Haints and Spooks… Things that might go bump in the night…

So Halloween is about here, lets talk about creepy.  Haunted places, graveyards, and all that jazz.  I’ve had my fair share of spooky experiences.  Whether there are actually ghosts or not, as in spectral spirits that walk among the living, or merely residual energy… or just a trick of the mind, everyone’s experienced something weird in their lifetime.

I’ll hit on graveyards first.  My family has always been big on visiting cemeteries.  Anywhere we went on holiday, if there was a cemetery we went.  That and caves because that was my thing.  I even have toured cemeteries on my own now that I’m older.  99% of all the cemeteries I went to were either quite lovely or just calm and quiet.

37282_437222926182_5972640_n-copy-horzDid a photo shoot in one of the local cemeteries back when I was about nineteen.  The only photo I have left though, is not a very good one (because of the composition – like the guy on the left is missing some of his feet and there’s that big building in the back), but it’s the only one I kept.  The girls were snarky and unimaginative and just plain not fun and turned the entire affair sour.  These guys however know how to play, but theatre is in their blood, so they were the only highlight.

And every time we visit Natchez, we go to the old city cemetery.  The older section and this one particular spot where a mausoleum is sitting on top of a hill with the best view of the Mississippi River.  This second photo, The Sister took of me at the base of that hill.  Why?  Because the grave that I’m standing next to was also named Sarah, so why not?

We also visit because there’s some gorgeous nature to see in some cemeteries.  These shots were actually all taken at the same one here in my town.  They have a duck pond near the back and my parents have been going there on dates since they were at uni.  They’re like the less ghoulish versions of Morticia and Gomez Addams.  Needless to say, I pretty much grew up in this particular cemetery, as our parents would take us there for a special outing.  We’d feed the ducks, admire the nature, and read up on the headstones.  They also taught us how to be respectful and honourable in a cemetery.  Don’t stand on the dead.  Don’t touch their headstones.  Don’t run and shout.

Then there’s the interesting things one will find in a cemetery.  All sorts of great carvings and artwork, as well as seeing celebrities or that someone made it all the way from (insert foreign country here) to Mississippi, or which ever place.

The first and third photo’s are from the Natchez City Cemetery.  The first is near the hill with the mausoleum.  She was born in Germany and came to Natchez before her death in 1827.  The third is the entrance to the Jewish section pretty much smack dab in the middle of the cemetery and my sister reading the inscription.  The middle one is from The Sister & I’s trip to Baltimore some years ago.  Our friend made us walk about a million city blocks in the heat to get there.  They thought I was a sissy, but at the end of it they were just as dead tired as I was.  But, It was worth it because it was a really lovely, though extremely crowded cemetery.  I mean it.  The church is built off the ground and there are gates with opaque glass in between the iron and gates, but if you peek through there’s just a mass of headstones in there.  They were just shoving the dead in every little space until they finally closed it and the church.  There’s barely a spot in there without a body, especially for such a small burial ground.  And plus, we’re pretty big fans of Poe, so it was worth seeing his memorial stone (which is pictured), and his real headstone further back in the cemetery.

The last three are from various cemeteries in my town.  The first is from a rather forlorn memorial garden (they generally have the flat headstones) near the Industrial Park.  I have no idea why this womans grave had a jumble of fake flowers thrown on it, but you don’t touch that stuff man.  You don’t fix it.  You just notice, and perhaps take a photo.  The second is from the Jewish cemetery here in town, with the headstone or Matzeivah written in Hebrew on this back side.  (If you enter the Jewish section of a cemetery at least place a rock by the gate to show respect, unless you really want to place one near every headstone you view). The third is from the oldest cemetery, which is where I had the photoshoot all those years ago.  I just really liked how the headstone looked like a scroll of parchment with fancy script and those flowers.  It didn’t look this way, I edited it and coloured the flower reds in my photo.

However, I have been to two cemeteries that were beyond creepsville.  The first was at the first stop on the Natchez trace, from Natchez, if you take the second exit, which is for Emerald Mound (not the actual first exit that is Liberty Road inside Natchez).  There’s just a half circle drive with a big bulletin board with information about the Trace.  But near it, there is also a sign for a cemetery up the hill and a little foot-trodden path.  Up the hill, just inside the shelter of the woods is a small family plot, perhaps 5 or 6 feet square.  And old Victorian age scrollwork iron fence around it, and no gate.  There are three above ground cement tombs there.  You could step inside, but you shouldn’t, because you aren’t welcome to.  Either because of the dead residing there, or the living who are putting hoodoo on the graves.  When we went there were tiny pieces of furniture made twisted into shape using vines.  A bed and a chair.  Some might think, “Oh how sweet that the living care enough to do something sweet like this.”  But it wasn’t sweet.  It was menacing.  They felt wrong.  Even if you don’t believe in hoodoo or juju or anything, if you don’t rationalize, you’d just get the feeling that someone was watching you or you weren’t wanted.  It’s something you should heed.

The other was a historic cemetery in Wilmington, NC.  It was my big idea to visit it.  And why not, I’ve been to loads of historic cemeteries and they all felt fine.  Of course, I’m not into the business of convincing people one way or the other about things, I just tell it like it is for me.  One can take it or leave it.  But, we kept feeling attacked and confused, and we kept getting separated.  Like some really bad horror film.  Also, the pictures we took, we did examine them and kept none of them.  Not the creepy shit we captured in them, like the horrible toad like creature that was black and red and about 3 feet high sitting on a tombstone staring straight at me.  Of which I didn’t see in real life, just in the photos.  Though, my intuition at the moment told me not to go that way.  Nor the big massive black thing with glaring eyes in the Irish prison box.  Some burial tomb with an Irish name, but really was just a stone room with an iron gate on the front like a prison, nothing pretty, and was padlocked shut, unlike other tombs.  It felt wrong there, and yet I felt this strange pull to take a photo.

Honestly the entire affair was the most unsettling experience of my life.  It was like a terrible nightmare that just wouldn’t end.  It may look like a pretty cemetery, but it’s tainted.  I’m not sure if people have done too much hoodoo there, because that stuff certainly was there.  Or if the ground had too much evil energy put into it before it was a cemetery… was it even ever consecrated?  And we’re pretty certain that this one tree in there had a lot of people swinging from it in times past.

That day was so bad that I don’t just go to cemeteries anymore.  I do go, but not for pleasure, just funerals.  And thank the gods that our California Mom was buried in a newer memorial garden and not Creepsville in Wilmington.  And I’ve been back to our local one with the duck pond for a funeral and once just because with The Sister.  But, now I know that people can create evil/bad energies (which I did know); but that cemeteries aren’t excluded from this.


But we’ll move onto Creepy/Haunted Places

I’ll just let you know that I take odd pictures.  Most people want to take a picture of the facade of a place.  I generally just choose a detail.  You’ll see.  We’ll start of early, since my first pictures is from when I’m about five, or perhaps six.

Yes, that’s me.  I’m thinking it’s hotter than the sun and wishing that we were not on Ship Island.  I have mentioned it before in other posts, but I can’t stress this enough.  It’s just a spit of land off the coast of Gulfport, Mississippi; one the many barrier islands.  There are no tree’s.  It’s very inhospitable.  Also, the barrier islands keep the water between them and the coastline murky and gross, but on the other side the water is lovely.  Anyway, it’s really hot.  The only good think about it, in my opinion, is that brick wall you see behind me.  It’s the somewhat circular Fort Massachusetts.  Built for the War of 1812, but not completed until the Civil War.  The Union took control and housed Confederate POWs there.

So, it’s cool and shady inside.  It’s also empty of any physical features like old cannons or cannon shot and the like.  But, it’s not empty.  It’s quite full of either corporeal spirits or just residual energy.  But, I was never scared.  The feeling I always got was that there were quite a lot of people looking at me throughout the entire fort.  About 20 or so.  I always felt they were men and that they realized that I was there and were cool with it.  Almost like it was a bright bit of their existence.  Like, “Aww, a little kid!”.  But, they also seemed sad.  I have no idea if they were the POWs or the Union soldiers or both.  I didn’t even really understand what forts were when I was a kid, nor which war they would have been attached to.  I also got the impression that some of the men in there could also sense the older (alive) men walking around in there, but they didn’t much care either way about them, and some didn’t care for them at all.

New Orleans.  Really, I don’t think there is a place in New Orleans that isn’t haunted.  But for the most part, the city doesn’t have a bad feeling or vibe.  It feels dirty and old.  It feels like a lot of shit went down there (and it did between slave markets, Indigenous uprisings, cholera epidemics, pirates, a major war, etc).  Yet, while it feels seedy, in the here and now as well as in the ethereal past, it doesn’t feel evil or creepy.  Some individual buildings seem creepy, but the city, overall, feels laid back; spiritual things included for the most part.  I’ve not ventured into the cemeteries, however.  They do seem creepy, and hoodoo is very much alive in New Orleans, and I think that has tainted the cemeteries.

OK, not all hoodoo is bad.  You can call it voodoo, but that’s really a religion.  Hoodoo is just a better general term for the act of conjurin’ or laying roots or any other type of magic like that.  Sometimes it’s not bad.  Sometimes people use it to ask the dead questions or to simply give them offerings of remembrance, or for protection.  But, most of the time I have found that humans are bitches and they use bad and negative intentions.  Things to make the dead suffer, make the living suffer, binding people, doing harm.  Lots of things like this goes down in cemeteries and whether you believe in the magic or not, you can’t deny you haven’t felt bad intentions before.  It’s the pretty girl who says your new hair cut looks nice, but you can feel that her intention is one of mockery and she’s being a bitch.  You can feel that energy.  That type of thing; that energy, that’s meant for someone else might not affect you… by what take the chance, I say?  So just stay away from it and don’t touch odd things in cemeteries.  You just never know.

These are good examples of odd photos.  I didn’t take a photo of the house itself, just these elements.  So, Charleston, South Carolina.  Ugh, Charleston, man.  That is one creepy, super mega haunted city.  It was about equal to that cemetery in Wilmington.  That city is kind of spooky, but it’s got nothing on Charleston.  I know people absolutely RAVE about how wonderful it is.  But, umm… it’s just seething with old negative energies and it also feels exceedingly crowded.  I just felt like there were a million dark slithery masses of gross goo energy leering at me.  From house windows, from sidewalks, from underneath the jail, from the slave market.  I honestly felt like I could see rivers of blood on the streets in my mind’s eye.  I’d not even heard anything about Charleston before I went.  Nothing about it being haunted or spooky or creepy or anything.  I was thinking it would be nice and lovely.  You can imagine my surprise in an unadvanced warning.

I know that slavery is horrible and I would think that there might be residual energy there, since it was such a negative thing.  Perhaps shame, or sadness.  Fear or hatred or something.  But the slave market in Natchez and in New Orleans and very subdued.  Almost like nothing had actually happened there.  There isn’t really anything to feel, negative or otherwise.  But the energy coming off the one in Charleston is dark and oppressive.  Dirty and Gross.  Just terrible.  It made me want to vomit.  Things never make me want to vomit.  And all we did was drive by it!  I’ve actually been to the other one’s I’ve mentioned in Natchez and New Orleans.  Stood on the ground, been there.  It was pretty OK.  Almost like it’s been washed clean by something or some sort of, I don’t know… energy and whatever that cleanses spaces?

The whole fucking city man.  You couldn’t escape the oppressive darkness and just super creepsville.  Not even where we stayed, though it wasn’t entirely bad, but all the buildings and the street and the trees around it were creepy.  And don’t even get me started on the plantations out by the Ashley River.  Good Lord.  We went to Drayton Hall.  That place is nightmare fuel, simply by the way it feels.  We had to leave the property and be allowed to come back in because it made us so ill.  I don’t go places that make me feel ill.  People actually pay big bucks and get on a long waiting lists to get married there?!?

It was actually a really bad experience, like the Wilmington Cemetery and I’m still not prepared to discuss it.  I mean it was bad.  I will say that in the restrooms a very, very strange thing happened.  We went to the restroom after a talk (and before we left to come back again) and I am in a stall and I hear a woman sobbing and speaking softly in a language I do not know.  I come out and all the stalls are empty, like they’re not locked and my sister is not in there.  I can’t make out which stall it’s coming from, but I’m still hearing it.  It’s not weird valves or flushes from the mens room, it is a female voice speaking in some language that is not Native American, an Asian language, German, Russian, etc.  I know a lot of languages by sound, but I couldn’t pin point this one.  And she’s still sobbing.  I gently push open the first stall next to mine.  There’s no one there and I still hear the noises, but they don’t sound like they’re coming from right here.  I slowly move up to the next one, and gently push it open.  There’s no one there, but everything stops with a gasp.  I just leave.

When we are finished will hellsville and we’re leaving, we visit the toilets again.  Again, I find myself alone, and again a female is sobbing and speaking in a language I don’t know.  I finish and as I walk by the last stall (which all the stall doors are open this time, not simply unlatched and open a crack), the sobbing and talking stop and the female voice screams, does more speaking, laughs and that toilet flushes and is overflowing.  I ran out and never looked back.  And while that was weird, it wasn’t even really creepy or spooky and didn’t feel bad.  She felt sad and distraught and then, well, not really anymore.  No, no, everything else was nightmare fuel and I just can’t.

The Mountains.  There’s lots of creepiness or haunting feelings in the Appalachians.  We’ve gone to places that have a little bit of energy or a lot, generally good.  And we’ve been to places that just feel strange, like I can’t describe the feeling that is there.  I suppose like a tiger or an alligator.  You should respect that animal, but know that it’s dangerous.  That’s the best way that I can describe the feeling of a place.  If you’re cool and respectful, it’s all good, but it still has a lot of feeling, though not evil.  I suppose the way people say Stone Henge or other monolithic structures of that sort feel.  Like there’s great power there, or a lot to feel, but not really bad or good?  That’s sort of how most of the Appalachians, at least in Tennessee and North Carolina feel.  The shot above is of the Appalachian Trail at New Found Gap, which is located between Gatlinburg, TN and Cherokee, NC.  It felt that way.  It also had a steady but moving energy about it.  But it didn’t feel like it was filled with ghosts that continually walk it, but that the energy left by those long ago was still there; somehow a part of it.  It was eerie, but also not in a bad way.

On the opposite end of New Found Gap is another place.  The entrance has that huge tower type thing that was built in the 30’s by the WPA, and the trail is next to it and off to the right of it are the restrooms.  This is where everyone congregates.  Then there’s the parking lot and a little walkway below that and from the restrooms to halfway it’s full of people… then the rest of the way is generally always empty.  At the very end is that first photo.  The little walkway sort of makes a circular area and those steps lead back up to the parking lot.  It’s also cooler on this end (halfway on the walkway to here).  In springtime, in summer, in autumn, and winter.  That whole section just feels completely different.  And if you look over the low wall, that second photo is what you’ll see.  That was taken in late autumn, but it always looks like that.  Always.  I took a photo in 2000 of that space and then again in 2009 and it looked exactly the same.  Like nothing had changed and it was damp looking with bare branches and autumn leaf debris.  o_0

Anyways, the point is that it feels hauntingly eerie, yet nice at the same time.  Like it’s an area that has great power or something and if you’re cool and don’t disrespect it, it’s all good.  It’s hard to explain.  But it is strange that people pretty much stop halfway and just turn around and go back.  Very few people I have ever seen go past the middle point on that walkway.  Perhaps they are not supposed to?  I’ve been there every year since 198o, when I was born.  Obviously I don’t remember until I was age four.  So, 1984 until 1998, then 2000 and 2001 and then again in 2009.  The first set of years sometimes we went twice during a year.  We always stopped at New Found Gap.  Sometimes it took dad to long at the populated and sweltering area, that I had time to watch people.  A lot of times it looked like they had passed a line, didn’t realize what happened (whatever it was that did happen) and they quickly went back the other way.  Some people would wander as far as the circular area by the stone steps and then have the same look about them, like they weren’t sure where they were or something and would go back towards the crowds.

Greenbriar Restaurant in Gatlinburg.  I left the table to go to the bathroom.  I was probably 14.  I passed the stairs and thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, looked again and nothing up there.  Came back out of the bathroom, passed the stairs and had the same experience, so I looked and this time I saw a teenage girl in a cream nightdress with long brown hair strung up at the top of the stairs.  As in hung by the neck until dead and she was looking at me.  Saw it for probably a second or two.  Then there was nothing there, but it still felt like I was being watched.  I walked away few paces, came back, still nothing visible, but the feeling of being watched was still there.  Left and went back to the table.  While dad’s paying the bill at the register, the older woman ringing us up was telling us about the history and said so and so man’s daughter hung her self from the top of the stairs.  We didn’t know anything about this restaurant and had never heard about it until this trip.  And when it was referenced, it was only said that it was an old log cabin type building and they had great food.  Nothing about it being haunted or people had died there.



Natchez, Mississippi.  It’s a lot like New Orleans just smaller.  It’s old, it was a dirty river port town with scoundrels and pirates and the like.  It feels haunted everywhere, and while this building or that patch of land feels creepy wrong, for the most part it’s pretty subdued and not very scary overall.  So, even though you can’t throw a stone in that town without hitting a weird haunting energy, there aren’t that many places that stand out.

Jefferson College is technically in the tiny community of Washington just north of Natchez.  Washington used to be the capital of Mississippi for a small time and was touted as the Versailles of the New France hundreds of years ago.  Apparently they thought it was really, really freaking pretty?  Anyways, Jefferson College was a military college to train up boys for service.  It opened in 1811, a year before the War of 1812 started.  It changed into a regular college (non military) sometime in the early 20th century as was basically a high school until it closed in 1964.  It doesn’t feel bad, but it does feel haunted; a little bit spooky in some places on the property, especially in the woods.

The second photo is The Old River.  Rivers change courses and the Mississippi is no exception.  This is where it used to flow, so they call it The Old River.  Apparently there’s good fishing there.  The Sister and I found it spooky.  Like ancient Earth spirits resided there and we were trespassing.  You’ll see a figure in the photo, it’s just my dad, it’s not a ghost or anything.

The Windsor Ruins are the third picture.  They are outside of Port Gibson which is about 30 (perhaps 45) minutes north of Natchez, but it’s included in Natchez tourism because it’s so close.  The Union passed it by during the Civil War, but in the 1880s or 1890s, the house caught fire during a dinner party.  It’s said the hostess picked up her plate (and possibly her drink) and bid her guests do the same, and they went out on the lawn to finish dinner and watch that mother burn.

It’s not the ruins, but more the land in this case.  I can’t tell you why, and I suppose no one can really tell you the whyfors of what they experience or feel, but the land is creepy.  It is unwelcoming.  It’s just not nice.  The ruins themselves just feel eerily haunting, but not in a good or bad way, but the land.  Umm… I don’t even know.

I do not have a photo of it, but we have been to Kings Tavern a lot.  We went because of two reasons.  We’d heard our entire lives that it was haunted (but dad didn’t approve of taking us out to eat in Natchez, since we could just eat grandma’s food, so he never took us), and because it was the oldest building in Natchez.  The Sister and I couldn’t go until we were older and then we always went.  Just to have some bread and water just to be there.  It’s creepy, but also kind of in a fun way, but I wouldn’t stay the night, no matter what you paid me.  So, it has new owners now and it’s all bright and fresh and like Pottery Barn threw up in there.  I’ve just seen photo’s online.  But it used to be pretty original.  And very dark and gloomy with dark wood tables and dark chairs that look like they belong in a castle.  But you could go through out the entire building (except the kitchen, but that makes sense).

So you would enter at the street level and that was the main dining area.  But this was the stables area originally and you have to climb steps outside to get to the yard and the front porch and door, but that was when it was a tavern 200 and more years ago.  So, you ate in the stables.  You could go to the main floor which had special dining rooms that were never in use while we visited and the kitchen.  Then up more steps were a landing with a bathroom off to one side and a bedroom past it.  They used to say that you could stay the night, for a price and if you made it through the night, they’d give you breakfast.  People did take them up on the offer, but they’d come to work the next day and the front door would be unlocked and the people gone.  Fled in the night.

So, turning back on itself off those last set of stairs is a little walkway towards a window and then a hatch in the low ceiling to the attic.  It wasn’t locked during those first few visits and you could tell they stored beer up there, right at the little door.  But we wanted to check every nook at cranny.  We really didn’t feel good going towards that window and being near that little open door.  I did stick my head in there to look around but it was very dark, though a little moonlight (I suppose) was getting in somehow, because you could make out the structure… sort of.  But as soon as I put my head in there I got the most massive headache.  It was pretty bad.  Hurt so much I couldn’t really move quickly to get my head out of there as fast I wanted to.  The feeling pretty much vanished as soon as I got my head out, though it was a teeny tiny baby headache for a few minutes more, fading the entire time.  Later they padlocked the door.

We only ever heard that it was really, really, really old and really, really, really haunted.  I even saw a bit about it on Unsolved Mysteries back in the 80s.  They’d talk about weird things happening in the bar next door (which that building is not as old) and in the Tavern itself.  All we ever heard was that Madeline haunted the place, or that the picture on the telly would slowly turn in a clock-wise motion, or that a man in a top hat was sometimes seen.  Like someone from the 1890s or the 1910’s or something.  So, what we heard about we never really experienced.  We experienced other things.

After going upstairs on three separate occasions, which two check the headache/attic thing (yep both times) and one time bringing a friend up there, we asked the owners about hauntings there.  They mentioned everything we’d heard before and they mentioned that the attic was let out to the poorest travelers, so low-class accommodations.  One time, it’s reported that a woman had a baby up there and it was crying and some man didn’t like it, so he walked over, grabbed the baby from her and slammed it’s head into the wall, killing it instantly.  Now that’s some weird, spooky shit.  Have the sensation of my skull splitting open (like I’m talking BAD headache), but only when my head was inside the attic, to learn a death involving a crushed skull happened up there.

Another time, on the main floor, one of the dining rooms didn’t have tables in it anymore, it was just wide open, with a few straight back seating chairs (not dining chairs) and a non eating table or two pushed against the walls.  So, The Sister and I went in.  We’re looking around.  Just admiring the architecture, and I just really want to look out this one window all of a sudden.  Like I have this urge to go over there.  I would look out onto the side yard and I’m thinking, “OK, cool, maybe I can see what that looks like.”  And then I’m maybe three feet from the window and in my mind’s eye I see a man outside the window with this crazy look on his face.  I can only see his head and shoulders.  He’s wearing the whole high collar, scarf, and top hat of the 1830s or 1840s (the Romantique Era), NOT the late 1800s/early 1900s.  And I do NOT want to go any closer to that window.  The person I was seeing really wanted me to get close to that window.  So, I just stopped and walked towards the exit of the room to the hallway.  Minutes later, The Sister is out in the hall and we’re finished each others sentences.

“I just had a…”

“weird thing”


“at the window” <– together

“man with silk scarf thing”

“and top hat”

“and crazy face” <– together

“wanting me”

“to get closer” <– together

“ugh.. uh uh, no.”  <– together

We’d both had the same experience, but didn’t know it at the time.  We’d both felt a strong pull to go to towards the same window.  Then saw the same crazy man.  We discussed more later after we had left and were well away from the tavern.  She didn’t know the time period, but said, “Great Expectations”.  Same thing – same time period.  It was the same window in the corner on the right wall farthest from the door, looking out on the side/back yard.  We felt the pull immediately upon looking at the window and “saw” him when we were three feet away from the window.  The man that everyone describes is tall and pretty much dressed like high society in black with a white shirt and maybe (?) he has a monocle.  Very turn of the 20th century and always seeming calm and rather bored and generally seen beside the bar in the tavern (lower level – stables).  That’s a sixty year difference in fashion styles (possibly seventy), & this guy wasn’t tall and wasn’t calm and kind of bored, nor seen by the bar, nor wearing a black dress jacket of stark white dress shirt.

Let’s get a better idea here.  No, we did not see The Mad Hatter, but he is crazy.  Anyways, if you’ll notice there is a big difference in these fashions.  Obviously the mad hatter on the left is mad and a bit over exaggerated, but that is Romantique era fashion.  The high, open collar, the silk scarf wrapped around, but the thing we saw didn’t have it in a bow, more like an ascot, like a big knot and tucked into the shirt or coat.  The top hat is taller (but this is over exaggerated), but it’s still not like the turn of the century top hat on the right.  The coat would fit the same for the Romatique era as with the mad hatter, less streamlined than the guy on the right.  So make everything blue and black, dark brown hair (not frizzy), not pasty panstick make-up face.  Crazy, learing face tilted to the left, more ascot than bow and tannish cream shirt, not pink and Bam!  You’ve got what we saw that night.

Take the man on the right and put his legs together more and make him look a bit more bored and apparently that’s what everyone else is seeing at Kings Tavern.


OK, I’ll move onto my last place.  Fort McHenry in Baltimore.  See?  This was my take-away shot from a famous fort.  This historic glass was on the backside of a building, which was practically butted up against a rampart.  I did take another.  The fort is shaped like a star and the entire there are walls to about eye level and then 3″ tufts of earth and grass.  It looked like faerieville to me and I took a picture of this, but I can’t find it.  You’d never know I was at a fort.  Anyways.  Cool enough fort.  Saw action in the War of 1812.  It felt alright… except for the prison, which they kept wanting to shove you into one of the cells and close the door so you could know what it was like.  Only from outside on the paving slates looking into the door you could feel that those cells weren’t empty.  Some of the inmates (or their energies) were not happy and others were just sad.

The other thing was that on the other side of the fort (those cells were near the entrance), there was a hill and on either side a set of stairs going down into the earth.  Ammunitions storage?  Food storage?  People storage?  I don’t know, it didn’t say.  But, if you went down the flight of stairs (about 15 and 20 down), you’d hit a stone wall and to your right (on the left side entrance – it was the left on the ride side entrance) there was a curved doorway in the stone with an iron gate that was padlocked.  And you could look in through the bars and see that it tunneled back towards the left and around to the right, apparently making a circle to meet the other side and doorways leading to a room or two on the sides of that hallway tunnel.

Well, when I was down there I heard people talking in the tunnel.  Like they were just around the bend where I couldn’t see them.  Men, maybe 3 – 5.  Kind of in hushed whispers like they were planning something.  “Hello?”  It stopped.  Then started up again a few seconds later.  “Hello?” I called into the tunnel again.  Quiet.  Ten seconds later, it started up again.  OK, perhaps it’s people on the other side of the tunnel at the bottom of the stairs like where I am and they’re talking and their voices are carrying.  So I ascend my set of steps and walk over there.  The Sister and our friend were waiting outside the other flight of steps.  “Were y’all just down there?”  “Nope.”  “Was anybody down there and they just came up?”  “No.  No one’s been here but us.  We did hear you call hello, though.  That was you wasn’t it?”  “Yes.  So were y’all talking.”  “No, your sister just got here and I was taking pictures.”  “OK.  stay right here, don’t go down there, don’t talk.  I want to test something.”

I went back down and once I was at the gate, those same people were talking in hushed whispers.  The Sister and our friend said they weren’t talking and no one came that way or went down the stairs.  Sure it could be people who work for the fort, as in living people who work there currently, but why have a work meeting in a creepy underground, no sunlight tunnel passage and padlock yourselves in.  Generally when I’m at a museum or historic place and workers are having a meeting or working, they don’t lock themselves in.  It might say no admittance, and the chain is off or the door is slightly open, because they’re in there working.  And I know my sister and our friend; they’re not liars and they’re not jokesters.  I believe them.  Oh yeah, the kicker.  I went down the other flight of steps and couldn’t hear them.  But when I went back to the other side I could still hear them.  So, apparently only on the left side?  So, I’m gonna go ahead and say that some Americans were down there still plotting their next defense move against the British out in the harbour for their fort during the War of 1812.  Seems legit.


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