Durango, CO—Reaching the fabled city of Durango could mean only one thing, we’ve arrived at the last installment of this important four part Colorado series on the para-abnormal. Durango literally means “water town”—which recently spurred Watertown, NY, to officially change its name to Durango, because the Mayor said, “It sounds way cooler.” Besides, Durango has like, what? four brewpubs? What the hell does Watertown, New York have? Water? Yeah, I wouldn’t’ drink that.

Truth be told, I imbibed waaaaay too much my first night in town to do any proper para-abnormal investigating. Damn you, Lady Falconburgh’s and your thirty some-odd taps of malty magic! But I’m going to let you in on a little secret, that’s never really stopped me before. Thus the Body Shot Banshee Debacle at the Dubliner and the infamous Jagermeister Yahtzee séance over at the Weatherford Hotel.

After some research at the Embassy Irish Pub (good Guinness pour), the Google Gods revealed three haunted hotels in Durango…looks like, surprise, surprise, they may all have bars. And I am going to bet all three have a menagerie of dead animals hanging on the walls as well. For those of you not familiar with my work, check out my three other Rocky Mountain stops on this important quest, here, here, and here. Remember, my theories involve either taxidermically emanated manifestations or beer-related-apparitions also known as ecto-pilsner formed phenomena. Confused? Go back and hit here, here, or here like I told ya’s, and try to keep up! I have been hard at work pushing the boundaries of known science…down an elevator shaft.

Day 1 of the investigation:

At nightfall, after my Lady Falconburgh’s barely experience, I decided on hitting the General Palmer Hotel. I marched up to the front desk and demanded to see the General, thus ending any chance of gaining access to the premises. Okay, maybe I’ll hit the Palmer tomorrow. I then approached the front desk of the Strater Hotel more tactfully and demanded to see General Palmer! Thus ending any chance of a proper investigation there as well. That’s when I decided to go to bed and pick up the investigation first thing in the morning—when hopefully a different staff started their shifts.

On the way back to my hotel, however, I discovered an old creepy cemetery on the edge of town and decided this was the perfect place for an EVP session (electronic voice phenomenon). I hoped some local ghosts might make their presence known. Then, after about three hours, I realized this is the place that manufactures the tombstones. No one is actually buried here.

For F&*^’s sake!

Playing back my EVP sessions, I did manage to catch the haunting sounds of Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn…and the rest of the second set of the band playing over at Steamworks Brewery. For those new and aspiring para-abnormal researchers out there, never Guinness and ghost hunt.

The Palmer Hotel:

Off to a slow start in Durango, for sure, and I didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of the previous night. After making use of the hotel exercise room and a breakfast consisting only of Wheaties and vegetable juice…Okay, I’m lying. I can’t do this to my reader (that’s not a typo; there’s only one of you). Suffice to say, I behaved…ish.

First stop was Carver’s Brewery—a truly great way to start the day. Then, when they take away your breakfast plates away, you can go, “I’ll have a stout please.” Talk about the breakfast of champions.

The day was spent doing typical tourist-like-things (TLT), but as soon as the sun went down I headed back to the General Palmer. Good, the young lady from last night isn’t working the desk. This time I used something called couth. I approached the front desk inconspicuously and then demanded to see General Palmer! Kidding…not this time. I asked politely if I could take some pictures…but I never said what floor, heh, heh.

There are a couple of stories on line about the General Palmer. One couple allegedly checked out at 2 AM after being awakened to a ghostly apparition hanging in the middle of the room and yet another staffer kept hearing someone calling her name in one of the rooms. Ask your doctor if Zyprexa is right for you.

No ghost orbs around any of the peacocks in the lobby. This further supports my theory that orbular manifestations are mammal-specific-phenomenon (MSP). I checked the painting of the elk on the second floor landing, just be sure…

Nope, nothin’. Okay, I really didn’t think I would find an orb around a painted elk, but there’s such a thing as a control in scientific experiments. And they are the group always fighting the diabolical schemes of Chaos (sorry, a Get Smart flashback). No other taxidermically emanated manifestations appeared in my images of the lobby or the upper floors.

The image below is another intriguing piece of evidence. It clearly shows the ghostly image of the guy who couldn’t gain access to this hallway on the third floor. The damn door was locked.

Back at the Discord Paranormal Research Center (aka, Winslow’s basement), we were able to digitally enhance this picture and solve this intriguing puzzle. Boo!

It was me all along. Meanwhile, the young lady at reception said she never had any weird experiences during her employment at the hotel.

“Oh, really,” I said, and then chose that moment to dump my beer on my head and drop my trousers.

Okay, I didn’t really do that but I thought about it. She also said her colleagues were just discussing the sheer lack of interesting ghost stories in their hotel. Curious. This establishment had animals, but no bar that I could get to. There were also no ghostly orbs anywhere. Hmmm. My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought, cascading into a waterfall of creative para-abnormal theories…What movie?

The Strater Hotel:

The Strater is a 112-year old hotel in the heart of downtown Durango. The upper floors are allegedly the most haunted, which makes absolutely no sense as the bar, the Diamond Belle, is down on the first floor. There are no hanging animal heads anywhere to be found, but the bar is really cool. If I were ghost …

Two ghostly orbs behind the bar. Check. Right about now, you might be wondering if I’m getting hinky again and PhotoShopping this stuff…nope. These were two orbs captured over the bartender’s head. They’re within easy reach of the liquor and some very nice microbrews as well. I guess people just need to know where to look for ecto-pilsner type poltergeists.

There was also one orb in the lobby. Maybe it was trying to check in and hadn’t made it to the bar yet. Shit, there’s one up on the second floor too! That’s a nice one. I don’t know what this ghost thinks it’s doing, but it’s nowhere near an animal head or any kind of alcohol…hold the phone, I do have a flask of gin in my right breast pocket. Hmmm. Is it manifesting via the energy from my gin? I’m going to have to start carrying booze on all of my ghost adventures. It’s so obvious— the spirits need a spirit medium.

I think the two social orbs in the bar have the right idea. It was about 9 PM on a Friday night and the Diamond Belle was hopping. I looked again at the very distinctive orb on the 2^nd floor and frowned. Maybe this spirit wasn’t 21 when it died? So sad.

I questioned a couple of the staff in the lobby, but it sounded to me like the official word for the Strater staff is on’tday entionmay ostsghay. Man, I love that Pig Latin Generator. How did we ever carry on all the important work before the Google? I headed back into the Diamond Belle to get some Ska Stout and contemplate my para-abnormal thesis.

The Rochester:

The Rochester Hotel turned out to be the least accessible to non-hotel guests. The bar is only open to the public for two hours a day and bartender was too busy during that time, so I never got a chance to interview her. To make matters worse, she was positioned right by the stairs as well, like a guardian cherubim. So I had to wait for her to hit the bathroom before I could continue my investigation upstairs.

This orb appeared in an upstairs room. Yikes, there’s no bar and no animal heads. Yet, keep in  mind, the orb appeared during the day when the bar is open for business. Hmmm. We have found some orbs to support my ecto-pilsner theory, but I did not find any taxidermically emanated manifestations during this entire investigation.

Despite completely striking out back in Silverton, the bar room at the Grand Imperial Hotel certainly contained the most hanging animal heads. Staff there felt it was the most haunted room in what sounded like one of the most para-abnormally active hotels on my trip. I found orbs all around the animal heads at the Western Hotel in Ouray. The General Palmer had animal heads on the walls, but no alcohol for them to manifest. Even the staff claims the hotel is very inactive. Also notice the one interesting story from the Palmer (from online). A ghost showed up, so a couple checked out of their room at 2AM. When do the bars close in Durango? 2AM. Hold the phone! What if the animals themselves are the entities using the ecto-pilsner to manifest? Ecto-pilsner is energy, not yet recognized by science, created during the brewing process. (I thought you said you were going to go back and read my other posts?) This combines both of my important theories into what I now call my taxidermically emanated ecto-pilsner manifestations theory. I used the Google again to see if any other research suggests ghosts are simply animals that like booze.

As it turns out, Dr. Seuss, years ahead of me, actually summarized both of my theories in one para-abnormal masterpiece.

It’s from one of his lesser known works: The Deer Needs a Beer, a Brew that is True. Remember the chug-me  puke-me from that one? Consider this case solved…ish.

Have you ever stopped at Prescott’s Whiskey Row? For those unfamiliar with the southwest, Prescott is a town nestled in a mountainous section of central Arizona. There’s a time I would have loved this rustic row of bars…er, like shortly after it debuted in 1877. But there’s at least one place on that block worthy of a stop. The Palace Saloon is old, historic, and quite haunted. It’s also the focus of The Ghost Blunder’s latest para-abnormal investigation.

Truth be told, we did this investigation a couple of months ago and I lost all my notes, so bear that in mind as I try to piece together this entire sinister episode…hopefully before Mr. Winslow fires me again. First, let me take a moment to sum up the rest of Whiskey Row:

Don’t go there if you’re over 21 and if you’re under 21 you can’t go there. Do the math. Keep in mind, this is a great place for those underagers with fake IDs.

About a year ago I started an article to review these bars, but I shifted that forsaken quest to my laptop’s trash can before my first pee break. I do remember one story, though, as I was strolling into Matt’s Saloon the bouncer said, “Sir, we need to take your backpack while you’re in here.“

I responded with, “Okay, what’s your best beer?”

He replied, “Uh, we got Michelob.”

“No. You cannot have my backpack.”

As I hyperlinked to Matt’s website for your enjoyment—which, in retrospect, I really shouldn’t have—I made the mistake of reading the whole thing. Wow. It’s really called Matt’s Longhorn Saloon, which was apparently too longhorn for the sign out front. Help, I really can’t stop reading this website. Someone call my therapist. The cute one, please…she’s helping with my sex addiction.

Here’s an excerpt from the site:

“Matt’s Saloon has become an internationally recognized and highly acclaimed destination place for country music. Great country western acts such as Buck Owens, Lee Hazelwood and Waylon Jennings….”

Wow, Waylon Owens! And to think he once opened for Willy Rogers. It reminds of that Blues Brother’s line when they end up at Bob’s Country Bunker and someone goes, “We got both kinds of music here, country and western.” Geesh. Sorry to go on a tangent, but it’s my M.O. It sure beats when I’m focused. Did you read that last article when I was focused? Yikes.

For some historical context, Whiskey Row suffered two major fires, July of 1883 and May of 2012. I can assure you I had nothing to do with the fire of 1883. The history of paranormal occurrences at the Palace Saloon is considerable; in fact, the Discord crew already scored an apparition before we were even ghost hunters. My sister took a picture of the Discord’s Crank at the Crystal Palace a few years back. In the mirror above a ghostly apparition appeared. The picture was taken on old style film so we don’t have a suitable version for you, but I was sure we’d get plenty more…in fact, I’ll bet my reputation on it. Hell, I don’t have a good rep anyway.

For this mission, Cokie McGrath, “Vegas Great” Bald Tony, and our two interns Helena and Barb made the arduous 300 yard journey from The Raven Café to the Palace Saloon. Don’t laugh; I don’t like to leave that place, especially when the rooftop bar is open. Thankfully Prescott Brewing Company was en-route, or I’m not sure we would have made it.

When we arrived at The Palace, six pints later, I realized the mirror in question—the one my sister captured that ghostly apparition—was no longer there. Apparently, it was removed a couple of years ago and is probably stored in Warehouse 13 or something. Cue spooky music.

The Palace Saloon opened in 1877 and Matt’s “Longhorn” Saloon is right next door. I don’t know when Matt’s Place opened. I finally managed to pry my eyes off his God forsaken website and I’m not going back. Holy shit! Clint Presley’s playing there! Sorry.

After doing some research I discovered the Palace Saloon was not your average watering-hole—way back in the day people came there from miles around to eat, drink, dance, socialize and screw. Okay, not much different from today. Oh, and you can still see actual bullet holes in the high ceiling from an old western-style gunfight. I’ve lived near Newark, New Jersey, so that doesn’t particularly impress me, but I still thought it was worth mentioning.

I’ve visited the Palace about five times, and every time it’s like walking into a polder. Not that guy from the X-Files—a polder, a liminal land beyond space-time, like Briga-La or Shangri-Doon. Did I mention I’m an idiot? When you walk into the place there are always people dressed like cowboys, or civil war soldiers, or drag queens. No wait, that’s that other bar.

So the picture above is not that unusual. Cokie’s always hitting on old Civil War era guys. For a related ghost adventure, check out the Ghost Blunders in Haunted Gettysburg. That was back when I had a real passion for this shit. You’ve sucked the life out of me, Winslow! You bastard!

Meanwhile, the two gentlemen above are not ghosts, because we asked them. We’re professionals, after all. Since I had lost my notes, which were meticulously written on a bar coaster, we will call them Bill and Ted. And they told us of their most excellent adventure. Now both of these guys had some strange experiences in that old place. One time they were getting photographed in the backroom and their images ended up surrounded by countless orbs. I went back there to conduct my own photo shoot, but had no such luck. Especially after Cokie warned Helena about my standard “I’m going to make you a star” line, women. They’re smart and stuff.

Bill and Ted also told us of the strange noises often heard after hours as well as some other bizarre tales of macabre…and even some about men wearing fishnets and singing show tunes. No wait, that’s that other bar again. This pair really did believe the place was haunted. In fact, everyone we spoke to had a tale to tell. It’s all written on that coaster. If you find it please hit our contact button at the bottom of the page. That could reeeally help me out about now [or maybe not; it’d also help the FBI].

The team wasn’t surprised this was a very active spot, after all, The Palace had both elements we have come to associate with hauntings: a bar and stuffed animal heads on the wall. You see, the Ghost Blunders have discovered ecto-pilsner, a substance as yet unknown to science, which is either manifested through beer or…awe, heck, I’m not going through this again. You can read our important theories for yourself as summarized in my Haunted Durango feature. That one is sure to win me a Pulitzer. Hey, while you were doing that I found some orbs!

On closer inspection, the orbs between each mounted deer head turned out to be track-lighting, which is not exactly paranormal in origin, or particularly interesting…but it looks nice.

The mannequin next to me, or more accurately womennequin, is a doppelganger. When staff arrived one morning the first model was found shattered on the floor after presumably being shoved from the balcony. This Who-Dummied-It is still a cold case file—a very cold, almost plastic-like. We interviewed the new womennequin and her quotes are also on that coaster. Could you imagine what she goes through? Umm, sorry we’re going to lock you in here alone again tonight, oh, and the last chick who had this gig was murdered by a ghost. The heartless bastards! I’m coming back for you tonight, honey, and we’re going to start a new life, together. Yep, time to call that therapist lady again.

After interviewing the staff, Bald Tony decided to conduct an EVP session (electronic voice phenomenon) [reverse acronym joke], during which we captured a slew of truly chilling sounds and voices. They are also on that coaster. It was a big coaster…and I used the back as well.

I was beginning to think I’d really botched this case, which is not uncommon, but in double-checking all of the photos I noticed something strange. Even though I hadn’t captured any orbs during this investigation, I did find this:

The caption of the picture says Gurley Street circa 1870s. Gurley Street is one block over from where the Palace now stands, but what’s with the shadow dude? Who’s giving off that one prominent shadow of that one prominent looking man? There’s no one with a matching hat and, besides, he’s around the wrong side of the building. Then, when I zoomed in (to the image you see above), you can clearly make out he’s wearing a white cravat/ascot thing…um, white…in a shadow? BWTF? It’s actually BWTFCAT? But Why The F***ing Cravat/Ascot Thing?

Did they do ghost hoaxing in the 1870s? I remember the Loch Ness Mobster and the Abominable Hippie, but this far back? And he’s looking right at the camera! Can anyone explain this? If you have a theory, hit the contact button. Well, the picture is still hanging on the wall somewhere in the Palace Saloon in Prescott so you can check it out for yourself. Unless, like that mirror, they already smuggled it off to Warehouse-13. The womennequin isn’t there anymore either. I don’t know what happened to her. What? I don’t…really. So just drop it…but not off a balcony (badum bum). My therapist wants me to bring her to our next session, but I don’t know…

I still think that last picture is downright chilling. Heck, I might not sleep for a week. Okay, I’m not really that scared, I just snorted way too much meth tonight. Who knows what evil lurks in the old photos of men? The shadow of the BWTFCAT knows! Mwhahahahah.

That’s a rap. Mick Zano, “Vegas Great” Bald Tony, Cokie McGrath and our interns Helena and Barb signing off. But don’t worry, folks, Alex Bone will be back in our next thrilling episode Night at the Route-66 Museum Club. Oh wait, he’s barred from there too. Well, we’ll get someone…anyone free Friday? Holy shit, Garth Haggard is playing next weekend!

Flagstaff, AZ—We heard through the grapevine some folks were having strange experiences at one of the local brewpubs…not the kind of experiences usually associated with half-priced drink specials. All kinds of spooky things were happening after hours at Flagstaff Brewing Company. Looks like the Ghost Blunders were going to have to put in some overtime on this one. One of the managers, Marcus, called us in dire need of assistance. Okay, we called him, but he was willing to let us do our thing if we promised not to break anything.

Marcus explained how some of the staff was becoming increasingly “weirded out” at the end of their shifts. Strange occurrences made staff increasingly uncomfortable closing shop in both the brewery and the adjacent café, where our friend Marcus is the main hasta barista, baby!

Some staff claimed to hear the sound of children playing and splashing in one of the mop closets. Allegedly, two children drowned on that very spot some 80-years ago. But, as a natural skeptic, I already had a theory: maybe it was just one staff’s ill-advised daycare plan.

“Like… guys, no one go in the mop closet. Umm, there will be ghost children playing in there clear up to the end of my shift.”

Yeah, I wasn’t buying it, not yet. During a related historical and extensive Google search we were able to retrieve this important image….

Er…I found this while searching drowned children and flagstaff. Well, it’s one theory of what happened to the children. We can’t rule Frankenstein out, is my point. The timing is about right and he does love the skiing here. The Google Gods revealed nothing else about this creepy drowning incident, but, in all fairness, I only searched the words Jessica Alba and naked, which might have been part of the problem.

We thanked Marcus for the information and reminded him of our strict ‘free beer during the investigation’ policy, which he immediately put a limit on (I knew we shouldn’t have brought Bone man! His Viking-like consumption is legendary in Flag).

But, today I decided our resident Viking was going to lead this investigation. Indeed, it was time for Alex Bone to flap his over-sized pterodactyl wings and fly. He’s been waiting a long time for his chance to show the team his skills and, boy, were we sorry.

He immediately put on some latex gloves—never really explained why—and then pulled out some divining rods. Bald Tony, Cokie, and I stared in disbelief as he jerked the divining rods around wildly, uttered a strange guttural chant, and started interviewing random bar patrons (all at the same time).

Whereas one of the waitresses, Carolyn (left), never experienced anything paranormal at Flagbrew, she did report having almost constant nightmares about the place. Heh, heh.

For those of you unfamiliar with my important para-abnormal theories, there’s a good summary at the end of my recent Durango investigation. In a nut shell, the Ghost Blunders tend to find apparitions around beer (ecto-pilsner formed phenomena) or dead animal heads (taxidermically emanated manifestations). In our ghost misadventures, places with both of these elements tended to be the most haunted spots. I really felt our team was starting to contribute meaningful insights to the field of para-abnormal research…and then the pot wore off.

As a brewery, Flagbrew was obviously lousy with beer, but I don’t remember seeing any dead animals on the walls?

Er, except this one…

That’s no ordinary rabbit! Look at the bones! Okay, it looks like a rabbit with antlers being ridden by some type of creepy 50s ventriloquist’s dummy. Pee Wee Herman, maybe? That’s scary. Run away! Run away!

While Cokie and the Great Bald watched more of the Alex Bone show, I took 107 pictures of this rabbit-thing in the hopes of capturing a taxidermically emanated manifestation. Four AA batteries later, I determined this rabbit—er, with antlers being ridden by some type of creepy 50s ventriloquist’s dummy, possibly Pee Wee Herman—was not haunted. I then declared to staff and patrons alike that, “This hare is clean.” (Just be thankful the Bugs Banshee joke was omitted).

After the interviews in the main bar room, we headed to the back where there are allegedly more ghosts and, more importantly, beer tanks. The staff almost immediately caught our fearless leader sucking on one of the tank vat hoses.

“Dude, that’s a backwash fermentation hose thingie!”

The warning did not stop Alex and the hose needed to be wrestled from his hands by brewery personnel. Not five minutes into our investigation of the back room and we were already on probation. Nice, real nice. I can explain, Marcus!

Learning from our past séance mistakes, like our ill-fated Yahtzee séance at the nearby Weatherford Hotel, we used beer as the bait for this establishment’s ghostly residence. I strongly believe that ghosts require brew energy to appear. It’s a force yet to be identified by science known as ecto-pilsner. Of course, these spirits were supposed to be children when they died, so did they drink? Is the beer attractive to those who imbibed in life, or do spooks use the beer itself to manifest? More importantly was Cokie going to be able to flirt her way to another round of free beers for everyone?

Each member of the team entered the haunted mop closet, beer in hand, and agreed to be locked in there for no less than 30 minutes or until they kicked their pint (cue spooky pipe organ music).

Yours truly, the first to take the plunger, reported feeling a strange cold experience on my legs, which turned out to be some beer I’d accidentally spilled on my pants. It was really hard to concentrate, especially when right outside the door I could hear Alex Bone, renegotiating our ‘free beer during the investigation’ policy with Marcus and Cokie, had apparently found some letter magnets. She was busy creating a whole slew of important phrases that she then felt the need to share with everybody. Professionals…I need to get some.

Meanwhile, Alex Bone immediately emerged from the closet, utterly horrified! He had forgotten his beer. Cokie McGrath was the most uncomfortable during the experience, especially since everyone periodically tried joining her in the closet. And perhaps the most telling evidence, due to societal pressures, Bald Tony never came out of the closet at all. Boo!

During the séance we captured two ghostly orbs. One above Bald Tony’s head and the other above Alex Bone’s. Dos Orbies? I don’t always hunt for ghosts, but when I do I try to drink for free. Hey, have we found the most interesting manifestation in the world?

When all our ‘free beer’ negotiations broke down, our fearless leader took the news a little hard.

The beer obviously worked at manifesting these brewery spooks, but too many questions remained. Who were they? Why wouldn’t they leave this brewery? Why can’t they make it through the portal…at least over to that tapas place across the alley? Then something happened that blew this case wide open. Bald Tony spotted Marcus, the same man who originally enlisted our aid, sucking on one of those same vat hoses! Everything fell into place. He was probably scaring people away at night so he had all the beer to himself! Like a bad day at the air show, things were all starting to fall together.

The Ghost Blunders all confronted Marcus about the strange sounds, the spooked staff, the less than liberal beer rations. We tried to pull off his mask, but it was still Marcus—now in angrier form.

After our reenactment of the dentist scene from the movie Marathon Man, he caved like a South African mine on an active fault line. He admitted he had made up the stories to scare the staff. He did it just so he could keep all the beer for himself! He said he would confess to anything provided we would get the hell out and stop frightening the other customers.

And then he said, “And I would have gotten away with it to, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”

Finally, we had a proper Scooby Doo ending…except for the one small fact that it’s all bullshit. We got orbs, we have strange stories, but at the end of the day we have more questions than answers. Let’s just blame Marcus anyway. Agreed?

Alex Bone, Cokie McGrath, Mick Zano, and "Vegas Great" Bald Tony The Ghost Blunders

Silverton, CO—Onward to part three of my epic four part series on the Ghosts of Colorado. My wife and I pulled into Silverton after surviving the treacherous “million dollar highway.” They probably should have spent a little more than that and put up some flippin’ guardrails! In some spots, veering your car just a hair beyond the fog line means certain death. Silverton, meanwhile, is a quaint little place…at least from a distance. When you get closer it starts to look like Sanford & Son decided to go into the western town business. I tied the old Impala to a hitching post and found the first brewpub for some much needed “research”.

I only had a few hours to spend in Silverton, so I had to work fast. I remained confident, after all, I am a professional. I keep repeating that over and over again, so people will start believing it. Hey, it works for Fox News. After eating a terrific bratwurst and downing a nice hefe over at the Silverton Brewery, I Googled Silverton and Haunted. There were no ghost stories about the current establishment and, Steve, the barkeep, suggested I hit the Sheridan Inn in Wyoming (sorry, flashback joke).

The main place in town sporting spooks was reported to be the Grand Imperial hotel. Upon entering the lobby, I immediately felt a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It turned out to be the bratwurst. Sometimes it takes the trots to connect the dots. Kidding, that was the best brat I’ve had in a long time! Must have been the hefe.

The hotel receptionist’s name was Cathy. During her many years of working the front desk, she reports having many strange encounters (present company excluded). She’s convinced the place is haunted. Some nights, while working alone, labels disappear only to be returned later, pens go missing, and lights flicker on and off. Cathy denies any illicit drug use, but, when I handed her a cup, she refused to submit to a urinalysis.

Apparently, a three day investigation by a group called Haunted Dimensions discovered 16 separate entities haunting the building. Since I am now making a name for myself in certain small paranormal circles—dots really—I should be able to find at least that many. Heck, this was going to be like shooting wolves from Palin’s helicopter!

The ghost of a doctor named Luigi is said to still haunt the room he shot himself in, and the ghost of actress Lillian Russell is said to hum her way through the historic halls. Russell died in Pittsburgh, but it actually makes sense she isn’t there. Do you blame her? When I asked about the most haunted spot in the building, Cathy pointed to the bar/restaurant adjacent to the lobby. One night, while completely alone, she thought the ghosts were moving all the furniture around the restaurant. After absorbing this new information, I handed her a small Ziploc baggie and a scissor, but she refused to submit to a hair follicle drug test as well.

For those of you who haven’t read my Telluride or my Ouray installments of this important series, please read them now. There’s going to be a test. What Cathy told me was not surprising. It fit nicely into both of my two main theories regarding the para-abnormal. My first theory involves a strong correlation between ghost sightings and alcohol, or the sudsular apparitions theory (SAT). The main premise involves ghosts manifesting through a grogular energy as yet unknown to science. I refer to this substance ecto-pilsner. My second, equally compelling theory, suggests that animals tend to haunt places where they were viciously decapitated and then hung on walls like trophies. This phenomenon tends to only occur in species beyond the evolutionary development of fish and birds. Mysterious orbs appeared near a bear, a mountain lion, and a deer during my last investigation in Ouray. But you know that, because you went back and read it, right? Right? Would you pee into this cup?

According to Cathy, the most haunted room in the Grand Imperial Hotel happened to contain most of the dead animals and all of the booze. This fits snugly into both of my theories. Hmmm. Just like the Flying Wallendas, things were really starting to fall together.

Upon further questioning, Cathy does not believe the elk head in the lobby is one of the 16 spirits who reside in the hotel. I took several pictures of the beastie, but came up orbless. I’m still not giving up on that theory; it’s sound, well, no less so than any of my other theories.

She also told me one of the ghosts is named George Foster, which also happens to be the current owner’s name. How convenient. When he starts haunting the place, the ghostly pair can have a great time messing with mediums. No, really, the other George gave you the astral wedgy. Honest.

After completing my interview, Cathy was nice enough to let me explore the rest of the hotel and take as many pictures as I wanted—provided I put away the breathalyzer.

The image above is an intriguing picture. There’s an inexplicable white beam shooting diagonally across the frame from the third floor. Our research team back in Philadelphia later identified this anomaly as something called light, which entered through a window in the form of a stream of photons that originated from our sun. Wow is right! This beam of photons reached the Earth in about 7 minutes, traveling at the speed of…er, I danno sound? I failed science. This is important stuff, though, for sure.

To the far left of the image above, the clear outline of an apparition can be seen. It appears to be of a woman dressed in contemporary clothing and cleaning room six. After re-checking in with reception, Cathy informed me it was actually just one of the employees cleaning room 10. Whereas she is not a dead spirit haunting the 2^nd floor, we can’t rule out that she won’t be haunting the building some day. I’m running wraiths round you logically.

As I’ve already explained, I did not have a lot of time in Silverton, but I was determined to give this important investigation my best effort. The Grand Imperial Hotel is allegedly teaming with ghosts and it’s teaming with dead animals on the walls. There had to be a connection. I reviewed all of my images, but no ghosts or orbs were evident in any of my pictures. Cue up the PhotoShoppers, Mr. Winslow. They’re going to be needed back on the job soon.

Also, there’s tons of activity in the barroom. Remember, 16 ghosts are said to roam these halls. So I counted all the animal heads on the wall between the restaurant/bar and the lobby. There are 22 in all. I subtracted the one fish and the five birds—as I’ve determined only mammals have souls—and what did I come up with? Sixteen. 16 animal heads and 16 spirits. Eureka! Damn…I forgot to DVR that shit.

Alright, so 16 and 16. The dead animals are at it again, just like in Ouray. This would be irrefutable para-abnormal evidence…er, if I had counted correctly. I was one off…F*&^ing hell!

I never did find these ghost hunters from haunted Dimensions online, so either I got the name wrong or they were rank amateurs without a proper website. In their defense, not everyone can be as sophisticated as The Daily Discord’s para-abnormal research team. But I really felt back in my element during my investigation in Silverton. I’m used ghost stories completely devoid of any and all evidence. Whew. I was beginning to worry I was becoming a real ghost hunter. Then I headed to Durango, where doubts and (gulp) evidence would resurface again like the Ghetto Shaman on To Catch a Predator episodes.