19 minute read
THE GHOSTS OF JAMAICA INN
The next example takes place against the background of the AustrianOttoman wars of the early eighteenth century. War had raged for the best part of twenty years after the Habsburgs of Austria annexed large swathes of Serbia and Northern Bosnia, which had previously been part of the Ottoman Empire. Remaining under direct Austrian military control until the Treaty of Belgrade in 1739, the captured lands were then forcibly granted back to the Turks. During the two decades of Austrian rule, authorities in Vienna encouraged German speaking Serbs to relocate to the areas particularly hit by the devastation of war in order to focus on agriculture and cattle farming, in order to help generate a better economy. Many Ottoman Serbs were lured by the promise of being given ‘unalienable lots of land’ in exchange for serving as Hadjuks – or militiamen, recruited for the purpose of protecting borders in peacetime and serving in times of war.
Arnold Paole was one such Hajduk, who relocated to Medveđa from Gossowa (thought to be present-day Kosovo) in the part of Serbia controlled by the Turks. Reports of the time say that Paole often spoke about being targeted by a vampire in his hometown but had managed to cure himself by smearing himself in the blood of the vampire and consuming dirt from the grave. No doubt this would have made for a fascinating tale, maybe told over a drink at the end of the day. That is until Paole suddenly died by breaking his neck falling from a haycart, around 1725.
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Poor Arnold was duly laid to rest, but a few weeks later, four villagers began to complain that they had been ‘plagued’ by him – it’s interesting to note the choice of word here! Shortly after, all four passed away themselves. It was only then that people began to recall Paole’s story of being relentlessly pursued by a Turkish vampire and began to wonder if he himself had been cursed to stalk the living in a state of living death? And so, forty days after Paole’s death, he was disinterred in order to find out whether the unfortunate man was responsible.
What they found was enough to convince the villagers present that Paole had turned into some kind of arch-vampire.
His corpse showed no signs of decomposition and was noted to be bloated and full of fresh blood, which had recently flowed from every visible orifice, covering his clothes and the inside of the coffin.
In addition to his hair and beard growing since the time of his death – we now know this to be a fairly common thing – the nails on his fingers and toes had fallen off, but new ones grew in their place. All these were evidenced as proof that the dead man was now stalking the living as an undead man. A stake was driven through Paole’s heart, at which point the bloated corpse appeared to react with a blood-curdling shriek, followed by groaning as the blood flowed from the body. After this, they cut off his head and burned the entire body.
Certain similarities can be seen with regards to how vampires appear in popular culture in the case of Paole. It’s here that we start to see a tradition emerge of staking through the heart and beheading, which likely was a tradition imported with the Turkish migrants that then fed into the growing fascination with vampires over the following centuries.
Vampires Strike Again!
Interestingly, another outbreak occurred
five years later. Yet again, an epidemic hit the area, killing ten people in the course of a few weeks, and seventeen in total over three months. Once again, locals sought an explanation as to why this happened. Two of the first women to die were named Milica and Stana – both originally from the Ottoman Empire, just as Paole had been. Villagers recalled that whilst both had been good neighbours and well liked, they recalled Milica saying that while still in her homelands, she had eaten two sheep supposedly killed by vampires and that Stana had admitted to smearing herself in vampire blood as a form of protection against them. According to locals, all the above would put you at risk of becoming one, rather than protecting against them.
The villagers complained of the new deaths to the Austrian Military Commander. Concerned about the possibility of an ‘epidemic of pestilence’, he immediately sent for Glaser, an infectious disease specialist, who concluded that the deaths were most likely down to malnutrition and adverse effects of severe fasting in the Eastern Orthodox traditions. However, the locals were not having any of it. Banding together in families of two or three for safety, they were adamant that the epidemic was down to vampires infecting the living and that if the authorities wouldn’t take proper action by digging them up and executing the offending creatures, then they would all abandon the village in order to spare their own lives. In his report to the Commandant’s office, Glaser advised it best to do as the villagers wished and ‘execute’ the vampires. A second commission was sent directly from Belgrade, comprising military surgeon Johann Flückinger, two officers by the names of Lieutenant Colonel Büttner and J. H. von Lindenfels. Together with some local gypsies and town officials, the graves of the deceased were dug up and opened on January 7th , 1732. It was discovered that whilst five of the bodies were already quite decomposed, the remaining twelve appeared plump and undecayed, with organs filled with fresh, rather than coagulated blood. The report was summarised by the surgeons present as the bodies being ‘Vampyrenstand’ or in vampiric condition. Once the investigation was complete, the gypsies cut off the heads of the suspected vampires and burned them along with their bodies and scattered the ashes into the Morava River.
Commentary on a Belief in Vampires in Europe
Such an unwavering belief in vampires spreading disease and death among the living across Europe can also be corroborated from a text written around the same time as the Serbian Vampire plague, but not published until around a decade later. ‘The Travels of Three Gentlemen, from Venice to Hamburg’ was written as part of a ‘Grand Tour’ in 1733-4, and forms part of The Harleian Miscellany, 1745. The following extract comes from pages 348-9 and provides an insight into the worldview of people in Eastern Europe:
“We must not omit observing here, that our landlord seemed to pay some regard to what Baron Valvasor has related of the Vampyres, said to infest some parts of this country. These Vampyres are supposed to be the bodies of deceased persons, animated by evil spirits, which come out of the graves, in the night-time, suck the blood of many of the living, and thereby destroy them.
Such a notion will, probably, be looked upon as fabulous and exploded, by many people in England; however, it is not only countenanced by Baron Valvasor, and many Carnioleze Noblemen, Gentlemen, &c. as we were informed, but likewise actually embraced by some writers of good authority. M. Jo. Henr. Zopfus, Director of the Gymnasium of Essen, a person of great erudition, has published a dissertation upon them, which is extremely learned and curious, from whence we shall beg leave to transcribe the following paragraph:
“The Vampyres, which come out of the Graves in the Night-time, rush upon People sleeping in their Beds, suck out all their Blood, and destroy them. They attack Men, Women, and Children, sparing neither Age nor Sex. The People attacked by them complain of Suffocation, and a great Interception of Spirits; after which, they soon expire. Some of them, being asked, at the Point of Death, what is the Matter with them, say they suffer in the Manner just related from People lately dead, or rather the Spectres of those People; upon which, their Bodies, from the Description given of them, by the sick Person, being dug out of the Graves, appear in all Parts, as the Nostrils, Cheeks, Breast, Mouth, &c turgid and full of Blood. Their Countenances are fresh and ruddy; and their Nails, as well as Hair, very much grown. And, though they have been much longer dead than many other Bodies, which are perfectly putrefied, not the least Mark of Corruption is visible upon them.
Those who are destroyed by them, after their Death, become Vampyres, so that, to prevent so spreading an Evil, it is found requisite to drive a Stake through the dead Body, from whence, on this Occasion, the Blood flows as if the Person was alive. Sometimes the Body is dug out of the Grave, and burnt to Ashes; upon which, all Disturbances cease.”
The accounts recorded all seem to be pretty consistent in their description about what constitutes a corpse being in a vampiric state and belief in demonic entities possessing the dead in order to spread infection, death and feed from the living seems to have been entrenched in the belief system of not only poor villagers suffering hardship, but well-respected members of society, too. So, did vampires really exist, or were they just a symptom of a society going through hardship and upheaval?
Alas, wherever you find social, economic or religious upheaval, people will naturally find some kind of scapegoat to blame, attack and destroy in order to end the chaos and set the world back in good order once more. Epidemics such as the various cases of plague, random, unexplained illness, or even just the introduction of migrants over changing borders could create suspicion and therefore, blame. It’s easy to see how uncorrupted corpses of the recently deceased would have been seen as the cause of death and disease, especially when settlers from the Ottoman Empire brought tales of vampire attacks with them. As Glaser seemed to observe, allowing people to carry out the ritual of destroying the ‘vampire’ at least gave them a sense of control over an existence which was often chaotic, fragile and hard.
Whether we believe that some of these cases could have been bona fide vampiric attacks, humanity’s belief in them has lasted at least six thousand years and our fascination with them continues in popular culture to this day.
Lucy X
COURTNEY M. BLOCK KJERSTI BETH MARIA HOGAN MICHELLE FISHER TANYA M. FLYNT VICTORIA S. JAYE
In 2020, an idea was planted in my brain after noticing that many people within the paranormal community did not know about the history of women in the paranormal, trailblazers like Catherine Crowe, Eleanor Sidgwick, and Zora Neale Hurston were relatively unknown by the masses. As the months passed, I began to notice the lack of female representation not just of historic researchers but contemporary ones as well.
The idea took root and blossomed into the all-female (and nonbinary) paranormal journal, The Feminine Macabre. We released our first volume in March 2021 and we’re about to release our fourth volume this fall. Our hope is to shine a light on the research, writing, and theories of women from the paranormal community. From tarot and witchcraft to cryptids, folklore, and ghosts, The Feminine Macabre covers everything within the occult, metaphysical, and paranormal fields… with a feminine twist. We present Volume 3.5, just a small taste of what you might see in our journal of all things strange and unusual.
A Love Letter to Haunted Libraries, the In-Between & Liminal People
Strange things happen at my library. Before you conjure the image of an old, creaky-floored library backlit by the moonlight, let me point out that my library isn’t very old. It was built in 2004. My library is situated on a university campus. When they heard that I was gathering stories for a haunted campus walking tour, most people expressed skepticism that I would find very much given the young age of both the library and the campus. Of course, those of us who have spent enough time enmeshed in the paranormal will know that age is not a requirement for strangeness to occur. In no time, I had a wealth of personal stories, and archival documents that formed an impressive portfolio of weirdness surrounding my little campus tucked into the hills of southern Indiana. One of these stories involved the library.
A campus police officer recounted that one December, they were called to investigate after janitorial staff spotted someone in the library after-hours. The officer who arrived scoured the first and second floors to no avail, but once they entered the library’s basement level, they reported feeling a sixth sense that convinced them someone was lurking and watching. The officer said they didn’t feel anything supernatural or strange and were convinced that a living person had somehow snuck into the library and was now hiding. Upon searching every nook of the lower level, though, the officer found no one. Perplexed, they decided to hit the elevator button. Instead of hopping in, they sat quietly at a desk in the corner, hoping that the sound of the elevator doors opening, and closing would lure the person from their hiding spot. After a few moments, the officer’s efforts paid off when the lights in one of the study rooms suddenly came on.
The officer jumped up from the desk, rushed into the room, and found.... nothing. Confused, the officer spent the next 15 minutes trying to recreate what had just happened. Could the HVAC trigger the motion-activated lights in the study room? No. Would headlights from passing cars trigger anything? Again, no. The only thing that activated the lights was when the officer physically walked past the sensor.
The officer never did find anyone in the library that evening. Still, they concluded their encounter by telling me that, since that evening, they often feel that same uneasy feeling when they make their rounds of the library each night.
My library isn’t the only spooky library, of course. A much more well-known haunted library is the Willard Library, located two hours west of me in Evansville, Indiana. The library, which opened to the public in 1885, is said to be haunted by a ghost known as the Gray Lady. The first report of the Gray Lady occurred in the 1930s when a custodian claimed to see her, and since then, numerous sightings and strange happenings have occurred at the Willard Library. Others who have seen the Gray Lady include local police officers, university professors, library staff, and even library patrons. Some have reported seeing her peering into water, while others smell perfume, or feel their hair and earrings being touched. Other strange events include water mysteriously turning on and off and objects being moved or randomly appearing in the library.
Fortunately for those interested in the paranormal, the Willard Library seems to embrace its haunted attributes and even hosts paranormal tours every October. In fact, if you’re interested in seeing the Gray Lady herself, check
out the series of “ghost cams” accessible from the library’s website and make sure to view the PDF that illustrates the locations in which the Gray Lady is most often seen. Spooky libraries aren’t just limited to Southern Indiana, of course. You can easily find information about many others.
In fact, librarians at the Illinois University Library created a guide highlighting the haunted happenings of libraries across the United States, inspired perhaps by the strange activity that is said to take place in their own library.
For example, on this site, you can read about the Deep River Public Library in Connecticut and the multiple spirits that seem to haunt that location. You can also read about the Ramona Convent Secondary School library in California, which is said to be haunted by the ghost of a nun. One of my favorite stories is that of the Old Bernardsville Public Library in New Jersey.
Before serving as a library, the building was once an inn during the Revolutionary War and is said to be haunted by the ghost of Phyllis Parker, the owner’s daughter. The ghostly activity and the lore surrounding Phyllis eventually prompted the staff to give Ms. Parker her own library card, which leads me to wonder, “Why haven’t I given my library ghost a card yet?” If you’re curious to know more about the haunting of the Old Bernardsville Public Library, you can ask your library for a copy of the 1991 book titled Phyllis—The Library Ghost? written by Eileen Luz Johnston.
Speaking of the Deep River Public Library in Connecticut, American Libraries Magazine published an article in October 2012 that provides a more comprehensive overview of the mysterious happenings at that library, built in 1881. In the article, then-director Ann Paietta tells readers that the haunting began in earnest in the 1950s and that staff would hear strange voices and see unexplained lights. The library’s haunted reputation followed it and eventually attracted the attention of paranormal investigators who, through their investigations, claimed that the spirits of two women occupied the library. Most interesting to me, however, is the fact that the library’s haunted reputation revived interest in the local institution. As the director said, “It all changed with the ghosts.” I have a theory of why libraries seem to be attractors of strange phenomena. There’s a reason why the silent, dark, or empty library feels particularly creepy. I think it’s because there is something lingering in the library— something perhaps best intuited after-hours. Let me explain.
In December 2021, I sat down with the host of Paranormal Patio, Jason, to discuss paranormal research and libraries. During that conversation, we chatted about the vibe that libraries give off after-hours. We are all probably familiar with that feeling of being in a space that is otherwise bustling, busy, and full of people. When empty, a particular vibe lingers within these spaces. Jason and I continued chatting about this lingering energy and remarking on the liminal nature of libraries.
Liminality within libraries manifests in a variety of ways. There are people constantly coming and going, some you see every week (or maybe every day), and others you see only once. Library materials themselves are liminal because they cycle through various hands and homes where readers pour their energies and thoughts into them, only to return them again to their place on the shelf where they wait for the next visitor to whisk them away. Library materials are further liminal because many contain the thoughts, research, ideas, and words of authors who, though long dead, still linger on in the minds of readers—and isn’t that, after all, a particular form of life-after-death? Libraries on university or school campuses, like mine, are particularly liminal spaces because students only stay on campus for a handful of years before moving on.
So, yes, all sorts of things are lingering inside the library. And when these spaces are quiet, you can pick up on the echo of that constant flow of energy. I think, too, that if you listen hard enough, you can hear the books whispering to you like ghosts on parchment. The lingering energy of the authors who created them and the years of students pouring their energies into them seem to leave an energetic imprint. Maybe I’m just too romantic about libraries—too philosophical about what it means for something to be a ghost. But as I have reflected since that conversation with Jason, I have also realized that the same spooky, romantic feeling I get when I walk through the empty library is the same feeling I get when looking at old houses. The similarity they share is that both are places where people can simply be. Let me put it this way. What place, other than the home, can people be without the expectation of buying anything? Wandering through a park, maybe, but what physical buildings exist for people to simply be in? Librarians don’t expect you to purchase your right to be in a library or to sit at a table, access computers, apply for a job, use a bathroom, get research assistance, dig through archival materials, drink water from a fountain, read books, newspapers, or magazines, attend events, or even take a nap. In fact, we don’t expect you to have any reason at all to be within the library. It is enough to simply be. In a capitalist society, libraries are an act of rebellion. Their very nature is liminal—from the physical spaces to the materials within them to your reason for being there, and to the fact that since the advent of online databases, you don’t even need to set foot in the library building to technically be using the library—these institutions thrive in the in-between. Of course, strange things are happening in libraries.
In much the same way that libraries are liminal and rebellious, so too is the act of engaging with the paranormal. Just like places can be liminal, so too can people. When we engage with the paranormal, we rebel against the materialist status quo. Opening your mind to paranormal questions and wondering “what if” to the concepts of consciousness, energy, and life-after-death place you firmly in a liminal space. For me, the liminal is both familiar and comfortable. Maybe it’s because I’m also a librarian who works in (and helps others in) the in-between spaces. Whatever the reason, I know many others find comfort in these spaces—others who are fellow liminal people just like me. I know that existing in the liminal can sometimes be uncomfortable, though, and I want to remind you that your weirdness has a place in this world. And if you’re ever looking for a spooky story, a spooky place to be, or simply don’t know where to go, just find your nearest library.
