Published: November 01, 2005 11:59 am            

One reporter, one haunted castle, one night

Niagara Falls, NY. — Editor’s note: In the hopes of providing some seasonable entertainment for our readers, Night & Day sent reporter Nicholas Mendola to spend a night in Old Fort Niagara, which is reputed to be haunted with at least three distinct supernatural visitors.

With my head on a swivel, a constant companion on the phone and every flickering candle in Old Fort Niagara reminding me of “Interview With a Vampire,” I realized one inalienable truth:

Spending the night by yourself at a 279-year-old reportedly haunted French castle (shown at left) sounds a lot more fun at 11 a.m. than it does at 11 p.m.

Loud noises? “Moving” shadows? Dark stairwells?

Really glad I earned that college degree, Mom.

•••

“Only an idiot could’ve come up with an idea like this,” I thought as I pulled into the parking lot at Old Fort Niagara, realizing how true it was.

It was my idea.

Our staff photographer Doug Benz was already there, as was Old Fort Niagara executive director Robert Emerson, a man who took certain delight in telling me the haunted history of a castle older than my country. Knowing he had spent an evening here eight years ago was little consolation upon hearing stories of headless ghosts, floating candles and haunted fax machines.

Emerson led us through the courtyard and into the castle through the side door. Old Fort Niagara is impressive at night, as you can see clear across the Niagara River to the lights of Toronto, Ontario, and hear the river’s waves beat the walls of the French castle.

Built in 1726, the castle has held up well over time, if you don’t count the haunted well and lights that make their own decision as when to turn on and off. It’s even more impressive to consider that it was built in less than a year and was used well into the 20th century.

Which may explain the hanging corpses.

Of course, I’m kidding, but the castle allows your imagination a lot of room to scurry about, especially when many of Emerson’s stories are fairly convincing, but nothing overly dramatic — for ghost stories. From candles that light themselves to human figures without faces and a ghostly German shepherd, Emerson painted the Old Fort as a place where the spirit world and humanity may, or may not, simply co-exist.

“We had a fellow doing roofing work,” Emerson said. “He was sitting on a bench by the lake, and there was a strong wind coming at him. All of the sudden, he turns around and there’s a thick bank of fog coming toward him — against the wind.”

“Against the Wind?” Apparently, spirits are big Bob Seger fans. I took a little comfort knowing that in a pinch, my knowledge of “Rock and Roll Never Forgets” may come in handy.

We were all a little on edge as we scoured three of the four floors of the castle, which caught me a little off-guard, considering Emerson worked there. As Doug and I arranged possible photo opportunities in the hallway next to where I was to sleep, Emerson told us the castle’s best-known ghoul tale.

“The one that’s most famous, but probably not true, is the headless ghost,” he said. “It first appeared in the 1830s. Apparently, a French officer was killed in duel, his head was cut off, and his body was dumped in the well. The legend is on nights of the full moon, he roams around looking for his head.”

Luckily, the full moon was the night before.

•••

We headed upstairs to scout out other places to take pictures, and the stairwell led directly to a chapel, shown above, which used to be a hospital room. Maybe it’s just me, but if any room in the castle was begging to be haunted, this one was on its hands and knees.

Emerson told us about a priest who stayed in the chapel during one of Old Fort Niagara’s encampments to get an authentic feel of what his past brethren experienced. After a night of hearing heavy benches being dragged about the stone floors, the minister thought a tent in the courtyard would be better sleeping grounds.

Good move, padre.

“It’s a funny thing,” Emerson added. “Police dogs won’t go in that room.”

With the knowledge that I wouldn’t be going anywhere near there once they left, we moved on to take some shots of an old soldier’s bunker. Emerson was back downstairs, but that didn’t stop Doug’s and my thoughts from getting the best of us as we noticed the silhouette of a man on the wall.

Upon further inspection, it was the combination of a huge wooden door and some shadow trickery, but I sensed that the normally even-keeled Doug Benz was a little off-kilter as he said, “I wouldn’t go near that chapel.”

•••

It’s funny what steps you’ll take for the sake of good luck, particularly when you “don’t believe in ghosts.”

I brought my laptop, the “Batman Begins” DVD, a book on journalism, a Bible and assorted Catholic theology. For some reason, I also brought a tiny knife in the shape of a shotgun shell, my rationale being that I could cut up any ghoul who messed with me with a 2-inch blade, Tony Montana-style.

And, being in a French castle, I wore an old, bright red, Montreal Canadiens wool hat. Surely, spirits are hockey fans, and French ones certainly would root for the Habs.

Around 10:40 p.m., as I closed the door behind Doug and Robert, I kept repeating to myself that Doug would be taking flash photography from the outside and that I was getting great cell phone reception in case something, spirit or sicko, showed up inside the castle. In an eerie emergency, I could call any number of friends, family members or church members.

Thirteen seconds later, I had my girlfriend on the line. Go ahead and laugh, but we’ll see what you do when an almost 280-year-old building starts “settling” around you. I, for one, am firmly convincing that somewhere after the first century of existence, cannonballs or not, big rocks stop doing “The Mashed Potato” in the midnight hour.

About an hour had passed, and I was feeling OK, all things considered. That is, until a ghost woke up to use the bathroom.

•••

I was on the phone with my friend Tim when I decided it would be better not to be by myself in a haunted castle. Still, finally used to the creaks and yawns of Old Fort Niagara, I knew it was going to take something pretty big, say Christopher Walken in “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” to get me riled up again.

I’m guessing heavy footsteps and a latching door count as “pretty big.” Laying on the long row of wooden planks legions of infantry used for sleeping for almost three centuries, I was startled by the distant sound of a heavily planted foot, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut, reverberating somewhere far from me, but in the building.

I stood up and peered out at the dark stone staircase leading upstairs. I was convinced that the noises had come from the far end of the castle, but if it was upstairs, that meant my inspection could only come by passing the chapel. Moreover, I’d have to inspect the premises in the dark, a task slightly more appealing and safe than jumping into the Niagara River naked.

I was also fairly convinced that I shouldn’t be worried about spirits, but the type of nut who would stow himself away in a castle older than “The Wizard of Oz” and “Scooby Doo” combined. If there was a ghost with two-century-old unfinished business, I’d rather wage battle with it than some creep who’s seen “Beetle Juice” one too many times.

So, it came down to either biting the proverbial bullet and handling whatever noises and adventures would lie ahead in the next six hours, or calling Robert and checking this place out together. I was packed up and outside before I could dial the seven numbers on Emerson’s home phone.

Waiting for Emerson to show up, I was getting geared up to go back in and spend the night. When I saw his car whip up the narrow driveway like the first firefighter to a burning building, I had second thoughts.

When I saw him carefully checking each room for any moved objects whatsoever, I had third thoughts.

When I noticed he had the same reservations I did about the light on the top floor, I had fourth thoughts.

When he closed the heavy wooden door on the top floor and it sounded exactly like the noise I heard, well, that was that.

“I’m glad you heard something,” Emerson said. “It wouldn’t have been good if you stayed the whole night in peace and quiet.”

I guess good is an arbitrary term.

Contact Nicholas Mendola

at (716) 693-1000, Ext. 107.

•••

Strolling into the office the next morning, a little rough-shod in appearance and slightly shaken in sanity, I found my editor, Sara Paulson, was quite interested to hear about my night, and I was happy to tell her. After relaying my experience, she showed me a book we had received that morning, “Haunted New York State,” which described Old Fort Niagara as one of the most haunted places in Western New York.

I didn’t know headless ghosts could mail books, but I promise you one thing: I’ve got Emerson’s permission to spend a whole night in the castle sometime down the road, and I’m going to do it.

With one, two or 35 of my closest friends.

        

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