s known for today.
Mary Moody Northern and the Moody Foundation The Santa Fe Railroad closed in 1946, though its last train didn’t stop until three years later. In the 1960s, the Moody Family acquired the railroad. The precarious property was saved. For the next two decades, the Moody Family renovated and restored the establishment. By 1983, the Galveston Railroad Museum opened to the public.
Damage after Hurricane Ike The museum again faced an uncertain future in 2008. Hurricane Ike had badly damaged the structure, leading some to suspect that the attraction would be closed. Luckily, the Center for Transportation and Commerce successfully campaigned $100,000 for its recovery. Alongside $3 million from FEMA, the Galveston Railroad Museum was saved once more.
The Galveston Railroad Museum Today the Galveston Railroad Museum is owned and operated by the Center for Transportation and Commerce. It hosts one of the largest restored railroad collections in the Southwest.
The museum’s primary attraction is the “Ghosts of Travelers Past.” These life-size, plaster models imitate passengers waiting for arrivals and departures. They clutch timetables or telephones, dining menus, or memorabilia. They’re fashioned in thirties attire, supplying a historically immersive experience. Perhaps William Watson keeps company with these casts?
The caboose is another attraction, allowing visitors to travel by train throughout the establishment. It travels one mile up Harborside Drive before returning to the Galveston Railroad Museum. It’s a standing ride, so be sure to hang tight.
Visiting the Galveston Railroad Museum You can find the Galveston Railroad Museum at 25th and Strand in Galveston, Texas. Hours vary, so be sure to check if the Galveston Railroad Museum is open. Parking is free with museum admission. Let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
- The Galveston Railroad Museum was once the Sante Fe Station.
- Over 40,000 travelers would traverse the station daily.
- William Watson was decapitated by one of the station’s trains.
- The Moody Family founded the Galveston Railroad Museum.
Yet the museum's most infamous inhabitants are unseen: passengers that never left their terminals, their spirits forever stranded at the station. William Watson is one such poltergeist. Decapitated by the railway train, travelers claim that he practices handstands on the cattle guards of the engines. Another inhabitant committed suicide off the fourth floor, where visitors sometimes spot her at the windowsill. Her legs dangle off the ledge, lax or limply hanging.
Who are these railway apparitions? What binds them to the building?
The Ghost of William WatsonWilliam Watson was a thirty-two-year-old engineer from New York who had arrived at Galveston by steamship. Yet Watson's legend varies. Some say that he was a thrill-seeker who would regularly perform tricks by the train, entertaining travelers. Others say that Watson had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, his death an unanticipated accident.
Those that buy into Watson's myth as a daredevil claim that he was practicing handstands on the train's "cowcatcher." It was a reckless act that he had performed before, yet this time there was an unexpected ending. Watson slipped, sliding too quickly to scream for help. He was unable to save himself and was immediately decapitated. Spectators were shellshocked, stopped still as Watson flailed against the train-track. They discovered his head a quarter-mile from the site of the accident, still bound by his derby hat. It was September 1, 1900 – just a few days before the “Great Galveston Storm.” His decapitated body was “mangled beyond recognition.”
Employees of Galveston Railroad Museum blame Watson for strange, unidentified noises. They even allege that he misplaces objects. (A common prank of poltergeists.) Is Watson a headless specter, still searching for his scalp? Or is he a mischievous apparition – entertaining travelers with his tricks?
The Woman at the WindowsillMore recently, a woman committed suicide off of the fourth-floor windowsill. The woman met her untimely end in the early 1980s, propelling herself out of the bathroom of an office. The office had been reserved for psychiatric patients, yet little else is known of her life. There are few accounts of the tragedy.
Visitors witness her specter roaming the restroom, or running nervously throughout the halls. Some visitors are surprised to her sitting on the windowsill, her legs dangling loosely off the ledge.
The History of the Galveston Railroad Museum The history of the Galveston Railroad Museum is much less grisly than the ghost lore. The south half of the structure was established in 1913 as the Santa Fe depot and railyard. An eleven-story tower and eight-story north wing were added in 1931, impressively expanding the site. These additions incorporated aspects of art deco architecture by which it’s known for today.
Mary Moody Northern and the Moody Foundation The Santa Fe Railroad closed in 1946, though its last train didn’t stop until three years later. In the 1960s, the Moody Family acquired the railroad. The precarious property was saved. For the next two decades, the Moody Family renovated and restored the establishment. By 1983, the Galveston Railroad Museum opened to the public.
Damage after Hurricane Ike The museum again faced an uncertain future in 2008. Hurricane Ike had badly damaged the structure, leading some to suspect that the attraction would be closed. Luckily, the Center for Transportation and Commerce successfully campaigned $100,000 for its recovery. Alongside $3 million from FEMA, the Galveston Railroad Museum was saved once more.
The Galveston Railroad Museum Today the Galveston Railroad Museum is owned and operated by the Center for Transportation and Commerce. It hosts one of the largest restored railroad collections in the Southwest.
The museum’s primary attraction is the “Ghosts of Travelers Past.” These life-size, plaster models imitate passengers waiting for arrivals and departures. They clutch timetables or telephones, dining menus, or memorabilia. They’re fashioned in thirties attire, supplying a historically immersive experience. Perhaps William Watson keeps company with these casts?
The caboose is another attraction, allowing visitors to travel by train throughout the establishment. It travels one mile up Harborside Drive before returning to the Galveston Railroad Museum. It’s a standing ride, so be sure to hang tight.
Visiting the Galveston Railroad Museum You can find the Galveston Railroad Museum at 25th and Strand in Galveston, Texas. Hours vary, so be sure to check if the Galveston Railroad Museum is open. Parking is free with museum admission. Let us know if you encounter any paranormal activity.
Often called the "the most haunted place in America," the Ashton Villa isn't for the faint of heart. With eclectic architecture and a two-story, iron-wrought veranda, this antebellum building is known for standing out. But if you think that the exterior of this Italianate estate is extraordinary, wait until you visit the inside. Inhabited by the poltergeists Bettie and Tilly Brown, the Ashton Villa is alive with paranormal activity. Bettie was a free-thinking, risk-taking, cigar-smoking hot-shot. Tilly was a Victorian divorcee who survived a brutal marriage. No "angels of the house," these women were rough and tough Texans. So, why do they stay at Ashton Villa? Quick Facts Ashton Villa was commissioned in 1861 by James Brown, the fifth richest man in Texas. Ashton Villa was used as a makeshift hospital during the Civil War. There are rumors that Tilly Brown murdered her husband. Ashton Villa doesn't offer tours, though it's available for private functions. Is Ashton Villa Haunted? Ashton Villa is no stranger to lingering souls. It even hosts sister specters, Bettie and Tilly Brown. Their father, James Brown, commissioned the mansion in 1861 to showcase their excessive wealth. Shocking the citizens of Galveston was just another bonus for James, the fifth richest man in Texas. Yet this hardware tycoon died in 1895, leaving the Ashton Villa to his eldest daughter, Bettie Brown.
The Ashton Villa outlived the family for three generations, surviving the Civil War, the Hurricane of 1900, and near demolition. It's no surprise that residual energy remains in a home filled with a haunted history. The Ghost of Miss Bettie Brown James Brown raised his daughters within an atmosphere of opulence, extravagantly indulged, profoundly privileged. Their wealthy upbringing even earned Bettie Brown the nickname, "The Texas Princess." Yet Bettie wasn't your run-of-the-mill upper-class icon. Known for her unconventional habits and happenings, Betty raced carriages down Broadway, smoked cigars in public, and traveled unchaperoned. She would host marvelous parties, letting kittens climb and clamor upon the trains of her gowns. Ever scandalous, Bettie shocked and stupefied Galveston society. Bettie brought her infamous eccentricities abroad, too, traveling solo throughout Egypt, India, Jerusalem, and Morocco. Despite Bettie's many suitors, she never married. She instead preferred to live an independent life – collecting invaluable relics from across the world, keeping company with her courters and kittens. Rumor has it that Bettie remains in the Ashton Villa today, where visitors sometimes see her standing in the Gold Room. Visitors catch her, too, atop the staircase. The truly superstitious allege that they can feel her phantom presence in the thick of the property. Residual energy is likewise attached to Bettie's collectibles. One tour guide witnessed the apparition of a blonde atop the second-floor landing. The woman, gowned in turquoise, held an intricately detailed fan – one of Bettie's beloved belongings. Bettie's chest of drawers is likewise haunted, locking and unlocking spontaneously… Though the key has been missing for years. Ceiling fans, too, turn themselves off and on, stirring and spinning around. Lucie Testa, Ashton Villa's former manager, noticed strange activity with one particular ceiling fan on February 18 of 1991 – the day of Bettie's birthday. Testa had hit the switch, yet the fan continued to oscillate. Perhaps that wouldn't have been strange if the mansion's alarm hadn't gone off earlier in the day – and inexplicably, at that. Legend has it that Bettie plays the piano, too, though some think that these melodies belong to quite a different musician… The Ghost of Tilly Brown Does the phantom piano belong to Mathilda Brown? Unlike her sister, Tilly married in 1884. Yet her marriage was ill-fated; her husband, Thomas Sweeney, was brutishly abusive, ruthlessly beating and belittling Tilly. Even their children would hide from Thomas upon his return from work, terrified and teary-eyed. Luckily, maids and family members testified to Thomas’ abuse, providing eye-witness accounts during Tilly’s divorce. Thomas was proven to be so barbaric that he was denied property rights during the legal proceedings. This was exceptionally uncommon at the time, as Victorian law often stipulated the husbands retained ownership of their estates during their divorce. The Court even denied Thomas custody of his children – another win for Tilly Brown. Skeptics think that Tilly, rather than Bettie, haunts the Ashton Villa. Their argument? Bettie was a free-thinking non-conformist who would rather travel abroad than stay inside. By comparison, Tilly was a homebody who had never left the country. During Tilly’s divorce, Ashton Villa provided respite and refuge. Is this “sweet, kind-hearted young girl” a lost soul? Or does she still seek sanctuary in this three-story, Italianate estate? Did Tilly Brown Murder Her Husband? There are rumors that Tilly caused the death of her ex-husband. Yet Thomas Sweeney died in the Treemont Hotel ten years after their divorce. His autopsy, too, lists “death by natural causes,” contradicting Tilly’s assistance. It’s unlikely that Tilly murdered Thomas Sweeney, though we’ll never know for sure. Who is the Phantom Piano Player? Once awakened by the slight sound of piano playing, the Ashton Villa's caretaker feared for the worse. He expected vandals, or worse, burglars. Yet whenever he approached the source of the music, he saw a vague, female apparition in nineteenth-century attire. The music and the musician disappeared upon second sight, and the caretaker was unable to ascertain her identity. Although some suspect that this was the Ghost of Bettie Brown, the Galveston Historical Foundation confesses that Bettie "never learned to play the piano in life." Bettie was, instead, "an accomplished painter whose works are on display throughout the house." On the other hand, Tilly "played both piano and violin." Do both sisters stalk this supernatural estate? Suitors of the Brown Sisters There is another paranormal phenomenon at the Ashton Villa: the disembodied voice of a disgruntled man. Visitors often overhear him arguing with an unseen woman. Some suspect that he may be the specter of Thomas Sweeney. Others allege that he’s one of Bettie’s many admirers. Does this furious fellow propose to Bettie Brown – begging her to be his bride? Abandon her independence for deadlock – er, wedlock? It would certainly attest to the steadfast nature of the supernatural. Civil War Specters Once a makeshift hospital during the Civil War, the Ashton Villa has seen its fair share of soldiers. It was used as both Confederate and Union Headquarters, though simultaneously, never at once. General Gordon Granger of the Union Army even announced the end of the war upon the villa’s veranda. Is that why phantom Confederates prowl the property, marching within and around the mansion? Other Notable Occupants Ashton Villa is known for more than these ghastly, grisly guards. President Ulysses S. Grant, for example, visited the Gold Room in 1880. Archives from the Ashton Villa prove that he was particularly fond of brandy and cigars. Visiting Ashton Villa The Brown Family retained Ashton Villa until 1926, upon which it became a Masonic meeting hall. By 1970, it faced demolition. Yet the Galveston Historical Society purchased the property, restoring it as a public museum. Sadly, tours are no longer available. The Ashton Villa is now available as a venue, though you'll have to book a pretty big function to venture in. Perhaps Bettie and Tilly pop into a few events, here and there? If you’d like to stop by the streetside, the Ashton Villa is located at 2328 Broadway Avenue J. Even a glimpse of this ghoulish property is worth your while.
Quick Facts
So, although he was a public physician, he began to conduct covert research. He would often immerse his patients in creepy conditions before recording their reactions. His patients were unaware of his devilish deeds, and the investigations were non-consensual. You'll have to visit the manor to uncover the extent of Mayfield’s macabre curiosities, of course.
Yet Mayfield's investigation came to an end in the early twentieth century. The Hurricane of 1900 ravaged his work – and with it, his sanity. The storm robbed Mayfield of more than his research, however... It massacred his fiancé and family.
Still, Mayfield couldn't afford to lose the plot entirely. He was a public physician, after all. Tasked with supervising the makeshift morgue of the Mayfield Manor, Mayfield continued his wicked inquiries.
As for his "test subjects" – between unwitting or wind-wasted patients, Mayfield had more than enough to work with.
Was Dr. Mayfield Real? Although Dr. Mayfield is fictitious, his legend makes for one spooky story. There are no accounts of Dr. Mayfield, however – or his heinous happenings.
Is the Mayfield Manor Haunted Anyway? Visitors allege that the Mayfield Manor is nevertheless haunted. Yet Joyce McLean, owner of the attraction, contends that it isn’t. In one interview, McLean reported that Mayfield Manor “occasionally has patrons come in who insist they have read stories and seen testimonials about the attraction and are certain the attraction is actually the original house from 1900, rebuilt inside the building.”
Yet Mclean explains, “obviously it is not, but try as we do to convince them, they are still certain our ghosts are real.”
The superstitious can keep their fingers crossed: “maybe it’s a residual ghost attached to those things that lurk inside Haunted Mayfield Manor,” McLean offers. There’s no sign of it yet, though McLean keeps her eyes peeled.
Was The Mayfield Manor Used as a Morgue? The house's history is vague or otherwise uncertain, making it difficult to attest to the house's happenings. The Mayfield Manor resides in the 1885 Butter owe Building, which did, in fact, operate as a temporary morgue for the Hurricane of 1900. The Mayfield Manor isn't unique for that, though: most of the buildings within the area housed the dead.
Visiting the Mayfield Manor Looking to spook yourself out? The Mayfield Manor is located on the Strand at 23rd Street! Visitors can wander throughout the twelve-room attraction, guided by the “Mad” Dr. Mayfield. Watch out, though! He may require another research subject.
The Mayfield Manor is open year-round, though hours vary. Admission is available at $10.
Shared from THE WORLD'S BEST GHOST TOURSIf you're looking for a spooky time on a Ghost Tour, you're looking for Ghost City Tours. Widely regarded as the best Ghost Tours you can take, our Tours take you to the most haunted locations in your favorite haunted cities.
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- The Mayfield Manor is a yearlong haunted house attraction in Galveston, Texas.
- The Mayfield Manor was designed by Leonard Pickel, who worked for Universal Studios, the Playboy Mansion, and Martha Stewart.
- Dr. Horace Mayfield allegedly experimented on unwitting patients within the Mayfield Manor.
- The Mayfield Manor was once a makeshift morgue.
So, although he was a public physician, he began to conduct covert research. He would often immerse his patients in creepy conditions before recording their reactions. His patients were unaware of his devilish deeds, and the investigations were non-consensual. You'll have to visit the manor to uncover the extent of Mayfield’s macabre curiosities, of course.
Yet Mayfield's investigation came to an end in the early twentieth century. The Hurricane of 1900 ravaged his work – and with it, his sanity. The storm robbed Mayfield of more than his research, however... It massacred his fiancé and family.
Still, Mayfield couldn't afford to lose the plot entirely. He was a public physician, after all. Tasked with supervising the makeshift morgue of the Mayfield Manor, Mayfield continued his wicked inquiries.
As for his "test subjects" – between unwitting or wind-wasted patients, Mayfield had more than enough to work with.
Was Dr. Mayfield Real? Although Dr. Mayfield is fictitious, his legend makes for one spooky story. There are no accounts of Dr. Mayfield, however – or his heinous happenings.
Is the Mayfield Manor Haunted Anyway? Visitors allege that the Mayfield Manor is nevertheless haunted. Yet Joyce McLean, owner of the attraction, contends that it isn’t. In one interview, McLean reported that Mayfield Manor “occasionally has patrons come in who insist they have read stories and seen testimonials about the attraction and are certain the attraction is actually the original house from 1900, rebuilt inside the building.”
Yet Mclean explains, “obviously it is not, but try as we do to convince them, they are still certain our ghosts are real.”
The superstitious can keep their fingers crossed: “maybe it’s a residual ghost attached to those things that lurk inside Haunted Mayfield Manor,” McLean offers. There’s no sign of it yet, though McLean keeps her eyes peeled.
Was The Mayfield Manor Used as a Morgue? The house's history is vague or otherwise uncertain, making it difficult to attest to the house's happenings. The Mayfield Manor resides in the 1885 Butter owe Building, which did, in fact, operate as a temporary morgue for the Hurricane of 1900. The Mayfield Manor isn't unique for that, though: most of the buildings within the area housed the dead.
Visiting the Mayfield Manor Looking to spook yourself out? The Mayfield Manor is located on the Strand at 23rd Street! Visitors can wander throughout the twelve-room attraction, guided by the “Mad” Dr. Mayfield. Watch out, though! He may require another research subject.
The Mayfield Manor is open year-round, though hours vary. Admission is available at $10.
Shared from THE WORLD'S BEST GHOST TOURSIf you're looking for a spooky time on a Ghost Tour, you're looking for Ghost City Tours. Widely regarded as the best Ghost Tours you can take, our Tours take you to the most haunted locations in your favorite haunted cities.
Let's get you on a Ghost Tour you won't soon forget!
First, click the button below to view the cities in which Ghost City Tours offers our haunted tours.
VIEW ALL OF OUR LOCATIONS
The Overall Plumber
(281) 668-8055
theoverallplumber.com
(281) 668-8055
theoverallplumber.com
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