December 16, 2025 • 33 mins
For decades, a ghostly woman in chains appeared in the upstairs bedroom of Victoria's oldest home, pleading for help — until workmen digging near the front porch uncovered her skeleton buried seven feet deep in quicklime.
Episode 4 of 12 in the “Twelve Nightmares of Christmas” series!
IN THIS EPISODE: “Strange Happenings at Tod House”, “Professor Gladstone and The Murderer”, “The Mackey Haunting”, “The Dug Hill Booger”, “The Old Royal Ascot Hotel”
SOURCES AND ESSENTIAL WEB LINKS…
All stories in this episode are from the book, “The Spirits of Christmas: The Dark Side of the Holidays” by Sylvia Shults: https://amzn.to/3uT2vMA
Join the Weird Darkness Syndicate: https://weirddarkness.com/syndicate
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Weird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. Background music provided by Alibi Music Library, EpidemicSound and/or StoryBlocks with paid license. Music from Shadows Symphony (https://tinyurl.com/yyrv987t), Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ) Kevin MacLeod (https://tinyurl.com/y2v7fgbu), Tony Longworth (https://tinyurl.com/y2nhnbt7), and Nicolas Gasparini (https://tinyurl.com/lnqpfs8) is used with permission of the artists.
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(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)
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"I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46
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WeirdDarkness® is a registered trademark. Copyright ©2023, Weird Darkness.
https://weirddarkness.com/TodHouse
#WeirdDarkness #HauntedHouse #CanadianGhostStory #TrueScaryStories #ChristmasHaunting #SkeletonDiscovery #ParanormalActivity #GhostStory #HauntedHistory #BuriedSecrets
Episode 4 of 12 in the “Twelve Nightmares of Christmas” series!
IN THIS EPISODE: “Strange Happenings at Tod House”, “Professor Gladstone and The Murderer”, “The Mackey Haunting”, “The Dug Hill Booger”, “The Old Royal Ascot Hotel”
SOURCES AND ESSENTIAL WEB LINKS…
All stories in this episode are from the book, “The Spirits of Christmas: The Dark Side of the Holidays” by Sylvia Shults: https://amzn.to/3uT2vMA
Join the Weird Darkness Syndicate: https://weirddarkness.com/syndicate
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Weird Darkness theme by Alibi Music Library. Background music provided by Alibi Music Library, EpidemicSound and/or StoryBlocks with paid license. Music from Shadows Symphony (https://tinyurl.com/yyrv987t), Midnight Syndicate (http://amzn.to/2BYCoXZ) Kevin MacLeod (https://tinyurl.com/y2v7fgbu), Tony Longworth (https://tinyurl.com/y2nhnbt7), and Nicolas Gasparini (https://tinyurl.com/lnqpfs8) is used with permission of the artists.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
(Over time links seen above may become invalid, disappear, or have different content. I always make sure to give authors credit for the material I use whenever possible. If I somehow overlooked doing so for a story, or if a credit is incorrect, please let me know and I will rectify it in these show notes immediately. Some links included above may benefit me financially through qualifying purchases.)
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
"I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." — John 12:46
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
WeirdDarkness® is a registered trademark. Copyright ©2023, Weird Darkness.
https://weirddarkness.com/TodHouse
#WeirdDarkness #HauntedHouse #CanadianGhostStory #TrueScaryStories #ChristmasHaunting #SkeletonDiscovery #ParanormalActivity #GhostStory #HauntedHistory #BuriedSecrets
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:02):
Welcome Weirdos. This is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories
of the paranormal, supernatural, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained. If
you're new here, be sure to subscribe to the podcast
on Apple or Android so you don't miss future episodes.
(00:23):
This is a special twelve Nightmares of Christmas episode. Each
day from December thirteenth through December twenty fourth, I'm posting
a new episode of Weird Darkness featuring material from the
new book The Spirits of Christmas, The Dark Side of
the Holidays by Sylvia Schultz. Be sure to come back
every day from December thirteenth through the twenty fourth for
(00:46):
more holiday horrors. Now, bult your doors, lock your windows,
turn off your lights, and come with me into the
Weird Darkness. The oldest private home in Victoria, British Columbia,
(01:13):
is a small bungalow on Herron Street. The wooden frame
house was built in eighteen fifty one by John Todd,
head trader for the Hudson Bay Company. John Todd was
quite the frontier character. He emigrated from Scotland in eighteen
thirteen to seek his fortune in New Caledonia, as that
(01:34):
part of British Columbia was then known. He certainly made
the most of the freedom the Canadian frontier offered. At
one point, he ran a foul of the governor of
the Hudson Bay Company and was banished to the remote
outpost of Fort MacLeod. He spent nine years there and
used the time to become fluent in several Native American dialects.
(01:57):
One anecdote in particular, reveal Todd's rough and tumble, take
no crap attitude. In eighteen forty seven, he was chief
trader at Fort Kamloops. When Chief Nicola and his men
showed up to attack the fort, Todd showed the chief
a keg of gunpowder and threatened to blow himself and
the fort sky high if the Kamloop tribe didn't leave
(02:21):
the fort in peace. The bluff worked and Chief Nicola
backed down. John Todd was married at least seven times.
Four of those marriages were to Native women. Apparently, his
business acumen was not the only asset that was improved
by his fluency in Native dialects. Todd's multiple marriages produced
(02:43):
ten children. Wanting to keep his growing family safe, Todd
made his small home into a fortress the home was
built with defense in mind. The thick wooden front door
still graces the house, complete with a bullet hole, said
to be from an attack by rival traders from Cadborough Bay.
There's also a tunnel that runs from the cellar to
(03:06):
a spot some ways from the house a bull told
the family could use to escape in the event of
an attack. Todd's colorful life ended in eighteen eighty two,
and the house was passed down to his heirs. Colonel
and Missus T. C. Evans bought the house in nineteen
forty four. What they didn't know was that their new
(03:27):
home had already become the focus of supernatural attention. Missus E. C.
Turner lived in the Todd House with her daughter from
nineteen twenty nine to nineteen forty four. She spoke of
experiencing eerie feelings in a large upstairs bedroom. Neither she
nor her daughter would sleep in that room. The cat, too,
(03:50):
would growl and archer back when she passed that room,
as if she could see something Missus Turner could not.
Colonel and Missus Evans didn't leave in ghosts. Nonetheless, he
couldn't deny that the house was extremely odd. The cellar
door refused to stay closed even when it was locked.
(04:11):
Hats from the hatstand would often be found tossed around
the hallway, and Missus Evans Antique Rocker would often rock
by itself in the living room. The colonel did some
research on the history of the house. The rumor he'd
heard was that one of John Todd's native wives had
gone insane and was kept chained in the upstairs bedroom.
(04:33):
Colonel and Missus Evans regularly opened their home to servicemen
during World War II. One night, two airmen spent the
night at Toddhouse. The colonel and his wife, despite their skepticism,
couldn't deny that the large bedroom on the upper floor
gave them the creeps, so they turned it into the
guest room and settled the two aviators in for the night.
(04:56):
The next morning, Missus Evans found the room empty. The
two men came back later that day in the daylight
to explain their hurried departure. One man was quoted in
an interview printed in the Vancouver Sun. We'd been asleep
for several hours when I suddenly awoke. I can't really
describe what woke me, although it sounded like the rattling
(05:18):
of chains. Over in the corner stood an Indian woman,
her hands held out to me in such a manner
that she seemed to be pleading with me to help
her on. Her arms and legs were what looked like fetters.
She kept looking at me, her hands outstretched and saying
something that I couldn't quite catch. As as suddenly as
she appeared, she was gone. I'll never forget the sight.
(05:43):
The spirits of Todhouse seemed to be the most active
during the holiday season. One morning, the evanss awoke to
find that the Christmas decorations had all been stripped from
the walls and the tree, and that the Christmas cards
had been swept from the mantle. Everything was all in
a pile in the middle of the living room floor.
(06:04):
The ghost even showed up for a New Year's party.
Missus Evans had hung a porcelain cookie jar from the
hook near the fireplace. During the party, the cookie jar
started to swing back and forth in full view of
the astonished guests. The jar swung itself for nearly half
an hour as the guests watched in amazement. After the
(06:26):
New Year's Eve party, the Todd House became famous as
a haunted location. The swinging cookie jar was such a
sensation that word about the hauntings in the house got out.
Reporters showed up to investigate, and curiosity seekers showed up
just to gawk. In early nineteen forty seven, Colonel Evans
(06:47):
began work on installing a new oil furnace. Workmen were
digging a hole next to the front porch for the
oil storage tank. About seven feet down, they uncovered a
human skeleton. The workmen refused to dig any further, so
Colonel Evans excavated the bones himself. The skull was in
(07:07):
good shape, but the bones had largely decomposed, and the
colonel figured that the body had been covered with quicklime
at the time it was buried. A forensic specialist determined
that the bones were those of a female of either
Asian or Native American descent, and that the woman had
been buried over fifty years earlier, making her date of
(07:29):
death somewhere before eighteen ninety seven. John Todd died in
eighteen eighty two. Strangely enough, once the bones had been unearthed,
the hauntings at Todhouse stopped. The small town of Beechy,
(07:55):
Saskatchewan didn't see much excitement during the year, but the
evening of December tenth, nineteen thirty two was a special occasion.
That night, people were braving the wintry weather and flocking
to the small movie theater in town. They weren't coming
to see Betty Davis or Gary Cooper, or the antics
(08:15):
of the Marx Brothers or the snide sarcasm of W. C. Fields.
They were there to see a live performance by Professor
Gladstone Mentalist, a real live mind reader, or so he claimed.
The house lights dimmed and the audience settled in for
an evening of exciting entertainment. They had no idea of
(08:37):
how much drama would shortly come from that small stage.
Professor Gladstone was tall, with a distinguished manner, well befitting
a mind reader and showman. He put on a memorable
performance as he worked the show for nearly an hour,
astounding the audience with his uncanny powers of mentalism. Unbeknownst
(08:58):
to the audience, the show Joe was about to get
a lot more interesting. Gladstone stopped his dramatic piecing around
the stage and went eerily still for a few long moments.
The audience began to murmur their uncertainty what was wrong.
Then Gladstone snapped to attention and stared out over the audience.
(09:21):
He locked eyes with a local rancher named Bill Taylor.
At this moment, you are thinking of your friend Scottie McLaughlin,
Gladstone intoned as Taylor blinked in astonishment. The mind reader
added Scotty McLaughlin was the victim of a foul, brutal murder.
A ripple of shock rustled through the theater. Three years before,
(09:44):
McLaughlin had farmed in the area with a partner, John Schumacher.
He'd had plans to sell his share of the farm
to Schumacher and move to British Columbia. He had intended
to take the night train out of town on January sixteenth,
nineteen thirty. His friends had showed up at the station
to see him off and wish him luck, but McLaughlin
(10:05):
had never arrived to catch his train. The police had
been notified, but the investigation had long gone cold. Professor
Gladstone wasn't finished making electrifying announcements. He pointed to another
man in the audience and announced, he will find the body,
and I myself will be with him when he does.
(10:26):
It was another bombshell. The man Gladstone had pointed to
was Constable Kerry, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer for
the town. Constable Carey was himself shocked at Gladstone's revelations.
The next morning, he called RCMP headquarters in Saskatoon. He
told Corporal Jack Woods about the previous night's astounding scene
(10:49):
at the theater. Woods did a quick background check on
Professor Gladstone and decided to reopen the case. Whether one
believed and mind reading powers or not, Gladstone's act had
reminded the community that one of their citizens had been
missing for nearly three years. If nothing else, the police
would do well to take advantage of the renewed interest
(11:11):
in the situation. When Corporal Woods arrived, Constable Kerry contacted
Professor Gladstone, and the three men began to canvass the
town of Beechey and the outlying farming community. They spent
the entire day talking to people, mostly getting a rehash
of the same dead end information that Carrie had heard
(11:32):
in January nineteen thirty. But they caught a break in
the case late that afternoon. A farmer who was impressed
by Gladstone's talents admitted that before McLaughlin had gone missing,
John Schumacher had come to see him in a towering rage.
The farmer had no idea why Schumacher was so worked up,
(11:52):
but he did say that Schumacher had threatened to kill
the damned scotsman. This new evidence was enough to send
the policeman with Gladstone in tow out to Schumacher's farm
that same night. As the tires of the car crunched
on Schumacher's driveway, Gladstone insisted that McLaughlin's body was somewhere
on the property. John Schumacher, however, stuck to the story
(12:17):
he'd told when McLaughlin had gone missing. He'd kept the
story simple. Scotty had wanted to leave for British Columbia,
so he Schumacher had paid Scotty a few hundred dollars
for his share of the land. He had never seen
Scotty again and had no idea where he was now.
The Mounties found Schumacher's story a little too pat and
(12:39):
started asking more questions. Schumacher, sensing their suspicions, clammed up
just as the police were about to give up in frustration,
Professor Gladstone spoke. He painted a sordid picture of the crime.
Scotty had indeed come to Schumacher seeking payment for his
share of the farm, but Schumacher had started a fight.
(13:01):
The two men had wandered, still arguing, close to the barn.
The argument had turned violent, A blow fell, and another
and another. Schumacher had buried McLoughlin's body near the barn.
John Schumacher's stubborn silence said more than a desperate denial
ever could. The next morning, the police officers and Gladstone returned,
(13:26):
and they brought a group of other men from the community.
The men were all carrying picks and shovels. The group
looked to Professor Gladstone for instructions. The mind reader concentrated
fiercely for a few brief moments. Then he pointed to
a frozen pile of manure. Dig there you'll find him.
(13:48):
Two hours later, the men's hands were beginning to go
numb with the cold. John Schumacher stood nearby, still saying nothing.
The group was still working, but they weren't digging with
the same frenzy as when they had started. Could the
Professor have been wrong? This whole time. Suddenly a shovel
edge scraped against not hard frozen dirt, but something more yielding,
(14:13):
a woolen suck. There was something in the ground. Soon
the diggers had unearthed an entire skeleton. Shreds of rotting
cloth lay limply on the bones. The men fell silent.
That scarf it's Scotti's, one man said in a thick,
(14:34):
strangled voice. The skull, when pride from the frozen grave
and brushed off, showed three distinct fractures. John Schumacher broke
down and admitted to the murder. He was convicted and sentenced,
and justice was finally served. The case brought Professor Gladstone
the kind of publicity money just can't buy. His career flourished,
(14:57):
and he continued to perform for many years as good
as he was, though he never had another show as
dramatic as the one he played in Beechy, Saskatchewan, on
December tenth, nineteen thirty two. Constant readers and other fans
(15:22):
of the paranormal may remember the case of the two
English ladies who visited Versaills in nineteen oh four and
had the eerie experience of seeming to travel back in
time to the era of the French Revolution. A mister
William Mackie had a similar experience in Ireland around eighteen
fifty two. Mackie was out hunting waterfowl with his dog
(15:45):
sometime toward the beginning of December. It was a bitterly
cold night and the moon had already set. The young
man had enjoyed his long day of sport and was
just about to head for home when he heard the
unfamiamiliar bark of a strange dog. Then he heard a
musket shot. Then he heard a barrage of shots, which
(16:07):
he could identify as attack and defense. Mackie, although he
couldn't see the shooters, still didn't think the gunshots were
anything of a paranormal nature. Then he noticed that his
courageous hunting dog was crouching in a terrified huddle, trying
to crawl between Mackie's feet for protection. Based with his
(16:29):
dog's uncharacteristic behavior, Mackie started to wonder what exactly was
going on around him in the darkness of the marshes. Suddenly,
a few hundred yards away from him, he saw a
glow like a house fire. Mackie knew the marshes well
and he knew that not only wasn't there a house
in that direction, there wasn't really anything that combustible. And
(16:52):
yet pieces of burning roof thatch and timber sparks were
falling into the water at his feet with tiny hisses
as they extinguished themselves. And still the gunshots continued. They
seemed to lessen a bit as the glow of the
fire rose. Then the clear note of a bugle sounded,
(17:13):
piercing the cold night air. The gunfire stopped, and Mackie
heard the clop and jingle of a cavalry squad trotting
towards the scene of the fire. Mackie stood still for
what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the sound of horses
going at a walk as they left the scene faded
away into the distance. The phantom glow of the fire
(17:36):
had appeared along the path Mackie normally would have taken
to get home, but he was so terrified that he
skirted that area of the marsh and took a longer
way home. At breakfast the next morning, the young Mackie
caught merry hell from his father for staying out so late.
Mackie thought quickly and came up with a plausible excuse,
(17:59):
or so he thought. He explained that while out hunting,
he had fallen asleep for a while. He spun the
weirdness he'd seen and heard. The barking dog, the gunshots,
first the one and then a barrage of gunfire, the
glow of the fire, the bits of burning thatch and
chunks of glowing timber, the horses riding up then riding
away into a dream. Mackie's father gave a knowing snort
(18:24):
when his son had finished spinning the white life. That's
the case, boyo, you were dreaming with your eyes open.
The father went on to explain that young Mackie was
not the only person ever to witness the strange series
of events. Then the father told his son a family
story that had taken place over one hundred and fifty
(18:44):
years before. Near the end of the seventeenth century, a
widow named Sally Mackie lived with her three sons on
the outer edge of the small Mackie settlement. The sons
had somehow run a foul of the authorities, and all
three were acued of high treason. A warrant was issued
for their arrest and delivered to the officer in command
(19:06):
of the infantry regiment stationed in the nearby town of Lifford.
High treason was a serious offense, so a company of
troops was gathered immediately and set off at eleven pm.
There was a simple narrow bridle path that led from
the main road to the Mackie's cottage, so the military
could only approach in single file. The company arrived at
(19:29):
the cottage at midnight and made their way up the
narrow path. So quietly did the troops move that the
first inkling Sally and her sons had that something was
amiss was that their collie dog started barking. There was
a single gunshot and a yelp, then silence. Someone had
shot their dog. Sally and her sons raced to the windows.
(19:54):
In one glance they took in the sight of the
dead guard dog and the soldiers fanning out to an
circled the cottage. Sally grabbed a musket from the stack
they kept handy and started to shoot, handing the guns
off to her sons to reload. When she ran dry,
several soldiers dropped to the ground, either wounded or killed.
(20:15):
Sally Mackey was a good shot. No one ever found
out if the fire that destroyed the cottage started by
accident or was deliberately set. As the fire grew, licking
at the timber walls and devouring the thatched roof, Sally
stopped shooting. Overcome by the smoke and flames. She heaved
the door open, gasping for fresh air, then collapsed still
(20:39):
inside the burning cottage. The officer in command rushed in,
braving smoke and falling burning timbers, and scooped Sally up.
He carried her a safe distance from the inferno. Sally
was wounded and burned. All three of her sons were dead,
but the soldiers sent to arrest them had gone the
(21:00):
worst of the fight. Many of them were killed and wounded.
The centuries in Lifford heard the exchange of gunfire. They
sent out a cavalry troop to see what was going
on out in the marshes. The troop got there just
in time to see the infantry officers drag Sally from
the burning cottage. The cavalry milled around for a while,
(21:21):
then left as the action was over. Sally Mackie was
not fatally wounded in the gunfight or the fire, although
she'd lost all three of her sons and her home.
She was down, but not out. She made a full
recovery and lived for many years afterwards. She survived to
a good old age and delighted in telling people about
(21:44):
the firefight in which she'd held off a troop of
government soldiers. Every state in the Union can lay claim
(22:11):
to its own treasure trove of ghost stories, but Illinois
seems to have more than its share of terrifying tales.
Of course, you can't swing a dead cat in Chicago
and the suburbs without smacking a ghost, but the southern
tip of Illinois, the area known as Little Egypt, is
also rich in ghost lore. In contrast to the urban
(22:35):
bustle of Chicago and the suburbs in the northern part
of the state, Southern Illinois is quiet, some would almost
say comatos. Southern Illinois is a region that has more
in common with its Kentucky and Tennessee neighbors to the
south than its big sister Chicago in the north. Southern
Illinois is a place of mystery and tall tales. Take
(22:57):
Doug Hill, for example. This is a spot about five
miles west of Jonesborough on State Highway one twenty six
The road here was cut through the bedrock of this
part of the state to make an easier passage from
the Mississippi River to the interior of southern Illinois. Doug
Hill Road is a secluded spot, dark and spooky. It's
(23:21):
not quite so terrifying nowadays, in the era of Netflix
and McDonald's in Facebook, but this area was once considered
one of the most dangerous and most haunted places in
southern Illinois. Reports of ambush, robbery, and violence were common,
but there was a supernatural element to doug Hill's reputation
(23:42):
as well. Legend says that it was haunted because of
an incident that took place during the waning days of
the Civil War. In April eighteen sixty five. A Provost
Marshal named Welch was working in the area. One day,
he arrested three deserters from the Union Army and turned
them in to the authorities in Jonesborough. He was doing
(24:04):
his duty, but word came a few days later that
General Lee had surrendered at Appomattox Courthouse in Virginia. The
war had ended, so the deserters were released, but the
men were still seething over being arrested. They wanted revenge
on Provost Marshall Welch. Late that night, Welch was riding home,
(24:26):
passing through doug Hill on his way. The deserters had
set up an ambush along the road cut They shot
Welch down in cold blood and left his body lying
in the road. Even though the body was discovered after
only a short time, no one was ever arrested for
the murder, perhaps because the murderers weren't punished by any
(24:47):
earthly court. Welch's ghost soon began to appear on the
doug Hill Road, searching for its own brand of justice.
Some people saw the ghost walking along the road, dressed
in bloody go clothes, begging for help from passing wagon drivers.
Most often, though, the ghost just appeared as a figure
lying in the middle of the road where Welch's earthly
(25:10):
body had fallen. Troy Taylor writes of the doug Hill
Ghost in his book The Big Book of Illinois Ghost Stories.
According to one account, a wagon driver was passing along
doug Hill Road one evening when he saw the body
of a man lying face down in the center of
the road. He stopped his horses and climbed down to
see if he could help. When he leaned down to
(25:32):
try and turn the man over, his hands passed right
through him. The teamster tried again to lift the body,
and again he only touched the dirt beneath it. Terrified,
he ran back to his wagon, cracking the whip. He
drove the wagon forward and felt the distinct thump of
the wheels passing over the spectral corpse. He looked back
(25:55):
once and saw that the body had vanished. The unfortunate
wealth which was not the only spook that lurked on
doug Hill. A spectral wagon also terrorized that stretch of road.
One night in late December, a farmer named Bill Smith
was driving along the road after dark. The ground was
(26:15):
frozen hard, and the muddy ruts were chunks of iron
in the path. Any wagon driven at a speed faster
than a horse could walk would rattle and shake as
it jounced over the frozen ground. The bouncing of Smith's
wagon worked the yoke loose on his horse's shoulders, so
he had to stop to tighten it. Smith brought the
wagon to a stop and climbed down from his seat
(26:38):
to replace the horse's yoke. He blew on his cold
fingers as he worked the stiff leather. He heard the
rumble of another wagon approaching, and it was coming fast,
much too fast. On a dark road with woods on
both sides, there was little room on the narrow trail
to pass. Smith knew that if he couldn't get out
(26:58):
of the other driver's way, or at least warn him
that he was stopped in the middle of the road,
they both end up killed. Smith shouted a warning into
the darkness as loud as he could, but the thunder
of the runaway wagon filled the air and it seemed
impossible that the other driver could even hear him. Smith
suddenly realized that the unearthly racket was much closer to him,
(27:21):
Filling his ears with the pounding of horses hoofs and
the clatter of a wooden wagon about to shake itself
to splinters, Smith saw a pair of huge black horses,
snorting foam as they thundered along the road, pulling a
wagon with its sideboards rattling with the stress of the ride.
The driver sat on the box, cracking the whip and
(27:41):
urging the horses on with slaps of the reins, but
Smith couldn't see his face in the darkness. The wagon
crested the hill, heading straight for Smith, and that it
kept arcing up on that trajectory, sailing right into the
air above Smith's head. The horses were running, the wheels
were turning, as if the wagon was traveling on solid
(28:03):
ground rather than thin air. The wagon gained the road
again at the crest of the next hill. It had
barreled over the dip in the road as if it
was flat ground. Smith rose from where he'd crouched in
terror and soothed his panicked horse. He stared down the
road as he thumped the horse's shoulder in stunned amazement.
(28:25):
He couldn't see the phantom wagon anymore, but he could
still hear it, and the monstrous thing was two miles away.
At that point, Smith decided it would be a long
long time before he traveled the dug Hill Road after
dark again. It's unfortunate, but sometimes beautiful old buildings are
(29:16):
demolished in the name of progress. Such was the case
with the old Royal Ascot Hotel in England. The hotel
stood near a racetrack in Berkshire, west of London. Guests
of the high class establishment were treated with white glove respect.
The livery service from the train station to the hotel
(29:37):
was an immaculate coach and pair. Gentlemen in stylish coats
and ladies in dresses and hats of the very latest
fashion poured over race lists in the elegant hotel lobby,
or enjoyed delicacies in the dining room. But all good
things come to an end, and the old Royal Ascot
Hotel was put up for auction in the spring of
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nineteen six. By the end of the year, the once
grand hotel was slated for destruction. Demolition men moved into
the building to prepare for its date with the wrecking ball.
The workers arranged temporary sleeping quarters in some of the
forty rooms of the hotel, but they hadn't been there
long when some of the men began to mutter about
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strange goings on in the aging building. Shortly after Christmas,
the old night watchman quit in a hurry. He walked
off the job one night without even stopping to collect
the two or three days pay owed him. When his
supervisor finally got in contact with him, the old man
swore he had heard ghostly footsteps in the hotel's hallways,
(30:44):
but that wasn't why he had left so abruptly. It
was the sight of a ghostly horse whinnying and stamping
late at night in one of the hotel room doorways
that proved too much for the watchman's nerves. After the
night watchman walked off the job, other workmen began to
come forward with their own experiences. According to witnesses, the
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phantom horse was ghostly pale, either white or gray. The
men spoke of hearing the spectral horse stamping and snorting
in the empty corridors of the derelict hotel. One worker,
Thomas Murphy, claimed he'd seen the phantom horse standing under
an arch in the hotel. Another man, Pat Bradshaw, had
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taken over the night watchman's job. He heard the eerie
snorts of an invisible horse, which he said made his
hair stand on end. Eventually, only six men of the
crew were left that were willing to sleep in the hotel.
The others were just too spooted. It wasn't the only
ghost horse that had the man leaving in droves. One night,
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as the men came back to the hotel after the
day's work, they found themselves unable to open the door,
a door which had been left open only minutes before.
Older residents had a theory for the ghost horses origin.
When the old Royal Ascot Hotel was being built, horses
were used to drag sledges loaded with bricks from the
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kilns to the building site. One of the horses had
collapsed from overwork and sadly it had to be put down.
Maybe the old timers theorized after working so hard to
help put up the hotel, the horse had returned to
haunt the men who were now pulling it down. If
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you enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with others and
help build the Weird Darkness community by converting your friends
and family into weirdos as well. This special episode is
part of my twelve Nightmares of Christmas series. The collaborate
with paranormal blogger and author Sylvia Schultz. The stories I
used in this episode are all from her book The
(33:07):
Spirits of Christmas, The Dark Side of the Holidays, and
you can find a link to that book in the
show notes. Do you have a dark tale to tell?
Share your story at Weird Darkness dot com and I
might use it in a future episode. Music in this
episode is provided by Midnight Syndicate. You can find a
link and purchase this dark Christmas music. In the show notes,
(33:31):
I'm your creator and host, Darren Marler. Merry Christmas and
thanks for joining me in the weird darkness.
Welcome Weirdos. This is Weird Darkness. Here you'll find stories
of the paranormal, supernatural, mysterious, macabre, unsolved and unexplained. If
you're new here, be sure to subscribe to the podcast
on Apple or Android so you don't miss future episodes.
(00:23):
This is a special twelve Nightmares of Christmas episode. Each
day from December thirteenth through December twenty fourth, I'm posting
a new episode of Weird Darkness featuring material from the
new book The Spirits of Christmas, The Dark Side of
the Holidays by Sylvia Schultz. Be sure to come back
every day from December thirteenth through the twenty fourth for
(00:46):
more holiday horrors. Now, bult your doors, lock your windows,
turn off your lights, and come with me into the
Weird Darkness. The oldest private home in Victoria, British Columbia,
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is a small bungalow on Herron Street. The wooden frame
house was built in eighteen fifty one by John Todd,
head trader for the Hudson Bay Company. John Todd was
quite the frontier character. He emigrated from Scotland in eighteen
thirteen to seek his fortune in New Caledonia, as that
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part of British Columbia was then known. He certainly made
the most of the freedom the Canadian frontier offered. At
one point, he ran a foul of the governor of
the Hudson Bay Company and was banished to the remote
outpost of Fort MacLeod. He spent nine years there and
used the time to become fluent in several Native American dialects.
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One anecdote in particular, reveal Todd's rough and tumble, take
no crap attitude. In eighteen forty seven, he was chief
trader at Fort Kamloops. When Chief Nicola and his men
showed up to attack the fort, Todd showed the chief
a keg of gunpowder and threatened to blow himself and
the fort sky high if the Kamloop tribe didn't leave
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the fort in peace. The bluff worked and Chief Nicola
backed down. John Todd was married at least seven times.
Four of those marriages were to Native women. Apparently, his
business acumen was not the only asset that was improved
by his fluency in Native dialects. Todd's multiple marriages produced
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ten children. Wanting to keep his growing family safe, Todd
made his small home into a fortress the home was
built with defense in mind. The thick wooden front door
still graces the house, complete with a bullet hole, said
to be from an attack by rival traders from Cadborough Bay.
There's also a tunnel that runs from the cellar to
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a spot some ways from the house a bull told
the family could use to escape in the event of
an attack. Todd's colorful life ended in eighteen eighty two,
and the house was passed down to his heirs. Colonel
and Missus T. C. Evans bought the house in nineteen
forty four. What they didn't know was that their new
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home had already become the focus of supernatural attention. Missus E. C.
Turner lived in the Todd House with her daughter from
nineteen twenty nine to nineteen forty four. She spoke of
experiencing eerie feelings in a large upstairs bedroom. Neither she
nor her daughter would sleep in that room. The cat, too,
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would growl and archer back when she passed that room,
as if she could see something Missus Turner could not.
Colonel and Missus Evans didn't leave in ghosts. Nonetheless, he
couldn't deny that the house was extremely odd. The cellar
door refused to stay closed even when it was locked.
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Hats from the hatstand would often be found tossed around
the hallway, and Missus Evans Antique Rocker would often rock
by itself in the living room. The colonel did some
research on the history of the house. The rumor he'd
heard was that one of John Todd's native wives had
gone insane and was kept chained in the upstairs bedroom.
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Colonel and Missus Evans regularly opened their home to servicemen
during World War II. One night, two airmen spent the
night at Toddhouse. The colonel and his wife, despite their skepticism,
couldn't deny that the large bedroom on the upper floor
gave them the creeps, so they turned it into the
guest room and settled the two aviators in for the night.
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The next morning, Missus Evans found the room empty. The
two men came back later that day in the daylight
to explain their hurried departure. One man was quoted in
an interview printed in the Vancouver Sun. We'd been asleep
for several hours when I suddenly awoke. I can't really
describe what woke me, although it sounded like the rattling
(05:18):
of chains. Over in the corner stood an Indian woman,
her hands held out to me in such a manner
that she seemed to be pleading with me to help
her on. Her arms and legs were what looked like fetters.
She kept looking at me, her hands outstretched and saying
something that I couldn't quite catch. As as suddenly as
she appeared, she was gone. I'll never forget the sight.
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The spirits of Todhouse seemed to be the most active
during the holiday season. One morning, the evanss awoke to
find that the Christmas decorations had all been stripped from
the walls and the tree, and that the Christmas cards
had been swept from the mantle. Everything was all in
a pile in the middle of the living room floor.
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The ghost even showed up for a New Year's party.
Missus Evans had hung a porcelain cookie jar from the
hook near the fireplace. During the party, the cookie jar
started to swing back and forth in full view of
the astonished guests. The jar swung itself for nearly half
an hour as the guests watched in amazement. After the
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New Year's Eve party, the Todd House became famous as
a haunted location. The swinging cookie jar was such a
sensation that word about the hauntings in the house got out.
Reporters showed up to investigate, and curiosity seekers showed up
just to gawk. In early nineteen forty seven, Colonel Evans
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began work on installing a new oil furnace. Workmen were
digging a hole next to the front porch for the
oil storage tank. About seven feet down, they uncovered a
human skeleton. The workmen refused to dig any further, so
Colonel Evans excavated the bones himself. The skull was in
(07:07):
good shape, but the bones had largely decomposed, and the
colonel figured that the body had been covered with quicklime
at the time it was buried. A forensic specialist determined
that the bones were those of a female of either
Asian or Native American descent, and that the woman had
been buried over fifty years earlier, making her date of
(07:29):
death somewhere before eighteen ninety seven. John Todd died in
eighteen eighty two. Strangely enough, once the bones had been unearthed,
the hauntings at Todhouse stopped. The small town of Beechy,
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Saskatchewan didn't see much excitement during the year, but the
evening of December tenth, nineteen thirty two was a special occasion.
That night, people were braving the wintry weather and flocking
to the small movie theater in town. They weren't coming
to see Betty Davis or Gary Cooper, or the antics
(08:15):
of the Marx Brothers or the snide sarcasm of W. C. Fields.
They were there to see a live performance by Professor
Gladstone Mentalist, a real live mind reader, or so he claimed.
The house lights dimmed and the audience settled in for
an evening of exciting entertainment. They had no idea of
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how much drama would shortly come from that small stage.
Professor Gladstone was tall, with a distinguished manner, well befitting
a mind reader and showman. He put on a memorable
performance as he worked the show for nearly an hour,
astounding the audience with his uncanny powers of mentalism. Unbeknownst
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to the audience, the show Joe was about to get
a lot more interesting. Gladstone stopped his dramatic piecing around
the stage and went eerily still for a few long moments.
The audience began to murmur their uncertainty what was wrong.
Then Gladstone snapped to attention and stared out over the audience.
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He locked eyes with a local rancher named Bill Taylor.
At this moment, you are thinking of your friend Scottie McLaughlin,
Gladstone intoned as Taylor blinked in astonishment. The mind reader
added Scotty McLaughlin was the victim of a foul, brutal murder.
A ripple of shock rustled through the theater. Three years before,
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McLaughlin had farmed in the area with a partner, John Schumacher.
He'd had plans to sell his share of the farm
to Schumacher and move to British Columbia. He had intended
to take the night train out of town on January sixteenth,
nineteen thirty. His friends had showed up at the station
to see him off and wish him luck, but McLaughlin
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had never arrived to catch his train. The police had
been notified, but the investigation had long gone cold. Professor
Gladstone wasn't finished making electrifying announcements. He pointed to another
man in the audience and announced, he will find the body,
and I myself will be with him when he does.
(10:26):
It was another bombshell. The man Gladstone had pointed to
was Constable Kerry, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer for
the town. Constable Carey was himself shocked at Gladstone's revelations.
The next morning, he called RCMP headquarters in Saskatoon. He
told Corporal Jack Woods about the previous night's astounding scene
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at the theater. Woods did a quick background check on
Professor Gladstone and decided to reopen the case. Whether one
believed and mind reading powers or not, Gladstone's act had
reminded the community that one of their citizens had been
missing for nearly three years. If nothing else, the police
would do well to take advantage of the renewed interest
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in the situation. When Corporal Woods arrived, Constable Kerry contacted
Professor Gladstone, and the three men began to canvass the
town of Beechey and the outlying farming community. They spent
the entire day talking to people, mostly getting a rehash
of the same dead end information that Carrie had heard
(11:32):
in January nineteen thirty. But they caught a break in
the case late that afternoon. A farmer who was impressed
by Gladstone's talents admitted that before McLaughlin had gone missing,
John Schumacher had come to see him in a towering rage.
The farmer had no idea why Schumacher was so worked up,
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but he did say that Schumacher had threatened to kill
the damned scotsman. This new evidence was enough to send
the policeman with Gladstone in tow out to Schumacher's farm
that same night. As the tires of the car crunched
on Schumacher's driveway, Gladstone insisted that McLaughlin's body was somewhere
on the property. John Schumacher, however, stuck to the story
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he'd told when McLaughlin had gone missing. He'd kept the
story simple. Scotty had wanted to leave for British Columbia,
so he Schumacher had paid Scotty a few hundred dollars
for his share of the land. He had never seen
Scotty again and had no idea where he was now.
The Mounties found Schumacher's story a little too pat and
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started asking more questions. Schumacher, sensing their suspicions, clammed up
just as the police were about to give up in frustration,
Professor Gladstone spoke. He painted a sordid picture of the crime.
Scotty had indeed come to Schumacher seeking payment for his
share of the farm, but Schumacher had started a fight.
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The two men had wandered, still arguing, close to the barn.
The argument had turned violent, A blow fell, and another
and another. Schumacher had buried McLoughlin's body near the barn.
John Schumacher's stubborn silence said more than a desperate denial
ever could. The next morning, the police officers and Gladstone returned,
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and they brought a group of other men from the community.
The men were all carrying picks and shovels. The group
looked to Professor Gladstone for instructions. The mind reader concentrated
fiercely for a few brief moments. Then he pointed to
a frozen pile of manure. Dig there you'll find him.
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Two hours later, the men's hands were beginning to go
numb with the cold. John Schumacher stood nearby, still saying nothing.
The group was still working, but they weren't digging with
the same frenzy as when they had started. Could the
Professor have been wrong? This whole time. Suddenly a shovel
edge scraped against not hard frozen dirt, but something more yielding,
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a woolen suck. There was something in the ground. Soon
the diggers had unearthed an entire skeleton. Shreds of rotting
cloth lay limply on the bones. The men fell silent.
That scarf it's Scotti's, one man said in a thick,
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strangled voice. The skull, when pride from the frozen grave
and brushed off, showed three distinct fractures. John Schumacher broke
down and admitted to the murder. He was convicted and sentenced,
and justice was finally served. The case brought Professor Gladstone
the kind of publicity money just can't buy. His career flourished,
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and he continued to perform for many years as good
as he was, though he never had another show as
dramatic as the one he played in Beechy, Saskatchewan, on
December tenth, nineteen thirty two. Constant readers and other fans
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of the paranormal may remember the case of the two
English ladies who visited Versaills in nineteen oh four and
had the eerie experience of seeming to travel back in
time to the era of the French Revolution. A mister
William Mackie had a similar experience in Ireland around eighteen
fifty two. Mackie was out hunting waterfowl with his dog
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sometime toward the beginning of December. It was a bitterly
cold night and the moon had already set. The young
man had enjoyed his long day of sport and was
just about to head for home when he heard the
unfamiamiliar bark of a strange dog. Then he heard a
musket shot. Then he heard a barrage of shots, which
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he could identify as attack and defense. Mackie, although he
couldn't see the shooters, still didn't think the gunshots were
anything of a paranormal nature. Then he noticed that his
courageous hunting dog was crouching in a terrified huddle, trying
to crawl between Mackie's feet for protection. Based with his
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dog's uncharacteristic behavior, Mackie started to wonder what exactly was
going on around him in the darkness of the marshes. Suddenly,
a few hundred yards away from him, he saw a
glow like a house fire. Mackie knew the marshes well
and he knew that not only wasn't there a house
in that direction, there wasn't really anything that combustible. And
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yet pieces of burning roof thatch and timber sparks were
falling into the water at his feet with tiny hisses
as they extinguished themselves. And still the gunshots continued. They
seemed to lessen a bit as the glow of the
fire rose. Then the clear note of a bugle sounded,
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piercing the cold night air. The gunfire stopped, and Mackie
heard the clop and jingle of a cavalry squad trotting
towards the scene of the fire. Mackie stood still for
what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the sound of horses
going at a walk as they left the scene faded
away into the distance. The phantom glow of the fire
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had appeared along the path Mackie normally would have taken
to get home, but he was so terrified that he
skirted that area of the marsh and took a longer
way home. At breakfast the next morning, the young Mackie
caught merry hell from his father for staying out so late.
Mackie thought quickly and came up with a plausible excuse,
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or so he thought. He explained that while out hunting,
he had fallen asleep for a while. He spun the
weirdness he'd seen and heard. The barking dog, the gunshots,
first the one and then a barrage of gunfire, the
glow of the fire, the bits of burning thatch and
chunks of glowing timber, the horses riding up then riding
away into a dream. Mackie's father gave a knowing snort
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when his son had finished spinning the white life. That's
the case, boyo, you were dreaming with your eyes open.
The father went on to explain that young Mackie was
not the only person ever to witness the strange series
of events. Then the father told his son a family
story that had taken place over one hundred and fifty
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years before. Near the end of the seventeenth century, a
widow named Sally Mackie lived with her three sons on
the outer edge of the small Mackie settlement. The sons
had somehow run a foul of the authorities, and all
three were acued of high treason. A warrant was issued
for their arrest and delivered to the officer in command
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of the infantry regiment stationed in the nearby town of Lifford.
High treason was a serious offense, so a company of
troops was gathered immediately and set off at eleven pm.
There was a simple narrow bridle path that led from
the main road to the Mackie's cottage, so the military
could only approach in single file. The company arrived at
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the cottage at midnight and made their way up the
narrow path. So quietly did the troops move that the
first inkling Sally and her sons had that something was
amiss was that their collie dog started barking. There was
a single gunshot and a yelp, then silence. Someone had
shot their dog. Sally and her sons raced to the windows.
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In one glance they took in the sight of the
dead guard dog and the soldiers fanning out to an
circled the cottage. Sally grabbed a musket from the stack
they kept handy and started to shoot, handing the guns
off to her sons to reload. When she ran dry,
several soldiers dropped to the ground, either wounded or killed.
(20:15):
Sally Mackey was a good shot. No one ever found
out if the fire that destroyed the cottage started by
accident or was deliberately set. As the fire grew, licking
at the timber walls and devouring the thatched roof, Sally
stopped shooting. Overcome by the smoke and flames. She heaved
the door open, gasping for fresh air, then collapsed still
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inside the burning cottage. The officer in command rushed in,
braving smoke and falling burning timbers, and scooped Sally up.
He carried her a safe distance from the inferno. Sally
was wounded and burned. All three of her sons were dead,
but the soldiers sent to arrest them had gone the
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worst of the fight. Many of them were killed and wounded.
The centuries in Lifford heard the exchange of gunfire. They
sent out a cavalry troop to see what was going
on out in the marshes. The troop got there just
in time to see the infantry officers drag Sally from
the burning cottage. The cavalry milled around for a while,
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then left as the action was over. Sally Mackie was
not fatally wounded in the gunfight or the fire, although
she'd lost all three of her sons and her home.
She was down, but not out. She made a full
recovery and lived for many years afterwards. She survived to
a good old age and delighted in telling people about
(21:44):
the firefight in which she'd held off a troop of
government soldiers. Every state in the Union can lay claim
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to its own treasure trove of ghost stories, but Illinois
seems to have more than its share of terrifying tales.
Of course, you can't swing a dead cat in Chicago
and the suburbs without smacking a ghost, but the southern
tip of Illinois, the area known as Little Egypt, is
also rich in ghost lore. In contrast to the urban
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bustle of Chicago and the suburbs in the northern part
of the state, Southern Illinois is quiet, some would almost
say comatos. Southern Illinois is a region that has more
in common with its Kentucky and Tennessee neighbors to the
south than its big sister Chicago in the north. Southern
Illinois is a place of mystery and tall tales. Take
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Doug Hill, for example. This is a spot about five
miles west of Jonesborough on State Highway one twenty six
The road here was cut through the bedrock of this
part of the state to make an easier passage from
the Mississippi River to the interior of southern Illinois. Doug
Hill Road is a secluded spot, dark and spooky. It's
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not quite so terrifying nowadays, in the era of Netflix
and McDonald's in Facebook, but this area was once considered
one of the most dangerous and most haunted places in
southern Illinois. Reports of ambush, robbery, and violence were common,
but there was a supernatural element to doug Hill's reputation
(23:42):
as well. Legend says that it was haunted because of
an incident that took place during the waning days of
the Civil War. In April eighteen sixty five. A Provost
Marshal named Welch was working in the area. One day,
he arrested three deserters from the Union Army and turned
them in to the authorities in Jonesborough. He was doing
(24:04):
his duty, but word came a few days later that
General Lee had surrendered at Appomattox Courthouse in Virginia. The
war had ended, so the deserters were released, but the
men were still seething over being arrested. They wanted revenge
on Provost Marshall Welch. Late that night, Welch was riding home,
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passing through doug Hill on his way. The deserters had
set up an ambush along the road cut They shot
Welch down in cold blood and left his body lying
in the road. Even though the body was discovered after
only a short time, no one was ever arrested for
the murder, perhaps because the murderers weren't punished by any
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earthly court. Welch's ghost soon began to appear on the
doug Hill Road, searching for its own brand of justice.
Some people saw the ghost walking along the road, dressed
in bloody go clothes, begging for help from passing wagon drivers.
Most often, though, the ghost just appeared as a figure
lying in the middle of the road where Welch's earthly
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body had fallen. Troy Taylor writes of the doug Hill
Ghost in his book The Big Book of Illinois Ghost Stories.
According to one account, a wagon driver was passing along
doug Hill Road one evening when he saw the body
of a man lying face down in the center of
the road. He stopped his horses and climbed down to
see if he could help. When he leaned down to
(25:32):
try and turn the man over, his hands passed right
through him. The teamster tried again to lift the body,
and again he only touched the dirt beneath it. Terrified,
he ran back to his wagon, cracking the whip. He
drove the wagon forward and felt the distinct thump of
the wheels passing over the spectral corpse. He looked back
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once and saw that the body had vanished. The unfortunate
wealth which was not the only spook that lurked on
doug Hill. A spectral wagon also terrorized that stretch of road.
One night in late December, a farmer named Bill Smith
was driving along the road after dark. The ground was
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frozen hard, and the muddy ruts were chunks of iron
in the path. Any wagon driven at a speed faster
than a horse could walk would rattle and shake as
it jounced over the frozen ground. The bouncing of Smith's
wagon worked the yoke loose on his horse's shoulders, so
he had to stop to tighten it. Smith brought the
wagon to a stop and climbed down from his seat
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to replace the horse's yoke. He blew on his cold
fingers as he worked the stiff leather. He heard the
rumble of another wagon approaching, and it was coming fast,
much too fast. On a dark road with woods on
both sides, there was little room on the narrow trail
to pass. Smith knew that if he couldn't get out
(26:58):
of the other driver's way, or at least warn him
that he was stopped in the middle of the road,
they both end up killed. Smith shouted a warning into
the darkness as loud as he could, but the thunder
of the runaway wagon filled the air and it seemed
impossible that the other driver could even hear him. Smith
suddenly realized that the unearthly racket was much closer to him,
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Filling his ears with the pounding of horses hoofs and
the clatter of a wooden wagon about to shake itself
to splinters, Smith saw a pair of huge black horses,
snorting foam as they thundered along the road, pulling a
wagon with its sideboards rattling with the stress of the ride.
The driver sat on the box, cracking the whip and
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urging the horses on with slaps of the reins, but
Smith couldn't see his face in the darkness. The wagon
crested the hill, heading straight for Smith, and that it
kept arcing up on that trajectory, sailing right into the
air above Smith's head. The horses were running, the wheels
were turning, as if the wagon was traveling on solid
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ground rather than thin air. The wagon gained the road
again at the crest of the next hill. It had
barreled over the dip in the road as if it
was flat ground. Smith rose from where he'd crouched in
terror and soothed his panicked horse. He stared down the
road as he thumped the horse's shoulder in stunned amazement.
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He couldn't see the phantom wagon anymore, but he could
still hear it, and the monstrous thing was two miles away.
At that point, Smith decided it would be a long
long time before he traveled the dug Hill Road after
dark again. It's unfortunate, but sometimes beautiful old buildings are
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demolished in the name of progress. Such was the case
with the old Royal Ascot Hotel in England. The hotel
stood near a racetrack in Berkshire, west of London. Guests
of the high class establishment were treated with white glove respect.
The livery service from the train station to the hotel
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was an immaculate coach and pair. Gentlemen in stylish coats
and ladies in dresses and hats of the very latest
fashion poured over race lists in the elegant hotel lobby,
or enjoyed delicacies in the dining room. But all good
things come to an end, and the old Royal Ascot
Hotel was put up for auction in the spring of
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nineteen six. By the end of the year, the once
grand hotel was slated for destruction. Demolition men moved into
the building to prepare for its date with the wrecking ball.
The workers arranged temporary sleeping quarters in some of the
forty rooms of the hotel, but they hadn't been there
long when some of the men began to mutter about
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strange goings on in the aging building. Shortly after Christmas,
the old night watchman quit in a hurry. He walked
off the job one night without even stopping to collect
the two or three days pay owed him. When his
supervisor finally got in contact with him, the old man
swore he had heard ghostly footsteps in the hotel's hallways,
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but that wasn't why he had left so abruptly. It
was the sight of a ghostly horse whinnying and stamping
late at night in one of the hotel room doorways
that proved too much for the watchman's nerves. After the
night watchman walked off the job, other workmen began to
come forward with their own experiences. According to witnesses, the
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phantom horse was ghostly pale, either white or gray. The
men spoke of hearing the spectral horse stamping and snorting
in the empty corridors of the derelict hotel. One worker,
Thomas Murphy, claimed he'd seen the phantom horse standing under
an arch in the hotel. Another man, Pat Bradshaw, had
(31:28):
taken over the night watchman's job. He heard the eerie
snorts of an invisible horse, which he said made his
hair stand on end. Eventually, only six men of the
crew were left that were willing to sleep in the hotel.
The others were just too spooted. It wasn't the only
ghost horse that had the man leaving in droves. One night,
(31:51):
as the men came back to the hotel after the
day's work, they found themselves unable to open the door,
a door which had been left open only minutes before.
Older residents had a theory for the ghost horses origin.
When the old Royal Ascot Hotel was being built, horses
were used to drag sledges loaded with bricks from the
(32:12):
kilns to the building site. One of the horses had
collapsed from overwork and sadly it had to be put down.
Maybe the old timers theorized after working so hard to
help put up the hotel, the horse had returned to
haunt the men who were now pulling it down. If
(32:45):
you enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with others and
help build the Weird Darkness community by converting your friends
and family into weirdos as well. This special episode is
part of my twelve Nightmares of Christmas series. The collaborate
with paranormal blogger and author Sylvia Schultz. The stories I
used in this episode are all from her book The
(33:07):
Spirits of Christmas, The Dark Side of the Holidays, and
you can find a link to that book in the
show notes. Do you have a dark tale to tell?
Share your story at Weird Darkness dot com and I
might use it in a future episode. Music in this
episode is provided by Midnight Syndicate. You can find a
link and purchase this dark Christmas music. In the show notes,
(33:31):
I'm your creator and host, Darren Marler. Merry Christmas and
thanks for joining me in the weird darkness.
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