Tag Archives: ghosts

The Ghost of Avalon

Text: “In the summer of 1987, right after I graduated from high school, my family rented an old beach house on the 200s block Claressa Street in Avalon on Catalina Island. For those who know Avalon, it was founded in the late 1800s and became an upscale vacation destination in the early 1900s. My great-grandparents had a long-sold off house there and once the iconic Art Deco casino was built in the 1920s, the big bands would come and host their national radio programs from there while dressed-up couples danced the night away overlooking the bay.

The old beach houses (and Casino) are known for being haunted with spirits from vacations past, but there wasn’t any reason for me to believe it since I’d never seen anything myself in all the years my family had vacationed there. That changed that summer of 1987.

The original Avalon beach houses all had a similar design with the bedrooms often opening up from each other rather than a hall. In other words you had to walk through one bedroom to get to another, train car style. I was in the bedroom that you could only reach from the one my parents were in, and I had to walk through their room to get to the bathroom.

We would spend the days on the beach and in the sun, and go to bed fairly early since almost all activity takes place there around the ocean. Not much happens at night in Avalon. So after dinner we’d play board games or cards, then go to bed so we could get up early for another day of surf and sun.

I had gone to sleep that night as always and was awakened by a man standing at the end of the bed looking at me. He was dressed in a dated-style suit with a freshly starched dress shirt with crisp collar points that came up higher on his neck than was the style during the Reagan administration. He was wearing a tie and had a brown hat, rounded bowler style, on his head. He just stood at the foot of the bed looking at me.

At first I thought I was still asleep, dreaming, or in the confused state between wakefulness and deep sleep. But once I sat up and knew I was 1000% awake and was scared even though he was just standing there looking at me with a benign expression on his face.

I screamed thinking someone had broken into my bedroom and my mom came running out of her bedroom. She also saw him but knew immediately he wasn’t ‘real’, or flesh and blood like we were.

She explained to him that he didn’t belong there, that we were in the house now for a visit and that he needed to move along. Just a few seconds later he disappeared into the air. No walking through walls or talking, just dissolved into the air at the foot of my bed.

I was rattled the whole rest of our vacation but he didn’t appear again. The house is still standing as it was 40 years ago. I’ve walked by it on subsequent trips and thought of the tall, thin man in the suit that visited me.”

Context: This story was shared by the informant, who was a young child at the time of the experience. The event marked a significant moment in the informant’s life, as it was the catalyst for their belief in the supernatural. Prior to this encounter, the informant had not paid much attention to stories of ghosts or spirits, but the vivid and unsettling experience that summer changed their perspective. The informant interprets this as the beginning of their belief in such phenomena, as it was the first time they had directly encountered something they couldn’t explain through logic or reason.

Since then, the informant has experienced several other supernatural encounters, reinforcing their belief in the paranormal. The informant’s perspective is further shaped by the fact that their mother had similar beliefs and, before she passed, shared other stories of her own supernatural experiences. This shared experience between the informant and their mother helped to strengthen their connection to the supernatural world and solidified the informant’s conviction that these types of encounters are real.

Analysis: The figure in the story—a man dressed in an old-fashioned suit—seems to reflect a historical presence tied to the location, adding to the eerie atmosphere of the old beach house. The figure’s benign, non-threatening demeanor contrasts with the fear that the informant felt, suggesting that the supernatural can be perceived as both unsettling and intriguing, rather than immediately harmful.

The way the informant handled the experience—by accepting the figure’s presence and interpreting it as part of a larger, supernatural world—illustrates how personal beliefs can be shaped by direct experiences. This encounter became a touchstone for the informant’s worldview, influencing how they view similar occurrences in the years that followed.

This story also underscores the broader cultural theme of haunted locations, especially in areas with long histories like Avalon. The idea of spirits lingering in places with significant pasts is a common motif in folklore. The informant’s ongoing belief in the supernatural and the continuation of similar experiences suggest that such encounters are seen not as anomalies but as part of a larger, unexplainable reality that transcends time and space.

Informant Info

Race/Ethnicity: White

Age: 55

Occupation: Mother

Residence: Westlake Village, CA

Date of Performance: April 3, 2025

Primary Language: English

Other Language(s): N/A

Relationship: Parent

The Legend of the Lost Canoe

Title: The Legend of the Lost Canoe

AGE: 52
Date_of_performance: May 5, 2025
Language: English
Nationality: Canadian
Occupation: retail worker
Primary Language: English
Residence: Toronto, Canada

Folklore Explanation :
“There’s a local legend around the Toronto waterfront called the Lost Canoe. I first heard about it when we moved here—someone mentioned it on a ferry ride out to the Islands. The story goes that people have seen a canoe gliding silently over Lake Ontario late at night, with no paddler in sight. It’s supposed to be the spirit of a warrior who went missing during a storm centuries ago. Some say he was trying to cross the lake during a battle or to deliver a message and never made it.

What makes it stick is how eerie it feels when you’re out by the water at night—especially in the fall or early spring when there aren’t many people around. You can imagine something like that being true. It’s not something people talk about often, but it comes up once in a while—especially among boaters or people who’ve lived in the area a long time. Whether you believe it or not, it gives the lake a kind of presence. Like it remembers.”

Analysis:
The Legend of the Lost Canoe is an example of local supernatural legend tied to place-based folklore in the Toronto region, particularly around Lake Ontario and the Toronto Islands. While not part of institutional Indigenous oral history, it draws from widespread Indigenous narrative motifs—such as lost warriors, sacred journeys, and spirits of the water—though its current form is shaped more by settler storytelling and urban folklore transmission.

This legend falls into the category of contemporary legend or ghost story, and it is typically spread orally, through casual conversation, local tours, and boater subculture. It serves as a way to mark space with memory, especially in areas that are otherwise seen as recreational or modernized. The legend reflects a broader pattern in waterfront communities where lakes and rivers are attributed with spiritual significance and residual memory, giving the environment an emotional and historical depth. In this way, the Lost Canoe becomes part of Toronto’s vernacular landscape mythology—not formally archived, but deeply felt by those who know it.

The Theatre Ghost

Folk Belief / Supernatural Legend
Occupational Folklore — Performance / Supernatural

1. Text

According to JP, a theatre major at American University, it is widely believed among actors that every theatre is haunted. JP remarked, “There’s this idea that if a theatre doesn’t have a ghost, then it’s not a real theatre. People will talk about the ghost like it’s part of the company — like, ‘Oh, that was just Margaret, she likes to mess with the lights. Margaret is the name of the ghost at my hometown community theatre.” In the thespian experience, this belief is not treated like a horror story. Rather, it’s more matter of fact. “Even if people don’t say they believe in ghosts, they’ll still act like they do when something weird happens.” While the ghost does not inspire constant fear, its presence serves as a quiet overseer, subtly encouraging actors to stay disciplined out of concern for provoking its displeasure.

JP recounted several incidents that reinforced the belief for them and their peers. At various theatres she has performed at, she and others have reported hearing footsteps above the stage during late-night tech rehearsals, despite no one being scheduled in the catwalks. “Sometimes you’ll be alone, checking lighting cues, and you just know someone’s up there,” they said. “You feel watched. But then you look, and it’s empty. You get used to it.” Other stories involve doors closing on their own, props mysteriously going missing, and cold drafts in sealed rooms. “There’s a joke that if you forget your lines, it’s the ghost messing with you,” JP said, noting how the attribution of mistakes or malfunctions to a spectral presence creates a shared explanation — part humor, part ritual. JP emphasized that the presence of a ghost is never framed as malicious. The ghost is watching over the show. Making sure things run right and that the actors behave and respect the theatre.

2. Context

My childhood friend JP first encountered the idea that every theatre has a ghost during her early years in high school theatre. Unlike more formalized stage practices, this belief wasn’t something she read in a handbook or was taught by a director; it emerged instead from whispered stories backstage, joking warnings from older students, and the occasional unexplained flicker of a light or creak in the catwalk. The ghost lore was passed down informally, but consistently, and JP recalled being both intrigued and unsettled by how seriously some of her peers treated it.

This early exposure to theatre ghost legends served as a kind of initiation into the spiritual texture of performance space. JP explained that at first she thought it was a joke, but then
“Things in the theatre just happened. Weird things.” Her experience reflects a common pattern in folkloric transmission: belief that lives in the in-between, not quite serious, but not quite ironic either. The ghost was never officially acknowledged, but it lingered in the space as a shared understanding, subtly shaping behavior and mood. JP recalled how she and others in her community theatre would light scented candles during long rehearsals as offerings for the ghost. These actions, though never required, were widely understood as gestures of respect toward the spectral inhabitant of the space.

As JP transitioned to university theatre, she found the tradition not only persisted but deepened. “Every theatre I’ve worked in has a ghost,” she said. “And every group of actors has their own stories. Sometimes the ghost has a name, a backstory, even a favorite seat.” The ghost becomes part of the architecture — not just of the building, but of the community itself. For JP and many others, acknowledging the ghost is less about supernatural belief and more about honoring the memory and mystery that accumulate in performance spaces over time.

What makes this kind of belief so compelling is how it reflects a broader folkloric pattern: the connection between space, memory, and presence. JP noted how the ghost acts almost like a moral overseer. “You don’t want to be the one who disrespects the ghost. It’s like bad luck.” In this way, the ghost reinforces discipline and attentiveness, not through fear, but through tradition and shared reverence.

In sum, JP’s account of theatre ghosts illustrates how deeply embedded folklore is in the daily rhythms of performance life. The ghost is both metaphor and myth — a symbol of those who came before, a reminder of the theatre’s history, and a comforting, if uncanny, presence that binds the community through story and ritual.

3. Context

This belief in haunted theatres reflects a common theme in occupational and place-based folklore, where specific environments, particularly those imbued with high emotional energy, become sites of supernatural narrative. The idea that “every theatre is haunted” is both a literal superstition for some and a symbolic expression of the liminality of theatrical space. A theatre is inherently in-between: between fantasy and reality, between actor and audience, between everyday life and the world of the play. In folklore studies, such liminal spaces are often associated with the supernatural.

The ghost becomes a personification of memory and tradition within the theatre. Whether or not individuals believe in literal ghosts, the stories serve as a way of connecting the present company to past performances and performers. It offers continuity across generations and productions, creating a sense of sacredness around the theatre space. By giving the ghost a name, performers not only “own” the legend but also invite it into their communal identity — blurring the line between character, audience, and spirit.

Furthermore, attributing strange or disruptive events to the ghost provides a socially acceptable way to manage fear, stress, or uncertainty. If a light cue goes wrong or someone forgets a line, blaming “the ghost” allows the group to defuse tension and humorously redirect frustration. This aligns with the functionalist theory of folklore, where narratives and beliefs serve social and psychological purposes, even if they are not factually “true.”

Additionally, theatres make use of the “ghost light” — a single bulb left burning on stage when the theatre is dark. This is a perfect example of how ritual and practicality blend in folklore. While its technical purpose is to prevent injury in a dark space, it is widely described as a way to appease theatre ghosts and keep them from causing mischief. This convergence of utility and superstition further illustrates how deeply embedded folklore is in everyday theatrical practice.

In sum, theatre ghost stories are not just about the paranormal. They are about belonging, tradition, and emotional truth. They mark the theatre as a space set apart, one that holds memories, magic, and mystery, whether real or imagined.

The Ghost Hand Story

The informant was sitting in his room with his siblings in San Diego, and was extremely ill in bed. He was praying that someone would take his pain away, and he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, which he says was a ghost that was haunting the house. He then started to feel better, and the family swears that there was a ghost in the room.

Date: February 21, 2025

Language: English

Nationality: White/Hispanic

Occupation: Father/Lawyer

Primary Language: English

Residence: California

Analysis: The informant lived in a very old house, which had lots of ghost stories that had been passed down from previous owners, with new stories being made within the informant’s family as they experienced new strange occurrences. This folklore is shared within the family to scare the new generations and also bond people together.

The Haunted Storage Space

The informant lived in a historical San Diego home, which had many stories about the prior owners. He told me this story verbally in person, and said that the owners reported strange activities in the downstairs closet of the home. There was a secret door inside the closet, which opens up to a small dark storage space. When the informant was a child, he and his siblings would light candles to see if anything happened. One day, the candle blew out by itself and he and his siblings ran away, and never went inside of the closet again. This story is now told in the family, and scary ghosts stories were passed down about what blew out the candle.

Age: 60

Date: February 24th 2025