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The Haunted Halls of the Bern City Hall (Rathaus)

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Where history whispers and shadows reign, the Rathaus in Bern is said to be haunted by a myriad of ghosts. Who are the ghosts lingering in the City Hall after dark?

In Bern’s UNESCO-protected Old Town stands the Rathaus, a 600-year-old masterpiece of medieval Gothic architecture. This historic town hall is not just the political centerpiece of the canton where the Grand Council of the Canton of Bern meets in the town hall five times per year, it’s also a hub for the restless dead. 

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

The current building was begun in 1406–07 by Heinrich von Gengenbach on the site of a townhouse owned by the Burgistein family and completed around 1415-1417. Beneath the grandeur of its meeting halls, corridors, and council chambers lies a legacy of betrayal, justice, and eerie apparitions. When night falls and the crowds disperse, the Rathaus becomes the stage for Bern’s most unsettling ghost stories.

Eugène Cattin (1866–1947) when it was Hôtel du Gouvernement

The Mourning Treasurer

Among the earliest tales is that of the Dishonest Treasurer, who embezzled state funds only for them to be seized by invading French forces.

To this day, his tormented spirit is said to haunt the vaults, weeping for both his crime and the gold he lost forever. Visitors sometimes report hearing soft sobs or the clink of coins in the dead of night, echoing through empty corridors.

The Phantom Town Protector

When Bern teeters on the edge of crisis, locals tell of a gilded carriage drawn by two spectral horses arriving silently before the Rathaus. A servant jumps out and opens the door for the spectral protector of the city. A well-dressed man in outdated garb slowly ascends the steps, pausing with uncanny deliberation. Midway, he is engulfed by a spiral of mist and vanishes without a trace. 

Many believe this is the ghost of a long-dead protector of the city, appearing only when Bern’s fate hangs in the balance.

The Black-Clad Councilors

Far more chilling is the tale of the Black-Clad Councilors said to haunt one of the chambers at the Rathaus. And much like the phantom coming from the ghostly carriage, these ghosts are going to work. 

The Burgerstube in Bern’s Town Hall, 1735 by Johann Grimm

It is said they look like a skeletal assembly of former officials who rise from the grave to argue eternal matters of law. Dressed in 17th-century garb, clutching black folders, they shuffle into the council chamber at midnight, but no one ever sees them exiting. 

A spectral debate ensues, marked by snarling voices and bony fists pounding on ancient wood after one of them makes a speech. At the stroke of twelve, they vanish as swiftly as they came when the silver bell on the clock on the wall chimes. 

In the book from Hedwig Correvon, Ghost Stories from Ber, it is said that the ghostly meeting was seen once by a living. A man once dared to watch from behind a stove—he emerged blind, his sanity cracked.

The Headless Execution Victim

One narrow corridor, once thought to house instruments of torture, remains a hotspot for ghostly phenomena in the city hall. Those who pass through have reported dizziness, chills, and even fever that lasts for days. 

Occasionally, a figure is seen drifting silently through the halls. There are those claiming a man in tattered robes, carrying his own severed head beneath his arm is haunting the building. He is believed to be one of those executed centuries ago when justice was swift and brutal in Kirchgasse.

The Caretaker’s Wife and the Stove

More recently, strange disturbances are heard from what was once the caretaker’s apartment. Shouting, crying, and unintelligible arguments erupt from behind a large iron stove. The ghost of the caretaker’s wife, mad by unruly spectral children, is said to still shout commands at the unseen chaos within. Her voice echoes: “Will you be quiet immediately!” And an eerily silence follows.

The Sinful Nuns

There are also those claiming that a group of nuns have been haunting the area for ages. Towards Schipfe, there is an iron door to the town halls, said to be so rusty that no one can open it. This is at least how it was described in 1919 in a collection of ghost stories from Bern. 

Read Also: The Ghosts of the Sinful Nuns Haunting Bern

At night, it opened however and a group of nuns dressed in all black comes out, walking to the fountain. It is said that without saying anything they start to throw the small and dead bodies of children they have drowned in the well.

Today, the Rathaus hosts elegant receptions, formal debates, and civic ceremonies—but behind its regal veneer, shadows move and whispers linger. Those who work late or wander its halls after dusk report an undeniable chill and an oppressive presence. For in Bern, even the walls of governance cannot silence the ghosts of its past.

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References:

Bern Town Hall – Wikipedia

Geisterstadt Bern – SWI swissinfo.ch

https://www.maerchenstiftung.ch/maerchendatenbank/11867/suendige-nonnen

https://www.maerchenstiftung.ch/maerchendatenbank/11827/ratsherren

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The Restless Dead Buried Inside of Basel’s Double Cloister

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The two adjoining cloisters by Basel Cathedral are said to be haunted by a couple of spectres entombed within the building. In the darkness of Basel’s Double Cloister, it is said you can hear the moaning of a man slowly suffocating and feel the unsuspected slap from a man, as mean in death as he was in life. 

Basel is a city where history lingers not just in its ancient streets and Gothic spires but in the very earth beneath its feet. Nowhere is this more palpable than in the Cathedral and its adjoining Double Cloister of Basel Minster.  solemn, shadow-cloaked place where the line between the living and the dead has always felt unsettlingly thin. 

Read also: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

Built in the 15th century, the cloisters once rang with sacred hymns and church rites, housing as many as six altars for medieval services. There are actually two different cloisters, connected by the open gardens surrounding them.

After the Reformation, one of the cloisters turned into a marketplace, but also a cemetery for the city’s upper middle class. Long after the Reformation’s sweeping changes silenced the rituals of the monks, the ritual of burial within the cloister’s cold embrace.

Basel Minster

A Cemetery Hiding in Plain Sight

For centuries, this peaceful cloister functioned as a cemetery for the city’s wealthy and influential, seen as their graves marked with ornately carved stones, some still intact within the shaded arcades. This was known as Münster Cemetery. Even as the world outside modernized, these hallowed grounds remained a final resting place, with burials continuing into the 19th century. The place is heavy with history, and as any Basler will tell you, such places seldom stay quiet after dark.

When the evening mists curl in from the Rhine and the last of the daylight dies behind the Minster’s towers, strange things are said to stir amid the cloister’s arches.

Cloister of Basel Minster

The Moaning of Emanuel Büchel

Among the restless souls tied to these ancient stones is Emanuel Büchel (1705–1775), a respected draftsman and master baker whose demise is steeped in grim folklore. He also painted, mainly nature and landscapes.

Emanuel Büchel completed his apprenticeship with a master baker in Basel in 1723. He then set out on a journeyman’s journey, and upon his return in 1726, he applied for membership in the city’s bakers’ guild. In 1728, he applied for the position of gatekeeper to the Steinentor. He married Susanna Felber in 1726.

Self Portrait

In 1773 he was assigned the task of copying the dance of death in Basel, a huge honor for an artist. At that time he was 68 and he died 2 years later at 70, 24 September in 1775. The question his legend asks though, did he truly die on that day though?

Legend insists that poor Büchel was buried alive, mistaken for dead in an era when death’s finality could sometimes be tragically premature. On long, hushed nights, visitors claim to hear his ghost moaning, wheezing, and rustling beneath the cloister’s stones, a soul forever reliving the terror of suffocation in his tomb.

The Malevolent Shade of Master Tailor Schnyyder Hagenbach

But if Büchel is a sorrowful spirit, Master Tailor Schnyyder Hagenbach is an entirely different creature of the night. Even in life, the tailor was, by all accounts, an unpleasant man. It was said he was cruel to his family, dishonest in business, and feared by neighbors. It comes as little surprise, then, that his spirit would choose to linger in malevolence.

The Cloister Cemetery: The cloister of Basel Minster consists of a small and a large cloister. Numerous epitaphs (grave and memorial monuments) are attached to their walls.

For generations, tales have spoken of an invisible, vindictive specter haunting the cathedral cloister. Passersby walking the dim, ancient pathways have felt sudden, icy slaps on their faces or hands, delivered by unseen forces. Locals blame Hagenbach’s ghost, a being said to emerge not at the witching hour, but as early as dusk, prowling the arcades in search of fresh victims to torment.

His ghost, it’s said, lashes out without warning — a sudden blow accompanied by mocking laughter, leaving the victim shaken, their skin cold where the invisible hand landed.

A Living Monument to Basel’s Darker Past

The Double Cloister stands as both a treasured historical site and a place of uneasy quiet. Its arched walkways and sun-dappled courtyards are beautiful by day, but at night, the air thickens with something ancient, something watching.

A cemetery masquerading as a courtyard, a sanctum where moaning spirits and unseen hands remind the living of the unforgiving past.

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References:

Emanuel Büchel – Personenlexikon BL

Spuk und Geister im alten Basel

Happy Halloween! 🎃 Ein Streifzug durch Basels grusligste Orte — Bajour

Basler Phänomene: Spuk, Phantome, Poltergeister | barfi.ch

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The Portobello Bar: Spirits on the Canal

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A lock keeper from the adjacent lock next to The Portobello Bar in Dublin is said to be haunting it. Ever since his mistake cost the lives of someone crossing, he is said to be lingering in the area. 

In the heart of Dublin’s city centre, where the Grand Canal glides quietly past brick façades and timeworn bridges, stands The Portobello Bar that is one of the pubs to put on the checklist for a haunted pub crawl.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Ireland

The Portobello has seen much of Dublin’s turbulent past. Once known as Davy’s, it became an unlikely stronghold during the 1916 Easter Rising. Rebels seized the building for its strategic position near the bridge, using it to fire on British troops attempting to advance from the nearby Portobello Barracks. Gunfire echoed over the canal, and blood was spilled on the cobblestones just outside the pub’s doors. 

The Ghost Haunting the Portobello Bar

At first glance, it looks like any classic Irish pub, warm and inviting with the clink of glasses and low hum of laughter spilling into the night. The Portobello has stood here since 1793, offering shelter and stout to locals and travelers alike. But with its long history, the pub has gathered more than just regular patrons. Some say it still plays host to a guest who never left.

But it is not only the ghosts of war that haunt The Portobello Bar. Locals tell of a restless soul tied to the lock just beside the pub. In the 19th century, it is said that the lock keeper caused the sinking of a horse drawn carriage passing through the canal, either through negligence or in a drunken rage. 

The Ghost of the Lock Keeper

Some say he could not live with the guilt or the shame of being fired from his job and took his own life near the water’s edge. Some even claim that it was no suicide at all, but that his death was under mysterious and suspicious circumstances. 

On still nights, when the music from the bar fades and the ripples on the canal settle, those walking the towpath have claimed to see him. A shadowed figure stands by the lock, silent and watching. His ghost is said to not have the most gentle energy, some even call him rather vengeful. Some even claim to have felt confused and dizzy, almost falling into the cold canal. 

Inside the pub, glasses sometimes clink without cause, doors creak open on their own, and staff report a sudden chill sweeping through the air even when the fire burns high. Patrons have caught their reflection in the window, only to see another figure standing just behind them, vanishing when they turn around.

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References:

Portobello Bar

Top 11 Haunted Dublin Pubs Full Of Spirits! | Spooky Isles

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Val Sinestra Hotel and the Ghost of Hermann Haunting the Lower Engadine

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In an old sanatorium in Switzerland the ghost of Hermann is said to have been haunting the Val Sinestra Hotel for ages. But who was he when he was alive, and what was his true name before he died in the remote fortress up in the mountains? And is he still haunting the old halls where he never made his recovery?

Tucked away in the silent snowscape of Switzerland’s remote Lower Engadine Valley lies Val Sinestra, a former 1912 spa-hotel, or a Kurhaus, once famed for its healing mineral springs in the Grisons region of Switzerland. The Kurhaus ‘Val Sinestra’ grew into a real sensation, the foreign newspapers and magazines were full of it and the high society came there to take the cure. Some say that that some of the patients never left.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

Although once a stately institution, In 1914, this glorious period came to an end as the First World War broke out and the Belle Epoque was over for good. The therapy activities of Val Sinestra Hotel closed in 1972, but beneath its former Belle Époque elegance, it harbors a secret far colder in the form of a ghost named “Hermann” who has been haunting its corridors for nearly a century. 

The Haunted Hotel: Hotel Val Sinestra in Graubünden is said to be haunted by a former patient, now known as Hermann. // Source: Agnes Monkelbaan/Wiki

From Spa to Specter: The Legend of Hermann

Originally built to treat tuberculosis patients, Val Sinestra drew visitors seeking cures and rest 1500 metres above the sea levels in the remote parts of Switzerland. The Hotel Val Sinestra stands like a fortress on the rock, eleven stories high with a pointed tower, looming above the valley overlooking La Brancla river. The rust-red, arsenic-laden water from the Ulrich spring was said to cure syphilis, people with consumption and anemic patients.

One of the more talked about ghosts has been one named Herman. Hotel owner Adrienne Kruit has claimed strange things have happened since 1978 when her husband bought the building. He passed away in 2018, and most of the ghost stories told from the hotel, comes from their time running the place. It is said that he was greeted at the door by a spirit screaming at him, scaring him so badly he drove all night to the North Sea. 

“There were loud noises, keys were swinging on their hooks, and the windows were suddenly open!” she said about her experiences since taking over the Val Sinestra Hotel. “Once, a wall clock fell to the floor right next to me. But the hook was stuck in the wall.”

But who was the famed ghost? There have been a lot of theories, but most of them claim was a Belgian patient, who reportedly stayed so long and grew so attached to the Val Sinestra Hotel and its staff  that he refused to leave. He was for a long time known as Hermann.  

Read More: Check out all haunted hotels

In 2010 there were also two mediums ordered to check out the haunting of the Val Sinestra Hotel, and said it was a tuberculosis patient called Gilbert, Guillon or Guillaume, perhaps a Belgium soldier from World War I who stayed there in the 1920s haunting the hotel. 

It is said that he fell in love with Maria, an employee. After his death in the late 1920s, sightings began: a tall, pale figure wandering the old bathhouse halls at night, sometimes glimpsed in the lobby or elevator area. It is said he mostly haunts the lower floors where the patients used to stay. 

Staff and guests describe Hermann as mischievously protective of the Val Sinestra Hotel. Windows will open on their own, the lift runs unoccupied, and he’s even moved objects. 

Haunted Floors & Hotel Whispers

There is little evidence to the story of the poor patient at Val Sinestra Hotel today, especially since the guestbook from this time was stolen at some point. 

The old bathhouse floor—a place of healing in life—has become the epicenter of paranormal activity. Lights flicker, faucets run without explanation, windows open suddenly, wine glasses begin to ring, balls of light emerge at night and cold drafts pierce the temperature of the rooms. Visitors report waking to the hiss of steam and feeling a distant presence when alone..

The Old Sanatorium: Val Sinestra Hotel. // Source: Agnes Monkelbaan/Wiki

Visiting the Phantom’s Realm at Val Sinestra Hotel

Val Sinestra remains an operational hotel, its ghostly inhabitant part of its allure. Guests hoping to connect with Hermann are advised to stay near the old bathhouse, wander empty corridors at dusk, and be open to subtle signs: a misplaced key, sudden draft, or perhaps a feeling of presence. As one medium noted, Hermann doesn’t mean harm—he’s just a restless guardian who cares deeply… and quietly.

According to Thomas Frei and other ghost hunters who have investigated the hotel for years, there are other ghosts said to haunt it as well. A man, a woman and a little girl is also said to be lingering inside of the halls. 

Val Sinestra Hotel stands as a beautifully preserved relic of early 20th-century health resorts—but it is Hermann’s spectral shadow that lingers darkest. And in the silent snowfall of Lower Engadine, the gentle hum of unseen footsteps may well be the echo of a man who never truly left.

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References:

TVI Traveler – Hotel Val Sinestra

Geisterjäger sicher: Im Hotel Val Sinestra spukt es wirklich – 20 Minuten

Schweizer Ghosthunter kommen im Val Sinestra mehreren Geistern auf die Spur

Val Sinestra (2019) CH

historie — Hotel Val Sinestra

A letto con gli spiriti nella Val Sinestra – Ticinonline

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Glasnevin Cemetery and the Faithful Ghost Dog still Waiting for his Master

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After his master died at sea, the faithful dog was by his master’s grave, day in and day out. After dying of hunger and grief it is said that the Newfoundland dog is still seen, slipping between the graves at Glasnevin Cemetery in Dublin. 

It is hardly surprising that Ireland’s largest burial ground should be haunted. Glasnevin Cemetery, sprawling over 124 acres and holding more than 1.5 million burials, is a city of the dead that overshadows the living Dublin beyond its gates. Founded in 1832 by Daniel O’Connell, it was intended as a place where Catholics could finally bury their dead with dignity. Over the years it has grown into the final resting place of rebels, revolutionaries, poets, politicians, and ordinary citizens whose lives were cut short by famine, war, or disease. A place of history, yes, but also a place where the past refuses to stay buried.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Ireland

By day, Glasnevin Cemetery, or Reilig Ghlas Naíon as it is in Irish, feels like an open-air museum of Irish identity. Visitors trace the names of towering figures such as Michael Collins, Éamon de Valera, and Constance Markievicz carved into stone. The O’Connell Tower rises high above the graves, an imposing monument to “The Liberator” himself. But when the sun sets, the solemn dignity of the cemetery changes. The shadows deepen. The endless rows of crosses and crypts begin to look like silent witnesses, and the air grows heavy with the weight of countless unquiet souls.

Glasnevin Cemetery: Originally a monastery established by Saint Mobhi in the sixth century. A settlement grew around the monastery but would see tumultuous times during the Viking Age when Vikings regularly raided the coasts of Ireland. Record shows the settlement was destroyed by Vikings but would later come to be rebuilt and absorbed as part of Dublin city.

The Haunted Glasnevin Cemetery

Among the many legends tied to the cemetery, the most famous is not of a statesman or a rebel, but of a loyal Newfoundland dog. His master, Captain John McNeill Boyd, perished during a daring sea rescue in 1861 at Dun Laoghaire when the ship, The Neptun smashed into the east pier, trying to dock in the storm.

His body was retrieved from the sea many days later, and according to the story, even then, the dog was onboard and refused to leave his master’s side. Boyd was buried at Glasnevin, and the dog lay faithfully beside his grave, refusing to leave until starvation claimed him. Even death did not end his vigil. Witnesses still report seeing the spectral hound pacing near Boyd’s headstone, or padding silently near his statue in St. Patrick’s Cathedral. They say on misty nights you can hear his paws on the gravel and catch the faint glimmer of eyes watching from between the stones.

Read More: Check out more stories of Haunted Cemeteries

The dog is not the only lingering presence. Staff and visitors alike have spoken of unexplained footsteps echoing along the pathways when no one is there. Voices whisper in the stillness, names spoken in the dark. Some claim to see fleeting figures dressed in Victorian mourning clothes vanish behind mausoleums. Others describe the heavy sensation of being watched as if the dead resent the intrusion of the living into their eternal city.

The Resurrectionists of Glasnevin Cemetery

As if ghosts were not enough, Glasnevin has its darker, flesh-and-bone history to contend with. In the 19th century, body-snatching was a thriving trade in Dublin. Known as “resurrectionists,” these grave robbers would dig up freshly buried corpses under cover of night and sell them to medical schools desperate for cadavers to dissect. Glasnevin, vast and new, became a prime hunting ground. Families, terrified that their loved ones might be stolen and sold like contraband, hired guards to keep watch over graves.

Lived Once, Buried Twice: Margorie McCall, who was buried in 1705 in Glasnevin Cemetery. Hours after her funeral, grave robbers exhumed her body and tried to cut off her finger to steal one of her rings. Margorie woke up from the coma-like state and the terrified body snatchers ran off. She was dug up and her husband opened the door he fainted. Margorie lived in Lurgan for years after this. When she finally died, she was once again interred in Shankhill graveyard in Belfast, where to this day her gravestone bears the inscription: “Margorie McCall, Lived Once, Buried Twice.”

So many feared the resurrectionists that Glasnevin Cemetery built high watchtowers and employed night patrols with muskets and dogs. Relatives sometimes slept on top of graves for weeks to protect the bodies until they decayed beyond value to the anatomists. It was a time when the living still fought to keep the dead at rest, but the desecration left a mark. Some whisper that the restless spirits of those disturbed from their graves are still wandering the grounds, denied the peace they were promised.

A Cemetery That Never Sleeps

Glasnevin also bears witness to Ireland’s most tragic chapters. The Great Famine filled mass graves here with thousands, their names lost to history. Cholera victims were buried under hurried earth, and soldiers from wars far beyond Ireland’s shores returned only to find their rest here. Perhaps it is this sheer density of sorrow that gives the place its atmosphere. Some say the ground is too saturated with grief to ever be quiet.

Today, Glasnevin is open to those who dare walk its avenues. You may wander alone among the towering Celtic crosses and ornate angels, or you may join one of the Irish History Tours, where guides speak not only of patriots and poets but of the strange, unsettling stories passed down through generations. They will tell you that the past is not gone in Glasnevin. It lingers, waiting for those who listen closely.

If you find yourself in Dublin, step beyond the gates of Glasnevin Cemetery. But tread carefully. For in this vast necropolis, the boundary between the living and the dead is fragile. And not all the souls here rest quietly.

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References:

Glasnevin Cemetery – Wikipedia

Glasnevin Cemetery | Explore Haunted Ireland

https://www.shamrockgift.com/blog/folklore-friday-glasnevin-cemetery/?srsltid=AfmBOoqcll6cO-yqCN6Xwuj_F0sqxlqmgwP1wbpz1tRBzro6WNmXY9sY

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The Ghosts of the Sinful Nuns Haunting Bern

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Once, the city of Bern was filled with nuns working and living inside of the city walls. According to ghost stories though, some of them remained, even after the Reformation that closed their convents down. And those stories tell about them being guilty of terrible things with terrible ends. 

In the winding alleys and cloistered ruins of Bern, ghosts drift beneath the vaulted ceilings of forgotten convents. Long before the Protestant Reformation swept through Bern in the early 16th century, the city throbbed with the sacred heartbeat of Catholic ritual. Monasteries, nunneries, and chapels dotted the cityscape, and pious women in black habits tended to the sick, the poor, and the orphaned. Some were devout and willing. Others were not.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

By November 1523, the tides had turned. Under pressure from reformist leaders, the Bernese city council ordered that the words of the Bible be preached directly—without the filter of Rome. Within months, the convents were abandoned. The once-sacred cloisters stood silent. But silence is not absence. And in Bern, some souls remained behind… trapped.

The Walled-Up Nun

One of the ghost stories that were told about the Bernese nuns was one left behind, still inside of her old convent walls, and it is said that even in death, her face cries out.

It was an ordinary day when a man, strolling past a decaying monastery wall near the heart of Bern, caught sight of something horrifying. The story doesn’t really specify which building this happened in. It is also a story that is said to have happened before 1919, as it was printed in a collection of ghost stories that year. 

Behind a narrow, crumbling window he claimed to have seen a face. Pale, pleading, trapped. He rushed into the building, but the room was empty. The very spot where she had stared down was bare stone and shadow. No sound. No warmth. No sign of life.

Haunted by the vision, he returned the next night. That’s when he heard it. A cacophony from beyond the walls: roars, thuds, the pounding of fists or perhaps hooves. Amidst the fury, a woman’s voice wept and moaned, begging for deliverance. He screamed for help. Together with another man, he began tapping along the walls until one section gave a hollow response. Stone by stone, they tore it open.

And there she was.

A skeleton, upright, impossibly intact, as though caught in her final scream. Her black robes hung in rags from brittle bones. A rosary was knotted in her clenched, skeletal hands. Her skull tilted ever so slightly toward the light, toward freedom that was denied.

She had been walled up alive. Whether for punishment, penance, or cruelty, no one knows. But her agony never left the stone.

The Dancing Beguines Around Christmas

On quiet, moonlit nights near the Nydeggbrücke, those with the rare gift of second sight may glimpse something truly otherworldly. Seven small lights rise from the river’s dark waters and begin to swirl and twirl, chasing one another in joyful abandon above the gentle current. This is from the collected ghost stories by Hedwig Correvon.

Beguines: Although they are called Beguines, were they really this? The Beguines were Christian lay religious orders that were active in Western Europe, particularly in the Low Countries, in the 13th–16th centuries. Their members lived in semi-monastic communities but did not take formal religious vows. Although they promised not to marry “as long as they lived as Beguines”, to quote an early Rule of Life, they were free to leave at any time. Beguines were part of a larger spiritual revival movement of the 13th century that stressed imitation of Jesus’ life through voluntary poverty, care of the poor and sick, and religious devotion.

These are no ordinary flames; they are the spirits of the Beguines, young women once cloistered in the monastery at Klösterlistutz against their will. According to legend, their restless souls are granted a fleeting moment of freedom each Christmas to dance above the river they were once forbidden to cross. As the clock at Nydegg Church strikes midnight, their ghostly game ends in a soft sigh and as they vanish, they are leaving only ripples on the water and a chill in the air.

The Sinful Nuns of the Old City Hall

There are also those claiming that a group of nuns have been haunting the area around the old cityhall at Rathaus for ages. Towards Schipfe, there is an iron door to the town halls, said to be so rusty that no one can open it. This is at least how it was described in 1919 in a collection of ghost stories from Bern. 

At night, it opened however and a group of nuns dressed in all black comes out, walking to the fountain. It is said that without saying anything they start to throw the small and dead bodies of children they have drowned in the well.

The Faithless Nun and Her Black Cat

Just beyond the medieval city’s old west gate lies Bubenbergraine, possibly an old name and most likely referring to the area now known as Bubenbergplatz in Bern. The Bubenbergplatz is a plaza in the Old City of Bern, the medieval city center. It is part of the area outside the third city walls. This is where the Holy Spirit Convent once stood, a place of quiet devotion, cloistered halls, and whispered transgressions. Though the convent was dissolved in the Reformation, not all its residents departed.

For over a century, a sleek, spectral black cat has haunted a house built on those same grounds. By day it hides in old cupboards or among the pergolas that once shielded nuns from worldly eyes. But at night, it stalks doorways and dreams.

One man, returning late, found the feline watching him. When he tried to shoo it, the cat’s eyes flashed like twin embers. Its body swelled to monstrous proportions. The man fell on the spot, unconscious. He died days later in inexplicable agony.

“The faithless nun beat him,” the old Bernese muttered. She had betrayed her vows in life—perhaps with men, perhaps with ambition. Whatever her sins, her punishment is eternal. She walks now in feline guise, dooming any who mock her presence.

She is not the only one.

The Poisoner of Bubenbergrain

Not all ghosts haunting the area called Bubenbergrain in the collection of ghost stories from Bern from 1919 were nuns though. Some spirits haunt out of guilt. Others out of pleasure.

On quiet, silver-drenched nights in Bubenbergrain, a woman appears on the terrace of her former home. Her face is still beautiful, adorned with the yellow Schwefelhütchen cap once worn by Bernese noblewomen. Moonlight glints on the gold chains of her ancient costume.

She stands at the very spot where she once mixed the poison meant for her husband and son, both of whom had discovered her betrayal when she had an affair. Both of whom now lie in Bernese soil. Though the years have passed, her spirit lingers. Those who have seen her say she never moves, never speaks, only watches.

Sacred Walls, Damned Souls

These are not sweet legends to comfort children. They are warning signs carved into Bern’s foundation. Once, these streets rang with the chants of nuns, the bells of convent towers, the echo of whispered prayers. But beneath those hymns lay darker stories of forced vows, secret lovers, silent punishments. And when the Reformation scattered the living, the dead stayed behind.

Ghostly cats now wander where piety once walked. Eyes shine from beneath doorsteps. Shadows rustle across crumbling convent walls. Some say they hear weeping at night from the stones of the Heiliggeistkirche, once the chapel of the Holy Spirit Convent. Others avoid Bubenbergraine entirely after sundown.

If you walk Bern’s Old Town, take heed. What looks like a cat may not be. What seems like a whisper may be a cry. And what appears to be a ruin may, in truth, still house the cloistered sins of centuries.

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References:

Märchenstiftung – Die eingemauerte Nonne (The Walled-Up Nun)

Märchenstiftung – Die treulose Nonne (The Faithless Nun)

Märchenstiftung – Die Giftmischerin (The Poisoner)

Wikipedia – Heiliggeistkirche (Bern)

P. Keckeis & M. Waibel, Legends of Switzerland, Bern, Zurich, 1986.

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A Vampire in Ohio: The Strange and Grim Superstition of the Salladay Family

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Seeking new land and a new life, the Salladay family went to Ohio, but brought a silent killer with them: Consumption. Falling into odd superstitions, they believed the only way to stop the disease was to stop the undead from rising from their graves. 

America’s early history is peppered with strange, somber superstitions—rituals born of fear, desperation, and a primal struggle against diseases no one understood. Among these unsettling tales is one from Scioto County, Ohio, in the dead of winter, 1816–17: the tragic and bizarre case of the Salladay family, whose hereditary affliction with tuberculosis led to a desperate, grisly ritual in the hopes of stopping death in its tracks.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from USA

It may not have earned the infamy of New England’s vampire panics, but this haunting episode stands as a potent reminder that superstition knew no borders in early America.

The Vampire Grave in Ohio: The Salladay Cemetery in Scioto County, Ohio, where Samuel Salladay rests alongside his relatives. Source

A Family Cursed by Consumption

The Salladays were Swiss immigrants, part of the wave of European settlers moving westward after the opening of the French Grant, a parcel of land along the Ohio River. It was granted by Congress in March, 1795, to a number of French families who lost their lands at Gallipolis by invalid titles. The river bottoms are well adapted to corn, and on a great part of the hill land small grain and grass could be produced and tempted settlers inland. The name Sallaway is an americanized version of the Swiss German Salathe

Not long after settling in Scioto County, the family fell prey to the disease that had terrified communities for centuries: tuberculosis, then called consumption. It was a cruel, wasting illness, slowly claiming victims with bouts of coughing, fever, and a wasting pallor that convinced many it was the work of a malevolent force rather than mere contagion.

Consumption: Before it had a scientific explanation, TB was a horrifying, slow-moving plague. It wasted the body. Victims grew pale and thin, their cheeks sunken, eyes glassy. They coughed blood. They wheezed and gasped and sometimes appeared to grow stronger just before they died, as if something unnatural were prolonging their suffering. In this time and place, a superstition that it was the work of a vampire sprung out.

After the head of the family and the eldest son succumbed, and others began showing signs of sickness, panic overtook reason.

A Desperate and Macabre Cure

In the depths of the winter of 1816–1817, the Salladay family, surrounded by fearful neighbors, turned to a folk remedy that would be familiar to followers of New England’s vampire lore: the belief that a dead family member might be preying on the living from the grave.

The “cure” was grim. They resolved to exhume one of the deceased, burn certain organs in a ceremonial fire, and do so before the eyes of the surviving family members — an attempt to sever the sinister connection between corpse and kin.

The victim of this desperate rite was Samuel Salladay (1789-1815), one of the earlier victims of consumption who had died during the fall of 1815. His body was disinterred by Major Amos Wheeler of Wheelersburg, an official of standing in the community, lending the macabre event a disturbing legitimacy. A large crowd from the surrounding countryside gathered to witness the ritual, drawn by a mixture of morbid curiosity and communal dread.

Samuel’s entrails were removed and burned upon a fire specially prepared for the rite. The hope was that the ritual would end the spread of disease within the family and grant a reprieve to those still living.

The Folly of Superstition

Unsurprisingly, this desperate act proved futile. Consumption was a highly contagious disease, passed through airborne bacteria, not through supernatural means or malevolent corpses. Despite the burning of Samuel’s remains, the remaining Salladays continued to fall ill, one by one.

In the end, only George Salladay survived the affliction, while the rest of the family perished — victims of both disease and superstition.

Today, no marker or monument commemorates the Salladay ritual, and their story survives largely through scattered historical accounts. Perhaps this was the only vampiric exhumation that happened in Ohio. Although not strictly a New England place, Ohio carried a lot of the earlier settlers by the way people moved west from the east shore, and some of the state used to be a part of Connecticut. 

Samuel Salladay still rests in the Salladay Cemetery in Sand Hill in Scioto County, together with all of his relatives who were never cured from their life-draining disease. 

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References:

New England vampire panic – Wikipedia

https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/197357043/samuel-salladay

https://www.findagrave.com/cemetery/43291/memorial-search?cemeteryName=Salladay+Cemetery&page=1#sr-30710534

Scioto County, Ohio 

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Cell Number 11: Whispers in the Attic of the Norwegian Justice Museum in Trondheim

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Is Cell Number 11 in the former prison for the criminally insane haunted? The attic of the Norwegian Justice Museum in Trondheim, Norway has had many who come out, claiming so. 

High above Erling Skakkes gate in Trondheim in Norway, beneath the slanted roof of an old and imposing building, lies a place many claim they will never forget. The former criminal asylum, now known as the Norwegian Justice Museum, is steeped in legal history, human suffering, and quiet despair. 

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Norway

Among its many rooms, one small space has earned a reputation that continues to unsettle visitors long after they leave. This is Cell Number 11.

The Haunted House: Almshouse (“Det nye fattghuset”, built 1843, in front, to the right) and Norwegian National Museum of Justice (Norwegian: Justismuseet, built as prison in 1833) in Erling Skakkes gate Street in Trondheim, Norway exhibiting artifacts from the country’s penal justice and law enforcement history. The building was built as a prison in 1833. // Image Source

A Building That Never Truly Fell Silent

The structure once served as a criminal asylum, housing inmates deemed unfit for ordinary prisons. Over time, the building became associated with isolation, punishment, and psychological torment. Today, the halls are clean and curated, filled with exhibits and glass cases. Yet those who work there speak of another side, one that emerges after hours.

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from haunted prisons

Footsteps have been heard echoing from the attic cell wing when no one is present. Low voices have been reported, murmuring just beyond the edge of hearing. The sounds are not constant, but when they come, they seem deliberate, as if someone is pacing the narrow corridors with purpose.

The Haunted Prison Cells: The Norwegian Justice Museum in Trondheim, formerly a criminal asylum, is known for its eerie stories and haunted reputation. Especially inside of Cell Number 11, there have been rumors of ghosts haunting it still. // Source

Among other things, a young journalist claimed to have heard footsteps coming towards him when he was voluntarily locked inside the museum.

Nearly every story leads back to the same place.

The Legend of Cell Number 11

Cell Number 11 is small, windowless, and oppressive. It is barely large enough to stand upright in comfort. Over the years, it has become the center of Trondheim’s most enduring ghost stories.

According to accounts once published in local newspapers, a clairvoyant woman claimed the cell is haunted by the spirit of a judge. This judge, she said, had wrongfully sentenced a young man to a long period of confinement in that very cell. The prisoner eventually took his own life there, driven to despair by isolation and injustice.

After the judge’s death, the spirit is said to have returned to the cell, bound to the place where his decision had destroyed another life. Whether out of guilt or obsession, the apparition is believed to linger, trapped in the space where tragedy unfolded.

Nights Spent in the Cell

In later years, a number of visitors chose to spend the night inside Cell Number 11. Some entered confidently, treating the experience as a test of nerves. Many emerged changed.

Several reported hearing footsteps moving just outside the cell door, slow and deliberate. Others described the sensation of not being alone, of sharing the darkness with an unseen presence. A few spoke of whispers, too indistinct to understand but close enough to feel intimate and threatening.

According to museum director Johan S. Helberg, not everyone who entered the cell left with their bravado intact. Fear has a way of settling in when the door closes and the light disappears.

A Museum That Welcomes Its Ghosts

The museum has a separate room dedicated to World War II. Kunt Sivertsen describes himself as a retired police officer and is currently an advisor at the museum. He was responsible for putting together this exhibition in the 1990s. According to him, there was stuff happening in this room as well that they didn’t have any explanation for:

– On several occasions, it has happened that you suddenly smell the scent of Brut aftershave in the middle of the room.

No official claim has ever been made that the museum is haunted. Still, the staff have never attempted to banish whatever may dwell within its walls. When a priest once offered to cleanse the building, the offer was politely declined.

The reasoning was simple. If spirits exist there, they are part of the building’s story.

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References:

Skremt fra vettet på celle nummer 11 – Trondheim

Spøkelsesjegere til seks steder – NRK Trøndelag – Lokale nyheter, TV og radio

Spøker det på Justismuseet i Trondheim? – nearadio.no

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The Haunted Legends of Carl Beck House in Ontario, Canada

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Now a place you can rent and stay at, the Beck House in Canada is said to be one of the more haunted places. Those who have stayed the night come back with stories of strange encounters, believed to be the ghost of the Beck family members. 

Carl Beck House is an eerie but beautifully stately mansion located in Penetanguishene in Ontario, Canada. As the best Victorian mansions are, it is said to be haunted. For a long time, it was a private family home, but now you can also check in and stay the night to see for yourself as an AirBNB. This historic building has a dark past, with rumors of ghosts and hauntings that have persisted for decades. 

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Canada

But who is still lingering in the house? Some say that the spirits of former residents still roam the halls, while others claim to have seen mysterious apparitions in the windows at night. Some even say there are as many as twenty different spirits trapped within the walls. But what is the truth behind these haunted legends? 

The History of Carl Beck House

Carl Beck House was built in 1866 by a wealthy businessman named Karl Maxillian (Charles) Beck (1838-1915). A German immigrant, he became the wealthiest of the local lumber magnates and made a lasting name for himself. He was also mayor of the town from 1892 to 1895 and owned the first car in the area.

The mansion was designed in the Italianate style and was the largest residence in the area at the time. Beck lived in the mansion with his wife Emelia and nine children until his death. 

The Haunted Legends of Carl Beck House

Despite its grandeur, Carl Beck House has long been associated with ghostly tales and hauntings. There are many theories about why Carl Beck House is haunted. Some believe that the mansion is simply a victim of the many tragedies and deaths that occurred within its walls over the years. Others believe that the mansion is haunted by the ghosts of former residents who are unable to move on from their earthly lives.

Visitors to the mansion have reported hearing unexplained noises, such as footsteps and whispers, and feeling a sense of being watched. There have been multiple reports of objects moving on their own and lights turn on and off for apparently no reason.

In the guestbook in the house for people to write down their experiences, there are entrances detailing how blankets moved by themselves when they were sleeping. Some have even claimed to have seen the apparitions of former residents, dressed in Victorian-era clothing, wandering through the halls. They are also warning about the doll in the green dress in the house.

The Spurned Daughter Back to Haunt her Childhood Home

According to local legend, the mansion is haunted by the ghosts of former residents, including Carl Beck himself, Emilia, Mary and her two younger sisters who passed away in the house very young on 2 Jun 1893 (aged 42–43).

One of the most famous ghost stories associated with Carl Beck House is the tale of the “Lady in White.” According to legend, a young woman named Mary lived in the mansion in the late 1800s. She was Carl’s eldest daughter, and was expected to take responsibility for caring for her siblings after her mother died young. 

However, after some time, Mary saw another life for herself when she became acquainted with a man and decided to marry him. Her father strongly opposed their union, believing that Mary deserved a better spouse and didn’t want her to leave the house, even though she had taken care of her sibling for 10 years already. 

Still, she followed her heart and left with her chosen one called George Robinson. This disagreement was so intense that it caused Carl to remove Mary from his will. According to other sources, Mary received only $1 after her father passed away in an accident in 1915, although he left assets totaling $10 million. He drowned while his horse was getting a drink, the buggy flipped. 

This is put up as a reason for her coming back to haunt her childhood home after she died in 1954 (aged 84–85). Although not much is known about her life after she left the Beck House, it looks like she stayed in Penetanguishene. Although there isn’t much mentioned of this dispute outside of retellings of the haunted rumours from the house, it remains the most well known cause for ghost lingering. 

A Night at the Haunted Beck House

Carl Beck House has long been shrouded in mystery and legend, with tales of ghostly activity and hauntings that have persisted for decades. Who are the one still lingering and haunting for their guests. Not only is the inside of the house said to be haunted, but there are also the ones claiming the ghosts also leaves it. They are said to appear on the adjacent Church Street where they claim to see apparitions of Victorian women strolling along the street, naturally connecting them to the Beck House. 

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References:

Ontario Heritage Trust | C. Beck Manufacturing Company

Charles Maximilian Beck (1838-1915) – Find a Grave Memorial

Mary Ethel Beck Robinson (1869-1954) – Find a Grave Memorial

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The Burgträppe-Balzli Haunting: The Ghost of Nydegg Castle

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Where the Nydegg Church is today, there once used to be a castle. Tales about ghosts lingering around the old Nydegg Castle and the stairs leading up to it still roams. And one of the more infamous and feared ghosts of Bern is the Burgträppe-Balzli.

High above the bend of the Aare River in Bern, where ancient cobbled alleys twist through the heart of the Old City, lies the Nydegg, an old district with centuries-old bones and whispers of things best left in the past. 

Read More: Check out all ghost stories from Switzerland

Though today the area bustles with the charm of a medieval town center, one shadow remains darker than the rest: that of Burgträppe-Balzli, the ghostly scourge said to haunt the ruined stairway of the once-mighty Nydeggburg Castle.

Burgtreppe in Bern: Castle stairs from Mattenenge to Nydegghöfli. // Source

A Castle Lost, but Not Forgotten

Nydegg Castle stood at the eastern tip of Bern’s Zähringerstadt, the city’s oldest neighborhood, founded in 1191. Built as a stronghold to watch over the Aare River and secure Bern’s eastern flank.

Nydegg Castle: Built by Berchtold IV of Zähringen (second half of the 12th century). The extent of the town founded by Berchtold V is also disputed: either the first castle reached as far as Kreuzgasse in 1191 and was extended at the beginning of the 13th century by a second castle roughly where the choir of Nydegg Church is today. After the destruction of Nydegg Castle (1268?), the (Nydegg) Stalden was created.

By 1268, the Nydeggburg Castle had met a mysterious and decisive end, destroyed with little fanfare or record. The Bernese demolished the castle to make room for the Nydegg Quarter and to prevent any claims by other noble families after the Zähringen family was conquered. In a charter dated January 16, 1274, King Rudolf I of Habsburg forgave the city of Bern for the destruction of the castle. 

Read more: Duke Berchtold V of Zähringen Haunting the Old Town in Bern

In its place rose homes, workshops, and busy water-powered mills that soon filled the air with the grinding and creaking of early industry. Also the Nydegg Church was built on the site. 

The Gruesome Ghost of the Burgträppe

Locals call him Burgträppe-Balzli, and his tale has been whispered down generations and is perhaps one of the more well known ghosts from Bern. He is no ordinary phantom and is said to be strange, bitter, and even violent, Balzli seems to choose his victims carefully. According to legend, he doesn’t go after the women at all, but men walking up and down the stairs claim to have been beaten by some unseen force. 

Burgtreppe: Castle stairs at Nydegg Church // Source

But who is this ghost said to still linger in the stairs? Did he have connections to the castle that once stood there? Did something terrible happen on the stairs that he is now trying to get back at? 

Whatever the truth, his rage is eternal. On cold winter nights, passersby near the stairway report hearing echoing thumps like fists pounding stone and the sudden appearance of bruises on the bodies of those who dared tread too close.

Ghostly Builders in the Night

Balzli is not alone in his haunting the area around Nydegg and where the castle once was. Witnesses have reported hearing ghostly craftsmen from older times. They are heard hammering, dragging stone, and dismantling invisible walls. These apparitions appear on bitter winter nights, just when the fog off the Aare is thick.

Ruins of a Castle: Not much remains from the old castle. Landing gate of Nydegg Castle in Bern, around 1300. // Source.

According to legend, these ghosts are the restless spirits of the workers who tore down the castle in 1268, cursed to repeat their demolition for eternity. 

So, if you find yourself wandering the Nydegg at night, mind the stairway. Avoid the shadows clinging to the stones. And if you hear footsteps behind you on the stairs, don’t stop and don’t turn around.

Just keep walking

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References:

Burgenwelt – Nydegg – Schweiz

Burg Nydegg – Wikipedia 

Die Burg des Stadtgründers – Historisches Bern 

Geisterstadt Bern – SWI swissinfo.ch 

Diese Geister spuken durch die Gassen und Häuser der Stadt