The Haunting of The Royalton Hotel

Lady Rhea was contacted in 1991 to do a séance for the Royalton Hotel in New York City. They had had complaints about an aggressive spirit haunting the hotel and the staff were curious if she could make contact with the spirit. Rhea agreed to look into the matter and enlisted her two close friends, Tony and Raven, to help her.

On the assigned date, Rhea, Raven, and Tony arrived at the Royalton Hotel to conduct the séance. They were led to a small hotel room on the second floor. Rhea and Raven worked the Ouija Board, while Tony recorded the responses. Nine staff members joined them for the séance making a total of twelve people in the room.

At first, they had sporadic contact with several energies. The spirit of a little boy came through the board asking if anyone had seen his mother. After the young boy left, heavy footsteps could be heard walking outside the door in the hallway. Then they felt the presence of a male spirit enter the room. Rhea got the impression that he was a finely dressed, tall man with dark hair. He had a gruff voice and a tough guy attitude.

“What is your name?” asked Rhea.

“William Rose,” he spelt out on the board.

One of the hotel staff jumped up, “As in Billy Rose?”

The pointer circled the word “YES” rapidly. “Ooh, he’s cranky,” said Raven. “Do you know him?” asked Rhea. The staff member swallowed. “We know of him. He used to live here back in the days when the place was a residential hotel.”

Rhea turned back to the board. “Are you the ghost haunting this floor?” The spirit moved the pointer to “YES” again. Now that the spirit had fully established his presence, he started calling out staff members in the room and asking them questions.

“Where’s Red?” he asked. Red was the nickname for a manager who was supposed to be on call that night, but had called out of work. “Why do you want to know?” asked Rhea. William responded back smartly, “I wanted to talk to him.” The room fell silent.

Next, William indicated a female worker that was in the room and said, “I’ve seen you taking a nap in room 307.” The woman’s eyes went wide. “Well, I’ll never lay down in there again,” she said.

“Okay. I have some questions for you now. Would you be willing to answer them for me?” asked Rhea. William said that he would. “Why do you push people in the hall?” asked Rhea. William smirked, “Cause they’re stepping on my newspaper. Next question.”

“Why aren’t you moving on to the light? Are you stuck? Do you need help?”

William answered solemnly, “I’m waiting for Edie.”

It was around one in the morning by this point, so Rhea wrapped up the séance. On the way home, Rhea, Raven, and Tony were questioning what had happened that night. Raven was driving, Rhea was up front in the passenger seat, and Tony was in the back. They were driving by the side of a cliff on Wendover Road when all three were overwhelmed by the scent of roses and the car went into a 360-degree spin.

“Stop it, Raven!” screamed Rhea, thinking Raven had spun the wheel too hard on the turn.

“It’s not me,” shouted Raven.

Just as quickly as it started, the car stopped. The scent of roses disappeared. There were no roses growing along the highway. It was a clear night. The roads were clean, there wasn’t any ice or rain, and they hadn’t driven over an oil spill. Rhea felt that William Rose had spun the car and made it smell like roses to show them that he was real. A few months later, Rhea mentioned the incident to one of her clients. The customer said that she knew the Edie who William Rose was referring to. Edie was elderly and had recently moved into a nursing home. William was waiting for her to pass on, so that they could move on into the light together.

Picture for Royalton Hotel Article - Public Domain Archive
Public Domain Archive

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send me an email to theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview.

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

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A Grave Message

Thanks to Linda from New Jersey for this story!

As mentioned in an earlier Ghost Post, Her Daughter’s Guardian Angel, Linda has psychic abilities.  This often results in prophetic dreams, which frequently spook her family.  This particular incident happened when Linda was in her late twenties.

In St. Raymond’s Cemetery in Bronx, NY, there is a mausoleum that holds several generations of Linda’s family.  Linda’s great-grandfather, Carmine, set this up so that the family would always stay together.  Great-grandfather Carmine’s son, called Papa Nick, was deeply fond of his daughter-in-law, Vera.  Vera is Linda’s mother.  Even after her mother and father divorced, Papa Nick stayed close with Vera.

One night, Linda had a dream where she heard Papa Nick call out.

“Vera, help me!  I’m drowning!”

This dream occurred two times in a row.  When she mentioned the incident to her mother, Vera said that Papa Nick must be trying to tell them something important.  The most confusing part was that while Linda was the one having the dream, Papa Nick kept calling for her mother.

After the second dream, Linda called her father to ask how Papa Nick had died.  Was it at sea or on a boat?  He answered that her grandfather had died of a stroke.  When he asked her what had brought this question up, Linda told her father about the strange recurring dream.

“Maybe you’d better go visit Papa Nick in the cemetery and see if everything is okay.”

Her father promised that he would go check.  The next day he called and explained what had happened.  He had gone to the cemetery to find that a sewer pipe had backed up and flooded the mausoleum floor.  One of the coffins floating in the water was Papa Nick’s.  Thankfully, they found out in time and none of the coffins were damaged.  It just goes to show you that when spirits want to make contact, they will find a way.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

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The Ancient Ones

My favorite exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City is the Egyptian Hall.  One day, my friend, Stephanie and I decided to go down into the city to see the museum.  Being the Egyptian exhibit is close to the entrance, we decided to stop there first.

A secluded hallway shoots off from the Egyptian temple leading to a room that is lined on either side with sarcophagi encased behind glass walls.  I usually skip this room because while the detailed artwork is beautiful, it is also strangely eerie.  For some reason though, my friend and I wandered down this way.  We were the only ones in this area at the time.  The dead silence and fixed gaze of unseeing eyes staring at you from every corner gave the place an ominous atmosphere.

I was standing near to the entrance and Stephanie was in the middle of the room when I suddenly tripped.  I don’t know how this happened.  There was nothing in my way to have caused this.  My hand flew out to help me regain my balance, accidentally touching the wall.  A dark presence rose up behind me.  In my mind’s eye, I saw the image of a ten-foot temple guardian appear.

“I meant no harm,” I thought.  “In fact, I’m leaving right now.”

Stephanie was as unnerved by my fall as I was and suggested that we get out of there.  I didn’t feel right again until we left the exhibit.  Later when I told her what happened, she said that she also felt something strange at the moment that I tripped.  The rest of the museum visit was normal, but I have never forgotten that experience.

I am not the only one in my family to have an odd occurrence in the Egyptian exhibit at the Met.  When I was young, my father worked as a security guard at the museum.  One day, he was standing close to the immense stone statue of the Egyptian lion-headed goddess, Sekhmet.  As he turned around, his mood ring clinked against the statue.  When he looked down at his hand, the ring’s stone had turned black as coal.  It never changed again.

The impression that I got of the entity made me wonder if there really wasn’t something to the old ways of worship and protection.  I think we forget about ancient magic in our modern world, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t out there.  This encounter also made me reexamine my thoughts regarding keeping another civilization’s artwork that doesn’t rightfully belong to us.  The archeologists disturbed the sanctity of the Egyptian tombs, upsetting the spirits.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email with your contact information to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story! 

Stay in Bed

Age eleven to thirteen was a time of great upheaval for me.  My maternal grandfather passed away and my parents separated shortly after.  I switched schools first for bullying issues and then because my mother and I moved to the Bronx so that we would be closer to her store.  That very same summer, my mother’s sister, Roseanne, was diagnosed with lung cancer.  My first week of Junior High school ended with her funeral.

Aunt Roseanne and I were always close.  She knew the type of clothes and toys that I liked.  She was one of the adults that actually listened to what I said when I talked.  She encouraged me in school, listened to my dreams, supported my love for imaginary play, and was always affectionate with me and my mother.  We were heartbroken when she died.

A few months after her passing, I was sitting in my room working on a short story when I suddenly caught the scent of her perfume.  This was not a flowery fragrance that can be mistaken for a scented candle or an air spray.  Aunt Roseanne always wore Chanel #5.  It was such a distinct aroma that I actually stopped what I was doing and spoke her name aloud.

Of course there was no answer, but it had broken through my concentration.  Now completely spooked and seeing how late it was, I decided to get ready for bed.  I didn’t mention the incident to my mom because this had happened to me before.

When my grandfather had first passed away a year earlier, I had smelt his cologne in the downstairs lobby of our apartment building when there was no one around.  The aroma had been centered around my person, not wafting through the hallway, as it would have been if someone wearing the cologne had passed by.  I had been so depressed over my grandfather’s death that mom had brought me to a grief counselor for a few sessions.  When I discussed this event with the counselor, she said that it was common for family members to experience this kind of phenomena after someone’s death.

Smell is one of the most powerful memory triggers.  A grieving person might believe that they smell a specific scent that they associate with their loved one because that soul could be trying to alert them to their presence.  However, some other schools of thought believe that it is actually the memory itself that is triggering the illusion of the aroma.  Growing up in a family that believes in the paranormal, I never discounted the possibility that my grandfather’s spirit could have been visiting me.  I was not consciously thinking of either my grandfather or my aunt at the time that I experienced these phenomena.  Each time the experience caught me off guard and happened when I was alone.

After I went to bed the night that I smelled Aunt Roseanne’s perfume, I felt anxious.  The event had been unsettling.  I sat up, ready to go get my mother, but something told me to stay in bed.  Lying back down, I tried to go to sleep, but couldn’t.  Again, I desired to get up.  This time, I thought I heard a soft voice say, “Stay in bed.”  Two seconds after closing my eyes, there was a loud crash.

Mom rushed into my room.  Pieces of my ceramic ceiling lamp littered the floor.  My desk chair was positioned directly under this lamp.  A half hour earlier, I had been sitting there when I had smelled my Aunt Roseanne’s perfume.  After the mess was cleaned up and I was back in bed, I told mom about the earlier phenomena and then the voice urging me to stay in bed.  Mom and I still believe that Aunt Roseanne’s spirit protected me that night.

If you have a real ghost story that you would like to share with The Ghost Post, send an email to Tara Theresa Hill at theghostpostreporter@gmail.com to set up an interview. 

I’m always in the mood for a good ghost story!