April Slaughter (8 page)

I knew that I would not be able to actually investigate the location, and that hundreds of people would be attending the event, but nothing was going to keep me from asking staff members about the resident ghosts of the theatre while I was there.

Make fun of me if you wish (my husband did), but I was the first person standing at the door, tickets firmly in hand and about a hundred questions in my mind. The large crowd that had accumulated outside the main entrance flooded into the lobby when the doors were finally opened.

The interior of the theatre was truly breathtaking. The elegant staircases and beautiful carved woodwork inside fascinated me. We had to wait for a small time before the doors opened into the main seating area, so I asked Allen to hold our place as I went looking for a staff member to talk to. Every employee I approached was unwilling to discuss paranormal activity with me. I almost gave up on getting any interesting stories until I posed a question to the usher who escorted us to our seats.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of any ghost stories related to this place, would you?”

He looked at me a little puzzled. I suppose the question caught him off guard. I was there for a comedy show; why was I asking questions about ghosts?

“Yeah, but I don’t think I am supposed to talk about it here,” he said.

“That’s okay. Here’s my card. Call or e-mail me if you’d like sometime later on,” I said.

We settled in to watch the show, and laughed when Eddie began to joke about the existence of ghosts.

“If ghosts exist, why are there no goat ghosts?” he asked. He
went on to point out that of all the goats that must have been sacrificed in various rituals throughout history, surely some of them would still be around, making ghostly goat sounds.

After the show, I had the chance to ask Eddie whether or not he really believed in ghosts.

“No, I don’t,” he said. “My mother died when I was six years old and if she were still around, I am sure I would have heard from her by now.”

I went home glad to have seen Eddie’s show, and also having had the opportunity to see The Majestic for myself, but I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t leave with any ghost stories for my notes.

A little over a week passed, and my cell phone rang. I did not recognize the number and almost let the call go to voicemail before I finally decided to answer the call.

“Hello, this is April,” I said.

“Hi. I’m calling about The Majestic Theatre in Dallas,” said the young man on the line. “A friend of mine gave me your card and said you were interested in hearing about paranormal experiences people have had there.”

“Yes! Thank you so much for calling,” I exclaimed. “May I ask what your name is?”

“I’d rather not say. I don’t want to make anyone upset with me over this.”

I agreed to keep his identity anonymous, and then asked him to tell me whatever he could about the haunting of The Majestic.

“I used to work there,” he began. “I helped out a lot backstage, and basically did whatever needed to be done. Some of the other employees would say they saw or heard something strange every now and again, but I never really bought into it.

“I remember one evening, after everyone had left following a performance, I was walking down near the orchestra pit and noticed a man still sitting in one of the balcony seats. I thought
I’d make my way up there to see if he needed help or something, but when I got up there, he was gone.”

“Did he look like anyone else that might be working there?” I asked.

“I had no idea who he was. He didn’t look at all familiar to me. I went back down to the lower level and when I looked up again, the man was still sitting there.”

He went on to tell me that he was getting frustrated with the situation, so he asked another employee if she had seen the man as well, which she had not. The premises had been thoroughly checked for anyone who might still be inside before the theatre was locked up for the evening.

“I came back to work not really thinking much about it,” he continued. “But other employees would sometimes tell me that they had weird things happen. Someone would hear their name called out when no one was around, or props and things they had put away would somehow make their way back out onto the stage again. Stuff like that.”

“Did anything else happen to you after you saw the individual in the balcony?” I asked.

“I never saw the man again, no, but I have to admit I was a little freaked out after that. I always felt like someone was watching me, but who knows if that was just because I was thinking about it too much.”

The conversation ended with my thanking him for his call, and asking him if it would be all right to share his story even though he did not want me to share his name. It took some time, but I was finally able to verify that people really did experience things in the theatre that they could not explain.

I wonder if Eddie Izzard had any idea that he had performed in a reportedly haunted theatre when he came to Dallas. Surely there were no “goat ghosts” roaming around the Majestic, but Mr. Hoblitzelle, its creator, might have been there to see the show. He loved
this theatre and must be proud to have seen it evolve into what it is today. He may be the lone cause of paranormal happenings within the theatre, or he could be accompanied by performers and guests of the past who find it just too beautiful a place to leave.

Perhaps someday, the theatre will publicly embrace its ghosts. Until then, I will return as a guest enjoying the arts, all the while aware that patrons both seen and unseen are still attracted to the beauty that is The Majestic.

SHORTLY AFTER MOVING TO TEXAS, I began to hear rumors about a mansion on the grounds of the Dallas Heritage Village in Old City Park in Dallas. Several stories were circulating about this historic home that claimed it was host to a variety of unexplained phenomena. Naturally, the stories aroused my curiosity and I wanted to learn more about the house.

Dallas pioneer William Brown Miller and his second wife Minerva originally lived with their family in a modest cabin in Dallas that Mr. Miller had constructed in 1847. The cabin, known as the Miller Log House, now sits close by the Greek Revival style home that the family began working on in 1855 and completed in 1862. For fifteen years, the cabin served as their residence and also one of the first schools of Dallas County. The Miller family and their descendants inhabited the home until 1966, when the last of the Millers passed away. Determined to save the house
from destruction, the Dallas County Heritage Society stepped in to preserve its history by carefully dismantling the structure and rebuilding it in the Dallas Heritage Village.

The Miller cabin and Millermore house sit among twenty-five additional historic structures on the property, all moved from their original locations, that now serve as a living history museum.

Our good friend and lead investigator, Jerry Bowers, accompanied Allen and me on a day trip to the village one chilly January afternoon. The sky was heavily overcast and there were fewer than a dozen people wandering the grounds. We took our time and strolled the pathways connecting all of the different buildings, taking pictures along the way. The grounds were so beautifully landscaped and maintained that we could have spent hours exploring all the village had to offer.

Our attention was immediately drawn to Millermore as soon as it came into view. It’s a majestic and beautiful home located close to the park’s entrance. Several wooden rocking chairs adorn the front porch. A Texas state flag moves with the wind just above the entrance. Unfortunately, on our first trip to the village, the house was not open. Although we were disappointed at not being able to view the interior, we spent some time walking around the house just getting a feel for it.

We walked the remainder of the property, discussing the Millermore and all the ghost stories that have been told about it. We decided that we would return to the village and to the Millermore when it was open to the public.

For as long as the Millermore has been in Dallas Heritage Village, there have been stories of apparitions moving about in almost every area of the house. The figure of a woman, believed to be Mr. Miller’s third wife, Emma, has been seen walking from the upstairs master bedroom to the nursery. The odd movement of inexplicable lights on the top floor has also often been reported.

Several paranormal teams have conducted investigations at the Millermore in hopes of capturing the various phenomena, and many believe the ghosts of several children may be playing on the property. EVP recordings captured children’s laughter when no children were in or near the home. While I am always a little unnerved when it comes to encountering the ghosts of children, I was pleased to learn that those thought to haunt the Millermore are at least happy and laughing and enjoying themselves.

I wondered whether anyone working in the village had experienced anything paranormal in the house, or any other structure on the property. I contacted staff members to inquire about this very subject.

I was told that no one at the park would confirm or deny paranormal activity in Millermore or anywhere else on the property. Many of the families tied to the buildings and artifacts within the village still live in the area, and it is the staff’s job to relay information that is historically accurate and nothing more.

Many paranormal investigation teams have been allowed onto the property to see if they could capture anything anomalous on film, but the village and its staff never participate in the investigations. They believe it is important not to sway their visitors one way or another.

My husband and I cannot resist a good ghost story, and after I had learned about the experiences of others at the Millermore, Allen and I were eager to make a repeat visit. After all, if Emma Miller and the many children who had originally occupied the home were still spiritually linked to it, I definitely wanted to experience them for myself. Just a few short weeks after our initial trip to Dallas Heritage Village, we were back at the house and ready to introduce ourselves to its ghostly inhabitants.

I spoke to a volunteer at the village who has been assisting on the property for over thirteen years; on the day we arrived to walk through the historic home, she was conducting the visitor tour. It was obvious that she thoroughly enjoyed her volunteer time relaying information to guests eager to learn more. At one point during the tour, a young woman asked the volunteer if she believed the home was haunted.

“I’ve often heard strange noises,” she answered. “This is an old house and the floor creaks a lot. I don’t know if it is anything paranormal. I just carry about my business and try not to pay too much attention.”

I was particularly intrigued when we reached the upstairs level and stood in the large open breezeway running through the center of the house. There are several shadowbox frames showcasing intricately woven human hairpieces hanging on the wall, collected by a family in the Dallas Metroplex. While not historically tied to the house itself, they are beautiful yet eerie, ornate artifacts that made me uneasy. I wasn’t sure what they were at first glance, and upon closer inspection I realized that I had never seen anything like them before.

As I stood there staring at the unusual pieces, I felt the distinct sensation of someone brushing my hair away from the back of my neck. Allen hadn’t been near me as he was busy wandering around the bedrooms taking pictures, and the remainder of the group had already moved on down the hallway. I stood there doing my best to keep still, hoping the experience would repeat itself, but it didn’t. My initial uneasy feeling soon melted away.

The tour guide gathered our group in the hallway where she pointed out a small day bed situated just below a window at the rear of the house. She explained that it was a piece originally owned by William Miller and that he often enjoyed an afternoon nap there, cooled by the breezes that flowed through. When we had first ascended the staircase, the quilt lay neatly atop the bed, as though the bed had just been made. After spending approximately twenty minutes upstairs, we all made our way back to the staircase and past the day bed. I noticed that in the middle of the bed, a slight yet noticeable impression had been made in the quilt as if someone had been sitting on it. I made no mention of it at the time, hoping someone else would point it out and validate my thoughts. But no one else seemed to notice, and we all shuffled back down the stairs to the main floor.