Haunted Objects: Stories of Ghosts on Your Shelf

by Christopher Balzano

  The story of his haunted violin was well known throughout the small town of Wareham, situated between Plymouth and Cape Cod, even before it appeared in a few volumes of New England legends and lore, including Curt Norris’ Ghosts I Have Known, Robert Ellis Cahill’s New England’s Ghostly Haunts, a compilation of ghost stories from Yankee Magazine titled “Mysterious New England,” and The Haunted Violin: True New England Ghost Stories, a collection of ghostly tales by Wareham native Edward Lodi.

  Cudworth was a discerning player and favored the finely crafted instruments of the Italian masters. He eschewed the more modern violins of his day for the ornate, antiquated versions that had once been carved for royalty and nobility. In fact, Cudworth claimed he knew the “secrets” of such legendary crafters as Antonio Stradivari and Guarneri del Gesu, and how they created such lush sounds from their instruments, even if such claims were more showmanship than supernatural. (Scientific experimentation has revealed in recent years, albeit somewhat controversially, that the chemicals used to treat the wood are responsible for the tones.) Cudworth had amassed quite an impressive collection, yet his favorite was a German model from 1769 crafted by Joseph Hornsteiner.

  It was the Hornsteiner violin that he was playing one day in the kitchen of his mother’s home in Wareham. As he played the tune, “The Broken Melody,” a rumbling sound came from the sink. It seemed to stop and start in conjunction with his playing. The phenomenon was repeated in other residences and locations as well. Sometimes when Cudworth played the song, nothing supernatural happened; other times, pictures would rock on the wall and objects would fly across the room.

  This took place off and on for over 20 years, including in Cudworth’s own home. In one particular instance, the banging of the latch on the attic door was so severe that Cudworth went upstairs to investigate. When he did, he noticed the door of his music cabinet was open and the sheet music to “The Broken Melody” was left for him to find.

  When a group of newspaper reporters led by Norris invited Cudworth to play the tune at the newspaper offices, it set off unexplainable noises throughout the vacant parts of the building and left the reporters scratching their heads. Cudworth, who according to Lodi didn’t believe in ghosts himself, was convinced that something was accompanying his playing. He passed away in 1989, and the Hornsteiner was presumably auctioned with the rest of Cudworth’s collection. Its whereabouts are currently unknown.

  Some might argue that the spirits were not attached to the violin, but rather to Cudworth himself. Why, then, would they only manifest during the playing of one particular tune?

  It could have been the tune itself. “The Broken Melody” was composed by English cellist Auguste Van Biene in 1892, and became a smash hit that he himself played more than 6,000 times until he died mid-performance in January 1913. Was the spirit associated with Cudworth’s performances that of Van Biene, acknowledging the lasting legacy of his composition?

  Even if Cudworth’s Hornsteiner was indeed haunted, it’s certainly not the first instance of the supernatural being associated with the violin.

  ‘Devil’s Trill Sonata’

  There is a story from Germany in the 12th century that is recounted in Howard Schwartz’s Lilith’s Cave: Jewish Tales of the Supernatural (Oxford University Press, 1988), in which a carpenter is asked to make a coffin and uses the one remaining board to carve a fine violin. As he worked on the violin and its bow over a few days, he was visited in his dreams each night by the dead man for whom he had constructed the coffin. Each time, the man warned him against creating the violin.

  The carpenter, enamored with his handiwork, did not heed the dead man’s warnings. He finished the instrument and immediately drew up the bow to the strings. He had played no more than a single note before the sky grew dark and foreboding and the violin began to play a haunting tune all on its own. The man ran to the window to see what had brought upon such darkness, and as soon as he did, two invisible hands pushed him out the window and into some quicksand below, where he sunk to his suffocating death.

  Yet the next morning, the carpenter’s son found his father’s dead body not in a sand pit, but right on the floor of his workshop, the violin next to him.

  Another ghastly legend suggests that if you place a violin in a quiet room on Halloween and drop a lone piece of candy or some other offering into the F-hole, the faint sounds of the “Devil’s Trill Sonata” can be heard in the air.

  That particular composition also has a legend of its own. Actually titled “Violin Sonata in G Minor,” it was composed by Giuseppe Tartini in 1713, after the devil came to him in a dream.

  Tartini recounted the story to French astronomer Jerome Lalande, who printed the composer’s own words in Lalande’s 1765 work, Voyage d’un Francois en Italie:

  “One night, in the year 1713, I dreamed I had made a pact with the devil for my soul. Everything went as I wished: My new servant anticipated my every desire. Among other things, I gave him my violin to see if he could play. How great was my astonishment on hearing a sonata so wonderful and so beautiful, played with such great art and intelligence, as I had never even conceived in my boldest flights of fantasy. I felt enraptured, transported, enchanted: My breath failed me, and I awoke. I immediately grasped my violin in order to retain, in part at least, the impression of my dream. In vain! The music which I at this time composed is indeed the best that I ever wrote, and I still call it the ‘Devil’s Trill,’ but the difference between it and that which so moved me is so great that I would have destroyed my instrument and have said farewell to music forever if it had been possible for me to live without the enjoyment it affords me.”

  Although the “Devil’s Trill Sonata” is considered to be one of the most beautiful and technically advanced pieces ever composed for the violin, Tartini himself said that it paled in comparison to what the Devil had played in his dream:

  “(It) was so inferior to what I heard that if I could have subsisted on other means, I would have broken my violin and abandoned music forever.”

  Shades of Tartini’s dream is echoed in even more contemporary pieces, such as The Charlie Daniels Band’s 1979 hit, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” in which Old Scratch is a “fiddler” of great skill.

  Even today, a direct connection exists between the supernatural and the violin. There exists a psychoacoustic phenomenon in which a musician plays two simultaneous tones and a third tone, whose frequency is the sum or difference of the two tones being played, can be heard as well. Tartini was the first to discover this anomaly, and so they are known as Tartinin tones.

  Or, more commonly, they’re called “ghost tones.”

  Robert’s Rules: Chris’ Experience with the World’s Most Haunted Doll

  Throughout the history of the ghost story and the horror movie, the haunted doll is the symbol of creepiness, and a classic image of a haunted item.

  The mere mention of one makes people shiver, causing them to remember movie scenes like the ones from Poltergeist or Magic, or The Twilight Zone’s Talky Tina. It also reminds them of a dark night from their own childhood, when a trusted toy didn’t quite look right in the shadows.

  It’s easy to see why. The dead eyes and frozen expressions make them alive enough to talk if we spend enough time with them. They sit in the corner of the room, watching us, and then do whatever they please when we aren’t around. After all, how often do we remember where or how they were positioned before we left the room or fell asleep?

  If dolls are the cornerstone of haunted items, then Robert would have to be the cornerstone of haunted dolls. That’s no surprise to him. He’s been haunting people and inspiring nightmares since he was first made in 1904, and if you believe the stories of his birth, he is doing just what he was made to do.

  The story goes that there was tension between Robert Eugene Otto, a famous artist in Key West, Florida, and one of his servants. She was fired, and in her anger she turned to the voodoo she learned as a young child and continued to practice in sec
ret. To prove there were no hard feelings, she built a doll for Otto’s young son, Robert Jr., in his image. However, she cursed it upon leaving. Shortly after being given the doll, also named Robert, the young son asked to be called Eugene, to distinguish himself from the doll.

  Not long after entering Eugene’s life, Robert the doll took on a life on its own. Eugene became obsessed with the doll, playing with it and carrying it everywhere. A second voice was often heard when the two were playing together. Items around the house would disappear or be found smashed, or toys of Eugene’s would be destroyed, and little Eugene would be blamed for the mishap. He would object, telling his parents, “Robert did it.” The catchphrase stuck.

  A display of Robert paraphernalia.

  People claimed to see the doll move—sometimes just its head, other times its whole body. It would appear in different windows of the house and smile out at the neighbors. In one story, family members say they saw it running through the house.

  Graves and Gravestones, a local ghost tour that has permission to visit Robert at night, says the activity did not stop there. When Robert Otto died, Eugene inherited the house. Into adulthood, he remained close to the doll. Walking around with it and seating it at the dinner table led to the disintegration of his marriage. Eugene’s wife kept putting Robert out of sight, but the doll kept coming back, often visiting her.

  When Eugene died in 1974, Robert was hidden in the attic and eventually discovered by the people who bought the house, the contract of which specified keeping the doll on the property.

  Robert’s new home, the East Martello Museum.

  The family’s daughter loved the doll at first, but its activities proved too much for her. She cried when the doll moved around her room, and told her parents it wanted her dead. On several occasions, she said it even attempted to choke her. The creepiness of those incidents, including a time when the doll was found sitting at the foot of the bed holding a knife, forced the people to finally get rid of it. The doll was moved to the East Martello Museum on the edge of Key West, where it remains today.

  Robert doesn’t seem to be getting any nicer in retirement, although it gets harder to separate legend from any real effect the doll has on the people around it.

  Robert sometimes is removed from the museum and brought on tour around the Keys. When Robert was taken to a conference in Clearwater, Florida, a few years ago, story has it the doll demanded to ride in the front seat, wear a seat belt, and have a bed of its own in the hotel.

  I attended the same conference, sitting at a table selling books, and was maybe 10 feet away from the doll. Most of my day was spent taking pictures of people who wanted to be seen with Robert. Near the end of the day, when I had to tell visitors (mostly children) that Robert was done for the day, their faces fell. People ran from all corners of the hotel to say goodbye to the doll when it was removed from its glass display and put in a case for transportation back to the museum. They all chanted Robert’s name wildly.

  If you think this is just a story to get you to visit the East Martello Museum and pay the price of admission, people will tell you otherwise. Their stories have become part of the mysticism surrounding the toy.

  Visitors to the museum are asked to obey three rules, known as “Robert’s Rules”: You must say hello to the doll when you enter; ask its permission before you take a picture of it; and say thank you and good-bye when you leave. They are simple rules to follow; however, most people want to be part of the ghost story, and disrespecting the doll is the quickest way to become part of the legend. They snap pictures without first asking permission, and hope to see odd things in the view screens of their digital cameras.

  The real testament to Robert’s supernatural abilities, or the ability for rational people to replace coincidence with superstition, concerns the alcove wall behind the doll. Visitors from across the country and beyond write to Robert, and the best letters get displayed on the wall. People write to thank Robert for their experiences and to tell the doll what they have been up to. This is not typical fan mail, however. Most of the letters are apologies to Robert for not following the rules. The letter writers claim bad things have happened to them since their visit, usually occurring right after seeing Robert. Written in everything from shaky penmanship to thoughtful calligraphy to typed precision, the letters all basically say the same thing: I didn’t believe, bad things happened, please forgive me.

  The Ghost and Gravestone’s tour bus in Key West, Florida.

  The beauty of Robert is that he acts as a rational touchstone for irrational ideas. Through Robert, people indulge the part of themselves that is entertained by “looking under the bed.” After all, the fear of dolls is as innocent as youth. As an adult, you can visit Robert and pretend for a few minutes that you’ve gotten over that childhood fear. You can embrace and conquer it at the same time.

  Most interesting is the culture that has developed around Robert. The doll is promoted on nearly everything: its blank expression is seen in framed pictures and adorns buttons, coffee cups, license plates, drink cozies, shirts … all accompanied by the catchphrase, “Robert did it!”

  Robert is also big business for local tour companies. While all of the tours around Key West point out where the doll was created and where it is currently located, only one, Graves and Gravestones, actually has permission to go into the museum after hours and schedule more intimate showings. According to David Casey, manager of the tour company, Robert’s draw has made it the most popular tour in town. Since starting in 2010, the company runs two tours daily (four daily during the tourist season), and most people come to see Robert. “He’s a major draw. Everybody asks about him and we’ve built the tour around him,” Casey said.

  Of course, the whole situation is set up to give people the haunted moment they crave, and that’s part of the fun. The guides, for example, give the tourists EMF meters when they enter the museum, but do not explain the proper way to use them or what the electromagnetic field really is. The tourists get excited as they swing the meters around and gasp when they go off.

  Even Robert’s Rules invite horrible evidence for investigators, while providing memories for visitors. Robert is surrounded by thick, clear plastic that reflects light in all directions, a trick that may well be intentional. It nearly always produces something in a photograph you don’t think should be there. Tourists snap their pictures quickly without asking Robert for permission, getting all sorts of illusions.

  Robert draws visitors to the museum from all parts of the country. This means the souls who visit the doll and break its rules are more likely to have travel mishaps than others. One woman, who traveled by plane, lost her luggage. Another suffered a car accident on her way home. Still another had her computer stolen. All of these incidents would have been dismissed had they not occurred after seeing Robert first. Breaking the doll’s rules explains away the everyday bad luck we have.

  The author snapped this photo of Robert before asking permission and far enough to catch the lights and flash.

  This is the photo the author got of Robert after the doll granted permission.

  Good luck from Robert.

  Robert’s life continues in the digital world. There’s a Robert blog you can follow, and a daily count of all of the batteries the doll has drained. There is an endless trail of websites devoted to Robert, and innumerable ghost stories that recount the doll’s tale.

  The official website, www.robertthedoll.org, claims teachers are using the doll in the classroom, something I have done on occasion in my middle school writing and reading classes. There are more YouTube videos of the doll than most celebrities, and the web hits, videos, and stories continue to grow.

  As I write this, it is the beginning of the Christmas season, and my mother has promised a doll for my young daughter. It is from a company that specializes in making dolls that look like the little girl they are being given to, so in the next few weeks, there will be two versions of my daughter hanging around.

&nbs
p; Letters to the doll, both good and bad.

  At some point, I know the doll and I will be alone in the house. My daughter might leave the doll in the living room where, feeling safe from the spirits I write about, I usually pen my ghost stories. I might look over and see it smiling at me, but I’m not afraid. I got over my fear of dolls years ago, even though my sister tortured me with wild tales of Barbie dolls waking at night and trying to kill me.

  Yet, I have seen many strange things since I began studying paranormal activity and I know there are any number of situations that could cause an object to move, or a plastic head to turn. I know I will never stop by my daughter’s room, with door closed and lights off, and hear a strange voice answering her questions.

  This could never happen. This could never happen.

  Claire the Doll

  When Jill was eight years old, she was given an old porcelain doll by a dear family friend, Miss Marian. The kindly old woman was always dropping by Jill’s home and leaving her gifts, and this doll was the last thing she gave her before she passed away.

  Jill was never really into dolls, but was delighted to have a new keepsake from her beloved friend. She gave the doll a place of honor, seating it in a child-sized rocking chair beside the nightlight.

  The doll was rather pretty, with pink lips, brown eyes, and rosy peach cheeks. Dark brown hair hung in slightly frizzled and now-loose curls. It wore a peach and cream-colored dress with apron and petticoats and little black Mary Jane shoes that, when removed, showed delicately painted toenails. The doll’s body was soft fabric, and its head, forearms, hands, and legs from the knees down were porcelain.