by Tom Lapham
After Mrs. Upham sold the house it passed through many hands as a private residence and an apartment building. In the 1970s it was restored to its original grandeur and is now one of the most beautiful private homes in St. Augustine. Although it is not open to the public, the house is well-worth passing by and viewing from the street.
In 1979 the Upham Cottage contained several apartments. Ms. Bobbi Bay moved into one of them on the top floor. Her bedroom was spacious and airy with tall windows on two walls. There was a door, locked from the bedroom side, that led to the attic. She had no reason to open it, no reason to go upstairs, so she never bothered.
But from the very first day she moved in, she heard music coming from someplace, though she couldn't figure out exactly where. She soon learned that two teenagers lived downstairs and, perhaps, they were playing the music. However, she thought it a little strange, because the music sounded like a harpsichord. What teenager would be listening to a harpsichord? Still, that seemed to be the only explanation. Also, she noticed the morning following her first night in the house that the attic door was unlatched. In fact, every afternoon when she returned home from work, that door was ajar.
For days the music continued, often late into the night. Finally, after several weeks, Ms. Bay went downstairs and asked the youngsters to please stop playing the harpsichord, especially in the evenings when everyone was home. The two young people insisted that they were not playing harpsichord music; they wouldn't be caught dead. One of them, David, told her that the music actually was coming from a ghost in the attic, a young woman named Claire. A likely story, thought Ms. Bay. She didn't believe them. She didn't believe in ghosts.
But night after night she still heard the music. Young people had no consideration for others it seemed. Exasperated, she decided that she would catch the two in the act. The next evening she heard the harpsichord playing again and hurried downstairs to what had once been Colonel and Mrs. Upham's ballroom. As she entered she stopped, astonished at what she saw. There in the middle of the room stood a pretty, auburn-haired woman in her mid-twenties. She was wearing a gown of yellow satin. “What is going on here?” Ms. Bay asked aloud, knowing that what she was seeing wasn't real. Seconds later, the apparition disappeared into thin air.
Ms. Bay saw “Claire” many times after that, usually passing through the bedroom and heading up to the attic, unlatching the door and leaving it ajar in the process. Once, the ghost actually bumped the bed and woke Ms. Bay. Claire didn't say anything. She just walked across the room, opened the door, and walked up the stairs. After that experience, Ms. Bay left the attic door unlatched.
The presence was not threatening. Ms. Bay never felt uncomfortable or frightened in its presence, but she quickly came to believe in ghosts. In fact, a short time after seeing Claire in the ballroom, Ms. Bay went down to apologize to the two teenagers who lived below. They accepted her apology and laughed. David explained. The ghost was a young woman, the wife of a ship's captain who was often at sea for long periods. Apparently, because she was so young and pretty, he kept her locked in the attic while he was away. Her only entertainment was her harpsichord. She died in the attic while her husband was gone.
The captain and his lovely young wife, Claire, have been lost in history. Perhaps they never existed. Although others who have lived in the house since have reported noises and music coming from the attic, the current owners have not been bothered and only smile patiently when asked about their ghost. Still, Bobbi Bay, who has long since moved, will swear to Claire's existence. She believes in ghosts whether they can be found in history or not!
THE DICKERSONS' HOUSE
JOHN AND REGINA DICKERSON LIVE on Cincinnati Avenue at the north end of town in a wonderful, old home built around the turn of this century. Built mostly of stone with a stone fence across the front, the house is an imposing structure, very distinctive and unique. The Dickersons have taken great pains to restore it to its original condition. In fact, that is their specialty. They have recently bought an old house in Tennessee which they intend to restore as time and money permit as a retirement home. But for now they are very satisfied with their house on Cincinnati Avenue. They love it.
Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Dickerson believes in ghosts, but not long after they moved in and started renovations “some crazy guy” came to the door and asked Regina if she'd “seen the old lady, yet.” The Dickersons were well aware of the stories surrounding the house. They knew that Fred and Lottie Capo, who had built it, had both died there as had several other owners. But, no, she hadn't “seen the old lady, yet,” and to this day neither of them have seen anything.
Still, “the neighbors are a little paranoid,” as Regina puts it. She thinks some of them let their imaginations wander too far. There are stories about the ghost being afraid of fire, and a recurring legend that the house is going to burn down. One Christmas, Regina had decorated her home with poinsettias throughout the house. A neighbor, one evening, seeing the reflection of the beautiful red flowers in the window and knowing the Dickersons were away for the evening, called the fire department. “We can hardly barbecue or light a fire in the fireplace without someone calling to see if everything is all right, but we don't mind. We have terrific neighbors.”
Back in the early ’80s, before the Dickersons bought the house, a young man I'll call Mark, who lived in the house at the time, approached a Mr. Barron (not his real name) whom he worked with and asked if he knew anything about ghosts. “No, I don't know anything about ghosts; I don't believe in ghosts.” But, Mark persisted and half-convinced Mr. Barron that he lived in a “haunted” house. Mr. Barron, a long-time St. Augustine resident, finally agreed to help Mark find someone who might help.
That evening at home Mr. Barron related the incident to his wife who, coincidentally, earlier that day, had met a psychic. Mr. Barron called the man, and he agreed to come look at the house.
Arrangements were made, and the following Saturday Mark and his girlfriend, and Mr. Barron and the psychic, met at the house. Slowly, the four went through the entire house, stopping often as the psychic focused his attention on this or that. Finally, they went back out on the front porch. “Well, there is a ghost in there,” the psychic said, “an older lady who died here. Apparently she was unable to get up the stairs to her bedroom in her later years and was stuck on the first floor. And another thing, too, I get the feeling this place is going to burn down soon.”
Later a neighbor came over and told Mr. Barron about the light that many in the neighborhood saw at night. It looked like a candle shining in an upstairs window. The window was in the bedroom that had been the old woman's. Well, Mr. Barron had just been up there and didn't see how anyone could see a light in the window, but he didn't argue. Some people were just a little crazy, he thought. The neighbor went back across the street, and Mr. Barron was left alone, sitting on the porch.
Through the open door he could hear Mark and the others talking upstairs in the bedroom. Then, he heard something else, a door closing and footsteps walking along the upstairs hall. The sound stopped at the head of the stairs, then started again and came downstairs and across the foyer. The screen door opened and closed, the steps came across the porch, something brushed against his leg as it went down the front steps and faded on the concrete walk. Mr. Barron sat there, astonished, not knowing what to think.
Finally, the others came downstairs and outside. Sheepishly, Mr. Barron said to them, “She's not in there anymore; she just left.” The psychic smiled, “We know; we heard her leave.”
Well, that's the only story the Dickersons have heard about their house. Of course, the house hasn't burned down, and the Dickersons have had no experiences. And what about the bedroom? Mrs. Dickerson laughed. “I keep a light on all night long, and I never go up there at night, but,” she quickly added, “guests stay up there all the time, and no one has ever had any problems.”
And what about their place in Tennessee? She'd said that several people had died there, and that
it sat right next to an old family cemetery with sixty graves in it. “Oh, you couldn't pay me to go in that cemetery at night.” She laughed again. “I guess I'm a little superstitious—but I still don't believe in ghosts!”
ALASKA
JUST DOWN THE STREET FROM THE Dickersons, Randy and Linda Bruner own an equally attractive home which was built sometime between 1917 and 1924. The area around Cincinnati Avenue is known as the Rhode Tract, named after the man who laid it out and built many of the homes. The Bruner's house, like many of the others along the street, was built for an executive of the Florida East Coast Railway. The railroad's offices were just a few blocks away, down Ponce de Leon Boulevard at One Malaga Street. The Bruners' home was originally owned by John and Alaska Parre; both of their names appear on the original deed, but two years later when the Parres sold the house, Alaska's name was missing. Presumably, she died in the interim.
Unlike the Dickersons, the Bruners do believe in ghosts. They believe Alaska Parre haunts their house. Although Linda has never seen Alaska, Randy has, and he describes her as a very attractive, older woman with long gray hair, wearing a bluish-gray garment. She always seems to float through the rooms, up and down stairs, and often she flicks lights on and off and plays music; she loves Vivaldi. Alaska is a very charming, friendly person, and neither the Bruners nor any of their guests have ever felt threatened.
Once, when a friend came to visit, her seven-year-old had to use the bathroom. Linda pointed the little boy up the stairs and told him where the bathroom was. A few minutes later, the child came running excitedly downstairs, his pants not quite all the way up and still unbuttoned. While he was going to the bathroom, a picture on the wall suddenly floated away, around the room, and back to its place on the wall. Alaska was having a little fun with the boy and was probably laughing at that very minute.
Often, when Linda does the dishes, someone pulls her hair gently back and tucks it behind her ears because her hands are wet and soapy, and she can't do it herself. Sometimes small items are hidden, but they soon show up again, especially when they're hidden too well, and the Bruners can't find them. Alaska loves to have fun, but she is always kind and gentle. The Bruners have two cats, and both are now used to Alaska, although at first, Linda could always tell if Alaska was around because the cats acted so strangely. Now, even when Linda can feel Alaska's presence, the cats just stay curled up. Alaska does tease them a little, however, but in a gentle way.
When the Bruners first moved in and were busy renovating the house, Linda was on a ladder, painting a ceiling in one of the rooms—the ceilings are fourteen feet high—and someone or something tickled her. She looked around and could see nothing. Only one cat was in the room, and it was asleep. She thought it was really strange, because no one else was in the house, and she was ten feet in the air on the ladder. Then she was tickled again. Finally she realized it was Alaska, and she started laughing. The tickling stopped, and Linda could almost feel Alaska laughing, too.
But the most startling thing that ever happened occurred even before that. When the Bruners moved in, there was shag carpet on the stairs, which they immediately decided to replace. Their stairway is a reverse stairway, five steps up to a landing, then seventeen more going up in the opposite direction. The first or second day the Bruners were in the house, Linda was at the top of the stairs, trying to pull the shag carpet free; it wouldn't come loose. She should have been more careful, but she was concentrating on getting the carpet up and wasn't thinking. Facing the top of the stairs, she yanked with all her might, and the carpet broke free. Suddenly, she found herself falling, catapulted down the stairs. Just as suddenly, she felt a force catch her in mid-air and cradle her as she floated down, like a feather, to land softly on the landing without even a thump. She didn't even have any bruises. Of course, it was Alaska. She had saved Linda's life, or at least kept her from very serious injury.
For the Bruners, Alaska is not just a ghost. She is a member of the family and a life-saving angel. They cannot imagine life without her.
TOQUES PLACE
THE HOUSE AT 26 TOQUES PLACE has served many functions. It has been an antique store, a restaurant, and a private residence. It was built in 1910 as a carriage house or servants' quarters for a larger estate. When the main house of the estate burned to the ground, the owners moved into the smaller building.
Jennifer was eight years old when her family moved into the house. Strange happenings occurred from the very start. The first incident took place the day they came to look at it, even before they moved in. The family walked all through the house with the owner, then gathered in the living room. The adults were busy talking, and Jennifer had to go to the bathroom. While she was in the bathroom she happened to look into a full-length mirror on the wall and saw “squiggly lines.” She couldn't figure it out, but when she moved her leg, the lines reflected into it, and they read “hi” in cursive writing. At eight she couldn't read cursive very well, but she did know “hi.”
She went downstairs and told her sister, “The mirror in the bathroom said hello to me.”
Her sister, Stephanie, who was three years older, frowned. “That's stupid; you're crazy.”
“No, Stephanie, it said, ‘hello,’” Jennifer insisted and pulled Stephanie upstairs to show her. There was nothing there, nothing on the mirror. Jennifer swore that she had seen a reflection on her leg, a reflection from the mirror.
“Look, Jennifer, if ‘hi’ was reflected on your leg, it would have to look like this (and she drew the word backwards in the air with her finger), but there's nothing there. There is no way you could have seen that.” And she stomped downstairs in disgust to get their mother.
“You saw what?”
“Mother, the mirror said ‘hi’ to me, in cursive on my leg.”
“Oh, Jennifer, you couldn't have seen anything. There's nothing in the mirror. There's nothing around here in this bathroom that could have reflected ‘hi’ in the mirror.” No one would believe Jennifer.
And so, the family moved in. The three children, Stephanie, Jennifer, and John, their nine-year-old brother, had rooms upstairs, and the mother, Sara, a room on the first floor. Jennifer had a front room. Large and spacious with a closet all along the back wall, it probably had been the master bedroom. There were windows on the north side and on the front, west side overlooking the porch. Jennifer loved it and quickly had her many stuffed animals arranged around the room with her two favorite bears, Furry and Shy, who were inseparable, in the middle of her pillows. Jennifer was very organized for an eight-year old.
The family also had pets, two large dogs, an Airedale named Dana, and Freda, a Lab. Both dogs were extremely intelligent. They could raise windows, lift latches on screen doors, and even turn knobs to open bathroom and bedroom doors. And yet, they were very well trained and obedient. Both were housebroken and mannerly. Even though they were big dogs, they never caused any problems in the house.
However, soon after moving in, the family went out for a couple of hours and left the dogs in Jennifer's room. When they returned, the room was in shambles. The bedspread had been ripped from the bed, the pillows shredded, the curtains torn down, and clothes and stuffed animals scattered everywhere. And both dogs had had accidents on the carpet. Something had badly frightened them. Curiously, they hadn't opened the door and just left the room, which both were capable of doing. The next time the family went out, the dogs were left in Stephanie's room, and there was no problem.
There were other aggravations. Jennifer's closet was divided into sections. The section next to the outside wall apparently had been built for shoes because it was filled with racks and a high shelf which probably had been used to store shoe boxes. Not long after Jennifer was settled in her room, Shy, one of her two favorite teddy bears, disappeared. She ran crying to her mother. At first, Sara thought Stephanie or John had hid the stuffed animal; neither was above teasing their little sister. She scolded them, but neither would admit to the prank, so she went up to sea
rch Jennifer's room thoroughly. She found Shy in the closet on the back of the shelf above the shoe racks.
Two days later Shy disappeared again. Again, Sara scolded Stephanie and John and, this time, sent them to their rooms. Once again, she found Shy on the shelf in the closet, in fact, in exactly the same spot as before.
A week later, neither of the older children were around; Stephanie was with friends, and John was outside playing. Shy disappeared yet again. This time Sara went directly to the closet to find him, and, sure enough, he was up in his accustomed spot on the shelf. After that, Shy disappeared with regularity all the years they lived in the house, and Jennifer soon learned to climb on a chair and retrieve her wandering teddy bear herself.
Once, Sara's friend, Nancy, came to visit and stayed in a room downstairs. Late one evening after everyone was asleep, Nancy came in and woke Sara; she said she heard John crying for his mother. Sara got up, put on a robe, and went upstairs. John was sound asleep. Sara went back down and got in bed. A short time later Nancy came in again. She could hear John crying, “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” Again, Sara went up and found John sleeping soundly. A third time Nancy came rushing in. “Sara, John is sitting at the top of the stairs and calling you.”
Sara was angry now. “Look, Nancy, he is nine years old. He doesn't cry for me anymore. He hasn't cried in the middle of the night for years.”
“Sara, I can see him sitting at the top of the steps.” Nancy was standing in the doorway of Sara's room.
“He can't be!”
“Well, he is.”
Before Sara could get to the doorway to look, the boy Nancy had seen disappeared. They went upstairs together and into John's room. They found him sleeping soundly and wrapped in his blankets, like a cocoon. It was obvious that he hadn't been awake.