Center Tuftonboro Stories and Tips

A Haunting Experience Part 2

My bedroom  Photo, Center Tuftonboro, New Hampshire

After a couple of nights hearing the voices, sometime the music would drown them out and sometimes not, I knew I had problems. I asked around some of the staff that worked below if anyone else had had any problems living there and everyone agreed that something was up. One guy who had lived there the year before said that a girl had lived in my room and in the middle of the night had jumped in her car and driven to his place saying, “I can’t take the noises anymore!”

So knowing that I wasn’t entirely crazy helped. That night I opened the door to my bedroom and tried talking to them. “Look guys, I’m really tired. I have a migraine, and I just want to sleep. Can you please keep it down tonight?” I was answered by a thud in what I now referred to as “the Scary Room.”

The weekend was coming up. It was Thursday night. I had played around with going away for the weekend but I hadn’t made up my mind yet. That night I went to bed as usual, with the lights and CD player on, and tried to get some sleep. A short time later I heard noises that I had NEVER heard before. Someone was pounding on the door leading up to the stairwell. I knew it had to be a person this time so I threw open my door, ran down the stairs and flung open the stairwell door to-nothing. The pounding had only stopped when I was a few steps from the bottom and I hadn’t heard anyone run off. I stood there for a moment, confused, and THEN I heard a pounding on the front door downstairs. So I ran down another set of stairs to the front door. Just as I reached the door, the pounding stopped. I stood there for a second and THEN heard the pounding on the back door. It would be physically impossible for a single person to have gotten there that fast. Pounding on all of the doors. I didn’t look this time. I went back up to my room, threw some stuff in a bag, and drove to another girl’s house that I had become friendly with. I slept on the couch.

Of course, that next day I decided to do my little weekend trip. I went to Central Massachusetts for the weekend and on my way back I stopped in Salem to see the House of the Seven Gables. I figured that since I was in Salem I might look around at some of the witchy shops and while in one of them met a Wiccan woman who had been practicing for many years. I briefly told her about my experiences and she asked me if I had ever heard anything in my room. I had already considered this and said that no, the noises were always on the stairs, in the hallway, or in the other room. She then said that something was barring them from entering and asked me if I knew what it could be. No, I didn’t know. She was fairly persistent about it and kept saying, “Think about what’s in your room. Do you have anything lucky? A talisman? Stones? Crystals? Any spices or herbs? Any black candles?” No, I didn’t have any of those. What about photographs? Yes, I did have a photograph of my (deceased) grandmother by my bed. She said that it was possible that was the barrier-that I was being protected. But just in case she recommended a type of stone to buy and told me to place them at intervals around my bed. I had tried everything else.

That night I talked to my mom, who probably thought I was certifiably insane by then, and she recommended a line of salt at the door because supposedly spirits can’t cross it.

I tried both and sure enough, the next few nights were relatively peaceful. On the third night, the whispers came back. This time, I could make out exactly what they said, “Let her sleep. She doesn’t feel well. Let’s just leave.” At first I thought that perhaps it was someone playing a trick on me, but before I could get up and look a deep sleep fell over me and I had the first good night’s sleep I had had in weeks.

At the end of that week I went to Boston. By then my nerves were frazzled, I was grumpy, and I was at the end of my rope. I met three girls in my hostel and in the course of the evening told them what was happening. They were confused as to why I was remaining in the house and I told them that basically I didn’t have anywhere else to go at the moment. It felt so nice to talk to people about the situation that I almost forgot there was even a problem.


Until I got back home on Sunday night, however.

It had been raining a lot and the road was unbelievably foggy. The road to the house wasn’t paved and what usually took me three or four minutes to drive took more than fifteen. I couldn’t even see the end of the car. The air was very still and not a breeze to be felt. When I finally made it to the house and got out of the car, a light suddenly flashed on in the room across the hall from me. I could see it from the parking lot. As I watched, a dark shadow seemingly stopped and looked out the window, and then the light went out. I went inside and started up the stairs, but I couldn’t do it. I heard the noises again. The walking and the whispers. As hard as I tried I absolutely could not make myself walk up those stairs to my room. At the bottom of the steps I sat down and cried and tried to ridicule myself for being such a big baby but it was hours before I could force myself to go.

I guess when I finally went I didn’t shut my bedroom door all the way. An hour later, I heard the pounding on the door only this time, my door flew open. I jumped out of bed and ran to shut it, but a pressure seemed to be built against it. Curiously, I closed it to without latching it and watched. It opened again. It didn’t force itself over like it would have in a breeze, but instead started opening and closing as if someone on the other side was playing a game with me. I watched it in fascination and then remembered my digital camera. I have the capability to record on it as well and I picked it up and started shooting. I recorded a few seconds on it and then the movement stopped.

The next night I went into Wolfeboro, a neighboring town, and had dinner at a pub. The waitress was very friendly and I had had her before. She told me that I wasn’t looking well and I told her that I hadn’t been sleeping. A little while later two women sat down at the booth next to me and began talking. They were telling ghost stories. Intrigued, I invited myself into the conversation and told them briefly about my experiences. I did not tell them where I lived or what town it was or anything like that, but several minutes into my descriptions one of the women goes, “You’re not living in Canaan Valley in Center Tuftonboro are you?” I was startled. That’s exactly where I was living. She went on to tell me that it was supposedly one of the most haunted places in the state of New Hampshire. The waitress came back and got into our conversation and told me that the lake has a lot of underground caves and tunnels in it and that it is reportedly haunted as well. I lived in the valley on the lake. Great. I was probably getting it from both sides. They left me with some advice and the waitress said that I should be all right, that I had a good energy about me.

But I wasn’t convinced.

It’s sufficed to say that I didn’t last long in New Hampshire. Only six weeks. That was probably five weeks too long. By the time I left I was a wreck. It wasn’t until I got down to Florida with Ian that I was able to sleep all the way through the night.

I did manage to get one of the staff people to tell me what they thought the noises were from. Apparently, a man had hung himself in the room across from me. I don’t know if that was true or not, but I did definitely feel like it was a male presence and not female or child.

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