Given that I don’t particularly believe in ghosts – and that there is constroversy amongst those who do about whether or not Casa Loma is even haunted — I didn’t expect to find my trip to Toronto’s neo-Gothic palace very creepy.
But regardless of whether you hear whispering poltergeists or see doors open by themselves, there’s something surprisingly unsettling about Toronto’s 100-year-old castle.
The main three floors are typical museum fare, with displays on original homeowner Henry Pellatt and the military espionage that went on in the castle halls during World War II. Interesting to some, but not a huge draw for Halloween-specific visitors.
I tried for my first half hour to freak myself out in the castle’s Great Hall and elegant suites, but there were too many kids laughing and screaming (visible, opaque kids, I mean), and too much sunlight pouring in through the 20-foot tall windows.
While any horror movie buff will appreciate Casa Loma’s resemblance to The Shining’s Overlook Hotel, and Ghostbusters fans will think more of the mansion’s dusty old library, the castle simply wasn’t designed to give nightmares.
Maybe the myth is true that the archaic elevators rise and drop by themselves, but they’re for staff only. Maybe a Progressive-era woman drifts through the second floor hall, but how do you distinguish her from the tourists?
Some people might find old-timey furniture and dark staircases scary enough, but for both the seasoned ghost hunter and scientifically-grounded cynic, it takes more. The castle’s lofty turrets and, especially damp catacombs may be the fix.
The towers (one of which is currently closed off) are accessible only by a single narrow spiral staircase, that twists upward through three stories of increasingly dim stone rooms. Though I didn’t see any spirits roaming the quarters, I was taken by the general ambiance.
This whole section of the castle was mostly silent, far from many visitors, and lit only by thin, frosty windows, the same windows that Sir Pellatt has been supposedly observed peering out from the garden. The walk back down was a claustrophobic, vertigo-inducing descent.
The castle’s basement is the place where most paranormal accounts stem from. The cafeteria is neighboured by two unnerving areas. On one side is the swimming pool, left freakishly incomplete due to budget constraints. The concrete basin appears to have been untouched for the last century.
On the other side is a long, twisted tunnel, lit only by intermittent bulbs hung from the ceiling. Again, no ghost sightings, but this is the area I would recommend enthusiasts explore. It winds along, 18 feet beneath Austin Terrace, leading to the castle’s less renovated stables and shed, where there have been unverified sightings of British redcoats and general “uncomfortable feelings.”
I found the tunnel to be the eeriest part of my trip. In my walk through it, I didn’t encounter a single other attendee.
The tunnel’s unique design and location, however, traps peculiar echoes and inexplicable noises within its musty rock corridor. A distant hammering and incessant drip can always be heard, while I would often detect my footsteps bounce along the walls for several seconds after I stopped in my tracks. There were even voice-like hums reverberating along the walls. It has also been rumoured that horse trotting and neighing can be clearly heard at certain times of day.
The tunnel passes by the ominous former boiling room, which is caged off and drenched in a spooky yellow light.
To a rational explorer, these “paranormal activities” can surely be chalked up to science. I didn’t ever feel a tap on my shoulder, or see a translucent “woman in white.” I won’t sell Casa Loma as the Amityville House.
But the sheer atmosphere makes for as worthy a Halloween-encouraged trip as you’ll find in downtown Toronto.
Dustin Dyer
Features Editor
