The Haunt for Dead October

*A seasonal repost from the website archives*

Depending on whom you talk to, thanks to a vote of the people in 1990, a "great awakening" took place, economically, in the Colorado mountain towns of Central City, Blackhawk, and Cripple Creek. Once-booming gold mining towns in the 1860s, had become close to economic blackholes by the 1980s. Local and other interests put forth a bold plan to bring them back to, if not beyond, their "heyday" status through voter-approved limited stakes gaming.

In November of 1990, the voters of Colorado made it so, paving the way for the "great awakening". But apparently that isn't all it "awakened".

A good deal of what's to follow herein is based on a few historical records, a number of eye-witness accounts, lots of local gossip and some convincingly (and not) related folklore. Stories about things not easily explained. Stories that have, down the years, made for the classic ingredients of chilling campfire tales, or the seeds of bed time nightmares. Stories about things generally made entertaining or frightful by masters of the macabre like Edgar Allen Poe, Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, Stephen King, Rod Serling and the Pelosi-led US House.

I have worked in the casinos of Central City since 1992. Each of those I have worked in have their own "ghost stories", as related by others I've worked with or interviewed. In all that time, I have yet to personally experience anything I could swear fit the category of "paranormal". Granted, I've encountered a portion of examples of "abnormal", like one character who claimed he could receive space communications via his briefcase. But I've personally seen nothing that a few beers couldn't help me explain to someone else who'd had a few more than me.

At the same time, I'll add that I don't casually dismiss some of the anecdotes I've collected. More than a few of my sources are folks I know to be quite credible, and not at the time of our chats under the care of their casino pharmacist (aka, bartender). Most of their anecdotes involve spirits that seem gentle, peaceful, inquisitive and even fun-loving. However, there are a few cases wherein the anecdotes speak to something more tragic, perhaps even malevolent. With the exceptions of officially documented encounters, I will withhold names of the establishments and the persons interviewed, since much of what will follow herein has no independent verification; all the ghosts I tried to follow up with wouldn't spook to me to get their side of the story on record.

The first anecdote takes place in the parking lot above the now-closed Teller House, back in 1995: the witness had just pulled into the parking after dark, and was about to back into a parking spot, when "out of nowhere, a bent old man walks across in front of my car. The old man was dressed in worn clothing that appeared consistent with that of a 19th Century prospector. He walked across in front of my car, taking no notice of it, and just disappeared in the night". What affected the witness most was the fact that "my car's headlights shone through the man as he walked by".

Staying with the Teller House, there are believed to be several ghosts who call the Teller House home (my thanks to Dorothy Spellman and Mary Taitt for providing me with a brief precis of these ghosts). Three are of particular interest, as they have some historical background to the area: Red Rosie, Bill Hamilton, and The Blonde Lady from the 3rd Floor.

According to historical documentation, "Red Rosie" had survived a small pox epidemic that killed 70 people in the valley in 1901, and she then volunteered as a nurse to help tend the stricken there in the Teller House (used as an improv hospital at the time). Referred to after her passing as "an angel or a saint", Red Rosie's spirit remains within the Teller House: her image is reportedly sometimes seen as a reflection in a mirror, located within the structure.

Bill Hamilton was described as "a genial Irishman" who was something of a backstage manager of the Central City Opera House in the 1930s, providing security for such entertainers as Lillian Gish and Mae West. He was also the caretaker of the silver ingots which were laid in front of the Teller House in those days (no longer). Hamilton was also known as a great teller of stories, with a ready sense of humor, and which apparently remains in evidence today: several bartenders have reported being "grabbed" when retrieving bar supplies from storage. And one female employee had the wits scared out of her when Bill "appeared to her, seated on a case of beer". When she screamed, "he immediately vanished", but the unmistakeable smell of pipe tobacco lingered in the vicinity thereafter (Bill loved, among other things, "a good pipe"), clearly discerned by her and others who responded to her shriek. And a number of employees reported having smelled pipe tobacco when no one with a pipe was, or had been in, the Teller House.

Finally, the Blonde Lady of the 3rd Floor: according to the information, it is believed that "her husband committed suicide after punching her", out of guilt for having done so. Apparently, many guests have heard her on the 3rd Floor, moaning and sobbing, most likely in the wake of his passing, and ever since. A few who've heard her say it sends unpleasant chills through them.

One casino -- closed for a period of time and now open under a different name -- claims to have surveillance video that actually caught an "image", standing in an aisle of slot machines after closing, as if the "image" were examining the machines. When Security responded to check on the sighting, no one was found, and the "image" had disappeared. Then there was the the 3x5' bulletin board, hung on an interior stairwell landing wall, that was seen to suddenly rise straight out and drop to the floor, also viewed on video. I wasn't allowed to see the video of either; but I was shown a still photo from the first episode. And there was, indeed, a very discernible humanesque "image" in the photo.

Another casino -- again, closed and now open under new management -- was, and perhaps still is, home to at least two ghosts: one is referred to as "John", and is reportedly a seasonal visitor. Prior to the closing of the facility in the early-mid 1990s, the then-employees reportedly knew when "John" was in, and particularly when "John" was upset about something: one morning, staff coming in found every knife in the restaurant kitchen, point-first in the floor.

The other ghost -- referred to by one witness as "The Lady In Black" -- visited a construction worker during the pre-opening renovation phase of the facility back in 1992. As he related it to me, he was working on the second floor of the building, when he noticed a woman "in a long, black, old-style-looking dress", watching him work. When he asked what she was doing there, she turned and walked into the wall, vanishing. The worker told me he promptly took the rest of the job off.

Another casino along Main Street, is reputed to have at least one "ghost" in residence. One is reportedly a tall "cowboy", attired in the traditional hat and linen duster. He was seen in a mirror by one of the building owners, prior to the facility being opened for gaming in 1991. This witness related "feeling a presence over his left shoulder", and saw an apparition in the mirror on the wall in front of him; when he turned, no one was there, and the image in the mirror had vanished. After opening, one cocktail waitress reported that "someone tried to push me out of a second story window", when no one was standing or sitting within twenty feet of her at the time. And a graveyard shift janitor there also claims to have had a "running battle" with one or more "ghosts" there, over the games in the arcade (since relocated to a different facility). He would turn them off after closing, and the games would shortly thereafter "come back on".

No one else was in the facility at the time but him. And his arcade game-loving "ghost".

While most of the hauntings reported are in facilities that have been in the town for a century and more, some of the newer construction hasn't proven immune to spirited activity: a valet employee of one newly-erected casino in 1994, claimed to have seen a little boy in the valet parking area; when the employee approached the boy, the boy "ran into a wall and disappeared". A security officer had a similar encounter in the hotel of this same casino, with a man and woman whom she could see the wall through. When the male apparition turned and waved the security officer off, the officer was all too eager to follow the suggestion. When she came back by a few minutes later, the couple was gone.

In one casino that combined new construction adjoining an original structure -- and one that I worked in for a time -- count team members reported having empty coin cans "thrown around the room", and one janitor reported encountering "someone" sitting at the second floor bar, an hour after closing. The responding security officer to the janitor's report at the time -- me -- found no one, and no image was seen from the surveillance cameras, but the janitor was adamant about what he had seen.

One interesting anecdote -- with back up photo evidence -- comes from an old theatre along Central City's Main Street, known as the Belvidere Theatre. A cocktail waitress showed me a photo that she'd taken of a piano on the stage of the under-renovation theatre. The picture, she related, was taken in the presence of others. No one was sitting at the piano when the photo was shot; but someone was, when the Polaroid photo finished imaging: a woman wearing 19th Century attire. A woman you could see through in the photo. Later in a follow-up conversation with this waitress, she related having had several "conversations" with this spirit, through the use of hand-held divining-like wands, and that the spirit was very "friendly and caring".

This waitress (no longer employed where I work) is both a blonde and a "looker"; despite those seeming credibility disqualifiers, I tend to believe her story. Especially when I saw the photo.

Finally, a tale from one casino in Blackhawk in the early 90s: again, a tale alleged to have been captured on surveillance video tape (one I didn't get to see, but was told about by an employee who had seen the video). When this particular casino closed at night, no one remained on property. An alarm system supplemented the surveillance equipment. When the first employees arrived the next morning, they found a slot machine in full jackpot mode, as if it'd just been won. Astonished that the night shift would leave a machine in this mode, the employees were more astonished when they reviewed the surveillance video: roughly an hour after the casino closed and the last person had left, the slot machine play handle came down, as if pulled, the reels spun, and the jackpot symbols came up on the machine, activating the overhead flashing candles. No slot tech I've ever spoken to about this can come up with a way for this to happen on the older-style slot machines without physical manipulation.

And there are many, many more stories between the two towns; I have little doubt that Cripple Creek has its share, as well.

So...believe what you will this Halloween. Believe in or deny the hereafter. Acknowledge that sudden, chilling feeling that you're not alone, or dismiss it as an explainable non-event. Whatever your persuasion, if you visit a casino in Central City, Blackhawk or Cripple Creek, and think that you feel the presence of something, you might be right. It just might be Lady Luck.

Or, The Lady In Black.

Happy Halloween.