Categories
Ghost Tours

Ghosts of Phoenix Tours

  • Website: http://www.ghostsofphoenix.com/
  • Address: 202 N Central Ave Phoenix, AZ 85003
  • Phone: (602) 414-0004
  • Email: info@ghostsofphoenix.com
  • Operating Hours:

Highest Review

This review is going to largely depend on whether you believe in ghosts or not. Coming off of a Ghost Hunters craze, we decided it would be a great idea to go on a tour at the San Carlos on one of their ghost tours. I contacted them on their ghost tours Phoenix page and they contacted me back to say that my reservation had been complete. It was a total of $40 cash only for four people and it was a relatively small group, small meaning 30-35 people. Mostly older people or middle aged which was okay. I guess if it was full of young people our age they would have been making a bunch of noise and carrying on. We started in the nice lobby and when everyone had arrived we went on the elevators to the second floor to start the tour. They said that people have been touched on the elevator and sometimes it will stop for no reason. I always just thought this was an old building but okay. We went outside of a room where supposedly a female ghost likes to haunt male guests by tickling their feet because she’s in heat or something. Only we didn’t go inside the room because it is an active guest room and someone was in there. Now call me a stickler but if your going to offer a specialized tour and people are expecting to at least see the room in question, if not the ghost, should it not be empty available for viewing? Didn’t they make enough money off of the tour to at least keep it open one night? So here we were, guide telling us to make sure to keep it quiet because of the guests, as she’s telling us the story outside the door. Not too exciting. The tour itself was interesting, as she did a good job telling the history of the hotel. We didn’t get to go up to the pool area as that was closed as well. Going down into the basement was the best part of the whole tour as it was pretty creepy down there in the dark. The funniest part of the tour came when she was explaining that they sometimes hear noises down in the basement and at that moment there was a loud thud, everyone gasped and turned toward the noise behind us. There, bent over under the yellow spotlight, was an old hotel laundry worker pulling laundry out of a monstrous washing machine that stood in the center of the room. “Oh, sorry!” That noise just came from the worker which I think most of us were feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment. They said the younger you are the more spirits you may attract. Two other women in their early 30’s were carrying on trying to get photos hoping to get some pictures of some orbs. When we walked up the ramp in the basement everyone started taking our photo because we were obviously the youngest on the tour. A couple of cameras died and then came back on while we were down there. We then continued our tour outside to talk about the remake of Psycho being shot at the Westward Ho, and the original being shot at Hotel Jefferson down the street. In all, not too bad but I wished there would have been more open to tour.

Lowest Review

Supposedly, the Hotel San Carlos is one of the most haunted hotels in the country. Now I can’t confirm that’s true after the ghost tour, but I can say I witnessed a few horrors. Unfortunately, it had more to do with some of the gals on the tour that think they should wear Halloween costumes in inverse proportion to their size. As far as the tour goes, it had potential, but just didn’t live up. First off, the tour group was too big. They say they limit it to 40, we must have had 40. And that’s about twice the size it should be. There are a couple instances where you must take the elevator and this alone was a problem in that there was a lot of waiting for everyone to get to the destination. The large group also made hearing the tour guide difficult at times, although she did do a good job of speaking loudly. Not to mention, forget taking photos with that many people around. The actual tour of the hotel and the history behind the hauntings is interesting. There’s also a portion outside in which you learn about nearby buildings that are also haunted and the stories behind them. But there’s just too much retelling of stories of what other people have seen. It’s fun to hear the stories, but maybe not in so much detail. The tour was approximately 90 minutes, but could have easily been shortened to an hour with smaller groups. They’re running tours in 2009 on weekends through Nov 14th. Not a bad deal for $12, but I don’t recommend it, unless it’s one of those “I’ve got nothing better to do” nights.

Categories
Ghost Tours

Connecticut Haunted History Tours

About

CT Haunted History tours is an offshoot of the CT Touring Company, a local shuttle and touring service that helps people get to where they want to go and learn (if they want to) while they do it! Services include Connecticut History Tours, Connecticut Vineyard Tours, landscape and driving tours, shuttle service, and more!

  • Website: http://www.cthauntedhistorytours.com/
  • Address: 880 S Benson Rd Fairfield, CT 06824
  • Phone: (203) 919-6163
  • Email: cthistorytours@gmail.com
  • Operating Hours:
    Thu 11:00 am – 9:00 pm
    Fri 11:00 am – 9:00 pm
    Sat 11:00 am – 9:00 pm
    Sun 11:00 am – 9:00 pm
Categories
Ghost Tours

Banjo Billy’s Bus Tours

About

On a cold January night in 2005 a 1994 school bus was purchased on eBay and made it’s 1,000 mile journey on a warm February weekend to Boulder from Moline, IL with a vow to pick up every hitchhiker along the way. Unsurprisingly, no hitchhikers were on I-80 in the dead of winter. That makes for a long drive since school buses are not equipped with radios.

  • Website: http://banjobilly.com/
  • Address: 14th and California St Denver, CO 80202
  • Phone: (720) 938-8885
  • Operating Hours: Sat 2:00 pm – 4:00 pm

Back home in Boulder panic sets in as I realize I have no idea what I’m doing. I know nothing about buses, welding or tours. The yellow reflects off the frosty fallen snow into my house and I walk around the living room looking jaundice. I walk out the door to go to buy Astroturf as I know that’s one thing that always comes in handy. A man with a beard is standing in my driveway. He says, “What are you going to do to the bus?”. I reply “Cut the top off, weld on a pitched roof, mount some saddles and recliners inside and give tours of Boulder. I want it to look like a Colorado Log Cabin.” He doesn’t wince, but replies “Let me introduce myself, my name is Will. I’m a civil engineer, an accomplished welder, have all of my own tools, and have cut the tops of two other buses in the past year. Would you like some help?” Three weeks later we had a pitched roof.

Highest Review

How cool is Denver?! That’s not a rhetorical question – really I want to know how cool Denver is. Do you know? Ha! Well I do, because I took a Banjo BIlly’s Bus Tour! Part bus, and part hillbilly shack with a gypsy interior, this thing gets a lot of looks from passersby. Little do they know, all the really interesting stuff is right there in Denver outside the bus – they just need a Banjo Billy’s tour to help them see it. Three cheers for our fantastic guide! He’s knowledgeable, passionate, and a brilliant story teller. On the inside of the bus, we were hanging on to his every word, tense with anticipation wondering what horrific twist of fate his scary tour stories might take. What would this look like from the outside? Oh, just a bunch of weirdos in a hillbilly shack staring intently at a random house. But to us, that random house was spooOOoooky. I’m also really impressed with his ability to drive a giant hillbilly shack through traffic and deal with idiot drivers, all the while rattling off captivating stories, and still making me feel mostly safe. Pro Tip if you’re bringing booze on board: If at any time you have an opportunity to make a bathroom stop. Take it!

Lowest Review

We took the tour on 5/7/2011 @ 1pm and it was very boring, our tour guide had the personality of a boiled potato and read notes off of index cards. We also could not hear her and she did nothing about adjusting the volume even though she was asked numerous times to do so. Instead of wasting your money on this tour, I suggest you buy a Denver tour book and just do it yourself.

Categories
Ghost Tours

Dearly Departed Tours

About

Dearly Departed Tours (DDT) is Hollywood’s authoritative celebrity death source. Since 1998 owner, Scott Michaels has been Los Angeles’ curator of the macabre on his infamous blog, Find A Death, chronicling the last days of celebrities’ lives. DDT developed out of this blog and in 2005 Scott began creating tours that visit crime scenes and celebrity death locations throughout Hollywood.

  • Website: http://dearlydepartedtours.com/
  • Address: 6603 Sunset Blvd Los Angeles, CA 90028
  • Phone: (855) 600-3323
  • Email: info@dearlydepartedtours.com
  • Operating Hours:
    Mon 11:30 am – 4:30 pm
    Tue 11:30 am – 4:30 pm
    Wed 11:30 am – 4:30 pm
    Thu 11:30 am – 4:30 pm
    Fri 11:30 am – 4:30 pm
    Sat 11:30 am – 4:30 pm
    Sun 11:30 am – 4:30 pm

Highest Review

My husband and I took the Helter Skelter tour with Scott as our tour guide. I am obsessive about the Manson murders and case (in fact, during one of my visits to LA I gave myself my own Manson tour before I learned of Scott’s tour) and thought it would be a little boring for me, knowing so much about the history. Not only did Scott teach me a thing or two, but for my husband (who’s not a creepy murder-obsessed weirdo) had a blast and loved the tour, too. It’s also a fantastic way to see LA and learn fun facts about the cities history. We’ll do another Dearly Departed tour the next time we’re in LA.

Lowest Review

We took the Dearly Departed tour on Monday, August 17th, with Richard, the most bitter, smug man in all of Los Angeles. He spent excessive time showing us totally irrelevant celebrities’ (Sly Stallone’s MOM’s house? Gunther from Friends? The girl from Little House on the Prairie’s MOM’s house? WHO CARES ABOUT THESE PEOPLE and where they live???) homes. When he actually got to some macabre L.A. story—i.e. what we came on this tour for—he merely touched on the stories. There was no mention of the Wonderland murders, but we did find out where Adam Sandler’s mom’s condo was. When he mentioned celebrities, Richard referred to them and their lives with utter contempt. We all were sure he had tried to be a director or actor and failed, and so now spent his time giving shitty tours where he could badmouth those who had succeeded. Particularly offensive was how he suggested certain individuals deserved to be murdered given “they were rappers and all”. Do not take this tour. You’re better off printing out a Wikipedia page about the murders/stories you’re interested in and trying to find them yourself. You’ll learn more about it anyway. Unless you have a fascination with seeing where Gunther from Friends lives. Lame. I want my money back.

Categories
Ghost Tours

Hot Springs Haunted Tours

About

Enjoy our 60 minute walking tours of the historic downtown hot springs. Our guide will take you to several haunted buildings, with the oldest dating back to the early 1800’s. While at these locations, you will learn about the dark-side of hot springs, both past and present. The tours begin at 430 central avenue. So, if the events listed below seem interesting, you’ll enjoy our haunted tours. See you soon.

Highest Review

We had so much fun! Learning the history of Hot Springs and the strange/ disturbing stories behind the hauntings was so intriguing. The tour guide was so sweet and she even got creeped out herself 🙂 great time and recommend it !

Lowest Review

Super fun!! Very informative. Not too much walking. The guide was the sweetest most well spoken young lady! Over all a grand time. There was some kind of Biker Rally in Hot Springs while we were on the tour but the experience was still spooky I can only imagine how much more spooky it can be with no loud pipes. It was also helpful that they had a portable hands free microphone and speaker for easy listening and no yelling.

Categories
Ghost Tours

Phoenix Ghost Tours

Highest Review

I’m not a fan of being scared, however I do enjoy learning about history. My bf loves anything paranormal, so we agreed to go on this tour while we were on vacay in Phoenix. My girlfriend and her boyfriend joined us as well so we met in front of the Orpheus theatre as directed by the tour registration email. People slowly started to gather and we waited until our tour guide (Joe) came. After quick introductions and instructions (safety first!), the tour started about the background of the Orpheus theatre and we made our way throughout downtown Phoenix learning about the many stories and haunted venues and hotels. The tour ended at the Westward Ho where Jasper (a residence and honorary tour guide) allowed us to tour the hotel. What an awesome way to learn about the history of Phoenix and be given tips on where you can dine/drink and hopefully have your own paranormal encounters. I highly recommend taking this tour!

Lowest Review

My husband and I really enjoyed the ghost tour. We loved learning about the various buildings in Phoenix combined with the stories of ghosts. The tour guides were knowledgeable and friendly and had a passion for history. The tour of the Westward Ho was the highlight of the trip as the general public cannot visit the building so that was a real treat. The Westward Ho is an architectural gem with a storied past. I would recommend this tour to others as it is a different and gives you a interesting background on the City of Phoenix and the downtown area which is become so much nicer!

Categories
Ghost Tours

Ghost Tours of Anchorage

Highest Review

Fun and informative tour! It mixes dastardly deeds, ghost tales, and history into a 2-hour walking tour. The host was personable and knowledgeable. Unlike another review, and I mean no offense, I don’t need a “spooky campfire voice” reciting stories. The stories themselves were spooky enough, imo, and the host already commands attention simply by his uniform. Highly advise this to anyone looking for quality fun!

Lowest Review

The couple that runs this are very nice. I enjoyed walking through downtown and listening to their tales. However, the gentleman doing the tour just needs to deliver his stories with a bit more flair. they seemed flat and not really all that scary or ‘ghosty’ and the end of the tour needs to be better than “any questions?, okay,..bye”

Categories
Scary Stories

The Raven

by Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never- nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by Horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting-
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

The Raven, Read By Christopher Lee

Categories
Scary Stories

The Tell-Tale Heart

by Edgar Allen Poe

TRUE! –nervous –very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses –not destroyed –not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily –how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture –a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees –very gradually –I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded –with what caution –with what foresight –with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it –oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly –very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously –cautiously (for the hinges creaked) –I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights –every night just at midnight –but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers –of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back –but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out –“Who’s there?”

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; –just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief –oh, no! –it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself –“It is nothing but the wind in the chimney –it is only a mouse crossing the floor,” or “It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.” Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel –although he neither saw nor heard –to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little –a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it –you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily –until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.

It was open –wide, wide open –and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness –all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man’s face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? –now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! –do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me –the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man’s hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once –once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eve would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye –not even his –could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out –no stain of any kind –no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all –ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o’clock –still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, –for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, –for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search –search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: –It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness –until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; –but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased –and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound –much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath –and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly –more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men –but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed –I raved –I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder –louder –louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! –no, no! They heard! –they suspected! –they knew! –they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now –again! –hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

“Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed! –tear up the planks! here, here! –It is the beating of his hideous heart!”

-THE END-

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Ghost Tours

Birmingham History Tours & Ghost Walk

 Birmingham History Tours and Ghost Walk