For the sake of full disclosure, I'd better get this on the table right
up front: I'm a believer — in ghosts, that is. Not that I've ever seen
any, you understand. Rather, I implicitly trust the good sense and
rational recall of friends and relatives who say they've had up close
and personal encounters of the weird kind.
With family rooted entirely in the UK — a place some would say has a corner on the market of all things blood-curdling — my childhood was generously peppered with chilling tales of one sort or another.
The first I ever heard came from my Dad, who grew up around the corner from Borley Rectory, considered by many to be England's most haunted location, with phantom nuns, horse-carriages and ill-fated lovers having been seen on the estate for more than a century. Though my Dad was only sure he'd heard the sounds of hooves when riding past on his bicycle, most of his schoolmates had sworn they'd witnessed all of its oddities.
While England is seemingly crawling with apparitions, its namesake is as well, for this area is steeped in oft-documented yet inexplicable mysteries. As someone who has never witnessed paranormal activity and who finds the notion both appealing and horrifying, it always astounds me that even those who have experienced it many times over can be remarkably matter of fact about it.
Friends who live in a nearby 220-year-old farmhouse are a case in point. They often awoke to find a man sitting motionless at the end of the bed, who then evaporates while turning towards them. Once they heard sounds of pots and pans crashing in the kitchen as if someone were preparing a 10-course meal, but, upon investigation, every wok and stockpot was still in its place and no one was there. And a door in the guest room has been known to open and close of its own accord.
Though they seem wholly unflustered by these creepy events, I'm fairly certain I'd be running to the nearest Realtor declaring it's time to sell and find a shiny new condo in a high-rise somewhere.
This flagrant cowardice is what kept me from heading over to Manchester's pre-eminently elegant—and allegedly haunted — resort hotel, the Equinox, to interview General Manager Courtney Lowe in person, as any self-respecting writer would. I'd heard about various preternatural incidents that have taken place at the Equinox since its founding in 1769 and, well, uh, my schedule was a little tight, so I ended up having to talk to him by phone, drat it.
According to Lowe, the hotel's housekeepers, in particular, are made aware of a presence that seems to enjoy interfering with their work in mischievous ways.
"There's a suite with floor-to-ceiling curtains which get tied up in a knot," he explained. "The housekeepers will untie them, go out of room and come back a few minutes later to find them tied again."
Lowe attests that there's a long list of peculiar goings-on, including vacuum cleaners turning on by themselves as well as ephemeral characters seen by guests. "Years ago, a corporate meeting planner looked out on the landing outside his door when he heard a noise and saw a ghostly looking figure standing there."
According to Lowe, because the hotel has been in existence for so long there are decades of testimony by employees and guests who couldn't have known each other, but whose observations have been identical, including accounts of otherworldly children running up and down one particular hallway.
I've also read about beds that have just been made up will be discovered moments later having been stripped of their linens and that a long-locked, uninhabited room has sometimes been found to have a tower of furnishings and other objects piled up in the center of the floor.
One of the most eloquent and encyclopedic resources for such compelling nuggets from this region's rich history of hauntings is Vermont native, Joe Citro, author of seven books on the countless intriguing, if not patently sepulchral, occurrences that have been taking place in New England for centuries.
Each of his publications — including "Ghosts, Ghouls and Unsolved Mysteries," "Passing Strange: True Tales of New England Hauntings and Horrors" and "Green Mountains, Dark Tales" — offer a comprehensive selection of informative narratives documenting everything from big-band music emanating from a nonexistent Victrola to smells of cooking wafting through an old office building whose kitchen had long since been removed.
My favorite Citro collection is "The Vermont Ghost Guide," 100 pages of local legends in a handy pocket-sized format and perfect for keeping in one's glove box — if one has the courage to actually stop at the sites of his mesmerizing tales, that is. Citro's unofficial designation as the state's resident oddity historian is well-earned, for he has been recording and recounting these compelling reports for two decades and it all started with an eerie story told by his dad.
"My father was likely to tell stories about local events," Citro said. "And my earliest experience was when he told me about the Bowman House in Cuttingsville."
The Bowman House is said to be haunted by Mrs. Bowman, whose untimely death followed the demise of both her children. Mr. Bowman's profound sorrow is manifest today in the form of a massive mausoleum he built across from the family home, replete with a life-size statue of himself grieving, hat and wreath in hand.
"That's the first story that captured my attention," Citro said. "My father knew a lot of local lore and then I would get the real scoop."
The Vermont Guide has enough real scoops to keep readers busy for many a Hallows' Eve, with descriptions that are frightening and fascinating, and alter our view of many a landmark.
Tranquil Windsor, for instance, is the site of one of the most astounding phenomena I've ever come across. In 1955, a family was forced to move out of its home when water began mysteriously filling cupboards, closets and chairs throughout the house. It even rained inside at one point and a bowl of grapes filled up with water while being carried from one room to the next. Professionals in every field were consulted, from plumbers to parapsychologists, but the puzzle was never solved and within a month it was over. The family's name? Waterman.
The stories are riveting and diverse: In Bellows Falls, the spirits of native Abenakis are said to roam along the riverbanks on which a paper mill now sits, with legs submerged in the floorboards; phantom canoes have been seen floating across the water at Sumner's Falls in Hartland; Shaftsbury Cemetery is graced by the specter of one Gardner Barton who lingers near the family tombstones; and at Wilmington's White House Inn, the ghost of Clara Brown, wife of the inn's builder, is said to speak to guests who share her name. These are but a few examples of hundreds of unearthly happenings that color Vermont's cultural history.
Along with a Citro-guided terrifying tour of Vermont, you can take in a bit of spine-chilling outdoor theater written by the author himself as well. The Haunted Forest takes place on the grounds of the Catamount Family Center in Wilmington this Friday and Saturday and, from the sounds of it, your ghoulish goblet will runneth over.
As for my own fear of foreboding, I joked with my beau that maybe we ought to actually stay at the Equinox sometime so I can do some serious journalistic research along the lines of popular TV shows like "Most Haunted" or "Ghost Hunters," wherein authorities and amateurs alike prowl around bedecked with infrared cameras, motion sensors and electromagnetic field detectors. Since the Equinox is so beautiful and its ethereal events more curious than creepy, gosh, I might just do it. Next year.
Online: www.thehauntedforest.org
www9.addr.com/~jacitro
Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com
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