After the Brookdale trip, I ran into an advertisement online about a spending a night in Preston Castle in Ione, a boys reformatory / prison of days past near Sacramento. Saturday night, August 16th was not only open, it was a full moon. Oh yeah. And my David, the original skeptic, wants to go???  Add a booking into the haunted Ione Hotel on Friday night and I am wondering if I can wait almost two months.

August 15th finally rolls around, and I am packed, ready to go. Julie Dowsing is headed out with us, a British nurse, mother of good friend Jay. We leave a scorching 107 degree Merced, expecting more of the same all weekend.

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The Ione Hotel

We finally arrive in Ione. At the hotel we park in the back, wander through the back patios and finally weave our way into the lobby past the first of two bar fights that night. Gee. Larry has waited up for us (it's past 9:30 by now) and cheerfully checked us into rooms 13 and 7. Perfect numbers, heh? We joke about the extra fees for entertainment, be it the drunks in the bar or the ghosts in the rooms.

The hotel is truly rich in history and polished wood. The main staircase is right out of a Hitchcock movie, and ancient secrets float quietly from the transoms that line the long dark hallways. (It was a dark, dreary night.....listen my children and you shall hear...) Ok, ok. Back to the rooms. Our room, 13, is reportedly one of the most active. We are two doors away from the back, almost at the end of one of two long hallways. While David is making final room arrangements, I scamper up to the room, stand in front of the room, mentally say hello, and put a hand out within the door frame, close to but not touching the door. Energy. Almost static electricity. David and Julie join me, but do not feel the same energy. We open the door, I take a deep breath and walk in. It is a tiny room filled to the brim with a king sized bed that almost requires a step ladder to get into, a cushy, thick, woodsy, plaid cover. Clean, neat, but the air is heavy, uncomfortable, my chest is tight. We hop down  the hallways to see Julie's room. She is in room 7 at the front of the hotel with windows opening to the front veranda, directly over the attached saloon downstairs. Equally small but quite bright and cheerful with a lovely handmade pink and white bed quilt on the full sized bed. The bath arrangements are identical. Nothing remarkable, but comfy.

Julie and I went down to the saloon where the bartender either ignored us or stingily handed us meager portions of ice in a bar glass. Back in my room, Drambuie in hand, I am preparing to join Julie to go snooping. The room door is open, my hand with the drink is in the doorway as I turn to talk to David relaxing with his book. Julie tugs a gently, "C'mon" on my hand in the doorway. I am listening to David as it dawns on me that he is not looking past me as he would had Julie walked up behind me. I turn to the hallway. No Julie. Cool.

Two verandas offer different moods: the back is dark, soothing and yet spooky, while the front overlooks the other bar in town, Tillie's. We wander freely within the hotel, fascinated by that stairway, amused by the drunks, feeling different areas and slowly tiring. One upstairs sitting area is where I was showing Julie my new EMF, and demonstrated how it reacts to my magnetic bracelet, as it had maxed out and alarmed the night before. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Our eyebrows go up. What was it reacting to at home???

David joins us on the front veranda, then returns to our room to sleep. Julie retires as I spot two of Ione's finest in the lobby, chatting with the barkeep. I asked for a minute, inquired as to any activity in either the castle or the hotel and got a great story. Officer Jeffrey Arnold doubles as a tour guide at the castle, and was recently in the basement with several others. When they distinctly heard, "Help me!" he immediately searched for the person calling, to no avail. He offers no explanation for the voice, but will admit he is not as devoted a skeptic as he was before that day.

One more cigarette for me on the cooling back veranda, with a quiet moment to absorb the spirit of the hotel. Normal, soothing night sounds are interrupted by a brightening of the entire hotel. Very difficult to describe. It wasn't an actual light, it was more like a smile, a perking up, a brightening. I sat for a minute or two trying to place the 'aura' into words. I had an idea and walked back to our room. The clock read 12:03 and I laughed. The haunting hour?

Climbing into the heavenly bed, I fell to sleep immediately, quite surprised to wake after eight o'clock.

Warned that the hotel offered few amenities, we brought our own coffee maker and accoutrements. Cup of fresh coffee in hand, I leave our room quietly with the noisy door closed but not latched to keep from waking David. The hotel is perfectly still and silent. Squirrels, birds and pheasants supplied the morning entertainment on the windless back veranda to await the wakenings of my partners in crime.  The veranda door is also left unlatched from a small fear of being locked out and having to appear at the hotel front door in skimpy clothing at this hour. Been there, done that. The veranda door opens. Fully. I look over, and it closes. I get up, approach the door, and ask, "What's up?" Silence. I head back to my table and coffee. Might as well get another cup since I am up. Going through that door is like walking past someone  intentionally ignoring you. Our room 13 is wide open, and there is David on the bed, fast asleep. The bedroom window is open, and if there had been a breeze, it would have only served to shut the door, not open it. A fresh cup and back outside to sit, again, leaving both doors unlatched again. The veranda door creaks and opens a few inches. I look back and it freezes. Repeat. I am reminded of a sneaky, playful child who stops their bad behaviour once you pay attention to them. David has got to see this. Back to the room, and our room is wide open. Again, there is David, sound asleep. I laugh and decide to wait it out on the veranda.

David slept as well as I did, wandering out to the veranda a half hour later. I relayed the story about the doors to my doubting Thomas, and he is not sure what to think, except to add the doors are now silent since he has appeared.

We had consumed most of the coffee when I wandered down to Julie's room to gently tap on her door. A groggy reply. Julie is barely awake. I sit on her bed while she tells me of her night. At five in the morning, she is awaken by a band practising in the saloon. Distinct trumpet. Getting dressed, she leaves her room, peers down the stairs to see a man in a tank top sitting in the lobby. "Do they always do this at this hour?" she asks. He replies, "They will be wrapping it up soon." Julie returns to her room, back to bed, thankful when they stop playing and focuses on returning to sleep.

Alas, at seven o'clock, music blares out again. A song she knows and likes, but not at this hour. Julie again dresses, but there is no one in the lobby. She pounds on the locked saloon doors, windows, even stomps on the floor of her room to no avail. Suddenly, at the end of the song, the music ceases. Tired and headachy, she returns once more to bed.

It is now morning and standing on the top landing, we talk to the clerk on duty, Jennifer, who is sweeping the stairs. The manager appears down in the lobby, apologizes repeatedly to Julie and assures her he will talk to the saloon manager. He insists there is no band in the saloon, but Julie is clear about what she heard. Julie describes the man in the lobby at five o'clock but Jennifer, who knows all the locals, is stymied. I remember how the veranda doors were all locked up tight this morning as I went out for my coffee. Julie walks to her room as I remain at the top of the stairs to hear the manager whisper under his breath, "Here we go again." We check into the haunted room but Julie gets the haunting!! 

Before we left, I had a chance to talk to Jennifer again, who had several interesting, hair raising stories to share. She was truly confused about who Julie could have seen. Jennifer was on duty all night, in her room quite close to Julie's and never heard a sound. When I asked about door problems, she assured me room 13 is famous for doors opening and closing. Gee.

Preston Castle 

No matter the pictures you have seen, your first glimpse of Preston Castle will make you hold your breath. It really exists, and you are really there. Wow. And it really does resemble Rose Red.

We were to report to the castle that evening at 6 pm, leaving us only two short hours for daylight pictures, so the day tour seemed to be the perfect answer. Cameras, hats, extra batteries, water, its already near 100 degrees as we climb the front steps, roaring to go. Today's tour guide, Doug, is pleasant with a light sense of humor, and pounds of patience. We have a tendency to lag behind a bit taking photographs, and finally manage to loose our group all together. Despite our best efforts, we could not hear the group or track their steps, so we headed back to the front of the castle where Doug's wife smilingly ushered us down to the basement to sheepishly joined the group again. Outside the castle, you can't help but stare at the current juvenile prison next to the castle with its formidable concertina wire perimeter and guard towers that extend up into the clouds. We tour the yard and a lovely garden, stand in the sprinklers to cool down and take a few more pictures.

We wander the town, which doesn't take long, and play at the graveyard. Finally, it's time to head back to the castle for the story of a lifetime and David's first ghost trip.

A description of the castle appears here.

We gathered on the front steps, listened to the rules, set up our beds in the two admin rooms on either side of the front hallway, and migrated back to the front steps to sit and chat. There are 14 of us, most are strangers to each other. Some of them would remain strangers for the next thirteen hours. Snacks and drinks would be served in the basement, which had lights and electricity where we could charge our equipment. Surprise, surprise, the lights aren't working. At all.

It's a perfect full moon with mackerel clouds that drift photogenically over the brilliant ivory sphere in the darkening sky. At twilight, the bats start flying out of the towers. Absolutely classic. Next, the white owls appear. Glistening in the moonlight, effortlessly gliding in and out of windows and over our heads, soaring like timeless sentries. Talk about icing on the cake. The sound of a high pitched squeal cut short at the quickening swoop of an owl is disconcerting. The large, ominous castle stands before us, its many silent windows steadily observing the gathering of intruders who would soon scamper throughout its limbs, arteries and heart. The scene is set and it's enough to set your pulse leaping.

David had purchased glasses with side LED lights which proved to be invaluable, especially if you wore them around your neck so you would not blind others. A few of us head to the big room in the second floor annex, two stories high with a dark timbered ceiling.  I call it the dark dorm. My attempt at Julie's wands resulted in nothing but confusion, and these went a bit insane in her hands as well. David experienced his first hair raising near the steps to the third floor. Repeatedly, his arm hair would rise on solid goose bumps.

Julie went to lie down, David went to read, and I headed out to the infirmary on the first floor annex with Gary and Marion. Sitting in a chair with my back to a wall, I brought out the wands. To make a long story short, the wands crossed at several questions, and went bonkers at others. I would have to conclude we were being played with, receiving only a few concrete answers. I ended the session abruptly when someone touched the back of my neck. I listened to the EVP the next day, and it was odd. At the beginning, I sounded actually drunk! My words were extremely show and slurred. Was I that tired? As the wand activity increased, my voice became clearer, and, much, much quicker. I do not remember this being the case at the time. Gary sat on one of the beds, but could not remain for long, very uncomfy.  Marion was able to observe all the wand activity, but was greatly disappointed in that she never actually felt anything.

We find David and Julie gone from their beds, go in search to the basement where they participated in a group 'seance' in the kitchen with no result. Julie and a Ruth had been in the nurse's station in the infirmary where they got odd responses in one spot, then sharp and clear answers in another.  David and I spend a great deal of time out in front, sitting under the glorious sky and taking in the presence of the castle. I smoke too much, consume vast quantities of water and try to regain some energy. We talk and talk. David is quietly absorbing all this, I think, a bit amazed and trying with all his heart to be open and yet hang on to his logical, skeptical sensibilities at the same time.

The kitchen is a fun place. Great photos of the cupboard and counters. This is where Anna Corbin, the housekeeper, was killed and stuffed in a corner. The information sheet in the kitchen says 1950, our hostess reports the event was in the late 1800's. In either case, the pantry corner she was found in is under a staircase and naturally eerie. The cupboard room itself is sad, but not angry. It hit me that she had loved all the boys, and quietly cared for the boys after the discipline and beatings they would receive. I 'got' her sneaking food and medical care, loud and clear. Reportedly, the boys were flogged regularly, their clothes would not be removed in order to absorb the blood. Later that evening, David would repeat the story I had not heard, that she was beloved by all, making her death even more puzzling. Later, I hear she was stuffed into a corner of the pantry, and the original floor plan marks the cupboard area as 'pantry." One of the apartments on the second floor was supposedly Anna's, and I got the decor of the room, also loud and clear. It looked like a perfect, victorian San Francisco sitting room, filled with clutter yet organized and very homey.

The worst event was in the library. After a lengthy sit at the back patio, David and I head back up to the second floor, the right round room looking at the front of the castle. I had a need to go see that room again, as well as a peek into the third floor through the ceiling. That seemed to be important, yet, it was forgotten once we got there. David entered the room and stood near the front windows, I stopped about halfway into the room. Bats would respond to our presence by flying around and past us. Tiny little guys! I thought they were giant moths at first. Silly me. I was expecting twelve inch wing spans, I guess. I heard, as clear as can be, a sound I could not quite identify. Turning around back towards the door, I fully expected to see another of the hunters walk down the hallway from the right and past the library door. The sound continued directly in front of the doorway, yet, no one was there. Whirling dervish? That's when I lost it. I walked quickly over to David and took his arm. David's arm hair was up, goose bumps again! We left. Period.  I would not go into that hallway until I had peeked with the torch in both directions. I was struggling to describe the sound, a rapid rocking chair noise. Walking with heavy sneakers, purposely full toe to heel? We booked it down the main staircase and back onto the porch. Whew. Incredible. Wow. Man. Shiver.

After we were breathing normally again, and our story is briefly told, we debate returning. I do not want to go back, yet feel I have to confront it and not fear it. All my experience and logic know we cannot be harmed, but that scared the bejesus out of me. We gather a small group, Cheryl, Jill and Jim, and Gary. Marion had fallen asleep. Jill had been in the dark dorm after hearing a similar sound around the hallway, and was leaving that room when she saw us go down the stairs! I know the group will most likely head off any activity, and that will almost be a relief. Sure enough, the room is quiet, and David easily detects the lack of activity. We wander down the hallway to the end round room, inspect the damage, discuss how one would start to repair the section, and finally wander back to the library. David and Gary are first to enter, laughing and comparing their arms in the flashlight beams; arm hair straight up and covered with goose bumps. Then it subsides, and David can tell the activity has ceased.

Downstairs, we all meander and start to head off for some sleep. Terry wakes and comes out for a short talk, Gary and I philosophize about life and the living of it until he heads off, pointing out that I best do the same, as now I will be ALL alone. Ha ha. I don't remember too much after that last cigarette until 6:30 when I wake to others starting to pack up. Coffee in the visitor's room, had some pressure to get going, so we are packed up by 7:30, an hour and a half before the advertised 'check out' time. We had planned on using those hours for more daylight photography, so it looks like we will have to return!

As Julie said so perfectly, the gypsies headed home, still pondering the events that happened so recently in that exquisite, spooky, looming, immense building, a local Rose Red.

 

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