A Spirit Named George
by Frances Sandiford

Halloween is long gone, and scary stories have been packed away along with the costumes and trinkets, but ghosts don’t take a holiday after October 31. In her book Possessions, Judith Richardson says that the Hudson Valley, between New York and Albany, is one of the nation’s most haunted regions, albeit a cosmopolitan and diverse area, and that the Hudson is endowed with more of the abnormal than any other waterway in America. Think about it. There are the stories of Washington Irving, the paintings of Church, Cole and other artists in the Hudson River School which have a supernatural quality with their mists and fogs above the natural landscapes. And how many times have you heard places in the area referred to as Spook Something (Rock, Hollow, or Hill)? There is even a legend that the cries of Henry Hudson can be heard in the location of the Tappan Zee Bridge—provided you can catch them above the screeching of the traffic. In 1610 Hudson’s crew mutinied and set its captain, his son, and seven other sailors adrift in a small boat never to be heard from again.

Ghost tales like these abound in the Hudson Valley. Believe them or not, they are rousing good stories to be told and retold year round. Recently, I’ve heard about ghosts in a library, an estate, an old church, and a Bed and Breakfast, and these almost in my own backyard. I’ll start with the Morton Memorial Library in Rhinecliff, which may have a resident spirit. Director Joanne Meyer has never seen or heard anything unusual, but books have a habit of disappearing from the shelves, only to be returned without intervention from her or her staff. At first, Ms. Meyer thought it was a coincidence, but it has happened so often that she now suspects that it may be the handiwork of a ghost with a reading habit.

About a mile south of the Morton Library is Wilderstein Historic Site, former home of the Suckley family. This five-story structure, built in the Queen Anne style of architecture, was last occupied by Daisy Suckley who died 15 years ago. In an interview in Phantoms of the Hudson Valley, Miss Suckley talked about an unidentified lady ghost who lived in the tower. Is the ghost still there, I asked Duane Watson, archivist of Wilderstein, who replied, “All I can tell you is that as we pass Daisy’s mother’s room on the second floor, we often detect the smell of perfume or powder, as if someone had just walked by.”

Mention a one-time church that has since become a commercial building to local resident Eddie Rivera and his hair stands on end. During one of the building’s many lives there was a deli downstairs and Eddie lived in an apartment on the second floor. “I used to hear ghostly children laughing and playing,” he says. “And when I was in bed, I had the distinct feeling that someone was near me.” Eddie claims that he will never enter the building again, no matter what.

I have never had an encounter with a ghost, but I came close to it after I received a phone call from Joanne Paolella, owner of the Olde Rhinebeck Inn. At her request, I visited the Inn to see for myself what she called a spirit named George. The Inn is a “telescoping” farmhouse built in 1790. Ms. Paolella purchased it in 1998, and after some renovations, has operated it as a Bed and Breakfast ever since.

I met Ms. Paolella in the entry room, which is a split level kitchen, rather like something from a 19th century British novel. Three rooms on the second floor are used for the bed and breakfast. When one particular room is rented, ms. Paolella tells the guests, “The closet door will open during your stay. We call him George.”

I followed Ms. Paolella to the room, up a flight of stairs where the steps were so narrow that I had to place my foot sideways. The closet door in question was secured with a latch not easy to escape from the inside, yet George apparently does it on a regular basis, leaving a trail of cigar smoke behind him. Outside on the left side of the room is a small deck closed off from the room by a glass door, again, not easy to open. One visitor tried to foil George’s entrance by putting a chair against the closet door. In the middle of that night, the glass door burst open from the outside, letting in a gust of wind, and apparently George. If he could not enter one way, he’d enter another.

I waited in the room while Ms. Paolella tok a phone call downstairs. I faced the door, half hoping that something would happen. Nothing did, but if I had not already been a believer, I was now. Doors just don’t open on their own without something supernatural going on.