The Most Haunted House in Minnesota

 

                                               A dining area in Forepaugh's before it closed.

We're coming up on October, and it's time to resume telling ghost stories. A couple of weeks ago a story was circulating online naming Forepaugh's Restaurant in St. Paul as the "most haunted" house in Minnesota.  The story was out of date, Forepaugh's having been permanently closed in 2019 after the tragic death of their executive chef from the flu at the age of 32.

                                                  The exterior of the 1870 Forepaugh House

Nevertheless, I will not quibble with the assessment that Forepaugh's is haunted. The architectural researcher who wrote up the history of the house for the owners when it opened in 1976, told me of a weird experience he had in the upper room allegedly haunted by a maid: the smell of perfume, guttering candles. When he gave me a tour of the place, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but I admit parts of the place felt uncomfortable to be in.

Plenty of ghost stories have circulated about the restaurant, which was named after the first owner of the 1870 mansion. (You can google them if you like.) However, if we are to judge how haunted a house is by the number of stories told about it, one house immediately stands out: the 1883 Chauncey Griggs House at 476 Summit Avenue in St. Paul. Tenants were telling about ghostly experiences back from the time it was an art school. But one owner, Carl Weschke, publisher of books on the paranormal, put the house on the "most haunted" map.

                      The literally spooky Chauncey Griggs House (Photo: Marriot-Bonvoy Tours)

During the winter of 1969, Weschke invited three skeptics from the St. Paul Pioneer Press to spend a night in the house to investigate the rumors that the place was haunted. They didn't last the night.

The newsmen, two reporters and a cameraman, set up two cameras and a tape recorder at the top of the stairs and fourth floor hall, where a lovelorn maid had hanged herself decades before. When the men each went out into the well-lighted hall, they became inexplicably overcome with fear and quickly retreated to their room. From there, they heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The bravest of them crept down the hallway and looked down the stairwell. Although he could see nothing, he was overcome with the sense of a strong presence. Even though they had several hours to go with their vigil, the newsmen decided they'd seen (or not seen) enough and beat a hasty retreat down the stairs with their equipment. 

                                The lower part of the infamous staircase in the Griggs House.

As with Forepaugh's, stories about the house are legion. The Chauncey Griggs House (not to be confused with the 1874 Burbank-Livingston-Griggs House further down Summit Avenue) is always included on the haunted house tours of Summit Avenue. Apparently, there were many ghostly shenanigans in the 1950s when it was a art school. Students reported hearing footsteps, doors opening and closing, lights going off and on. 

The stories I heard firsthand were at a gathering at the Weyerhaeuser Theater in St. Paul in the 1990s. People were invited to tell ghost stories to assist playwright Lance Belville, who was writing a play about a haunted old house. Architectural researcher Jim Sazevich and I warmed up the group of 25 or so gathered on the stage by telling some of our stories, and then the audience was invited to tell their tales.

Three people told accounts of incidents at the Chauncey-Griggs House. One person told of what felt like a gloved hand being pressed against her throat in the middle of the night when she lived there as a student. Another said that his uncle, who lived in a basement unit, told of many nocturnal disturbances, such as whispering and the sound of footsteps.

The firsthand account by a man who lived in the neighborhood in the 1960s was the most memorable. One day he and two friends, twelve-year-olds eager for adventure, decided to explore the Griggs House carriage house. Although it was daylight, when the boys entered the barn, they immediately felt gloom surround them. They crept along, peering into the darkness. When he reached the end of the passage, the boy turned around. To his horror, he saw a tall black figure in a cape blocking out the sunlight from the entrance. His friends were behind the figure, and they fled the way they had come in. He, however, was trapped between the apparition and the hay mow door behind him. There was a single-story drop to the ground from the hay mow. Should he try to get by the towering dark figure or jump? He jumped. Fortunately, he was not seriously injured in the fall, but after that, he and his friends stayed well clear of the Chauncey Griggs House.

I've heard other stories about the house besides the ones told at the Weyerhaeuser. One of the most chilling stories I've heard, period, comes secondhand from a former owner of the Griggs House. One night she decided to stay up reading in the library while the rest of family was upstairs in bed. It was a winter night, very still. She was puzzled when her reading was interrupted by what sounded like someone breathing softly. As she sat curled in her chair, the sound of breathing grew louder. She tried to ignore it, but it swelled until within a minute or so, it sounded like the house itself was breathing. Terrified, she threw down her book and ran up the stairs to her bedroom without stopping to turn out the lights.

A Ghost Story from Powis Castle, Wales

Whenever I visit an historic site, I try to ask the docents if they've heard any ghost stories about the place. I specifically ask for stories, not if the site is haunted. Sometimes this doesn't turn out well, as during a tour of Split Rock Lighthouse on Lake Superior's North Shore. I knew that there were well known stories of the place being haunted by a past lighthouse keeper, but wanted to find out if the people on site had any stories to tell. But when I asked the docent, he nearly blew a gasket. "No!" he huffed. "No ghosts." End of inquiry. I deduce that he had had about enough of would-be ghost hunters asking about the haunting and wanting to do investigations. I can understand his irritation.

However, when I asked the docent at Powis Castle, Wales, if she'd heard any ghost stories about the palace, her response was quite different. According to the National Trust, which owns the property, the castle and garden you see today reflects the changing ambitions and visions of the Herbert family, who occupied the castle from the 1570s. The oldest parts of the castle were built by a Welsh prince - Gruffudd ap Gwenwynwyn - (c1252), so it's no surprise that ghostly legends have sprung up about it. 

The most famous is the story of an old woman who stayed in one of the bedrooms in 1780. There are several variations, but the basic story is that she claimed a man in a gold-laced suit entered her room and led her through the castle to find a hidden chest and key. Hidden treasures and ghosts, what could be more exciting in a legend? 

                        The  rather spooky state bedroom at Powis Castle, not available on AirBnB

But I wanted to know if the people who worked there had any stories to tell. Yes, she said. The ballroom, which is located in the 1741 addition, was apparently haunted.  Several castle employees, including herself, had clearly heard footsteps sounding in the ballroom after hours. When the castle is open to visitors, many people walk through the rooms on tours. But when it's closed, especially after dark, she said it was unsettling to hear the footsteps sounding in the huge, empty ballroom. Also, people have reported that they heard the piano being played in the ballroom, and once, the piano had been moved several feet during the night when no one was in that building.

                                                     The ballroom. Photo: National Trust

These recent stories are not nearly as detailed or exciting as the old legends, but they reveal that ghostlore is still alive and well in the 21st century.

Through a Glass Ornament Darkly

 

 Park Avenue, Minneapolis, 1905, lined with mansions. Photo: Hennepin County Historical Society.

One of my former neighbors used to work for a graphic design firm that occupied a South Minneapolis mansion that had been converted to offices. This house was located less than a mile from the house-cum-office building haunted by the girl in the prom dress. A few people who worked on the third floor remarked that they thought the place was haunted. They told my neighbor that every once in a while they had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching them, even though no one else was in the room. This was during daylight hours.

Bill, an employee who frequently had to stay after hours to complete projects, complained of disruptions in the third floor work room. Several times when he was working at his desk, he'd been distracted by what looked like movement reflected in the glass and metal of the office equipment in front of him. A quick glance behind reassured him that he was indeed alone, but he was sure that he'd seen something.

 One night during the Christmas holidays Bill again saw movement behind him reflected in the chrome of a machine. Yet again, no one was there when he turned to look. A little later that evening he was standing by the office Christmas tree when he saw the blurred image of someone moving in back of him reflected in the several dozen glass ball ornaments hanging on the tree. A little unnerved and too distracted to continue working, he decided to make a quick exit. After that incident, Bill tried to complete his work during daylight hours.

This Property Protected by a Watch Ghost

 I've mentioned previously that my family and I lived in a haunted Victorian house in Minneapolis for over four decades. It's a long story, with many episodes. In the early days when we were getting the initial clues that the house was haunted, several others told their stories of spooky experiences at the house.

When we left town, we would ask someone to watch the house. During one longer trip, a friend stayed at the house.  A few days before our return, she called to let us know that someone had broken into the house, but little had been taken.

What apparently happened was this: The burglars had busted through the pine door of the summer kitchen in the back, and had gone directly upstairs to the master bedroom. They had pulled out only one drawer of the dresser, when they suddenly ran down the foyer stairs, unlocked the solid ash front door, and fled--this during broad daylight. They had grabbed the jewel box full of costume jewelry off the dresser, spilling some of its contents as they ran down the stairs. As they fled, they left the front door wide open. There was some cash and a few pieces of gold jewelry on the nightstand in the guest room that were left untouched. 

                                               The thick ash front door with brass doorknob.

What had scared the burglars off? The experience of two of our older daughter's high school friends offered a clue. We had asked the boys to care for the animals while we were away. This is how one of them described what happened:

"We went in to feed the dog. We went upstairs to feed the bird. It was really cold out. We heard the front door open. A blast of cold air came in. We thought you guys had come home early from your trip. We shouted down the staircase [that] it was us. We heard someone slowly walk up the stairs. We waited and spoke toward the sound. We crept toward the stop of the stairs. . .There was nothing there.

The door was wide open.

I am agnostic, but this was a huge event in my spiritual formation."

                                                           The front porch and door

Another couple of teenagers who came to tend to the animals heard slow, deliberate footsteps on the second floor. They fed the dog, practically throwing the food in her bowl, and beat a hasty retreat. 

I heard footsteps once when I came home one morning after walking my younger daughter to Jefferson Elementary School a block away. I came in, closed the door, and heard heavy footsteps in the upper hallway. I called out, and then went directly upstairs, but found no one. On another occasion I was in one of the bedrooms on the second floor when I heard the locked front door open and close. I looked down. The door was closed. When I searched the house for an interloper, I again found no one.

All of these incidents happened during the first years we lived in the house. They seemed to suggest that something paranormal was going on. After doing some research into previous owners, we decided that the likely ghost was that of Frank Cartwright, who had lived in the house until his death in 1942.

                                                                    Frank Cartwright
 

The Girl in the Prom Dress

Some people call mediums or psychics to try to explain seemingly paranormal occurrences in a house.  But others, wary of explanations that can't be documented, turn to house history researchers. In the 1980's, prominent architectural historian Jim Sazevich and I (folklorist) were invited to host a ghost storytelling at the Weyerhauser Auditorium in St. Paul. Two dozen people turned up, and after Jim and I warmed up the crowd with several stories, others told theirs. I will relate some of these stories--notably the ones about the Chauncey Griggs House--in other posts. 

But this story comes from researcher June Burd, who passed on to me a number of stories about houses in the Kenwood/Lake of the Isles area of Minneapolis. It concerns a large pre-World-War-One brick house on Franklin Avenue near Blaisdell that had been converted into an office building. Workers reported that a room on the third floor always seemed cold, whatever the weather. But other than that, nothing out of the ordinary happened during daylight office hours.

But one winter evening as she was standing in the lower hallway preparing to leave, a secretary saw a girl in a vintage formal gown coming down the staircase from the second floor. The girl appeared and disappeared in a few seconds.

                                           A prom dress pattern from the 1940s.

The secretary naturally wondered if she had been "seeing things"--that is, until another employee saw the girl again. One evening as this woman was preparing to come out of an office on the second floor, she sensed motion in her peripheral vision. She quickly turned and glimpsed a teenager in a vintage prom dress pass by the doorway only a few feet away. The woman rushed to the door and looked down the hallway. No one was there; all was quiet in the house.

Reports of full-bodied apparitions are rare in ghost stories. Research suggests that this apparition was likely the ghost of the daughter of a former owner, a teenager who met an untimely death in a car crash in the 1940s. Why she appears in a prom dress, we can only speculate.

Looking east from Hennepin Avenue on Franklin Avenue today. The haunted house was a couple of blocks beyond the dip. --Photo, City of Minneapolis

Who's That Creeping through my Window?

 In the early months of ghost story collecting, I was having lunch with friends at Tuthill's on Hennepin Avenue in the Wedge. I told a couple of the stories I'd heard recently, then said facetiously, "Of course, there's no such thing as ghosts." 

To my surprise, I heard someone at the table behind me say, "But there are!" I turned to see Larry, the local mailman, eating alone on his lunch break. I asked him how he knew. "Because of my experiences at my new house," he said somewhat defensively.

As is common with ghost story tellers, he started with some background to show that he was indeed a reliable witness: He was a Minneapolis native, a member of the choir at a Lutheran Church, and he had served the community as a letter carrier for over a decade. About a year previous, he had bought a small one-story 1950's house in an inner ring suburb. 

When he moved in, Larry decided to place his bed right up against the window in his bedroom. That night, shortly after midnight, he was awakened by the sensation of something pressing down on his chest. Terrified, he opened his eyes, but saw only a dark mist hovering over him. The pressure increased. He was immobilized, struggling to breathe. As he felt he was about to pass out, the weight suddenly lifted. Gasping for air, Larry tumbled out of bed. 

He turned on the lights. Nobody was in the room. It was summer, and the window was open, with the screen intact. He went back to bed and slept the rest of the night undisturbed. However, the next night the same thing occurred. Larry was very puzzled, but decided that the easiest fix was to move the bed, which he pushed around against the opposite wall. That night he stayed up, lying in bed, waiting to see what would happen. Then, around midnight, Larry saw a dark, filmy shape climb through the window, start across to the door, and then vanish.

As long as the shadow man didn't bother him, Larry decided he could live with him climbing through the window. And so it went for some weeks. But when Larry told the story to his cousin, the cousin scoffed. He declared he was going to push the bed up against the window and prove that Larry was imagining this nocturnal visitor. 

But instead, the cousin had the same experience as Larry: He felt a huge weight on his chest, he couldn't breathe, and he saw a dark mist on top of him. As before, the weight lifted after several moments. 

The cousin became a reluctant believer. He pushed the bed back into place against the inside wall, and Larry had been sleeping in it undisturbed ever since then. Larry had no idea who the nightly visitor was or why he was climbing into that window. But he was certain that ghosts do exist.

Hello, Anyone Home?

"Any time at all, any time at all 

Any time at all, all you gotta do is call

And I'll be there."

                                                  --Beatles song

Ghosts have various ways of communicating their presence. Sometimes they do it in scary ways; sometimes they mystify the living with strange incidents.  Sharon, who lived in an apartment in a first-ring Minneapolis suburb, told me this story.

At the time, Sharon lived on her own in an apartment building where her adult daughter also had an apartment. Another married daughter lived in a house a short drive away. Over the months that Sharon first lived in the unit, several inexplicable incidents occurred. For instance, a couple of times while she was running bath water, the taps were turned off while she was in the next room. On other occasions burners on the gas range were turned off or on while she was cooking. Since these stove knob turnings caused no damage or disruption to her cooking, Sharon ignored these incidents.

 But then something occurred that she couldn't ignore. One evening she left her apartment to visit her married daughter. From the parking lot, she waved to her other daughter who happened to be looking out from her apartment in the building.

While Sharon was en route to her married daughter's house, this daughter called Sharon's apartment to remind her to bring something with her. The phone was answered (at least it sounded like someone had picked up the receiver), and then it was dropped back on the hook immediately afterward.

Fearing that her mother might be injured or taken ill, she called her sister at the apartment building. Puzzled, her sister told her that she had seen their mother drive off only minutes before. The sister at the apartment building tried calling and got a busy signal. Concerned that someone had broken in, she called the police. Shortly thereafter, the officers arrived and used the daughter's key to get in. 

To everyone's surprise, no one was there. The apartment was deserted and untouched. All was as it had been--except that the phone receiver in the bedroom was dangling on its line over the side of the nightstand.

The police officers searched everywhere in the apartment--through the clothes closets, under furniture, in kitchen cabinets, even in the clothes dryer ("in case of Hobbit burglars")--but found nothing. The windows were shut tight and there was no sign of entry, forced or otherwise. As the search progressed, one of the officers began humming the theme from "The Twilight Zone." 

They all were dumbfounded to explain how the phone receiver could be lifted, replaced, and then lifted again and dropped over the side of the table. Sharon had to conclude that she was sharing her apartment with an unseen person--a ghost who was beginning to get miffed at being ignored all those months. Sharon decided that the phone incident was the ghost's way of saying, "Hello, I'm here. Now you know for sure."