Any investigation dealing with public or private property should have ground rules; these should be written down and signed by both parties as to what is allowable and what needs to be left alone. Click on the link below for a good article on how to set up forms to protect your group and your client.
The Importance of Paperwork on a Paranormal Investigation
White Eagle Saloon - Portland, Oregon
Across the river from Portland's shanghai tunnels, the White Eagle Saloon welcomed the seedier side of frontier life in the early 20th century. After the work whistle blew, men left docks hungry and searching for more than food. They'd board the trolley that lumbered up Mississippi Avenue and leapt off in droves as the conductor yelled out, "Next stop, Bucket of Blood!" So named for the brawls that erupted in the saloon and crept out into the night, the White Eagle's less than pristine reputation rivaled the infamous tunnels in Portland's Chinatown.
The two-storied brick building housed a "white" brothel upstairs and a "black and Chinese" brothel in the basement. The lonely spirit of Rose wanders the thirteen rooms upstairs, her weeping heard to echo the silent rooms. Rose was a "working girl" and considered the personal property of the saloon manager. One of her paying customers had fallen in love with the girl and wanted to take her away from this life of danger and dead-ends. Frightened by the prospect of confronting the manager, Rose refused. When her young lover faced his cruel adversary, he was beaten nearly to death. Undaunted and sure of his love, he again pleaded with Rose to run away with him. When she refused, he grew enraged and stabbed her to death in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Rose didn't let that little mishap daunt her spirit, patrons have reported being propositioned by a woman that could only be the ghost of the long-dead prostitute.
Now owned by the McMenamin Corporation, the previous owner had ventured upstairs only when needed. The rooms all have working locks though each time he attempted to enter the rooms, some would refuse to open while others stood ready for visitors. He closed off the upper level and simply let the inhabitants be. Another spirit that haunts the upstairs is that of Sam. Taken in as a child, he worked in the saloon the length of his life. When he died an old man, his shade continued to watch over his home. His belongings remained in his room though they have been found moved to other rooms on the second floor. Passersby have reported seeing the image of a man gazing from the second floor windows as they pass by, perhaps he's watch over them too.
The basement held the secrets of saloon. The black and Chinese women brought in from the docks or sold as virtual slaves were held in tiny rooms and made to sell their bodies in lieu of beatings from the management. Children born to the women were disposed of quickly so they could return to work. The spirits of these desperate women clog the atmosphere, their pain etched into the walls and mark the air. A tunnel was dug to assist the owners in their nefarious deeds of drugging men and selling them to ship captains a quarter of a mile away on the Willamette River. Snaking through the banks of the river, the men never had a chance. One owner of the saloon in recent times had an office in the basement. At night, he would hear over the low hum of his television, music cascading down from the bar after closing. Another time, coins would fall from the ceiling into the basement. At one time, he felt what appeared to be a strong earthquake that shook the building to its core. When turning to the television, he could find no reports for what he had just felt. A waitress, beginning her decent down into the basement was shoved from behind, in full view of the owner. She tumbled the length of the stairs and sustained minor injuries.
The bar section is a long, narrow band that spans the building front to back. Tequila was the beverage of choice for many years, the patrons lining up to match the row of shot glasses on the bar. There is a small dance area near the back and live music dominates on many nights. The spirits apparently have frequented the bathrooms. One lady, while using the facilities, entered into a toilet paper fight over the stall walls with a friend, only to discover there was no one there after her friend had left ages earlier.
Luckily for us, McMenamin's has decided to open up the rooms upstairs for nightly visitors. Rates are incredibly cheap so if you'd like to stay after imbibing a bit too much Jose, please contact their website and make a reservation for a room with a BOO! (Sorry, I just had to do it)
The two-storied brick building housed a "white" brothel upstairs and a "black and Chinese" brothel in the basement. The lonely spirit of Rose wanders the thirteen rooms upstairs, her weeping heard to echo the silent rooms. Rose was a "working girl" and considered the personal property of the saloon manager. One of her paying customers had fallen in love with the girl and wanted to take her away from this life of danger and dead-ends. Frightened by the prospect of confronting the manager, Rose refused. When her young lover faced his cruel adversary, he was beaten nearly to death. Undaunted and sure of his love, he again pleaded with Rose to run away with him. When she refused, he grew enraged and stabbed her to death in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Rose didn't let that little mishap daunt her spirit, patrons have reported being propositioned by a woman that could only be the ghost of the long-dead prostitute.
Now owned by the McMenamin Corporation, the previous owner had ventured upstairs only when needed. The rooms all have working locks though each time he attempted to enter the rooms, some would refuse to open while others stood ready for visitors. He closed off the upper level and simply let the inhabitants be. Another spirit that haunts the upstairs is that of Sam. Taken in as a child, he worked in the saloon the length of his life. When he died an old man, his shade continued to watch over his home. His belongings remained in his room though they have been found moved to other rooms on the second floor. Passersby have reported seeing the image of a man gazing from the second floor windows as they pass by, perhaps he's watch over them too.
The basement held the secrets of saloon. The black and Chinese women brought in from the docks or sold as virtual slaves were held in tiny rooms and made to sell their bodies in lieu of beatings from the management. Children born to the women were disposed of quickly so they could return to work. The spirits of these desperate women clog the atmosphere, their pain etched into the walls and mark the air. A tunnel was dug to assist the owners in their nefarious deeds of drugging men and selling them to ship captains a quarter of a mile away on the Willamette River. Snaking through the banks of the river, the men never had a chance. One owner of the saloon in recent times had an office in the basement. At night, he would hear over the low hum of his television, music cascading down from the bar after closing. Another time, coins would fall from the ceiling into the basement. At one time, he felt what appeared to be a strong earthquake that shook the building to its core. When turning to the television, he could find no reports for what he had just felt. A waitress, beginning her decent down into the basement was shoved from behind, in full view of the owner. She tumbled the length of the stairs and sustained minor injuries.
The bar section is a long, narrow band that spans the building front to back. Tequila was the beverage of choice for many years, the patrons lining up to match the row of shot glasses on the bar. There is a small dance area near the back and live music dominates on many nights. The spirits apparently have frequented the bathrooms. One lady, while using the facilities, entered into a toilet paper fight over the stall walls with a friend, only to discover there was no one there after her friend had left ages earlier.
Luckily for us, McMenamin's has decided to open up the rooms upstairs for nightly visitors. Rates are incredibly cheap so if you'd like to stay after imbibing a bit too much Jose, please contact their website and make a reservation for a room with a BOO! (Sorry, I just had to do it)
Martha Washington Inn
The Martha Washington Inn, in Abingdon, Virginia hosts a number of ghosts left over from the Civil War. Built in 1832 by Congressman General Francis Preston, the house passed into the hands of the Methodist Church upon his death two years later. The church then founded the Martha Washington College for young ladies on its premises.
When the war reached their doorsteps in the mid 1860s, the college doubled as a hospital for the war wounded. One soldier, John Stoves, had been badly wounded and lay dying in what was to become room 403. Beth, a student of the college, tended to him and fell in love. As he passed from this life, she played the violin to ease his pain. Beth herself died a few weeks afterwards from complications of typhoid fever. Her music can now be heard faintly caressing the night, playing to her dead lover and sometimes accompanying her solitary visits to the room.
A phantom horse waits for his master outside the front steps, a Union soldier that was shot in front of the house in 1864. On moonless nights, the horse has been seen roaming the grounds searching for his owner and awaiting the call to ride home.
The basement holds the spirits of black slaves, they were kept in an underground chamber and some were buried within its stone walls.
Before being killed by enemy soldiers, a young confederate entered the house and ran up the stairs to warn of encroaching Union troops. Shot upstairs, his blood still stains the floorboards outside the Governor’s Room. A bellhop, who’s been with the establishment for over 30 years, tells that carpets that lay over the area develop holes over the spot where the soldier lay dying. Cold spots, apparitions and self-turning doorknobs have also been reported.
My favorite ghost is still looking for half of his head. Numerous accounts of a soldier hobbling with help from a crutch and leaving a trail of mud in his wake have been reported from a hallway of the Inn. Long past medical help, there is only speculation why he is here at the old hospital, a ball leaving only a hideous mangle of bone and sparse flesh had split his head. Perhaps he’s trying to turn off the damn violin…
When the war reached their doorsteps in the mid 1860s, the college doubled as a hospital for the war wounded. One soldier, John Stoves, had been badly wounded and lay dying in what was to become room 403. Beth, a student of the college, tended to him and fell in love. As he passed from this life, she played the violin to ease his pain. Beth herself died a few weeks afterwards from complications of typhoid fever. Her music can now be heard faintly caressing the night, playing to her dead lover and sometimes accompanying her solitary visits to the room.
A phantom horse waits for his master outside the front steps, a Union soldier that was shot in front of the house in 1864. On moonless nights, the horse has been seen roaming the grounds searching for his owner and awaiting the call to ride home.
The basement holds the spirits of black slaves, they were kept in an underground chamber and some were buried within its stone walls.
Before being killed by enemy soldiers, a young confederate entered the house and ran up the stairs to warn of encroaching Union troops. Shot upstairs, his blood still stains the floorboards outside the Governor’s Room. A bellhop, who’s been with the establishment for over 30 years, tells that carpets that lay over the area develop holes over the spot where the soldier lay dying. Cold spots, apparitions and self-turning doorknobs have also been reported.
My favorite ghost is still looking for half of his head. Numerous accounts of a soldier hobbling with help from a crutch and leaving a trail of mud in his wake have been reported from a hallway of the Inn. Long past medical help, there is only speculation why he is here at the old hospital, a ball leaving only a hideous mangle of bone and sparse flesh had split his head. Perhaps he’s trying to turn off the damn violin…
The Tulip Staircase
Taken in 1966, Reverend Hardy and his wife used time-lapse photography, perhaps in an effort to capture an image of the ghost, on the unused staircase. Off limits to the public, the staircase was barricaded to prevent visitors from wandering about; I guess no one thought to tell the ghosts… After the photo was developed and the images found, it was examined by photographic experts, including Kodak, for its authenticity. Further attempts to duplicate it using props and actors yielded disastrous results, leading experts to conclude that the photo is genuine and there’s some creepy thing crawling up the stairs at the Naval College.
Baldoon Castle - Bladnoch, Scotland
In the wee small hours of the morning the tragic figure of Janet Dalrymple haunts the ruins of her death place. Her nightgown splashed in her bridegroom’s blood, she wanders the ancient castle, perhaps reliving the path to her insanity and trapped within its horror.
Janet had loved the penniless Archibald, third Lord Rutherford though her parents forbade a union. Forced by duty to her parents to marry David Dunbar, the heir to Sir David Dunbar of Baldoon, she acquiesced in a ceremony at Carsecleugh Castle, her family home.
The honeymoon couple didn’t quite hit it off, though there are rumors of what actually happened that night the facts are that the door was broken down by relatives when hearing screams from the bridal chamber. Inside, they found Dunbar lying on the floor, blood streaming from his body from stab wounds and Janet huddled in a chimney corner. Her bedclothes had been drenched in blood and her mind tortured with madness. Did she stab her husband when he had forced his “rights as husband”? Did the lovelorn Archibald attack Dunbar after hiding in the shadows? Or is it possible that local tradition is correct when saying the Devil had stabbed Dunbar and drove Janet to insanity?
While Dunbar recovered from his wounds, Janet did not escape the shock of the night. She died shortly afterwards on September 12th, 1669. Dunbar refused to discuss the night’s tragedy so we are left with a mystery and madness to walk the silent ruins of Baldoon Castle on soft summer nights.
Janet had loved the penniless Archibald, third Lord Rutherford though her parents forbade a union. Forced by duty to her parents to marry David Dunbar, the heir to Sir David Dunbar of Baldoon, she acquiesced in a ceremony at Carsecleugh Castle, her family home.
The honeymoon couple didn’t quite hit it off, though there are rumors of what actually happened that night the facts are that the door was broken down by relatives when hearing screams from the bridal chamber. Inside, they found Dunbar lying on the floor, blood streaming from his body from stab wounds and Janet huddled in a chimney corner. Her bedclothes had been drenched in blood and her mind tortured with madness. Did she stab her husband when he had forced his “rights as husband”? Did the lovelorn Archibald attack Dunbar after hiding in the shadows? Or is it possible that local tradition is correct when saying the Devil had stabbed Dunbar and drove Janet to insanity?
While Dunbar recovered from his wounds, Janet did not escape the shock of the night. She died shortly afterwards on September 12th, 1669. Dunbar refused to discuss the night’s tragedy so we are left with a mystery and madness to walk the silent ruins of Baldoon Castle on soft summer nights.
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