Denver has more than just the usual known haunts (pun intended), like the Brown Palace Hotel, Oxford Hotel, and Croke-Patterson Mansion. Most Denverites are familiar with Riverdale Road and the ghostly encounters at the Denver Press Club. But some stories have faded into history once the buildings that once held these specters were demolished long ago.
There was a time when newspapers had a ghost beat where reporters covered ghost sightings and also the stories that debunked near-hauntings. The stories below are a collection of supernatural tales from buildings that were razed long ago or remodeled so extensively that the ghosts wouldn’t recognize the places they once frequented.
- The Old Depot Ghost – Union Station
- The Hindry Mansion – 5500 N. Washington Street
- Ghosts at Court House 14th and Larimer
- Ghost of an Aged Murder Victim Wanders About – 23rd and Curtis
- The Larimer Street Ghost – 28th and Larimer
- Spirited Specter of Humboldt – 38th and Humboldt
The Old Depot Ghost – Union Station – Field and Stream Magazine, 1892
From several stories over the years, Union Station is considered one of the more haunted sites in Denver. The location that is home to the RTD’s light rail and train lines is loosely built on the site of one spot that may be the origin of ghostly tales. The old depot ghost was first reported by Field and Stream magazine in 1892 and recounted in the Rocky Mountain News, showing how haunted places do not have to be old to attract supernatural entities.
All the old residents will remember the little old passenger depot for the Denver Pacific railroad. It stood near the foot of Sixteenth Street, on a site that is now almost covered by Col. Randolph’s big iron viaduct.
Well, the dingy little frame depot under the trees was haunted, or at least a good many people thought so at the time. About the year 1871, a telegraph operator employed at the depot, a fellow by the name of Frank Pierce, from Iowa, a wild and mischievous agent, yet a man who attended strictly to his own business, secured a skull somewhere near the rogue’s burying ground in West Denver and tacked it upon the wall in the telegraph office, inscribing beneath it the following, “The last man who spit upon the floor.”
Following this, says a writer in Field and Farm, unearthly and supernatural noise was heard in the little depot after night, so much so, in fact, that the agents who succeeded Pierce were compelled to remove the skull.
Ghostlike and unearthly knockings were thrummed upon the walls in such a significant and pointed manner that the habitation of the depot after night was decidedly uncomfortable. The removal of the skull brought about a cessation of the graveyard disturbances after several changes in the agents. The railroad company experienced considerable difficulty in keeping agents there, attributing the trouble in doing so entirely to the climate, while in reality, the cause was due to hobgoblins.
The impression existed for several years that the disturbed and exasperated deceased, who belonged to the early pioneer gambling age, had disappeared entirely, until a later apparition created no little excitement. A cadaverous, weird and emaciated figure or apparition could be seen prowling in the precincts of the depot for years, making its nocturnal visits between 1 and 2 o’clock every morning. Its eccentric meanderings extending from the mound from which the skull was exhumed around a circuit which traversed Parkinson’s field near the depot and between it and Joe Bailey’s old Bull’s head corral, thence until it passed within 20 feet of the depot, returning to the mound — the startling point.
The apparition was of a fear-begetting form, creating consternation and wildest dismay among its observers, constantly traveling the same path in the mundane expeditions.
The ghost wore out so many agents and telegraph night operators that the railroad company eventually had to abandon the building and it was finally torn down to make room for the yards that parallel the present handsome union depot. Joe Bailey, Henry Allen and the old French lun-room keeper all knew about this ghost and often talked about it, wondering if it was the same one that used to spook around Vinegar Hill, where Wazee and 20th streets now intersect.
The Hindry Mansion – 5500 N. Washington Street – Denver Times, September 8, 1891
It sounds absurd, but Denver’s charm can even attract sea captains. Just picture a Denver in the 1870s, where most of the town was hugging the banks of the Platte River and Cherry Creek and anything north was farmland as far as the eye can see—an ideal place to drop anchor and retire.
Up North near the National Western Stock Show complex, the Globeville neighborhood had small speckles of houses, but the most lavish among them was the Hindry mansion on 50th and Washington. A wealthy retired sea captain, J.B. Hindry, built the $75,000 luxury estate.
He spared no expense for his 10-room, $75,000 ($1.5 million today) palace, adorning each room with black walnut panels and half-inch-thick French plate glass windows. He had two massive stone lions guarding the mansion’s lavish doors. Neighbors quietly spoke of a secret buried treasure somewhere on the 110-acre estate.
Years passed by and sadly, Mrs. Hindry passed away. After her death, Hindry installed a burglar trap in the form of a loaded shotgun beneath a front window. A move confirming that Hindry was protecting his secret treasure,
A sea captain and his money will not be easily parted. A burglar learned that lesson the hard way when he made the mistake of testing out the booby trap and was killed while prying open the window. For years, neighbors said the mansion was haunted with stories from current residents hearing the sound of a window falling open, followed by a thud and eerie silence, horrific.
Startled residents would rush to the front window that bore witness to the tragic death, but not so much as a candlestick was out of place. The reports of strange noise continued until the mansion was demolished in the late 1950s.
Ghosts at Court House – 14th and Larimer – Rocky Mountain News, December 1, 1900
There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in the philosophy of night guards and janitors.
Ghosts haunt the court, they say, the smell of brimstone and weird sounds, and yesterday D. P. Demarest, the $75-a-month night watchman, and John McAdow, the colored janitor, resigned. Both gave “ghosts” as their excuse and gladly relinquished the emoluments of public office to get rid of spine-creeping sensations.
At night, a high level has lately been held throughout the building. It was at first thought that possibly persons from outside were venturing too far into the halls and all the doors were carefully locked, north, south and west, but to no avail and the spooks, if anything, increased in population.
It was a terrible thing to ascend the stairs to inspect the upper floors to inquire if all was well. To blind himself against sights so infernal, the night watchman was lavish with electric light, and no floor remained unlighted.
Passers-by have noticed the unusual illumination at 3 and 4 a.m. McAdow brought his guitar, but it was useless. Demarest declares he heard the last cries of the unfortunate Fred Swensen, the elevator pilot who was killed last April by falling to the basement from the top story of the building.
There is one thing that is not explained and which, to the officials and clerks, gives the story of the men a grain of probability. Lately, the smell of brimstone began to pervade the building. Those arriving in the morning could still detect the obnoxious odor.
The two men were in earnest and very much frightened. They declared it was fancy with them to struggle against the feeling, so they might fear gnawing at them at midnight and for hours afterward. They were firm in their conviction that some angered Rhadamanthus was bent on achieving revenge for some fancied or real injury delivered in one of the courtrooms.
Practical Demarest encircled his room on the third floor, where he sleeps with an American flag as a constant reminder that he was an American citizen and had no grounds to be afraid of anything. But in this case, the flag did not protect him.
He is going to Cripple Creek, exchanging a suitable berth for the uncertainties of mining. Charles E. Eastbrook had been appointed his successor. Frank Heatly will fill the position vacated by McAdow.
Ghost of an Aged Murder Victim Wanders About – 23rd and Curtis – The Denver Post, February 16, 1908
The old brick residence at 2304 Curtis Street, in which Clyde B. Jolly killed his wife and himself yesterday, is one that for years has been looked upon with suspicion by the neighbors.
It has always worn a more or less mysterious air and by many is referred to as haunted. Its cold, clammy interior and its bleak walls teem with mystery. Murders and ghostly wanderings form part of the fascinating history. It is even said that the shade of a murdered resident returns frequently to the place as if searching for his slayers. And it has a history!
One who lived in the house three months says she believes it was the longest term of occupancy by anyone ever in the place and positively asserts that she saw the wandering shade.
Though she owned the place at the time of her residence there, she sold it to another, losing money in the bargain, rather than be forced to remain in the house.
“It was years ago, when the house was first built, that a party of men were gambling in the front room upstairs,” she began. “One of the owners of the house, a wealthy man of 70 years, was asleep on a disan in the room where the card players were sitting. He was fast asleep, so the story goes and did not awake when the game was completed, in the small hours of the morning.
“The men who arose from the tables, flustered with liquor and an unscrupulous lot even when sober, saw him lying there and gathered in one corner of the room and decided to kill him for the money he had hidden there. One of them crept to the side of the sleeper and, without a sound, slipped a stiletto through his heart. Then the band ransacked the house, took all the money and escaped.
From that day to this, the place has been borne and has had a reputation and there are few families that have remained in it for over a month. They still feel uncomfortable and speak of peculiar sounds that echo through the place in the dead of night.
“While I lived there, I almost lost my mind and, rather than remain in such a ghostly place, sold it for several hundred dollars less than the purchase price, glad to be rid myself of it. I once saw the figure of the murdered man as he wandered through the rooms and the fright and cold fear of the moment makes me shiver to this day.
“It was near midnight and I had arisen to take some medicine when the noise of the door of my room opening attracted my attention. In the dim light of the lamp, I beheld the bent form of a gray-headed man, clad in dark clothes. He entered and, without looking to the right or left, walked across the room to a window and, after peering into the night, turned and left by another door.
“I was too frightened to scream and stood until he left. When he had gone, I fell to the floor in a faint. My husband, who was aroused by the noise of my fall, discovered me there.
“The door to my room always refused to remain shut at night, even after I had a bolt placed on it. I would close it and a second after it would swing open as if someone on the other side had turned one knob and given a push.
“Several years ago, a man whose wife was living in the place came there intoxicated and attempted to enter. He carried a revolver in his hand and there is little doubt that he intended to kill her. They had been estranged for several months, the wife refusing to live with him because of his habits.
“A chancer passerby beheld the man wandering about the house, attempting to gain admittance and challenged him. The man became frightened, evidently and ran away.”
“I wouldn’t live in the house if it were the last place on earth. I spent too many weary hours fraught with fear of noises which could be accounted for and the ghostly wanderer whose nightly jaunts about the place made me unbearable.”
The Larimer Street Ghost – 28th and Larimer – Rocky Mountain News, April 28, 1948 to April 30, 1948
For one week in 1948, a ghost sighting caught the imagination of hundreds of Denverites. At first, the sighting was a mere curiosity, but after four straight days of “sightings,” larger crowds converged on 28th between Larimer and Walnut streets.
It caught the attention of the Rocky Mountain News on “Something, which most certainly acts like a ghost, has been flitting up stairways, down alleys and along building edges the past five nights there and has attracted so many hundred volunteer posse members that people who keep decent hours can’t go to sleep even if they could.”
The first witness to the ghost was Ms. Nellie Valenda, who owned the little Flower Social Center at 2809 Larimer.
She described the apparition as a misty, white, and about three feet high. She asked a neighbor to investigate it, and when he got within a few feet of it, the object jumped suddenly forward, which abruptly ended the investigation.
Another witness, Rosa Silva of 2757 Larimer, told the Rocky Mountain News that she not only saw the news but recognized it. The ghost came up the back steps of her apartment complex and said that it reminded her of a specter from 1938.
But the ghost of Larimer was not meant to be since the Denver Police said Juanito Barato, 65, of 2827 Larimer captured the ghost who was made from old drawers, a white sheet and 100 yards os string.
The ghost came about due to a legal battle over Baroto’s home, which he had lived in since 1936. An attorney attempting to evict him hired a few folks to stage a haunting, but it did not scare Baroto.
After a week of being tormented by the ghost, Barato made his own ghost with bedsheets and a broomstick.
Once the haunted started at its regular hour, Barato kicked his back door open, sending his “counter-ghost” flying, which frightened the pranksters.
Spirited Specter of Humboldt – 38th and Humboldt – Rocky Mountain News, April 30, 1905
In 1905, the North Capitol Hill area was terrorized by a ghost who wandered around 38th and Franklin for months.
The legend of the ghost started back in December 1904, when school children saw an eerie presence floating through alleys as they were running for home.
None of the children stayed long enough to investigate, but saw a tall, white being always hurrying through, looking straight ahead.
The parents scoffed at the stories, but priests showed up to exorcise the paranormal activity. The volunteers who patrolled the alleys between 38th and 39th and Franklin and Humboldt spotted a spirit approaching. The ghost was tall and thin as previously described, paying no attention while walking through the alley. One of the men called out and demanded to know what the ghost wanted, but the ghost turned quickly and vanished.
A week later, others waited to confront the ghost at Richard Pomeroy’s saloon on 37th and Franklin. The ghost was approaching the back door of the saloon and after one brave soul grabbed at its arm a very human yell was heard.
The crowd discovered that the ghost was an extremely tall woman who frequented the bar. Her ghostly appearance was explained by a white shawl which she habitually wore over her head.
