“It was like some dark undefinable menace, forever dogging my steps, lurking, & threatening …” – Edith Wharton, The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton
It starts with the sounds—creaking floors and slamming doors, fading footsteps down empty halls—a feeling of being watched, tingling taps on the shoulders, spectral shapes crouched in corners or gathered in front of fireplaces long gone cold.
Tricks of the imagination in an old house once inhabited by a skilled writer of ghost stories … or something else? Take a ghost tour and decide for yourself.
We are interested in hearing from anyone who has stories about The Mount. Email them to firstname.lastname@example.org.