Ghostly Tales of the Foothills
Are you feeling brave? Take a dive into our locally sourced collection of ghost stories.
Do you have a spine tingling story of your own? Send us an email and we’ll add it to the database!
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One of the rights of passage for a museum staff member is the sharing of ghost stories.
Without fail, every summer a student will ask, “is the museum haunted?” We seasoned staff members are always quick to share our own experiences with the unexplained.
In a building as old as “The Station” it is predictable that some folks have never left.
While we have no proof of tragedy in the museum, it is historical fact that the bodies of those who died on trains would be temporarily stored on the north end of the building.
Staff members have reported feeling as though there are other people in the building; despite being completely alone. Lights were often already turned on when one previous staff member would arrive. After the lights continued to turn on by themselves, she chose to greet the resident with a cheerful “Good morning” when arriving at work.
One staff member reported seeing the shadow of a person walk past the washroom door, but when they went out to greet them, no one was there.
Other experiences include: doors locking on their own, inanimate objects moving overnight, and disembodied footsteps in the hallway outside the office.
While professional ghost hunters have claimed that there is a ghost named “George” who has taken up residence in the museum, current staff members have yet to meet him.
Staff members are happy to share the space with any spirit that stops for a rest.
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This story comes to us from a local woman who worked at a golf course located in Okotoks.
*Names have been changed for privacy.
Around 2000, the original owner of the golf course had passed away. He had been universally loved and his loss was felt by all of the staff. I was a waitress at the time, and was there setting up for our breakfast service. It was only myself and my coworker, Julia, as well as a few kitchen staff members in the dining room.
Julia and I were finishing up with the service set up and were chatting behind the bar. All of a sudden we heard a cheerful voice call out “Hey Jules, hey Kel!” Both Julia and whipped around, looking towards the front door. Nobody called me Kel (short for Kelly), except for the (now deceased) owner. I had made it quite clear that nobody else was to shorten my name, I’ve always hated nicknames.
Both Julia and I popped into the kitchen. “Hey you guys, did any of you call out to us? Someone yelled out our names in the dining room.”
None of the kitchen staff had left the kitchen, and no one new had come in. Exchanging a glance with Julia, we headed back out into the dining room. We checked the front area; the door was still locked. And the offices in the basement were still empty. We even looked for a radio, wondering if we had misheard a DJ announcing a new song.
Possibly it was the owner, popping in one last time to check on the staff. It was a comforting thought, not scary. Neither Julia nor I heard the voice again.
Other staff members reported fans turning on by themselves, as well as a mysterious figure spotted after hours by a cleaner in the clubhouse kitchen.
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This story is taken from the Museum’s “Haunted High River Tour” held every October.
High River has a reputation for fabulous musicians and music lovers, and our next building’s spirits are no exception. The building that is now The Shop (117 4th Ave S.W.) was once the home and business of the late and legendary musician Mel Wilson. At Mel’s Music paranormal experiences were considered common by the staff. Mel shared some of his stories for an earlier version of this tour, and I would like to share them now.
When this building was first built in the late 1940s, it was originally a dry cleaner. Before Mel bought the place, this building was a local tavern called Dudley’s Pub. The previous owner warned him of the ghosts that haunted the building, noting that she and the staff often heard voices of people partying and talking in the back room of the pub, long after the customers had departed. The servers often recounted the feeling of being watched as they counted up their tips, alone, at the end of the night. When Mel purchased the building, he knew he would have to do some major renovations to make his vision of a music store come true. He intended to live in the apartment upstairs and gut the store's lower level. However, having nowhere to store his large collection of instruments and equipment, he had to store them upstairs, and he found different areas of the store to sleep at night.
One evening he was sleeping in the front room; he lay awake listening to the sounds of running water in the right corner of the store. This caused so much confusion, as he knew for a fact that there were no water pipes anywhere near that part of the building. On another occasion, he headed out to the back porch for a cigarette, leaving the door open inside. The moment he lit up his smoke, the doors inside the building slammed shut, leaving Mel with the distinct feeling that he was not alone.
Once he opened the store, Mel and his staff had many other experiences. An especially common event is the sound of footsteps, especially cowboy boots, echoing in the upstairs apartment. As Mel put it. “it’s enough to make you go up there to check it out… only to find that no one is up there.” On another occasion, Mel was working in the back room and glanced over his shoulder only to see the shape of a person walk up the stairs. He assumed it was a customer and he followed them to tell the person that it was a private residence. When he reached the top of the stairs, he was surprised to find no one was there.
Staff also reported seeing door handles move, lights flickering, doors closing, and feeling the hair on the back of their neck stand up as they walk through certain parts of the store, especially the stairs.
One staff member was working downstairs one night and had a recurring feeling that someone was watching him over his shoulder. It was enough for him to head upstairs to inquire if Mel was “messing with him,” but Mel suspects it was one of his visitors from beyond the grave playing the tricks.
Mel and his beloved parrot Ella were evacuated from the second floor of the building during the flood of 2013. Unfortunately, he lost his home and his business due to the flood. Mel passed away on January 21, 2019.
Legend says if you walk down 4th Ave late at night, listen carefully and you might hear the sounds of wonderful music.
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Our family farm had been in the family since 1904. Generations had lived, worked, and died there. Growing up we got used to unusual sounds and shadows, but always joked that it was just family and nothing to be scared of. When I returned to the farm as an adult and moved into the farm house, I had forgot just how noisy it could be!
Our first night, the day we moved in, was very eventful. We had placed boxes to be sorted in the far west bedroom, my old childhood room. This room shared a wall with the primary bedroom that we were now sleeping in. I was woken up to the sound of numerous voices talking and the sound of people going through the unopened boxes! The next thing I heard was someone walking down the hallway and down the stairs to the kitchen. We soon got used to the sounds of footsteps going down the hallway and down the stairs. These footsteps happened during the day and night as long as we lived there. We also heard a lot of noise up in the attic. It wasn't unusual to be woke up by the sounds of scraping and dragging of furniture in the attic. The attic was empty and full of insulation. We had a very sweet house cat who was very friendly and chatty. One night my husband woke up to the sound of the cat chirping and a woman's voice talking to the cat! We had an Aunt who had grown up in the house and had a fondness for cats and dogs. She came and visited with our house cat on many occasions!
A few years later we were doing renovations to the upstairs. During the renovations we moved our bed downstairs into the living room. One particular night we were fast asleep only to be woken up with ALL of the living room lights being turned on! We decided that the ancestors were not impressed with the renovations.
The hauntings were not limited to the house. I was out in one of the barns, getting feed ready for morning chores. There was a small gate beside the barn that made a very distinct noise when you opened and closed it. I had the barn door half opened and I was in the feed room. I heard the gate open and close, I looked up expecting to see my Dad but instead saw a tall man in a brown suit and fedora style hat walking by towards the bunkhouse! We later decided it was one of the long gone hired hands coming back for a look. We no longer live at the farm, but we are curious to know if the new owners have had any encounters with our family! -
We are fortunate to live in a historical home in the Herronton area, which has been in the family for several generations. I think our whole family could write a book with all the ghostly events we've experienced over the years, but my two favorites involve both my grandparents - both of whom passed away when I was quite young.
My grandmother was an excellent cook, who spent many hours in the kitchen making dishes that family and guests loved to enjoy. I have many happy memories of her baking cookies while I was small. My father kept his cattle herd at her farm, and most days , I would get to tag along. I would spend the morning with her, while my Dad attended to all his chores. It was a very common occurrence that while I was there, she would bake cookies, which a spoiled little girl got to eat hot from the oven! I would sit on my favorite perch - a tall stool in the kitchen, beside the telephone with it's long twirly cord, and wait with anticipation for them to be ready to eat.
Many years later, when our family moved into the house, on one of our first days there, we woke up in the morning, to the unmistakable scent of cookies baking, and I could hear my Grandma's voice floating up from the kitchen, talking and laughing. There were - and still are - many times I would hear both her and my Grandpa's voices in the house. Over the years, our children also smelled Great-Grandma's cookies baking in the morning, and I think, there were mornings they were pretty disappointed that there were no actual cookies waiting for them!
As for the second story, I can still remember it like it was yesterday. My husband and I were awakened in the dead of night, one night, by the voice of our young son (age 2), having a conversation with someone in his bedroom. Slightly alarmed since it was just the three of us in the house, we crept down the hall just in time to hear him very clearly say, "Thanks for coming to visit me, it's time for me to go to sleep again. Bye bye." There was no one in the room with him, but he was waving to "someone" at the side of his bed. After our heartrates had returned to normal, we went back to bed, and didn't think anything more about it given other experiences we had all had in the house.
A few days later, our family was at my parent's house, and I put our son down for a nap. In the hallway to the bedroom where he was napping, my Mother had done a really fabulous picture wall which she had lined with photos from both sides of the family. When our son woke up from his nap, I picked him up to carry him out of the room. He was looking over my shoulder, as we went past the picture wall, and all of a sudden got very excited and started waving and saying, "Hi, Hi, Hi!!" I asked him who he was saying hi to, and with his little finger he pointed to a photo of my Grandpa. "That's who I talk to!"
It was always quite comforting knowing that they were there and enjoying the next generation of family. -
My wife and I live on a family farm that has been in the family since the early 1930's. To say that it was an active house would be an understatement. You always have a sense that there is someone around with voices and footsteps happening all the time. It's never anything malicious, however, we did have quite a trickster who used to steal my wallet.
I have always had a routine that when I come in from work for the day, I fold up my work clothes and place them on a chair, along with my wallet, keys, et cetera before getting changed into clean clothes. Everything was always placed in the same spot every day. That way it was always in the same place so, I didn't have to spend any time looking for my keys and wallet - important during calving, seeding or harvest season.
One morning, shortly after we moved in, I got dressed, and went to put my wallet and keys in my pocket and my wallet was gone. We tore the house apart looking for that wallet, looking through every closet, coat or pair of coveralls I owned. No wallet. We searched through the barn, the barnyard, and all the vehicles. No wallet. I was resigned to the fact that I must have lost it in a field somewhere. Later that day, I came in, did my routine with my clothes and keys like I always did and carried on with my evening. The next morning, when I got out of bed, and went to get dressed, there was my wallet, sitting neatly in the center of my folded clothes.
That continued to happen for over twenty years, and usually about the time I thought I would have go through the arduous task of replacing all my ID and cards it would show up, always meticulously placed in the center of my folded clothes.
We happened to know a medicine woman, and she came to pick sage one day at our farm, and somehow or another we we told her the story of the wallet, and out of the blue she said, "Well, Slim took it." We had no idea who she was talking about as no one that we knew of was named that. My wife decided to phone her Dad and ask if he knew who the heck she was talking about.
It turns out that when my wife's father was growing up in the house, there had been a man who would periodically come and stay with the family after the war. He had quite a tragic story, and also had what was known at that time as shell shock. The family would take him in and care for him when the going got tough. He was a tall, thin man who, when he was feeling well, was a practical joker that loved to joke around and play tricks on everyone. He also went by the nickname of Slim.
A few years ago, that same medicine woman was back to pick sage, and before she left, she told us that Slim really wanted to go home. She did a blessing, and a ceremony, and it all must have worked, as my wallet hasn't gone missing since!
Do you have a tale of spirits or the supernatural? The Museum of the Highwood is looking to create an online collection of local ghost stories to share for years to come!
Please send us an email or submit a story though our portal below. Happy Haunting!
* By submitting a story you are consenting to the publication of your story on the Museum of the Highwood’s website. Please note that stories may be edited for clarity.