The show’s three ghost enthusiasts visited Bonito Lake in Lincoln County, New Mexico. However, their version of Bonito City’s past was very different from actual history, and they may have missed the real ghosts of Lincoln [...]]]> Bonito City and its ghosts — if there are any — were featured in a recent ghost-related TV show.

The show’s three ghost enthusiasts visited Bonito Lake in Lincoln County, New Mexico. However, their version of Bonito City’s past was very different from actual history, and they may have missed the real ghosts of Lincoln County.

The TV Version

Bonito City was a thriving town until the night Martin Nelson shot and killed seven innocent people at the Mayberry Hotel for no apparent reason. After that tragedy, people began to move away.  It’s as if Martin Nelson killed the town, not just some of its citizens.

Some years later, a dam was built that flooded the ghost town — and all of its buildings — to create Bonito Lake.  Soon, people reported ghosts at the lake, including the dangerous spirit of Martin Nelson.  Today, people avoid the site and whatever haunts beneath its waters.

The Truth

Bonito City was one of many western towns that sprung up briefly when people were looking for gold.

Martin Nelson came to Bonito City to strike it rich as a miner, but soon realized that there wasn’t much gold.  He could do better with petty crime… and so he did.

One night, Martin Nelson was interrupted while robbing the hotel room of Dr. William H. Flynn who had recently arrived from Boston.

After a loud fight over the watch that Nelson planned to steal, Nelson shot everyone who stood between him and a quick escape… including the doctor, five members of the family that owned the hotel, and two neighbors.

Then, Nelson was shot and killed by Charlie Barry, the local Justice of the Peace.

In the years that followed, people gradually moved away from the town.  Mining near Bonito City required hard work for few results.  A few people stayed to farm, but most figured they could do better elsewhere.

By the early 20th century, Bonito City was a ghost town and conveniently located near the Rio Bonito… an ideal water source for the Southern Pacific Railroad.

After negotiating with the remaining landowners, the railroad began building a dam to store water in the newly-created Bonito Lake.

However, since they needed clean water, every building, sidewalk and fence in Bonito was torn down and removed before the city was flooded.  The graves were also moved to nearby Angus, New Mexico.

Today, Bonito Lake is a favorite vacation spot for campers, mountain bikers, fishermen, and rock hounds.

HERE’S THE COMPLETE STORY…

Bonito City and Gold Fever

When gold was discovered in California, many people dreamed of becoming rich overnight.  All an area had to do was hint that their rivers, streams or hills contained gold, and mining towns would spring up overnight.

At right: This is a typical newspaper article from 1883, suggesting easy money for anyone willing to join the gold rush.

Bonito City — not far from Santa Fe, New Mexico — was a cluster of tents in 1882 when “gold fever” brought aspiring miners from states such as Texas and Virginia.  For a very short time, Lincoln County was the most populated place in New Mexico.

At its peak — around the mid-1880s — Bonito City seems to have included a schoolhouse, three general stores, a saloon, a post office, a boarding house or hotel, one blacksmith and one lawyer.

(Most people agree that there was no church in Bonito City.  The local minister, Rev. John Henry Skinner, was also a farmer and later a grain store merchant.  He and his wife built a church… but not in Bonito City.)

Martin Nelson, Amateur Thief

The “ghost story” of Bonito City had its roots in 1885.  In a nutshell, it was a robbery that went sour.

Martin Nelson was like many young men who dreamed about getting rich overnight.  He claimed to be a miner, but no one recalls him actually working.

Some said that he’d been in Bonito City for four years.  Others claimed he’d drifted into town the night of the murders.  The truth is probably somewhere in between, and Nelson seems to have boarded with a couple of families including the Mayberrys.

Soon after Martin Nelson came to town, robberies were reported.  No one was sure who was responsible, and the thefts were generally small.

However, at about 3 a.m. on Tuesday morning, May 5th, 1885, the thief — Martin Nelson — made a fatal error.  He decided to steal a watch belonging to Dr. R. E. Flynn, who’d recently arrived from Boston and was staying with the Mayberrys.

Dr. Flynn woke up and raised the alarm, bringing the Mayberry family to his room.  Panicking, Nelson shot and killed the doctor, and then began shooting the Mayberry family.

John Mayberry, Sr. and his two sons, John Jr. and Eddie (alternately referred to as Robert), died instantly.

At first, Mrs. Mayberry was only wounded. She and her daughter, Nellie (about 14 years old), ran down the stairs of the boarding house, attempting to escape.  Nelson shot Mrs. Mayberry a second time, killing her, and the bullet also struck Nellie.

Nellie pleaded for her life, and Nelson agreed not to shoot her, as long as she promised to attend his hanging.  She promised, and he let her live.

(In another version of the story, Martin Nelson was secretly engaged to Nellie, and he was stealing the doctor’s watch so the young couple could afford to elope.)

Meanwhile, saloon owner Pete Nelson (no relation to Martin) heard the shots as he was cleaning up for the night.  As he entered Mayberry House, Martin Nelson killed him, too.

By then, a large number of people had gathered outside Mayberry House.  Nelson was trapped, and remained there until about 7 a.m. when he tried to escape out the back door of the building.

Unfortunately, grocer Herman Beck (reported as Herman Breck in some stories) was waiting for him.  Beck was killed instantly by a single shot from Martin Nelson’s rifle.

Martin Nelson got as far as the street when Charlie Berry, a Justice of the Peace, shot and killed the thief.

(Other versions of the story include a posse chasing Nelson to Littleton Canyon, where he was shot.  That seems more credible.  In 1933, the bodies were dug up and moved to another cemetery when the city was flooded.  Those who saw the remains of Martin Nelson said that his green felt hat was still preserved, and it had several bullet holes in it.)

Martin Nelson’s victims were buried in the town’s cemetery, atop a hill.  Nelson was buried outside the cemetery, in a flat area near where Bonito Lake is, today.

Nelson’s body was thrown into a rough pine box, face down, and buried with his body pointing to the west.  Some said that this was so he’d never rest.  Others said that it prevented him from haunting the town.

(The idea that he’d never rest is more likely.  In that era, bodies were usually buried facing up, and pointing toward the east so they could rise and join Christ at the Second Coming.)

Bonito City’s Decline

Bonito City’s population boom lasted less than about 20 years.  Some miners turned to farming or other work.  The majority rushed to find “easy money” in California and elsewhere.

By 1900, Bonito’s ore — what little there was — had played out.  The entire population of Lincoln County was just 1,065, and most of them were farmers and merchants building communities in towns like Carrizoza and Runnels.  Others worked for the railroad, which brought new people to New Mexico every day.

Bonito’s location was beautiful, but isolated.  Some records suggest that just two people lived in Bonito City (sometimes called Bonita City, or just Bonito) by 1910.  The town’s post office formally closed in 1911, and by 1920, Bonito City was just a store and seven or eight houses.

In the late 1920s, the Southern Pacific Railroad sought permission to dam Bonito Creek to create a reservoir.

Bonito City was the ideal location for the new lake.  Once the railroad negotiated ownership of the land, it hired workers to remove everything that remained of Bonito City.

One Final Journey for Martin Nelson

By 1933, the lake had filled and the water level was approaching the graves of Nelson and his victims.

Members of the Pfingsten family — long-time residents of Bonito City — helped to dig up the bodies for reinterment.

Dr. Flynn’s casket was moved to Texas, where his family lived.  The rest of Nelson’s victims were given new caskets and placed in a common grave in Angus, New Mexico, not far from Bonito Lake.

Martin Nelson was also reburied, east of the Angus Cemetery.  His body is in a grave at a hill, about 50 feet above the road.  The plot is overgrown, but it’s marked with a concrete tombstone.

…

By the 1950s, steam engines were dinosaurs in the railroad world.  Bonito Lake was sold and it is now a popular recreational site described in one travel guide as “a fisherman’s paradise.”

If You Go There

Bonito Lake covers about 60 acres at an elevation of 7300 feet.  According to the book, Fly Fishing in Southern New Mexico, it’s “one of the most heavily stocked lakes in the state,” and has “very high use by bait fishermen.”

The Rockhounds Guide to New Mexico recommends panning for gold along the nearby Rio Bonito.  You probably won’t find any gold nuggets, but most New Mexico rivers contain at least some gold dust, and the Bonito is one of the best for that.

If you’re interested in mountain biking, you’ll like Forest Road 107 near Bonito Lake.

Camping is available at the lake from April 1st through November 30th.  For more information, or to make reservations, call 575.336.4157.

The lake is open for fishing — but only from the shore — from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m.  You can expect to catch rainbow and brook trout, as well as carp.

Remember that swimming, wading, and boating are not allowed in or on the lake.

For additional information about Bonito Lake and vicinity, check your library for books such as 100 Hikes in New Mexico, Frommer’s New Mexico, and New Mexico’s Wilderness Areas.

Tips for Ghost Hunting

Bonito Lake is about 12 miles northwest of Ruidoso.  Take NM highway 48 north to Angus, and turn left on NM 37.  After a mile, turn left again onto Forest Road (FR) 107 (County Rd. C-9). The lake is ahead about three miles.

You can camp at or near the lake; as of late 2009, campsite fees are $14/night, but there are no electrical hookups at campsites.  [Link] If you prefer a motel, you’ll find several around Ruidoso and Capitan.

If you watched the Extreme Paranormal episode at Bonito Lake, keep these points in mind:

• Despite what you saw on TV, swimming, boating and wading are not permitted at Bonito Lake.  The water is a source of drinking water for nearby communities.
• Never go diving alone in unfamiliar waters.  (Though it looked like the investigator was alone, at least one underwater cameraman was probably filming him.)  It’s particularly stupid to dive in unfamiliar waters, alone and after dark.
• If you feel as if something might be pulling you underwater, it’s probably a plant, an old fishing line or other debris.  Get out of the water.  Don’t risk getting further entangled in it.  (And always carry a knife to cut yourself loose, if necessary.)
• If you’re on the water and you see lightning, get to shore immediately.
• The floating “circle” of candles looked like a Christmas display in Florida (without Mickey), but it had nothing to do with genuine ghost research.
• Provoking the ghost of a murderer is not a good idea, especially in an isolated location.

The Real Ghosts of Lincoln County

If I was in Lincoln County, New Mexico, these are the potential haunts that I’d research.

• The Bonito City area (not the lake) – Some or all of the town’s land belonged to the Mescalero Indian Reservation.  A former resident, Mrs. Pinkie Bourne Skinner, talked about Indians peering into her house.  I’d check to see if there had been a Native settlement somewhere near the lake; stolen lands are often very good for paranormal research.

• The Lincoln County War – I’d check several sites of drama and tragedy, including: the Torreon (shown at right), Blazer’s Mill (including two cemeteries off Rte. 70) where Billy the Kid was among those involved in the shootout, and the site of the Fritz Ranch, which has additional reasons to be haunted.
• Angus Cemetery – Communal graves, such as where Martin Nelson’s victims are buried, are often active.  In addition, there’s an extra name on the group headstone: R. F. Oswald.  (I’m fairly certain that’s the son of Leo & Alice J. Bragg Oswald, a child who died many years later in Bonita City.  His grave was probably moved when the others’ were, but it’s still odd that he’s in the same plot.)  And, of course, if I could find Martin Nelson’s grave, I’d check it for EMF, EVP, and so on.(I’m still amazed that the show didn’t include those locations.)
• Fort Stanton – This is the Lincoln County site that really interests me.  Besides being the first World War II internment camp, the fort — now open to the public — was the site of two lynchings:  In the spring of 1883,  13 men lynched a fellow soldier (an  alleged gunman).  However, according to the newspaper report (at right) just one soldier confessed and stood trial; his 12 accomplices deserted. The lynching of William S. Pearl wasn’t the first at Fort Stanton; on 10 July 1876, outlaw Jose Segura was also lynched at or near the fort.  When history seems to repeat itself, that can indicate residual energy.  It’s worth investigating.

It’s always fun to check locations with rumored ghosts.  The Martin Nelson story — while not especially unusual — is chilling. In addition, the lake setting presented something unusual for TV.

However, the victims’ graves — and the murderer’s — are just five miles away. Billy the Kid‘s two graves (yes, two of them) are just a daytrip from Bonito Lake.  And, since there are numerous other sites of violence and tragedy nearby, there seem to be far richer haunts than one town’s off-limits water supply.

Well… unless you’re filming a really campy, over-the-top TV show, that is.

References (in addition to the links in this article)

• Unbelievable – Extreme Paranormal and Bonita City
• Pioneer Story: Mrs. Pinkie Bourne Skinner
• Angus Cemetery, Lincoln County, NM
• Bonito City – New Mexico Ghost Town
• Killings Began Town’s Slide, by David Bowser / Livestock Weekly
• Mayberry Murder Mystery of Bonita City (Ancestry.com)
• Lincoln County Folktales
• Myth of the Hanging Tree, by Robert J. Torrez
• The Sacramento Daily Record-Union, 10 Oct 1883
• The Sun, New York, 7 May 1885
• The Salt Lake Daily Herald, 7 May 1885
• The Sacramento Daily Record-Union, 14 May 1885 (clipping shown below)
• Photos include pictures by Lauren Burbank , Keely Dugger, and Loretta Humble.

When this photo was taken, colorful orbs and sparkles appeared all around me. Most of them were to my right and left, and I [...]]]> One of Hollow Hill’s most popular real ghost photos was taken near the Guard House at Fort Worden, in Port Townsend, Washington, near Seattle on the night of April 4th, 2003.

When this photo was taken, colorful orbs and sparkles appeared all around me. Most of them were to my right and left, and I did not see them through the viewfinder of my camera.

I knew that I was getting some great photos that night in April 2003, but until I saw this print, I had no idea that I’d captured something this startling.

According to local legends, Port Townsend (near Seattle) is one of America’s most haunted towns. With Fort Worden–a former military base–plus the town’s colorful pirate history, you can expect ghosts… and plenty of them.

This real ghost photo was taken at Fort Worden’s haunted Guard House. Local stories claim that a soldier was assigned to the Guard House, but the loneliness of the work began to bother him. Whether it was carelessness or something else, the despondent soldier accidentally shot and killed himself at the Guard House.

His ghost lingers there today, and manifests often.

In two investigations, we found him to be a shy and sometimes angry ghost. This is our only clear photograph of him, taken during our 2003 investigation with artist, ‘Zanne B.

Read the full story of that investigation, with additional photos, in a two-part report starting at Fort Worden ghosts, part one

Fort Worden is a lovely park and conference center in Port Townsend, Washington State, about an hour from Seattle. Fort Worden is an ideal place to vacation, with a hostel and a campground on the property. Other haunted areas of the park include the Schoolhouse, the bunkers, and–maybe–the wooded area next to the cemetery.

In April 2003, I was at a conference at Fort Worden in Port Townsend, not far from Seattle, Washington. I had heard the Fort Worden was haunted, and took this opportunity to investigate its ghosts. On the previous page of this report, I describe Fort Worden’s cemetery, a nearby wooded area, [...]]]> The story so far:

In April 2003, I was at a conference at Fort Worden in Port Townsend, not far from Seattle, Washington. I had heard the Fort Worden was haunted, and took this opportunity to investigate its ghosts. On the previous page of this report, I describe Fort Worden’s cemetery, a nearby wooded area, and the history of the haunted Guard House.

To read that report, see Fort Worden ghosts – part one.

My report continues here:

I took several rolls of film that night, in addition to some digital photos. Many of these photographs had extraordinarily large orbs in them:
Multiple ghost orbs at the Fort Worden Guard House

While we would usually discount any photo with car lights in it, we have dozens of other photos taken at the same time from the same angle with the same car lights… and no orbs. These orbs are not caused by a “lens flare” or other reflection.

In one photo, a clear, brilliant blue ghostly figure was standing in front of me just outside the Guard House. I did not see this figure–or any other–when I took the photographs. I only knew that the “sparkles” were exceptional, and I was probably photographing other anomalies. As I expected, this ghost showed up on the negative and in the print. It is my only clear photograph of him.
Blue figure outside the Fort Worden Guard HouseRead more about this photo at Fort Worden – the man in blue

The anomalies were so vivid, I looked for someone else to witness what was going on. Another conference guest, an artist named Z’anne, accompanied me back to the Guard House.

At first, there were no “sparkles” and nothing of note. Then, on impulse, Z’anne began talking to the ghost, encouraging him to appear. As if acting on command, the anomalies resumed.

Note:

Many ghost researchers believe that direct communication with the ghosts produces the best results.

Because the manifestations responded to our voices, we consider this an active haunting. That is, there is some entity–probably what most people would call a “ghost”–reacting to visitors. There may also be some residual energy at the Guard House as well.

It’s hard to explain how we can get bored with steady anomalies. However, it was a cold, windy night. After about ten minutes, we were eager to see what other phenomena we could find at this former military base.

PARADE GROUND

Our next stop was the parade ground. Again, there was little activity at first, and then Z’anne addressed the ghosts and we saw very good sparkles. The Fort Worden parade ground doesn’t have the high energy of the Guard House, but still notably haunted. It’s probably residual energy, not an active haunting.
Routine “ghost orbs” at the parade ground

FORT WORDEN DORMS

Finally, we paused at a dormitory that was being restored. In a couple of photos, we detected small, faint orbs. Like the parade ground, this is probably the result of residual energy, not an active haunting.
A few normal “ghost orbs” in both photos

Note: Fort Worden is the location of a campsite, hostel and conference center near Seattle, Washington State. The park has specific hours when it is open, and you should not trespass on this property at night without specific permission of the Park Manager.

Fort Worden Military CemeteryThere are a few ghost stories associated with Fort Worden’s cemetery. I arrived for this investigation hopeful, but the reality was disappointing. I saw rows of tidy white markers, each of them identical in size, but the cemetery didn’t feel [...]]]> Ghost Investigation: Friday evening, April 4th, 2003

FORT WORDEN CEMETERY

Fort Worden Military Cemetery

WOODED AREA

Woods next to Fort Worden Cemetery

GUARD HOUSE

My next stop was the Guard House. According to legend, when Fort Worden was active, a soldier accidentally shot & killed himself in the Guard House, and he has haunted the building ever since. It’s a great story, but a little too quirky.

I did not expect the Guard House to be haunted. However, I tried a few photos with my now-famous “sparkles” camera.

I have never seen such bright and colorful sparkles. They were vivid, crayon box colors. They were large; the smallest was the size of a baseball, and many others were as large as beachballs. Most people would probably describe them as orbs.

Generally when I go ghost hunting, these lights and orbs are at least 20 feet away. At Fort Worden, they were next to me. Some were probably close enough to touch, but I was taking photos too quickly to pause and investigate.

(These “sparkles” never show up in the photos. They are simply an indication of when we are likely to get anomalies on film, as well.)

Most of the Guard House photos looked perfectly normal, with nothing of note in them. We discount faint orbs because of reflective glass windows, etc. At least 80% of my photos looked like the lower of these two:

Top photo: Some orbs in photos at Fort Worden’s Guard House

Analyzing these photos, we’d ordinarily discount any orbs due to some car lights in the nearby parking lot. However, this is the advantage of having many photos to work with: If the lights had caused orbs, we’d have orbs in most of the photos. We don’t.

On the next page, The Man in Blue, see more dramatic orbs and one of our most startling photos, ever: A ghostly blue figure standing just outside the Guard House.

I lived in a haunted house in California for five years, and this is my story:

Twenty-five years ago, I still believed that you could wish anything to happen and it would. So, when I wished for a house in [...]]]> [as reported in Fate magazine, in an article titled 'Boots']

I lived in a haunted house in California for five years, and this is my story:

Twenty-five years ago, I still believed that you could wish anything to happen and it would. So, when I wished for a house in northern California, I was not surprised by the bargain that appeared.

Even in the mid-1970′s, two-story Victorian homes with expansive corner lots did not sell for $15,000, but that was the asking price on this house.

Admittedly, it was a funky house with an odd history. Perhaps I should have wondered why the first realtor refused to show me the house.

The house seemed to call to me, so I persisted. I contacted another realtor, and he agreed to get the keys.

The house was what they call “carpenter gothic,” with strange attempts at gingerbread trim, and a front porch that tilted in an alarming manner. Inside, the house floorplan was filled with strange twists and turns.

I thought it was charming. My husband’s father made an offer, since he was purchasing the house for us. The deal closed immediately. There were no other offers, and the house had been empty for too long.

I’d heard about the sad, perhaps mad, previous owner. Neighbors speculated that the man had experienced terrible things in Viet Nam.

Whatever the reason, he’d slowly added things like spotlights and an alarm system to the house. By the time he and his wife abandoned the property, he’d spent too many nights patrolling the property with a rifle.

Why did he do that? It was a corner property in a very nice neighborhood, on a fairly busy street. A policeman lived next door. The town was safe, upscale and fairly rural.

Why would anyone be frightened enough to install spotlights to illuminate the entire yard, and then patrol the property from dusk until dawn?

We moved in and began to redecorate immediately. I loved the stairs at one bedroom door, that went up and then down again, for no apparent reason. That room had two very odd-shaped closets.

The closet in another bedroom extended within the walls of a third bedroom.

There were clearly sealed-up areas within the bedrooms’ walls, which reminded me of the bad witch’s house in Hansel and Gretel. I could imagine delighted children playing hide-and-seek in those rooms and closets. It seemed wonderful, and I was very happy to live there.

But then, the footsteps started.

Before we remodelled the house, my husband and I slept in the master bedroom on the first floor. The second floor was primarily for storage, and I used one room as my art studio because it was bright and cheery during the day.

Since I needed daylight for my painting, I rarely went upstairs after dark. When my husband and I started hearing unexplained footsteps up there, we became a little nervous about the noises.

However, the house was still a tremendous bargain, and we looked forward to tearing out walls, totally redesigning the interior.

In a way, it annoyed me to be such a “chicken” about the noises.

I decided to be brave, and deliberately used the upstairs at night when I was cutting out sewing patterns. After all, there were three full bedrooms upstairs, and plenty of floor space to lay out the fabric.

I blamed it on the black skies outside the windows in my “studio.” In that rural town, there were few city lights to brighten the sky. When we’d first moved there, I’d loved that: I could see the stars as I never had, when we’d lived in Los Angeles.

From the start, there seemed to be two ghosts. Now I was getting a very visual sense of them, though I did not see anything besides their mischief.

I perceived a slender, mournful woman in a form-fitting, slightly gaudy gown, characteristic of the 1870′s [...]]]> What happened next was the most dramatic event of the haunting:

From the start, there seemed to be two ghosts. Now I was getting a very visual sense of them, though I did not see anything besides their mischief.

I perceived a slender, mournful woman in a form-fitting, slightly gaudy gown, characteristic of the 1870′s or 1930′s. I could not see the hemline to tell how long the gown was, to tell if it was from the 19th or 20th centuries. Generally, she was weeping. She was in the room with the two strange little closets.

Our other ghost was a man in dusty, dark casual clothing. He wore a shirt and pants like blackish jeans. He obviously wore boots, but I could not “see” them.

Sometimes, I sensed that he was calling on the woman, wearing a dusty, too-loose jacket with tails, and a very slim tie. He was our loud ghost, whose temper was echoed with his footsteps. Usually, he’d storm around the upstairs hallway, or the other two bedrooms.

The louder ghost continued to storm around the upstairs at night. My husband decided to join a gym forty miles from our house. Frankly, I think he was frightened of our ghosts. If he was concerned for my safety, he never mentioned it. When he was at the gym each evening, I was at home, trying to ignore the footsteps overhead.

As our louder ghost became more courageous, his walk became more distinctive. We could hear that ka-thud, ka-thud of a heel hitting the floor and then the sole of the shoe, as if he was wearing workmen’s boots or cowboy boots. That’s when we began calling him “Boots,” to make the reality a little friendlier, as if he was a companion and not a tormentor.

Some nights, I thought I heard the jingle of spurs from the “old west” era. That may have been something upstairs rattling, in response to the pounding footsteps on our hardwood floors.

I was anxious but not terrified. After all, the noises were only upstairs. I stayed downstairs.

Meanwhile, I had begun teaching children’s drama classes for the town. During the summer, I taught the classes in my living room.

One day, the afternoon class went particularly late as we were preparing for a performance. No one noticed how quickly dusk approached.

Then, in a pause during our rehearsal, I almost gasped aloud. I could hear footsteps upstairs. They were faint, but certainly there. How could I have forgotten about them?

I looked around the room, but no one seemed to hear the footsteps but me. I considered the possibility that it was a “personal” haunting, and perhaps no one besides me could hear the sounds. That allayed my fears for a few minutes.

The rehearsal concluded, and we discussed the strong and weak points of the rehearsal. My living room was filled with eager students, ranging in age from about seven to mid-teens.

I decided to ignore the footsteps, now getting louder, and talk to my class as if nothing unusual was going on.

I raised my voice as the boots thudded and almost clang’d, back and forth, angrily striding across the floor above us.

Finally, the footsteps started pacing at the top of the stairs.

One of my oldest students timidly put her hand up. “Excuse me, but is your husband at home?” She tilted her head, indicating the noises clearly coming from the upstairs.

My heart sunk as I replied, “No.” I wished with every ounce of hope that she was the only one who heard the boots, or that the sound would stop.

Another student was clearly baffled, “Um, are there workmen upstairs, or what?”

I knew I was in trouble. I said no, and gulped aloud when I saw the children’s expressions.

Trying to sound as if everything was perfectly normal, I ushered the children to our front lawn, saying that we’d finish the class outside.

To this day, I have no idea what the students thought, or if they heard the angry footsteps storming down the polished hardwood stairs as I closed the front door behind me. I hastily concluded the rehearsal, and held future classes in the town offices.

The group barely held together past the performance. I think the event scared the children, and I know they looked at me a little nervously after that.

Within a couple of weeks, the house was filled with workmen. We gutted most of the house to remodel it. After that, we did not hear the boots upstairs on our new wall-to-wall carpeting.

We began using the new bedrooms on the second [...]]]> Our ghost was considerably quieter — but not silent — after that.

Within a couple of weeks, the house was filled with workmen. We gutted most of the house to remodel it. After that, we did not hear the boots upstairs on our new wall-to-wall carpeting.

We began using the new bedrooms on the second floor, and there were no further significant incidents in the house.

However, soon after that our marriage began to fail dramatically.

For awhile, I moved into another bedroom. Looking back now, I realize that I selected the room with the two little closets, but now I was the woman quietly weeping.

My husband responded to my unhappiness by insisting that he was a victim too. He had become the man storming around the other bedrooms, and pacing in the hall.

About six months before we finally separated, we moved out of our lovely Victorian home. My husband was convinced that something, perhaps invisible, was affecting him. That sounded a little strange to me but — at my wits’ end — I hoped a change of environment might help him.

As we prepared to move, the ghost resumed activity in the one upstairs bedroom that had not been remodelled. This was the room with the strange closet and unexplained “filled in” areas in the walls.

I’ve often wondered if there was a body in those walls, but that’s probably a wild fantasy from too many Gothic novels and scary movies.

The windows in the unremodelled bedroom were funny, each opening like a cabinet door. They swung in, with latching hardware like a medicine chest. Because we rarely used that room after the hauntings started, some of the windows’ latches were stubborn, or still rusted closed.

During the weeks before we moved, our ghost did something he had done infrequently before we remodelled the house: He opened the windows, one by one, in clockwise fashion. And, even on windless days, each window would thwap-thwap-thwap against the wall next to it.

I’d go upstairs to close the one that had opened, and check all of the latches.

Then I closed the bedroom door behind me, to prevent an cross-draft, although these were always hot, breezeless days.

About five minutes later, the next window would open, thwap-thwap-thwap. I’d go upstairs, close it, and check the windows again.

This routine would go on, with the windows opening in clockwise sequence, for over an hour.

Sometimes I’d leave the house just to get away from it. When I returned, all of the windows would be closed, or all of them would be wide open. There was no halfway with our ghost, and there was no pattern to this.

At other times, I’d stay at home, and hear a low male laughter, and sometimes a woman quietly sobbing, as each window-opening session slowly drew to a halt.

This annoyed me, but it didn’t really frighten me. The windows only opened during the daytime. At night when we slept upstairs, the house was as silent as any other older home. There were merely the usual creaks.

Since we moved out, at least two other families have lived in the home. I’m not sure if they encounter the ghosts. I hope that they didn’t.

Though I miss my lovely home, I do not miss the ghosts.

This house was the subject of an article, “Boots,” by Margaret Brighton, which appeared in FATE magazine in 1981.