The hotel was built by Henry Lambert and his family in 1872 after Henry’s job as President Lincoln’s White House Chef abruptly ended with the president’s assassination. Henry went west to search for gold, but was waylaid by a wealthy Land Baron in New Mexico. He worked as a private chef to the baron for a few years while he built his own restaurant and saloon. His watering hole was so popular that he added 30 rooms to it and the Lambert Inn was born. The family was proud of the establishment, and by 1880, was considered one of the most gracious hotels west of the Mississippi.

The hotel was so popular that anyone who was taking the Santa Fe Trail spent time here. Take a look at the registry book and you will see the names of everyone who was anyone in the old west. Jesse James, using the alias RH Howard, always stayed in room 14. Wyatt Earp and his family stayed there for three days while traveling to Tombstone. Lew Wallace wrote part of the novel BEN HUR there and popular western novelist Zane Grey wrote all of FIGHTING CARAVANS in the hotel. Buffalo Bill not only met Annie Oakley here, but when they left to start their Wild West Show, they took an entire Native American village from the Cimarron area with them. Billy The Kid, Kit Carson, Bat Masterson, Doc Holliday and ironically, the man who would later shoot and kill Jesse James, Robert Ford, all drank, slept, and were entertained at the St. James.

With so many different characters converging at a time when law enforcement was defined by who had the quicker draw, it is no wonder that in the hotel’s history there have been at least 26 deaths in the saloon, 43 rooms, and restaurant. In 1901, the 400 bullet holes in the roof were repaired. If you look up at the beautiful tin ceiling of the dining room, you can still see 22 bullet holes preserved by the hotel’s current proprietors. Henry had the forethought to build a 3 foot layer of wood between the first and second floors, preventing anyone upstairs getting accidentally shot. With so much death and anger, it is not surprising that there are, at last psychic count, three ghosts inhabiting the hotel. The ghosts’ personalities range from kind and caring to angry and destructive. This does not include the spirits of past patrons that still come to visit the hotel.

The most violent and prevalent ghost is that of a T. J. Wright who haunts room 18, where he was shot to death. It seems that Wright had just won the hotel in a poker game, but was never able to collect his winnings because as he was walking down the hall towards his room, he was shot in the back. Wright stumbled into his room, room 18, and slowly bled to death. The room is the epicenter of some physically violent episodes. Some of the natives of Cimarron say that there have been mysterious deaths linked with those that have entered the room, but that is just rumors. Whether rumor, truth, or a little bit of both, the room is closed off to everyone today.

For some firsthand experience, stay in room 17, the Mary Lambert room of the hotel. Mary was Henry’s wife and took over the hotel’s keeping after her husband’s death in 1913. It seems she has yet to stop, though she herself died in the hotel in December of 1926. She seems to be the protector of the hotel, watching out for it and everyone who stays. The signs that you have met Mary include a cloying floral scent in and outside of her room; tapping on the window of her room if it is left open, only to stop when someone closes it; and some have even witnessed a transparent figure walking the halls.

A spirit that haunts the entire hotel is a very short old man called “little imp”. He likes to play tricks of the employees by taking things and putting them in places where they absolutely do not belong. One story claims that he once stuck a knife in the floor between the two owners of the hotel. His presence seems to be that of the mischievous sort, laughing at those who are surprised or frustrated by his actions.

There are also many occurrences at the hotel that are the product of the many spirits that are just passing through. There are cold spots, the scent of cigar smoke permeates the second floor in the no smoking building, items falling, electronics behave strangely or stop working completely, feelings of being watched, lights turn on by themselves, and the eeriest of all, some have seen the apparitions of cowboys sitting in the saloon or playing cards upstairs.

Today, the hotel is and elegant reminder of the Wild West heyday, there are no phones, radios, or televisions in the original section of the hotel. The current owners annexed the original building with a modern set of rooms with every convenience, but that has not prevented it from some strange happenings. Those who stay in the newest part of the hotel have complained about doors opening and closing by themselves as well as hearing disembodied voices. Visiting the St. James Hotel, you will find crystal chandeliers, brocade wallpaper and velvet draperies if you stay the night, perhaps even a haunt or two.

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Edward Teach is thought to have been an educated Englishman, though debate will always rage over his actual origins (and even his last name—Teach, Thatch, Tash?). What is known of Edward Teach is that while he generally tolerated people who cooperated with him, he was a fearsome pirate figure during the two years he ruled the southeastern coast of what would eventually become the United States. Teach was interested in loot, not vengeance, not bloodshed. He was just in it for the money. One of Blackbeard’s best-remembered adventures was the blockade of Charleston harbor when his men desperately needed medicine. Blackbeard held a few people (a councilman and his young son among them) for ransom until a fully equipped medicine chest was delivered.

But beyond the blockade and the parties Blackbeard and his men participated in around the Carolina coast, Blackbeard is most well remembered for his stunning appearance. Tall and with long dark hair and a bushy black beard, he loved to scare sailors on ships he was attacking, and so, to make his appearance even more powerful, he wove fuses of slow burning hemp into his hair and beard and hung some around his shoulders so he was nearly enveloped in an otherworldly smoke. He was always heavily armed—several pistols and knives were always at his waist. Looking like the Devil himself, the pirate Blackbeard would attack and many sailors surrendered at the site of him.

In 1717 Blackbeard obtained a British ship called the Concorde. Outfitting her with 40 cannons (feeling 26 was simply too modest) Blackbeard renamed her The Queen Anne’s Revenge.

Although fearsome in battle, some claim Blackbeard was a lover at heart. He supposedly took more than a dozen wives and treated each one like a doting lover might—making each feel as if she was his first and only love—until he spotted the next one.

Blackbeard briefly retired, married his last wife, and lived a comfortable life until the ways of pirating lured him back into action. While partying in pirate camp near Ocracoke, North Carolina with Charles Vane’s crew (including Jack Rackham—later Calico Jack), Blackbeard and the pirates caused enough of a disturbance that the nearby citizens of Virginia demanded something be done. The governor of Virginia, Alexander Spotswood, hired Lieutenant Robert Maynard of the ship “Jane” to capture Blackbeard.

On November 22, 1718 a fierce battle began between Maynard and Blackbeard. While Blackbeard fired his cannons, Maynard supposedly ordered many of his so-far-unseen men below decks and amid a damaged and nearly deserted ship, enticed the pirates to board. As they did British sailors swarmed out of the hold and into the bloody fray. Maynard and Blackbeard fought each other—Blackbeard suffering approximately twenty stab wounds and cuts and 5 gunshots before collapsing on the deck in his own slick blood. The pirate succumbed due to blood loss.

Blackbeard’s head was cut off and hung from the Jane’s bowsprit—his body thrown overboard.

And this was when the weirdness began. According to legend, Blackbeard’s headless corpse swam around the Jane three times while his suspended head shrieked. Since that time, Blackbeard’s ghost has been spotted in the cove at Ocracoke Island (Teach’s Hole).

Locals claim to have seen Blackbeard’s headless body floating on the waves and occasionally swimming in circles while glowing with a phosphorescent light. Some claim to have seen the body even rise up out of the water, holding a lantern, and come ashore to search for its head. Where Blackbeard’s ghost walks his boots leave no footprints and now any strange light on or near the beach is commonly called “Teach’s Light” in reference to the ghostly search Blackbeard’s headless ghost still makes.

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Born in the early 1870s, Elva Zona Heaster married Erasmus Stribbling Trout Shue on October 26, 1896. Erasmus (sometimes called Edward) was from out of town, coming to Greenbrier to start a new life as the blacksmith. Zona (as she was called) married the near stranger very quickly in her mother’s opinion, and so the marriage was opposed but not halted.

On January 23, 1897 Erasmus sent Andy Jones (an 11-year-old African American) to the house, supposedly to ask Zona if she needed anything from the store. Jones found her body and ran home to tell his mother. The local doctor, and coroner, arrived within an hour to find the body had been carried upstairs by the apparently grief-stricken husband, Erasmus. Erasmus had already dressed Zona in her “Sunday best”—a dress with a conveniently high and stiff collar tied with a large bow. A veil covered her face and throughout the rudimentary examination Erasmus cradled his wife’s head and upper body and sobbed.

Convinced of the husband’s grief, the coroner announced the death was related to childbirth (as he had been treating Zona for symptoms we can only now presume were related to such a state a few weeks earlier).

At Zona’s wake, people observed Erasmus acting oddly. He was nearly frantic with trying to keep her “comfortable”—wedging her head between a pillow and fabric and maintaining that the large scarf now tied around her neck was her favorite. He kept people back from the body.

Zona’s mother removed the sheet from inside the coffin and tried to return it to Erasmus, but he wanted none of it. Thinking it smelled oddly, Heaster washed it. Oddly, the water turned red then clear. The sheet developed a pink stain. Heaster took it as proof that her daughter had met a foul end. A God-fearing woman, Heaster prayed Zona would return from the grave long enough to tell the truth of what happened to her so that she could find eternal rest.

Zona did cross back over, haunting her mother’s dreams for four nights as she explained the abuse she’d suffered at her husband’s hands and how—in a sudden fit over not having dinner ready for him—Erasmus had broken her neck. In the dream Zona’s ghost turned her head all the way around to illustrate.

Heaster approached the prosecuting attorney and in short order Erasmus was arrested. Her ghostly story was not the only thing to prod him to action, as the rumors had continued to fly about Erasmus’ odd actions.

In jail, Erasmus kept his spirits high, even proclaiming that he would like to have seven wives, and since Zona had been number three and he was only 35, he felt it was still an achievable goal. But then the truth began to come spilling out. Zona’s body had been exhumed and they discovered she had a crushed windpipe and broken neck. The cause of death became “strangulation.” Erasmus’ life before coming to Greenbriar was looked into. His first wife was abused and finally forced into divorcing him. His second wife died under mysterious circumstances.

Erasmus seemed puzzled that he was being charged with murder—hadn’t anyone wondered about young Andy Jones? Was he not suspect?

Although the case against Erasmus was mainly circumstantial, he was convicted and nearly lynched before being moved to the state penitentiary where he died. The ghost story Heaster was prepared to tell in court was ruled inadmissible, but revisited multiple times by the defense in a hope she would be viewed as unstable and a worthless character witness. Zona’s spirit seems to be at peace, never having been spotted since the arrest of her husband.

The house where Zona died still stands and is a private home.

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Already in the records in 1296, Fyvie was at one time held by Robert the Bruce as a hunting lodge and later passed into the hands of the Gordon family (the family of the famous Lord Byron). It has had its share of royal visitors and men of far lesser means, and it has a history that runs in parallel with some of the bloodiest and most tumultuous times in Scottish history, so it is no surprise that it also has its share of ghosts.

Perhaps the most famous ghost in Fyvie is the ghost of Dame Lilias (or Lilies) Drummond. In 1592 Lilias Drummond married Alexander Seton, Lord Fyvie. For nine years it seemed they were relatively content and Lilias bore Alexander five daughters. Yes, perhaps you can already imagine the trouble—five girls, five dowries and no heir. The rumor goes that Alexander began an affair with Lady Grizel Leslie shortly before Lilias’s sudden (and yet unexplained) death. Some claim Lilias died of a broken heart—some suspect foul play. We do know that six months after Lilias’ death, Alexander married Lady Leslie. Retiring to their bedchamber, they were startled by strange noises outside—like the sighs of a disillusioned woman. Though no intruder was seen, with the dawn they noticed a bizarre new addition to one windowsill high in the wall—carved upside down were letters spelling D. LILIAS DRUMMOND. The carving remains as part of the mystery of Fyvie Castle as does Lilias’ ghost. She can supposedly be seen from time to time on the castle’s main staircase and occasionally walks the halls of the home that was once rightfully hers.

A less well known ghost is supposedly that of Andrew Lammie, an 18th century trumpeter who fell in love with the local miller’s daughter, Agnes. But Agnes’ parents didn’t approve of Andrew. When the Lord of Fyvie learned they were meeting in secret he became outraged, wanting the lass as his lover. In a fit of rage he kidnapped Andrew and had him sold and shipped to the West Indies as a slave. Legend claims that Andrew finally managed to escape and return for Agnes several years later, but by then it was too late. Agnes had died shortly after he’d been stolen away, perhaps losing all hope of happiness. Andrew then cursed the Lords of Fyvie, proclaiming that the sound of a trumpet would foretell the death of each Lord as a reminder of the treatment he and his love had suffered. Since Andrew’s death, a trumpet has been heard in the deepest hours of night just before each Lord of Fyvie died. Occasionally people have also reported seeing a man dressed in a fine tartan and standing near the wall—could it be Andrew hoping and still waiting to be reunited with his love?

Fyvie is not only a haunted castle, but also a cursed castle. Thomas the Rhymer, known also as True Thomas, was a well known prophet who had supposedly received his gift of Sight because of time spent “under the hollow hill” with the Fae Queen. Thomas had a habit of traveling the land and requesting hospitality wherever he stopped. In those days hospitality—a meal, entertainment and a place to sleep—was regularly granted to travelers. Those were superstitious times and many believed the gods and devils roamed the Earth freely, checking up on mortals whenever curiosity struck them. Rather than accidentally offend a vengeful god, people tried to grant hospitality whenever possible. So it was simply understood that when Thomas the Rhymer mentioned wanting hospitality he should be given it. But Thomas tended to prophesy tragedy…

Two main versions of the legend surrounding Thomas and Fyvie are popularly known today. The first alludes to the castle’s owners being worried about what Thomas might prophesy in their castle, so they refused him hospitality outright. Not only is this unlikely, it would have been viewed as exceedingly foolhardy. The other version of the tale is that Fyvie kept its doors open for either seven years and a day or seven and a half years waiting for Thomas—then, on a gusty day Thomas approached and the wind slammed the door shut. Either way, the outcome of the stories is the same—Thomas cursed the castle with a rhyme that essentially proclaimed:

Fyvie, Fyvie, thou’ll never thrive
As long as there’s in thee stones three:
There’s one in the oldest tower,
There’s one in the lady’s bower,
There’s one in the water-gate,
And these three stones you’ll never get!

People have interpreted the prophet’s curse as relating to three stones that will weep when the Lord of Fyvie is in danger. One stone seems to have been found and does exude water from time to time—seemingly not in relationship to other rocks throughout the rest of the castle. Others interpret the curse as relating to primogeniture and the castle and a need to return three stones to their original location.

Since the time of Thomas the Rhymer’s curse, Fyvie Castle has had its share of problems. No castle heir has been born on the estate and no father has been able to pass the estate to his firstborn son—the eldest boys never outlast their fathers.

Fyvie Castle has been held by the National Trust of Scotland since 1984 and is open to the public during the summer. Visitors, though not always rewarded with ghostly sightings, do find much to see inside, from the lavish heraldic decorations to original paintings by the likes Raeburn and Romney.

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Not far from the Savannah River in Old Fort, Savannah, Georgia is The Pirates’ House. Built in 1753 and joined with the oldest house in the entire state, the brick and wood structure even looks like it should be haunted by the seadogs of yesteryear. The American Museum Society even credits it as a “house museum” because of ongoing and continual efforts to restore it faithfully.

Over time the original house became a tavern and additional buildings merged into it, giving its first floor more than a dozen separate dining areas today. Traditionally, the eating and drinking was done on the first floor and men slept in the rooms comprising the second floor. For a while (much more recently) a jazz bar took up several rooms upstairs, but now the 2nd story is mainly used for storage. In the basement, a long brick-lined tunnel ran from The Pirates’ House all the way to the water’s edge and was supposedly used for aiding impressment, a common practice in The Pirates’ House’s early years.

Sailing was dangerous work, and there were many times when crews had spots to be filled—and not many willing volunteers. So in spots like The Pirate’s House’s Captain’s Room, captains and crewmen got creative and would either get able-bodied men drunk, drugged, or (occasionally) whacked over the head, and then drag him down the long brick tunnel to a waiting ship. By the time a man had regained his senses he was out at sea, and firmly stuck aboard ship at the mercy of the captain and supporting crew. A popular local story is told of a Savannah police officer who happened by for a drink on his way home and wound up taking a two-year forced tour of the Far East before he could get back home.

Although pirates had been a real menace up and down the eastern coast, by the time The Pirates’ House was originally constructed most of the pirates had been run out of town. But the privateers—men who had a “letter of marque” granting them the legal right to raid ships belonging to other nations—rivaled the danger of pirates any day. The famous French privateer, Jean Lafitte, stayed at The Pirates’ House many times between dates aboard ship.

Supposedly it was, in part, The Pirates’ House that helped inspire Robert Louis Stevenson and the characters of his popular “Treasure Island.”

Laughter is often heard coming from the unoccupied upstairs, and many people have reported seeing a scarred and ragged looking privateer (nicknamed “Captain Flint” now) in the upstairs and basement area. The first floor also hosts a spectre—seemingly a gruff sailor—hangs around the stairs, and another equally charming spirit has supposedly appeared long enough to cast a baleful glare at the cook before disappearing again. Chairs get rearranged nearly nightly in one particular dining area on the first floor and some people have reported feeling physically sick when they report to work at The Pirates’ House.

The site has been investigated twice by the Paranormal Ghost Hunters of North Georgia. The first investigation yielded nothing of great value, but the second investigation did yield photos of orbs as well as some recordings of ghostly voices via EVP.

The Pirates’ House is open to visitors interested in having a meal or a drink and an unobtrusive glance around. If you are more serious about doing an investigation or asking questions about something other than their menu, look them up and call for permission.

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The St. James, also known as the Brantly Hotel for its first 50 years, is the only antebellum riverfront hotel left in Selma, and has been standing at it’s site since 1837. In the late 1990’s, it was completely renovated and refurbished, keeping with it’s historical roots but modernized enough to keep modern visitors comfortable. The outer rooms have amazing Alabama River views and the inner rooms look upon a glorious courtyard that boast a fountain. In the last 160 years, it has been the destination for businessmen, plantation owner, soldiers, and of course, trouble. The Union Army occupied it during the Civil War, saving it from being burned to the ground as was the rest of Selma.

After the war, it was owned by Benjamin S. Tower, the first African American Congressman who would rent the rooms long-term, not uncommon at this period. The notorious outlaws, Frank and Jesse James took advantage of this and made the hotel their headquarters for some time. After 1892, the area hit hard times and the hotel closed for over 100 years. Unbeknownst to those outside the slumbering doors, a few spirits still roam the once grand hotel.

The most famed inhabitant would be the apparition of Jesse James, decked out in 1880’s cowboy duds and wandering around the upstairs guest rooms 214, 314, and 315. He also seems to occupy the corner table to the left of the bar downstairs. A ghost named Lucinda is supposedly Jesse’s girlfriend. She is described as a beautiful, tall, black-haired woman, smelling of lavender. A portrait of her hangs on the first floor of the hotel. She wanders around the hotel and stops frequently to watch the living, most likely surprised that after 100 years, the place is bustling again. The ghost of a black dog, thought to be Jesse’s canine companion, is heard running and barking in the halls of the hotel and many have complained of the barking heard in the courtyard.

Psychics and investigators have been brought into the St. James to give the current management a better idea of what is happening in the hotel. Interestingly, they have picked out more than just these 3 entities. Psychics have described groups of apparitions in the inner courtyard, dressed in 1880’s clothing, going about their business and unaware of the living. Perhaps it is these ghosts of the past that cause the odd, inexplicable sounds heard from that space. Mischievous entities will bang glassware together until told to stop, a man has been seen sitting on a bench in the drinking room, and in room 304, a cook who was staying in the room complained about the curtains moving for no logical reason and bright flashes of light. A psychic claims to have spoken to that specter and discovered that the entity was angry that he passed away before finishing some business he wanted to do.

The most amusing occurrence happened in the Brantly Ballroom. A team of paranormal investigators had been tape recording the room hoping to get an Electronic Voice Phenomenon. They asked the question “Is anyone here?” When playing the tape back later on, they quite clearly heard a gruff voice reply “Well, that’s a stupid question.”

The St. James Hotel has been deemed positively haunted by psychics and investigators.

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Many of the stories told about this specific Boys and Girls Club seem to center around the bathrooms. The ghost in the area tends to be a prankster, tapping on your shoulder when your friend is in the stall. Paper towel rolls have been tossed around when no one else is in the restroom. Dark specters have been seen crossing the bathroom, slamming doors on their rapid trip to nowhere. Others have heard disembodied voices and the shower turns off and on by itself.

There has been enough activity throughout the building that some people recommend that visitors try their hand at EVP recording. EVP, or Electronic Voice Phenomenon Recordings were caught accidentally by two girls messing around with a tape recorder. When playing the tape back, the ladies distinctly heard a male voice say, “I love you.” Twice. Perhaps this ghost had an issue saying those three little words in real life and now has to practice for eternity…

What is the background story of this place? No one knows. There is no legend commonly known about the Santa Fe Boys and Girls Club to explain a man’s gruff voice proclaiming love or any plausible reason a mischievous spirit would hang out in the restrooms and showers. No murders, no traumas—just lots of the standard teen angst and energy. Often that seems like enough of an attractive force to cause things to manifest.

If one is to believe the sightings of a floating candle in the building, then logic says that the haunting would precede the building’s modern construction, but what does logic have to do with the ghostly realm?

With the success of EVPs in the building, someone could always ask…

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In 1918, the Sisters of St. Francis established the orphanage and boys’ school and cared for children without homes until 1971, when the Department of Labor claimed it. There are city records that describe an occurrence of one of the nuns, a Sister “M” who went insane and seemingly randomly murdered a number of the boys. When the school was installing a swimming pool in the location of an unused well, they found the children’s bodies in the well shaft. It is said that you can still hear the cries of dying children.

Since the Job Corps has taken over the old orphanage, many of the stories have been kept hushed up. One has to wonder exactly what does the Job Corps know about the haunting of its buildings? In the Job Corps handbook, it specifically prohibits the use of Ouija boards on campus. Though the school tries to keep any hauntings “mum,” tales of strange noises and sightings have leaked out. One of the most prevalent is seeing a nun carrying a baby outside of the cafeteria. Could she be the murderous nun with a young victim? Or a caring nun who is trying to watch out for the kids even to this day?

A bench in front of the old Independent Dorm is also the location of some strange activity. If you take a seat there at night, you just might hear the laughter, cries, and noises of children playing, as well as adults scolding them. It is as if the area in front of you is a playground for ghosts.

Looking up to the top of what used to be the Chapel when the tract of land contained an orphanage, some have seen what seems to be a lantern floating about. The building at the front gate may also have some haunting activity, but the security staff are not admitting nor denying it, as they have been told not to encourage any “ghost talk.”

A student who attended in the 1980’s remembers the dorms having lots of activity. There were sounds of laughter, crying, and the click-clack of hard-soled shoes walking down the halls when there was no one there to create such a distinctive noise. Past students have also alluded to people seeing things in the silvered mirrors of the older rooms.

One of the more eerie incidences reported is that, on occasion, all clocks in the haunted Jobs Corps Center, including wristwatches, stop at the same time.

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In the 1920’s, this was a small town hospital that cared for the citizens of Turlock, California. According to a recent ghost hunting expedition done by American Paranormal Investigations, it seems that the building still cares for their spirits, though both their bodies and the hospital are long gone.

Built in 1918, The Lillian Collins Hospital was located in what is now the Sierra Building and currently contains Coldwell Banker Endsley & Associates. The hospital was best known for the doctor who created the MedicAlert bracelet when his daughter (who also happened to be the granddaughter of the hospital’s founder) had an allergic reaction to a drug while there in 1953. The hospital, which only had 40 rooms in the two-story building, eventually became too small for the city and was abandoned. In 1994, it was purchased by Bob Endsley and the downstairs was completely remodeled. The upstairs was left the way it was, and local charities used the space to host a haunted house fundraiser. It was during these fundraisers that the odd goings on in the building were first noticed.

While preparing for a haunted house event items would go missing when left alone for only a few moments. Cold breezes, footsteps, unexplained noises, and even unpleasant physical feelings have been reported. The owner of the building has had the motion detectors go off when no one was there. The events coinciding with the annual haunted house fundraisers ceased earlier this decade, but the strange happenings did not. That was when Endsley contacted API.

The investigation, which included video, photography, psychics, Electronic Voice Phenomena recordings, as well as a group whose purpose was to find logical causes for some of the stranger things discovered, came away with plenty of evidence that the hospital was still up and running on the second floor.

On video, they asked a spirit to come closer to their electro-magnetic field device. The EMF device recorded a dramatic spike in its levels. Geiger counter readings flared and diminished within moments and without the investigator moving.

Each and every photo captured orbs, or balls of light, somewhere on the photograph. But the truly amazing piece of evidence is the 11 second recording of a beautiful voice singing a French lullaby. The investigator was alone at the time. This recording is one of the longest pieces of EVP ever to be captured.

Other EVPs recorded were of female and male voices talking to each other, as well as male voices communicating with the investigators. One of the investigators said that the sounds on the tape remind him of what he’d expect from a 1920’s hospital.

Dark, human shaped masses were seen floating throughout the building and some investigators felt nauseated while on the second floor, feeling better when they returned downstairs.

The investigators sent to unmask the ghosts were only able to explain away the cold breezes as drafts from windows. The rest seem to be of truly supernatural origins.

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Giles Corey was one of six men who died during the trials that ran from May through October of 1692. He was the only one tortured; the rest were either hung or died in jail. Implicated by Abigail Hobbs, the Corey’s were brought to Ingersoll’s Tavern to be examined. Giles, who was in his 80’s at the time, had at first encouraged an accusation against his wife, Martha. Later he tried to recant when he realized just how ugly and disturbing the trials had become.

It is also believed he realized that his home, land, and all other wealth were in great danger. The sketchy laws of the time supposedly decreed that anyone found guilty of witchcraft would lose all of their holdings, leaving nothing for those who stood to inherit. Once Giles himself had been accused, he knew that pleading innocent would not only lead to his death, but would most likely lead to conviction anyway. To save his holdings for his family (two sons-in-law) to inherit, Corey refused to plea neither guilty nor innocent. In this strange legal twist his recently land could not be awarded back to the colony after his death, no matter how he died.

Although many speculated that Corey refused to stand for trial and place an appropriate plea because of what would happen to his land, it seems he may have done it out of sheer rebellion. According to some sources, neither Massachusetts law nor English law would insist on such forfeiture—the true danger came from the greedy wrangling of the sheriff himself. It appears that Corey’s less than popular stance in Salem society had caused him to create a will deeding his property to his sons-in-law, William Cleeves and John Moulton, even before his arrest. Perhaps he knew something was coming or perhaps a previous run-in with the law had caused him to grow wary. Regardless, heirs were legally able to retain lands that otherwise would have been forfeit in Massachusetts at the time due to certain criminal dealings.

The solution to Corey’s refusal to submit to the court and offer a plea, as perceived by Sheriff George Corwin, the son of Witch Trials magistrate Jonathan Corwin, was to torture him until he did plea. Corwin had been profiting from the Salem Witch Trials, as it was he who was in charge of confiscating property and dividing it among the leaders of Salem. The court ordered Corey a sentence of “peine forte et dure” even though this torture was illegal in the Massachusetts colony. In all of US history, Giles Corey is the only person who was pressed to death by the order of a court. Sheriff Corwin himself watched as Giles Corey was slowly crushed to death in a field just outside old Salem Jail, a field that is now known as Howard Cemetery.

A board was placed upon the old man’s chest and slowly loaded with more and more heavy fieldstones. According to tradition, it took him two days to die beneath the weighted board.

Folklore has it that Corey repeated, “More weight!” when asked to plea. However, there are also tales that Corey actually cursed Sheriff Corwin and the whole of Salem with his dying breath. Buried in an unmarked grave on Gallows Hill, it seems that this curse may have actually been quite effective.

According to local historian and former sheriff of Essex County, Robert Cahill, each and every sheriff starting with George Corwin to himself had either died in office or was forced into early retirement due to a heart or blood ailment. Corwin died of a heart attack in 1696; Cahill left his post after his own heart attack much more recently.

The curse goes beyond the sheriff’s post, however. Whenever a tragedy befalls Salem, people claim to see Giles Corey’s ghost soon after. Could it be that he makes occasional appearances to savoring the suffering of Salem—and the fruits of his curse? Giles Corey’s spirit was supposedly seen even before his death by accuser Anne Putnam who claimed his spectre visited her, trying to entice her into writing in “the Devil’s book.”

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