Ghosts That Go Bang in the Night

What is this thing about women?

Unexplained Noises in Dunedin, New Zealand

“Just one other thing”, my landlady said, “do you have a problem with ghosts? The place is haunted”.

I had started renting an upstairs room from her a few weeks before, in a building on Dunedin’s central Octagon, as a photographic studio. It came with some benefits — on the ground floor of the same building was a bakery. After five o’clock closing time, I had the pick of bakery left-overs (often multiple custard squares!), before the bulk were given to various charities. I would then take my loot down to the University and share with some mates. The consequence was that I had never been in my studio after about five. However, adjacent my studio was a small, two-room apartment. It had just freed-up, and my landlady and I were standing outside the bakery, and she wanted to know if I would like it. You bet I did!

I wasn’t bothered about potential ghosts, but if I was going to be spending nights in the building, my landlady also warned me that the previous occupant of the studio room had been a massage parlor. My studio had been ‘The Crystal Cave’. More alarming than supernatural events was the possibility that if I got woken up by any “drunken Russian sailors” trying to get inside in the middle of the night, it was just that they hadn’t got the message it had closed.

But, of course, I was naturally curious about just how the building was haunted. The building had once been a hotel, and in fact, one of the oldest in Dunedin. I wont give the details here, but there was an understanding that the haunting was by the ghosts of the publican and his wife, who had died in the 1918 flu epidemic. Footsteps of someone walking up the stairs, keys jingling, that sort of thing. The bakers also reported a range of weird phenomena in the bakery, and underneath, in its rather spooky basement rooms.

My locked entrance was directly on the street into a small foyer, and then steps rose to the floor above. From there, there was, in typical old hotel fashion, a long corridor with several rooms off it. My studio and apartment were at the far end of the corridor. The other rooms were empty, their doors propped open with a brick doorstop. The studio looked out on Stuart…

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