Victoria's Most Haunted

by Ian Gibbs

  If it hadn’t been so sad, it would have been comical. The far wing of the house was the one that was most affected, but I was pretty sure the presence used to affect the entire lake house. In the 1940s, the property belonged to an old man. He lived there fulltime and never intended it as a holiday home. He had built his house, all two rooms of it, out by the lake to get away from people. His greatest desire was to be left alone; he’d picked an isolated spot near the water so he could have the solitude he wanted most. The only trouble was that after the Second World War, people began doing things like building holiday homes, and the old man quickly found himself surrounded by people, lots of happy, holidaying, friendly, outgoing, neighbourly people. He hated it. He hated them. I got all of this so quickly and so suddenly that it was like he was standing beside me, personally putting it into my head. It made sense, though; I could picture him sitting in his house, glaring out at everyone and never saying a word, but if they stepped on his property, watch out.

  All in all, he wasn’t the evil presence I had first intuited. Rather, he was like the Oscar the Grouch of ghosts. I guess when his house was torn down and the new one built, he hadn’t bothered to move on. After all, as far as he was concerned, it was his home and no one else had the right to be there.

  I asked Stephanie how she felt in the room and she told me she just felt uncomfortable.

  “I know that. You mentioned that, but what else?” I pressed.

  She thought about it a little more and then responded, “I guess I’d have to say, unwelcome, like I was being prodded all night until I left.”

  I actually smiled.

  “What are you so happy about? That’s not a good thing!” Stephanie said.

  “I’m smiling because that matches up with everything I thought I was getting on this place.”

  I filled Stephanie in on who or what her roommate had been that night and she agreed that it made sense. She was also very happy to hear that he had no interest in going into the rest of the house as we had planned to stay until Monday morning.

  That night, everyone bedded down, much as we had the night before. While we still heard bumps and the odd door closing in the other part of the house, it didn’t bother us nearly as much, as we knew who was doing it, and we knew he wasn’t planning to visit us. As we left the house, we avoided going into that wing, gathered our belongings, and made sure everything was spic and span for the next people coming in. Let’s hope they had a less interesting time than we did.

  While I never spoke to the guests who stayed in the house after us, I did ask our friends about the original property. They hadn’t built the house, but they had seen pictures of the original structure. It was a small two-room cottage in about the same place as the far wing of the current house. I wasn’t surprised, but it was nice to have it confirmed. I don’t go around announcing to people that something not quite alive is in their home unless they ask me what I think. Many people don’t know I pick up on stuff, so wouldn’t ask. I never told our friends about the resident with whom they share their holiday home, but they never mentioned anything about it to me, so perhaps he doesn’t mind them as much. We never did go back, although we were invited. I would say, if pressed, that we just didn’t find the place very welcoming.

  HATLEY CASTLE

  IT SEEMS TO me that these “castles” built by rich men of industry carry some kind of curse. For example, coal baron Robert Dunsmuir never got to live in his monumental home, Craigdarroch Castle, as he died before it was completed. The curse seemed to follow his son, James, when he built Hatley Castle.

  The Dunsmuir family was complicated, fractious, and messy. There is no shortage of literature about the family and their troubles. Alcoholism, litigation, and delusions of grandeur (one family member spent millions producing Hollywood movies, which she also starred in, in hopes of becoming famous—it didn’t work) are just some of the follies this family suffered, not to mention losing their wealth in one generation. The Dunsmuirs were nothing if not interesting.

  While all of the former Dunsmuir residences still house some of their deceased residents, Hatley Castle in particular hosts more than the usual share of energy and entities. I have encountered one of them myself, and it was pretty powerful and pretty annoyed. It was a she actually, but more on that later.

  In 1906, James and Laura Dunsmuir purchased the property that would be home to Hatley Castle. At the time, James was British Columbia’s Lieutenant Governor. The forty-room castle was built between 1908 and 1909, and exotic gardens were created—the lifestyle of the ultra-rich was on full display. Buildings were added over the years to make the estate closer to James’s vision of a completely self-sustaining enterprise. Massive stables were built; there were multiple houses for staff, and the park even had it’s own Chinatown for the garden workers—there were over one hundred men whose sole job it was to tend the gardens.

  However, life was not perfect. In 1915, James and Laura lost their twenty-one-year-old son, James Jr. He went down on the ship Lusitania as he headed to England to join the war. His mother never recovered from the loss. James and Laura had hoped James Jr. would take over the family business, as his brother, Robert, was more interested in drinking and running around than working, and his sisters were characterized as “a wild lot, with money to burn.” James Sr.’s brother, Alexander, had died from alcoholism in 1900 and James had been entrenched in a legal battle with his mother for years over who controlled the family business. There was no one else fit to be heir.

  By 1939, both James and Laura were gone. Their children were either dead themselves or using up the family fortune much faster than it could be replenished. Combine this with the fact that Canada was just about to emerge from the Depression and join the Second World War, and the remaining Dunsmuirs suddenly realized they couldn’t afford to keep Hatley Park any longer. In 1940, the heirs sold it to the Canadian Government for only 75,000 dollars. James had spent that same sum alone building a stone wall at the front of the property.

  The government converted Hatley Park into a military college and Royal Roads was born. It remained a college from 1940 to 1990. During those decades, there were a number of additions to the buildings already on the grounds. In 1995, it was granted full status as a degree conferring university, and kept the name Royal Roads.

  As soon as students started living at the castle, the stories started. For the first four years, until additional buildings were completed in 1944, the castle served as dorms for the students; this included James Jr.’s childhood bedroom. Students recounted stories of an old woman who would come in to James Jr.’s former room, which housed several young recruits. She would lift the sheet to peer at the bed’s occupant. When she discovered it was not who she was looking for, she would grab the young man by the leg and drag him to the floor. In other rooms, students would complain of feeling a very cold hand on their shoulder when they were working late at night. It was as if the presence was urging them to go to bed. The ghostly presence was thought to be Laura Dunsmuir, but it was unclear whether she was displeased that someone else was in her beloved son’s old room, or if she was trying to prevent them from going to war as her son had done, to protect them.

  The other unpleasant spirit, the one I ran into, was that of Laura’s personal maid, who had been carrying on a bit of a dalliance with a young sailor from the United States. James Sr. had his personal yacht, the Dolaura, anchored in the lagoon at the bottom of the castle’s grounds and kept a substantial crew to run it. The yacht was over two hundred feet long, had a dining room that could seat twenty-four people, and the Dunsmuirs’ personal suite had a large sitting area and a walk-in closet; the bedroom and bathroom in their suite was tiled and had sterling silver fittings. This was no simple pleasure boat. It would not have been unusual for a personal maid to accompany her mistress aboard the ship, and it would not have been difficult for this young woman to find some alone time with a young sailor. Their relationship blossomed and this rather innocent young woman fully b
elieved she had found true love and behaved accordingly. When she discovered that she was pregnant, she told her lover that now they would be man and wife. The sailor, who was from Port Angeles, then broke the news to her that he already had a wife. The young woman, broken by the shame of being pregnant out of wedlock, threw herself from the third floor window of Hatley Castle to the patio below, dying as soon as her head struck the flagstones.

  When I finished my degree at Royal Roads University, I was brought on as associate faculty for a few semesters to help ease new students into online learning. This meant that I had to attend the wine and cheese receptions to welcome students to their in-house portion of learning. These receptions were held in the castle itself. The lower level is often used for receptions of many kinds, but the upper levels of the castle, which house the former bedrooms and private chambers, are now used as offices for the university administration. On one occasion, I had gotten to the reception early and the catering staff was hurrying about so I took the opportunity to wander at will.

  I made my way across the ground floor to the grand central staircase and headed up. I got to the top of the stairs, took three steps down the main corridor, and stopped. I felt like someone was standing in front of me, physically stopping me. Not only that, but the presence was angry. My overwhelming sense was that this was the young maid. Unsurprisingly, she’s not a huge fan of men in general. She deeply resented me being there in what she felt was her space. I turned on my heel and headed downstairs (ever the brave adventurer that I am).

  At one time, it was understood that no one was required to work in those offices by themselves because the feelings were so strong in this place. One investigator, Ed, told me that he’d been at the castle for an event and had also gone upstairs. He began walking down the hallway and heard someone coughing and heels clicking on tile floor. As he moved to the end of the hall, he realized the noises were coming from a bathroom there. He opened the door, but the bathroom was empty. There was no one else on the floor with him.

  I’ve heard many tales of hauntings at Hatley Castle. Even people with low sensitivity to the spiritual feel uncomfortable there, and I know the university tries to downplay the stories. However, two people who have worked there have separately corroborated the stories.

  I rarely hear any stories about strange encounters on the grounds of the park itself, which I find intriguing. If you park outside the gym and walk away from the castle, going past a building on your left and a small house on your right, you’ll come to a walking trail. The first part of the trail before you turn toward the sea is one I have always found profoundly spiritual. I’m not sure what took place there, perhaps it was a sacred First Nations site, perhaps the energy comes from something more New Age, but there is something stirring in those woods. I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable walking through them alone, even during the daytime. It’s not necessarily evil, but it is powerful and unpredictable.

  The grounds of Hatley Castle are extensive and going out to the castle is quite the experience. They do give tours and the Japanese garden there rivals the one at the Butchart Gardens. If you visit the park, take notice of what you might sense. You will be amazed by the architecture and landscape, but you may be more even amazed at how many people still linger within its walls.

  FORT RODD HILL AND FISGARD LIGHTHOUSE NATIONAL HISTORIC SITES

  ANOTHER HAUNTED AND beautiful public spot to visit around Victoria is Fort Rodd Hill and Fisgard Lighthouse National Park. I have been to this location a number of times and it is pretty amazing. Though perched adjacent to one another on the coast—the lighthouse is a bit of a walk past the fort, on its own peninsula—these two sites are separate entities in terms of history and even hauntings. Luckily, you can explore both the upper and lower batteries of the fort, and the lighthouse keeper’s house and the bottom of the tower to the lighthouse.

  Fort Rodd Hill was established before British Columbia was even part of Canada. The British Navy began using the Esquimalt harbour for water and lumber between 1840 and 1855, and even set up three hospital huts. The need for something a little more permanent came during the Fraser River Gold Rush in 1858. The Americans and the British even had an armed standoff at Fort Rodd Hill in 1859, which didn’t get resolved until 1871.

  The first permanent coastal defences were built in 1870. The first set of guns was installed in 1893. They built new and more defensible guns for the Second World War in 1944, which remained there until 1962, when the site was converted into a national historic site. The garrison never actually saw active combat, but a submarine appeared in the harbour one night during the Second World War. It surfaced, then submerged, and wasn’t seen again. When the big guns were fired, which was very infrequently, they often caused the windows at the Fisgard Lighthouse, and even those in homes in Esquimalt village, to break.

  The fort is a rich and varied place spiritually speaking. There are so many nooks and crannies to explore, many of them built into the hillside. There have been reports over the years of people feeling uncomfortable in different places in the fort, feeling watched or unwelcome. Some people have even reported seeing fleeting shapes or shadows out of the corners of their eyes in the dark rooms. Dawn Kirkham, a local medium, has been able to figure out who some of the entities are.

  In the battlements, the room where you can watch video re-enactments of things that happened at the site, there is an angry man who committed suicide. Dawn and her team have tried to help him move on, but he doesn’t feel like he can. He’s tormented by what he did, and he also does not completely realize that he’s deceased. If you sense him, you will feel like you are being watched and that you are not welcome.

  In the barracks, there are a number of male spirits, but also a few females. Dawn has discovered that the women were most likely prostitutes brought in to keep the men happy in their isolated spot, but she is not sure why their spirits remain there. Perhaps the men got a bit rough and an accident claimed the women? Dawn can’t say for sure, but their spirits are quite jovial, easy going, and positive.

  In the officers’ quarters, Dawn’s team encountered something very unpleasant. Not only was the spirit angry and mean, but he wanted everyone out. Dawn would have loved to have had more time in there to see if she could figure out exactly what was going on, but the group energy dissipated the entity.

  I have had similar experiences. If you are in a haunted location, it can be quite difficult to pinpoint what energy is actually spirit energy because everyone has an energy of their own. You will find this in day-to-day life: some people have a positive energy around them that brings you up while others have a negative energy that brings you down. This is a normal reaction to someone else’s energy and it works the same way with spirits.

  THE FISGARD LIGHTHOUSE is one of the most photogenic lighthouses in Canada. And it is as haunted as it is scenic.

  Built in 1860, this lighthouse has a long history. Over the years it had twelve lighthouse keepers, and two of them died while taking care of the light. In 1950, the military built a causeway out to the lighthouse, not only to make it easier to access, but also as a military obstacle. But before then the only way to reach the lighthouse was by boat. The last lighthouse keeper to tend to the light before it went automatic was Josiah Gosse, who lived there until 1928.

  The man who died in the most dramatic fashion while keeping the Fisgard Light was Joseph Dare. Joseph set off one morning to row over to the village of Esquimalt to pick up his mail. Something happened on the way there and Joseph fell out of the boat and drowned. Is it his energy that has remained in the home?

  Lighthouse keeping was once perceived as a cushy job, and many thought the posts were given out as political favours by whatever government was in power at the time. The reality was that it was a very tough job. You never got a full night’s sleep, you were isolated, and the pay was terrible. Furthermore, if you got sick, no one would know until it was too late. In order for it to spin round and round, the light was balanced in a
mercury bath. This bath had to be strained every month. At the time, no one knew what mercury did to a human body, so many of the lighthouse keepers either ended up with crippling arthritis or went completely insane. It was assumed that the keepers went insane because of the isolation, but it was far more likely due to the mercury. If a keeper wanted a helper, he could hire one, but the wages came out of his own meagre pay. The government provided scant rations. Any attempt to supplement these often ended poorly. One keeper saved every penny he could and bought a goat, a cow, and a few chickens. After a particularly nasty storm, he emerged to discover the animals had all been blown off the island. Some keepers attempted to grow vegetables, but the gardens were soon abandoned because the wind refused to allow anything to grow.

  I have been to the lighthouse many times; it’s one of my favourite places to visit on Vancouver Island. When I’ve been there, I’ve often been aware that I’m not alone. There has been more than one time when I’ve been the only person physically in the house, and I could have sworn someone was in there with me. I have heard noises on calm days: footsteps or doors closing even though there are no longer any doors to close. One time, I heard a man cough very close to me. Other people have experienced these things and more. One report included a handful of pebbles being tossed at the window; when the woman went out to look, no one was anywhere near the lighthouse. The woman remained in the house for some time, and it happened three more times. At that point, she got spooked and left. I have to admit, she lasted longer than I would have.

  Dawn has picked up two distinct entities in the house. The first one was a very present, very strong male energy. Dawn would have been able to experience more, but unfortunately the group she was with spread the energy too much and she wasn’t able to focus as well as she would have liked. She said that the man was strong, but not bad. The energy I’ve felt there has not been one that wanted me to leave, but one that was happy to have company. I’m sure all of the lighthouse keepers felt that way quite often.