by Hans Holzer
From her bed she could not reach the light switch, but she could see the time by the illuminated clock and realized it was 2 o’clock in the morning. Someone came down the hall, entered the kitchen, put water into the coffee pot, plugged it in, and then walked out of the kitchen and down the hall. She could hear the sound of coffee perking and could actually smell it. However, when she didn’t hear anyone coming back, she assumed that her daughter and son-in-law had made up and gone back to sleep.
She did likewise, and decided to question her daughter about it in the morning. Mrs. S. immediately checked the kitchen, but there was no trace of the coffee to be found, which did not help her state of mind. A little later she heard some commotion outside the house, and on stepping outside noticed that the dogcatcher was trying to take a neighbor’s dog with him. She decided to try and talk him out of it, and the conversation led to her husband being in the service, a statement which seemed to provoke a negative reaction on the part of the dogcatcher. He informed Mrs. S. that the last GI to live in the house was a murderer. When she wanted to know more about it, he clammed up immediately. But Mrs. S. became highly agitated. She called the local newspaper and asked for any and all information concerning her house. It was then that she learned the bitter truth.
In October two years before, a soldier stationed at the same base as her husband had beaten his two-year-old daughter to death. The murder took place in what had now become Mrs. S.’s bedroom. Mrs. S., shocked by the news, sent up a silent prayer, hoping that the restless soul of the child might find peace and not to have to haunt a house where she had suffered nothing but unhappiness in her short life....
The Haunted Rose Hall in Jamaica, now a luxury hotel—this is how it used to look
A little later, work has begun
Entrance to the underground corridors where the slaves were tortured
This remains the most haunted area at the Hall.
148
Rose Hall, Home of the “White Witch” of Jamaica
SOMETIMES REFERRED TO AS the most haunted house in the Western Hemisphere, Rose Hall is the great house on Rose Hall Plantation, one of the largest estates of Colonial Jamaica. It has recently been purchased by an American hotelman and meticulously restored to its former glory for use as a hotel for affluent tourists.
The plantation is not far from the Montage Bay airport, and a good road leads up to it. To this day, however, some natives will not go near the house, referring to it as filled with “goopies”, a local term for ghosts. They are indeed right. The earthbound spirit of Annie Porter, once mistress of Rose Hall, has never been laid to rest.
I have been to Rose Hall on two occasions, but without a proper trance medium. It is particularly in the corridors beneath the house that stark terror dwells, and I caution anyone visiting Rose Hall to beware of those areas, especially at night.
Annie Porter was a sadistic woman, who first made lovers of some of her more handsome slaves, and then tortured them to death. Eventually, fate caught up with her, and she too was put to death by one of those she had first tormented. Much violence and hatred cling to the old masonry, and are not likely to have disappeared just because the building had some of its holes filled in and painted over.
The house has three stories and a magnificent staircase out front, by which one gains access to the main floor. It is surrounded by trees and some of the most beautiful landscape in Jamaica. Prior to its restoration, it looked the way a haunted house is always described in fiction or film, with empty windows and broken walls. Now, however, it presents a clean and majestic appearance.
Annie Porter is also referred to as the “White Witch of Rose Hall.” There are actually two Annie Porters recorded in history and buried in a nearby cemetery. In the popular legend, the two figures have become amalgamated, but it is the Annie Porter of the late British colonial period who committed the atrocities which force her to remain tied to what was once her mansion. I do not doubt that she is still there.
I base this assumption on solid evidence. About ten years ago the late great medium Eileen Garrett paid Rose Hall a visit in the company of distinguished researchers. Her mission was to seek out and, if possible, appease the restless spirit of Annie Porter. Within a matter of moments after her arrival at the Hall, Mrs. Garrett went into a deep trace. The personality of the terror-stricken ghost took over her body, vocal cords, facial expression, and all, and tried to express the pent-up emotions that had so long been dormant.
The researchers were hard-pressed to follow the entranced Mrs. Garrett from the terrace, where their quest had begun, through half-dilapidated corridors, underground passages, and dangerously undermined rooms. But Annie Porter wanted them to see the places where she had been the Mistress of Rose Hall, reliving through the medium some of her moments of glory.
Eventually, these revived memories led to the point where Annie met her doom at the hand of a young slave with whom she had earlier had an affair.
Crying uncontrollably, writhing on all fours, the medium was by now completely under the control of the restless ghost. No matter how soothingly the researchers spoke to her, asking Annie to let go of the dreadful past, the violent behavior continued. Annie would not leave. In one of the few rare cases on record where a ghost is so tormented and tied to the place of its tragedy that it cannot break away, Annie refused to leave. Instead, the research team left, with a very shaken medium in tow.
* 149
There Is Nothing Like a Scottish Ghost
WHEN IT COMES to flavor and personality, there’s nothing quite like a Scottish ghost, or for that matter, like the people who see ‘em. Our visit to the country of Burns was short this time, but long enough to know how much we wanted to return.
We landed on a misty morning at Prestwick Airport and immediately set out for the town of Ayr, where we bedded down in the Station Hotel, one of the lesser delights of western Scotland. Immediately upon our arrival, Jack Weir of the BBC came to interview us, and I knew I was in a land where ghost hunting was a respected pursuit. Jamison Clarke, the television commentator, came along with him and we talked at length about a television show I would do from Edinburgh; Mr. Clarke would be in Glasgow at the same time. Nothing like a little magic via splitscreen and other twentieth-century miracles!
But we had not come to Ayr just to be miserable at the Station Hotel or talk to these delightful Scots. Our aim that afternoon was Culzean Castle, pronounced Coleen, unless you are a Sassanach or, worse, a Yankee. We rented a chauffeur-driven car, for they drive on the left side here, and set out for Culzean along the coastal hills of western Scotland.
Shortly afterwards we entered the formal gardens and rode along a gently descending road towards the cliff on which Culzean Castle rises sheer from the sea on the Ayrshire coast.
Built by Robert Adam in the latter part of the eighteenth century, the castle has been associated with the Kennedy family, the Earls of Cassillis and the Marquises of Ailsa, whose portraits are seen all over the house. Today it is administered by the National Trust of Scotland as a museum. Its main tower rises majestically four stories from the cliff, and one of the top floors contains an apartment given to General Eisenhower as a gesture of gratitude from Britain. He stays there with his family from time to time.
We were cordially welcomed by the administrator of Culzean, Commander John Hickley.
“I’m afraid we don’t keep a tame ghost in this castle,” he said apologetically, as Mrs. Hickley served us tea.
I assured him that we enjoyed the visit just the same. Neither the Commander nor Mrs. Hickley had seen a ghost in this comparatively modern castle, nor had any of the help complained about any unusual visitors. But a British visitor to Culzean by the same of Margaret Penney was somewhat luckier—if seeing a ghost is luck.
According to an Associated Press report of August 9, 1962, Mrs. Penney was going through the castle just like any other tourist when she encountered the ghost.
“She came down a corridor when I was visiti
ng Culzean Castle recently,” said Mrs. Penney, “and said to me—‘It rains today.’”
Mrs. Penney said the ghost was dark-haired and very beautiful.
“She appeared to be in evening dress though it was only about five o’clock in the afternoon when I encountered her.
“Anyway, I squeezed myself against the corridor to let her pass and told her, ‘Not much room for passing when you’re as plump as me.”‘
Mrs. Penney said the girl looked at her very sadly and answered, “I do not require any room nowadays.”
Mrs. Penney said her entire right side then went cold.
“Suddenly I realized that she had walked through my side.”
Was she one of the Kennedy ladies who had come to a sad end in the lonely house on the Fyrth of Clyde? Until I bring a medium to Culzean at some future date, we can only guess.
* * *
Another nearby haunted castle drew my interest because its current occupants are British nobility from Baltimore, Maryland. Sir Adrian and Lady Naomi Dunbar inherited the ramshackle estate and castle of Mochrum Park by virtue of being the nearest cousin to the last British baronet, who died in 1953.
The Americans found the house a shambles and the income of the estate far from grand. Nevertheless, they still live in it, having restored some of it, and they are making a go of their newly found position in life.
When the new owners arrived late in 1953 to take over their new home, the villagers at Kirkcowan, Wigtownshire, were wondering how the Americans would take to the ghost. This is the “white lady” of Mochrum Park, allegedly the shade of Lady Jacobina Dunbar, who married the sixth baronet back in 1789, and whose portrait was found in the debris of the old house a few years before 1953.
The National Gallery of Scotland in Edinburgh now owns this valuable painting by Raeburn. Servants of the tenth baronet, Sir James Dunbar, who died in early 1953, always complained that the ghost portrait would always be found askew, no matter how often by straightened it out, as if someone were trying to call attention to something!
Elgin Fraser, chauffeur of the Dunbars for many years, twice saw the “white lady” standing at the foot of his bed.
Perhaps the saving of the valuable painting, which was in danger of being destroyed by the customary dry rot, has assuaged the fury of the ghost. No further disturbances have been reported, and when the I asked the American-born Lady Dunbar about the ghost, she said, with a broad Baltimore accent, “Nonsense. It’s all just imagination.”
A fine thing for a ghost to be called—imaginary! Especially by an American.
When we reached Edinburgh, the Weekly Scotsman’s Donald MacDonald was already waiting for us to tell our story to the Scottish people. Then, too, the Kenneth MacRaes came to tell us of their experiences with Highland ghosts—hauntings we shall follow up on next time we’re in Scotland. And a fellow author, MacDonald Robertson, offered us his index-card file on ghosts of Scotland. Unfortunately, only a few of these cases were of sufficiently recent origin to be looked into with any reasonable degree of verification, but Mr. Robertson’s enthusiasm for the good cause made up for it.
That evening, we drove out to Roslin, a suburb of Edinburgh, to visit a famed Scottish medium, Anne Donaldson. She gave us a pretty good sitting, although most of the material obtained was of a private or personal nature.
The next day we set out early for the border country between Scotland and England, traditionally a wild area with a long association of war and strife. Hours of driving over sometimes unlit, unmarked roads, with only sheep populating the rolling hills, finally brought us to Hermitage Castle, an ancient medieval fortress associated with the de Soulis family, and dating back to the thirteenth century. It was here also that the Earl of Bothwell, wounded in a border raid, was visited by Mary Queen of Scots, his lover, in 1566.
Rising squarely in a commanding position on the border, this fortress boasts of a dungeon into which numerous enemies were thrust to starve to death. Their remains were never removed. This barbaric custom was general usage in the Middle Ages, and Hermitage is by no means unique in this respect.
Our reasons for visiting this famous ruin were not entirely sight-seeing. One of the early owners of the castle, Lord Soulis, was a black magician and committed a number of documented atrocities until he was caught by his enemies and dispatched in a most frightful manner. Ever since his ghost has been said to return on the anniversary of this deed to haunt the walls and ruined chambers, especially the ancient kitchen downstairs.
J. R. Wilson, now the custodian of the castle, readily played the bagpipes for us to set the mood, but he had never seen or heard a ghost.
“The only thing I know,” he said, “is that some dogs will not go into the castle. A lady was here a while ago, and her dog just absolutely refused to go near it, set up a howl and refused to budge.”
But there were other dogs which did, in fact, go inside the castle walls. Those, presumably, were the dogs which didn’t believe in ghosts.
Back of Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh, residence of Mary Queen of Scots and other Scottish monarchs, stands a little house of modest appearance going by the quaint name of Croft-en-Reigh. This house was once owned by James, Earl of Moray, half brother of Mary, and Regent of Scotland in her absence. Today, the house is subdivided into three apartments, one of which belongs to a Mrs. Clyne. But several years ago this was the official residence of the warden of Holyrood Palace. The warden is the chief guide who has charge of all tourist traffic. David Graham, the onetime warden, has now retired to his nearby house in Portobello, but fourteen years ago he had a most unusual experience in this little house.
“There were twelve of us assembled for a séance, I recall,” he said, “and we had Helen Duncan, who is now dead, as our medium. There we were, seated quietly in the top floor of Croft-en-Reigh, waiting for developments.”
They did not have to wait long. A figure materialized before their astonished eyes and was recognized instantly: Mary Queen of Scots herself, who had been to this house many times in moments of great emotional turmoil. Within a moment, she was gone.
On several occasions, Mr. Graham recalls, he saw the ghost of a short man in sixteenth century clothes. “I am French,” the man insisted. Graham thought nothing of it until he accidentally discovered that the house was built by an architect named French!
* 150
The Strange Case of Mrs. C’s Late but Lively Husband
DEATH IS NOT THE END, no, definitely not. At least not for Mr. C. who lived the good life in a fair-sized city in Rhode Island. But then he died, or so it would appear on the record. But Mrs. C. came to consult me about the very unusual complaint of her late husband’s continuing attentions.
When someone dies unexpectedly, or in the prime of his physical life, and finds that he can no longer express his sexual appetite physically in the world into which he has been suddenly catapulted, he may indeed look around for someone through whom he can express this appetite on the earth plane. It is then merely a matter of searching out opportunities, regardless of personalities involved. It is quite conceivable that a large percentage of the unexplained or inexplicable sexual attacks by otherwise meek, timid, sexually defensive individuals upon members of the opposite sex—or even the same sex—may be due to sudden possession by an entity of this kind. This is even harder to prove objectively than are some of the murder cases involving individuals who do not recall what they have done and are for all practical purposes normal human beings before and after the crime. But I am convinced that the influence of discarnates can indeed be exercised upon susceptible individuals—that it to say, appropriately mediumistic individuals. It also appears from my studies that the most likely recipients of this doubtful honor are those who are sexually weak or inactive. Evidently the unused sexual energies are particularly useful to the discarnate entities for their own gains. There really doesn’t seem to be any way in which one can foretell such attacks or prevent them, except, perhaps, by leading a sexually healthy and
balanced life. Those who are fulfilled in their natural drives on the earth plane are least likely to suffer from such invasions.
On the other hand, there exist cases of sexual possession involving two partners who knew each other before on the earth plane. One partner was cut short by death, either violently or prematurely, and would now seek to continue a pleasurable relationship of the flesh from the new dimension. Deprived of a physical body to express such desires, however, the deceased partner would then find it rather difficult to express the physical desires to the partner remaining on the earth plane. With sex it certainly takes two, and if the remaining partner is not willing, then difficulties will have to be reckoned with. An interesting case came to my attention a few months ago. Mrs. Anna C. lives with her several children in a comparatively new house in the northeastern United States. She bought the house eighteen months after her husband had passed away. Thus there was no connection between the late husband and the new house. Nevertheless, her husband’s passing was by no means the end of their relationship.
“My husband died five years ago this past September. Ever since then he has not let me have a peaceful day,” she explained in desperation, seeking my help.
Two months after her husband had died, she saw him coming to her in a dream complaining that she had buried him alive. He explained that he wasn’t really dead, and that it was all her fault and her family’s fault that he died in the first place.