Halloween Haunts 

My spirit will not haunt the mound
Above my breast,
But travel, memory-possessed,
To where my tremulous being found
Life largest, best.
—Thomas Hardy, Satires of Circumstance (1914)

This October marks the 160th anniversary of the establishment of Camp—later Fort—Douglas here in Salt Lake City. The Civil War-era post has filled many roles over its history, from a military garrison to university housing.

While citizens and visitors recognize Fort Douglas for a variety of reasons, one of its more intriguing claims to fame is its reputation as a hot spot for paranormal activity.

"I came here with an open mind," recalled Beau Burgess, the director and curator of the Fort Douglas Military Museum (32 Potter St., SLC, 801-581-1251). "I've worked at other historical sites that are said to be haunted, so I wasn't a stranger to this kind of [atmosphere]."

Having heard stories of ghost sightings from colleagues upon his arrival a decade ago, Burgess has since garnered many experiences that fall outside of the easily explainable. Often the first person in the building or the last to leave, he has reported hearing the mysterious tread of boots upon the floor and the slamming of doors long after the museum has emptied.

Burgess recounted witnessing a paranormal investigation in the museum, during which an audio recording was made. Hoping to catch voices from the static with the use of a word-generating device—which practitioners believe may be useful for spirits to communicate—investigators recorded what seemed to be a voice speaking in German.

The recording subsequently took on greater resonance when it was discovered that not only did Fort Douglas serve as a prisoner-of-war camp for German soldiers during both world wars, but that the specific building in which the recording was made had once been a hospital for those POWs.

"Some parts of history," Burgess said, "we'll never know."

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In his role at the free museum—which is open Tuesday through Saturday from noon to 5 p.m.—he has encountered thrill-seekers, skeptics and believers alike. And they, in turn, have come to him with their own share of strange, chilling, even miraculous, accounts.

Museum visitors have described a sensation like forgiveness from an unknown party, Burgess said, or have found themselves remembering their forgotten dead with a sense of spiritual urgency.

He stressed that he does not go looking for ghostly encounters but rather allows such events to materialize in their own time, which he said is "part of the fun."

"If it happens," Burgess said, "it happens naturally."

In this season of pumpkins and ghouls, when many go seeking the sublime through avenues of revulsion and fright, there are many tales that can be told from sites around the Salt Lake Valley. Some of these tales are creepy, others mysterious and some—with enough of the mist cleared away—reveal dimensions of great beauty.

Proceed if you dare, and happy Halloween!

A Specter in City Creek?
Many Salt Lakers have heard tales of ghosts haunting the upper floors of the Salt Lake City & County Building or of the "Purple Lady" at the Rio Grande Depot. But fewer are likely aware of the spooky goings-on near City Creek that first came to public notice at the turn of the 20th century.

In August of 1900, The Salt Lake Tribune ran a curious piece on a mysterious woman who reportedly stalked the area of Canyon Road and Third Avenue. Routinely appearing between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m., a tall dark-haired woman in white with lucent, ebony eyes could be seen gliding in and out of the trees along the path, occasionally leaping from a bridge into the creek bed below.

The uncredited writer of the Tribune's piece maintained a snarky tone of detachment in describing the sightings of this woman, floating the idea that she was likely a sleepwalker. But pedestrians would apparently try to speak to her, to no avail.

The Tribune's arch humor notwithstanding, even the news reporter didn't know what to make of this wandering wraith, concluding with a tantalizing bit of reportage: "the apparition moves about without making the least sound and when spoken to never replies, but rapidly disappears."

The Tribune followed up in December of that year, believing they had discovered the identity of the ghost in the form of a local woman thought to be mentally ill. Their tentative tone and the paucity of further mentions of the specter's "nocturnal ramblings" ultimately leaves the saga lost to time.

The Cursed Cottage
Some properties just seem to attract tragedy no matter how many times they exchange ownership. The scythe of the dread reaper comes for all, but in the case of one old cottage in the Avenues, it seems to have found an express route.

Such misfortunes as accident, illness, destitution and suicide vexed the home's various owners, as described in two reports by The Tribune from 1904 and 1905. "The house has proved a hoodoo to any and all occupants for years," Tribune writers declared.

Formerly standing on the northwest corner of Third Avenue and J Street—where a handsome private residence stands today—and on property that reportedly once belonged to Brigham Young, the house was sold to local jeweler Oolaf Eliasson (1836-1920) in 1857. His wife Ingar Andersson (1838-1893) died there during the family's occupancy and their son Oscar (1869-1899)—who found acclaim as the illusionist/magician "Dante the Great"—would meet a tragic end from an accidental shooting in Australia.

A married couple by the name of Mickle took over the place after the Eliassons left, before the husband died in a railroad accident and the wife was taken by a gas explosion. One subsequent owner was deserted in poverty and took their own life while another succumbed to the effects of consumption.

By the time of the Tribune's coverage, another owner by the name of Frank C. Gattung (1861-1904) had fallen from a ladder and was to pass away from his injuries.

"Perhaps there have been unknown things enacted even as unfortunate as [the events recorded above]," the Tribune mused, "Who knows?"

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• Utah State Historical Society
• The Capitol Theatre, known then as the Orpheum, in 1913

Ghostly Theatrics
Considered a jewel in Salt Lake City's theatrical crown, the Capitol Theatre (50 W. 200 South, SLC, 801-355-2787, saltlakecountyarts.org) has hosted stage and film entertainment since its opening in 1913. But its reputation for eldritch encounters enjoys a similarly lustrous reputation among those in the know. Staff and security for the building have been particularly vocal over the years about the odd happenings within.

Dave Murphy—formerly a deputy with the Salt Lake County Sheriff's Office—had been skeptical about reports of hauntings at the theater until he started doing security for the building in the 2010s. During his time there, he reported seeing mysterious figures pass him in the dark and doors slamming by themselves.

"I'd heard stories," Murphy told The Salt Lake Tribune in 2012, "but until it happens to you, there is that disbelief. As soon as it happens to you, there's a complete shift of attitude."

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• Utah State Historical Society
• Since its days as the Orpheum, Utah’s Capitol Theatre is said to house supernatural entities.

In 1999, the Deseret News recounted the story of another security guard who would pass the time on his shifts by launching paper airplanes from a theater balcony. Then one night, "as he sat in the guard booth alone, he was hit on the back of the head with a paper airplane out of nowhere," the News reported.

In such an environment, one would be justifiably unnerved. But not all who report these sorts of encounters remain repelled by them. Blair Fuller—another Capitol Theatre employee interviewed by the Tribune about his brushes with the paranormal—reckoned that whatever ghostly figures dwell in the historic building may not be as sinister as one might initially suspect.

"In my experience," Fuller related, "it's almost like a teenager trying to get some attention. And once you acknowledge that, it stops. But it took me an hour-and-a-half to get to that point."

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• Wes Long
• Hawarden House in West Valley City

Happy Hauntings
Others have approached supernatural phenomena with an even greater degree of equanimity. Gundi Jones and her family have occupied Hawarden House (4396 S. 3200 West, West Valley City) since 1992, and they feel far more protected than menaced by the ghosts that are believed to inhabit the historic abode.

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• Courtesy Photo
• Gundi Jones, current (living) occupant of Hawarden House

Originally a 10-acre farm belonging to the extensive family of agricultural entrepreneur Ira Bennion (1864-1929), the house was built in 1906 and was the site of many weddings as well as funerals.

"A lot of life happened here," observed Jones.

As far as she's concerned, the Bennions are still coming and going as they please. "Why wouldn't the people who put so much into this home and their community still be interested in it?" Jones asked.

Jones' son Jeromy grew up in Hawarden House, and he affirmed that he has so far seen Ira Bennion three times throughout his life. Shortly after the Jones family moved into the house, he recounted, he was in his bed and saw Bennion watching him from outside his door.

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• Courtesy Photo
• Jeromy Jones believes he has seen the ghost of Ira Bennion on three occasions.

Another sighting was during the holidays, when Jeromy observed Ira sitting in their living room as he was getting ready to leave for school. Later, as an adult, Jeromy reported that he last saw Ira sitting upon his bed.

Like his mother, Jeromy Jones is not bothered by the occasional houseguests. "It's life," he shrugged.

Sightings of unknown people and wayward shadows have continued through the years, as have the doors that open and faucets that turn themselves on and off. But Gundi Jones accepts the occurrences as happy interactions.

"There are so many things that we don't know," she said, "I don't care what people think about what we feel or what we experience or see. They have a right to that opinion."

But as for her? "I believe in peaceful coexistence," she concluded.

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• Beau Burgess
• The Fort Douglas Museum, on the University of Utah campus.

Life Largest, Best
Fiona Robinson-Hill is an historian at the Fort Douglas Military Museum, and she is no stranger to mysterious experiences herself. Often guiding special cemetery tours, the museum's next such event will be on Oct. 29 from 1 p.m. to 5 p.m.

Robinson-Hill has taken part in many investigations and is of the mind that while the paranormal is, by its nature, outside of our customary definitions of "normal," we need not remain afraid of them. People ought to pay attention to when they do or do not feel safe, she stressed, but there is also much that starts out to be unfamiliar and grows into a richer and more profound experience.

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• The (allegedly haunted) McCune Mansion, at 200 N. Main St.

"It's not just happening in your house," Robinson-Hill specified, "It's happening all around. It's happening in the City & County Building; it's happening at the McCune Mansion. It's not just you, it's all of us. You don't need to be scared of it. The more you learn about it, the more you experience it, the more comfortable you can be with [it]."

Edgar Allan Poe wrote in The Premature Burial that "The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?"

The accounts outlined in the vignettes above—as well as many others like them—elude complete and satisfactory explanation. Are the dead closer at hand than we think? Do some places attract misfortune while others do not? Do buildings and places draw ghosts to them?

We can't say "yes" or "no" with absolute certainty, but in this yearly autumnal spell of ghosts and graveyards, it may be possible to advance from a state of amused or terrified spectacle at such notions to one of peace and hope.

For Robinson-Hill, the mystery is not something to be embarrassed about, but rather embraced and explored.

"You don't have to necessarily believe," she stated, "but keep an open mind."