A STORY for Introverts:
“Bring on the ghosts,” I whisper to myself. Or I’m whispering to the ghosts already hanging over my head, even in my parked car. Manitou Springs is full of them, which is why I’m here. I sling my camera around my neck and tiptoe toward the meeting spot. My skin prickles from nerves despite the 70-degree evening, exactly how I’d choose to enjoy this Manitou Ghost Tour.
One of the guides checks me in, and the other gets right to it. Before he finishes asking the crowd who wants to play sightseeing bingo, my hand shoots up. I love scavenger hunts, whether I’m good at them or not. Now I have to juggle my bingo card, sharpie, and camera, all in the name of a quality haunting. Our tour guide sets the scene: a destination with healing waters, newly discovered by the wealthy, attracts Emma Crawford, a young pianist dying from tuberculosis.
My ears buzz. The wind? Probably the unsettled spirits hovering to make sure someone tells their story right.
While our guide splashes the details of Emma Crawford’s life and death across the tablet screen hanging around his neck, my attention zips around to the hovering peaks on my left. The guide doesn’t need to point toward the house settled there, I hear it humming. Ghosts. Of course, that’s not open to the public anymore, but listening to stories of seances and spiritual sightings tells me that the mansion on the hill is littered with creaking doors and floating feet.
My camera grows animated, begging me to take a picture of something. Something invisible to the naked eye. That haunted mansion might have a pale face glaring from a window, or that mountain top where Emma was buried might show a smudge anomaly on my screen. I check each shot for spooky behavior, but nothing yet.
Now we’re moving, and my itchy trigger finger doesn’t want to miss anything. Finding a hot spot for ghost photography in a town as haunted as Manitou Springs shouldn’t be that hard, right? My bingo card is already forgotten.
My attention weaves in and out of our guide’s anecdotes, from the creepy creek to more about Emma Crawford. She wasn’t quite a witch but did the deep spiritualism she and her mother brought to Manitou Springs spark something? This land used to belong to Native Americans who prized the burial grounds and healing springs before Easterners stole the land. Naturally, they cursed the place, so it’s no wonder Emma died here. Miners and wealthy socialites flocked to Manitou for work and wellness, but a cursed town won’t allow for too much success. Is someone playing a piano nearby?
Snaking through town, my eyes probe every single window. That house must’ve expected me because they’ve slapped cardboard cutouts in theirs. Sneaky. I like it. Did that last photo catch a face in the one empty window? My feet freeze, and my eyes dart from the window to the photo. What am I seeing? It’s only in the photo, but the more I look, the more unsure I am. Before the tour group loses me, I put a pin in the face-shaped smudge and jog on.
This cozy village on the side of a mountain sure has a lot of hotels, and it seems they’re all haunted. Some have grand, wraparound porches, and some have corner towers, but they all give me the heebie-jeebies. I see demonic babies hanging in windows and lonely rocking chairs teasing the slightest nudge on this breezeless summer night. I’m not sure what’s scarier, the next ghost story or hiking up this hill to hear that story. Either way, I feel sweat squeeze my forehead.
Across the street from the Penny Arcade, we stop. The air that should smell sweet or coppery disappoints me. It’s flat and rotten but growing fuller. The Eggman. This ghost sounds particularly noxious, with his basket of rotten eggs and fondness for stalking loners at night. A true creeper, with a cane for his limp and a face hidden under a hat and floppy hair. Even his dark suit hides secrets. I’m surprised by the shiver running down my back, and I’m hyperaware of the oppressive empty space behind me looking up the dark hill. I wonder what these pictures will look like. Will they capture the smell? I hope not, but the most unexpected things tag along in photos sometimes.
Through the Penny Arcade and down a couple of dark alleys, our guide waves to The Cliff House, standing behind him. It has a posture I’m sure was immense in its heyday. Floors bend and wallpaper peels at the corners in some of those rooms, but when the richest folks in this country visited more than 100 years ago, I bet this place shone like the sun. Maybe not for everyone, though. Robbery, murder, and residual hauntings might have dulled this place’s glow over time. Best to avoid booking a room during July, unless I’m in the mood for bloody intruders.
A little shop, looking perfectly harmless, watches us walk by with mischief behind its eyes. Moving furniture and mannequin stands taunting the owners but smiling at me. It looks cute in there, I might swing by during the day when they’re open and the ghosts are napping.
In front of the least suspicious building of the night, our guide lays out the history of Dr. Issac Davis, and I’m convinced he’s confused his Manitou lore with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. This man wasn’t just the town doctor but the police chief and mayor, making it harder for the people to charge him for his unspeakable crimes. His menagerie of body parts doesn’t compare to the corpse he treated as a pet puppet. My jaw spends so much time on the ground listening to the guide I almost forget to take a photo. I’d hate to miss the one spectral image with a real nightmare figure lurking behind curtains. I have a good feeling about this spot.
Wrapping around to where we started, I smack my forehead. The bingo card I’ve been carrying is nearly blank, so I won’t be winning any neat prizes. Here’s hoping I walk away with something eerie on my camera.
Just-So-You-Know DETAILS:
According to their website, every weekend from May to September has tours. They make it so easy to find a suitable time there’s no reason to skip it. Each night, they run at 7:30 pm and 9 pm, so you can pick a tour with a bit of daylight or one with a higher chance of shadow abduction. Manitou Springs is small, the entire loop around town takes about an hour, keeping the time commitment low.
Ghosts might be popular for Halloween, but they exist year-round, so there’s never a bad time for a ghost tour. Summer heat is no joke when you’re climbing those hills and stairs, but that’s why it’s best to bring a water bottle with you.
The GIST – Should You Take the Manitou Ghost Tour?
My photos weren’t as haunting as I wanted, but the true stories shared were eye-opening. As I dipped at the back of the line to get pictures, I missed some tidbits along the way. Keep up because these guides aren’t obligated to wrangle people. It helps that they’re kind enough to try.
For all the spooky lovers, this tour sparks a deeper interest in the town’s history. You can only learn so much in quick spurts, so I sat down with extra reading about some of these characters after the tour. I learned things and decided I wanted to learn more, which is the highest compliment I can pay an experience. It was made all the better that these scary stories were based on real events, and, for the record, I’m partial to Frankenstein stories.
Book your ghost tour at the Haunted Manitou site.
If you’re looking for another ghost-themed activity, read about Madhouse on Mulberry.