The Haunted Mansion
Does this plantation home contain a portal to the underworld?
Everybody at Woodlawn Plantation seems to have a spooky story about something strange that has happened at the historic house — a well that’s a conduit to the underworld; the sound of footsteps from otherwise empty rooms or music from a Wurlitzer organ that doesn’t exist; or a notorious portrait that can’t seem to stay on the wall.
Built in 1805 for Martha Washington’s granddaughter Nelly Parke Custis and her husband Major Lawrence Lewis, Woodlawn passed through several owners before ending up as a museum operated by the National Trust for Historic Preservation. Many generations have passed through its walls, and some people will tell you that their spirits are still wondering around the building.
In his popular “Ghosts of Virginia” series, ghost-hunting author L.B. Taylor referred to Woodlawn as “the most haunted home in Virginia.” What do you think about that? Do you have your own Woodlawn story you'd like to share?
The intangible nature of haunted Woodlawn was perhaps best captured by author Brian Taylor Goldstein, who penned the dazzling introduction to “Ghost Stories of Woodlawn Plantation.” His explanation is captivating:
ReplyDeleteEven in the reassuring light of day, when the sun chases all the shadows into far corners, there is an other-world feeling. It exudes from each brick and stone, from the earth itself, as if voices were trying to make themselves heard from across the abyss of time and death: voices of sadness and joy, of experience and life, all bound for whatever reason to a single place, reaching out to those who visit there. At night, however, the voices, and the house itself, take on a more mysterious nature.
In the moonlight, the trees cast eerie shadows against the dark façade of the mansion, and slender, bony branches reach like skeleton fingers from out of the Stygian realms and into the foreboding sky. Owls cry in the distance as the wind rustles the leaves like rattling chains along old brick pathways. Faint, flickering lights occasionally glow from behind wavy, ancient glass — then mysteriously go out. A crow chimes from the rooftop. Shutters creak on rusted hinges. A grandfather clock chimes from somewhere deep within. The grass on the front lawn sways like an endless dark sea. A fence surrounds the property. Is it there to keep people out or to keep some thing inside? A huge featureless behemoth against the evening sky, the house no longer sits on its hill with dignified reserve but looms on its perch over the civilized world below. With an invisible but ominous grin, it dares the curious to approach and discover its secrets.