Gerard, can you enlighten us further with stories about your haunted former place of employment?
The mansion was constructed around the turn of the century by one of the richest men in my hometown (if not, at the time, the richest). It was a large, rambling Queen Anne style, with three floors (plus a full-sized attic and complete basement) and the ever-present tower. The owner's wife became ill with cancer and died, leaving him heartbroken. And as he was working through his grief, he contracted cancer causing a very slow, plainful decline towards death. His valet had a small room next to him and would often spend the night listening to the agonizing moans of his charge. In the morning, he would listen for movement, knowing it was time to go into the master bedroom. One evening, the valet heard the usual moans and then silence. In the morning, he heard no movement and figured the owner was finally in a state of fitfull sleep. However, as the time passed, he and other servants became concerned and went into the bedroom to find their employer dead....he had committed suicide during the night, shooting himself in the head. The thing is, no one heard the gun blast, either in the house or by neighbors. The owner's grown children, who lived by that time elsewhere in the country, came back to deal with the estate, but they stayed in the house for only a short period and would not return to it, disregarding questions as to why. Eventually, it was sold to another wealthy family who, after several decades, donated it to the city. It was turned into a whole-bunch-of-everything museum, cluttered with local historical items, along with some art works. By the seventies, all the historical items were given to other local historical foundations and it was converted into an art museum. Rooms were remodelled into galleries (a few were restored to their original decorations) and a new, modern gallery wing was added.
When I started to work there, I heard from the other members of the staff about "strange happenings." For example, one of the previous directors was working on a display alone one night after the museum closed when he heard his name being called and turned to see a rocking chair moving back and forth on its own. He high-tailed it out of there. As for what I experienced, they ranged the whole gamut. "Less" erie were such things as the motion detectors registering movement in parts of the house when we knew no one was there. At times, at night, doors would open - including locked outside doors - setting off the alarm system and no one was there. I had too "more" spooky experiences. One day, just two of us were there, no one else in the building, when suddenly heard the loud, horrendous, crashing sound of breaking glass coming from upstairs, from a room containing expensive ceramics. Figuring a shelf had given away, we ran up there and found......nothing. Did I mention that room was the builder's master bedroom, where he had committed suiciide? One evening, we were closing and I went up to the second floor to turn off the lights in the various galleries. I was standing on the top floor landing, just outside the door to the old master bedroom when suddenly I heard clearly and distinctly, right behind him, right where that door was, a long, agonizing moan. Oh, I forgot to add one more strange occurrence. I was on the third floor, which had served as the servants' residence, now closed to the public and used for storage, but most of the rooms were completely empty. I opened the door to one room and for a moment, I saw it furnished with old, antique toys. I turned away momentarily and when I looked again, it was......empty. When I told the director what I had seen, he told me that in the days of the original family, it was the children's nursery and playroom. Shades of parallel time? Gerard and Daphne?
A year or so ago, I visited my old "haunt." I told the docents that I had once worked there. The two of them looked at each other with a you-ask-him expression and one said softly: "When you worked here, did you - um - 'experience' things?" I knew exactly about what they were inquiring.
Oh, wait, one more thing. At times, at night, when I and/or others would drive past the museum, we would see that the light would be on in one of the second floor windows, even though it had been shut off at closing time. In the morning, it would be off. The room? Not the master bedroom, but the valet's room next to it. Maybe he now keeps an occasional vigil, hoping this time to hear the anguish of his charge which he, or anyone else, had not heard that first time a century ago.
Gerard
