The Legend of Morbid Mountain
The ski lifts are closed, the lodges are locked, and the parking lot is empty . . . but if you close your eyes and listen close, the hair on the back of your neck will start to stand up straight. Footsteps in the attic, lights going on and off . . . is there someone . . . something in the corner of the room . . . you feel like you are being watched.
Perhaps you are!
Many are unaware of the history and the secrets that lie beneath the grounds and buildings of what is now known as Gunstock Mountain Resort. The urban legend has led to countless rumors and speculation. This area served many purposes before becoming what is today . . . read about some of the accounts of what led to Morbid Mountain.
On a hot afternoon in 2010, Doug Irving was inspecting the groundbreaking of the new entrance to the resort. As he made his way around the construction he heard whispering. There was hardly a breeze in the air yet something was making the noise. Listening harder to try to make out what the voices were saying he was startled to by the loud voice of Jody Hayman.
‘Hey Doug – you’re the last one here.
‘Ok, Jody – have a good one’.
Thanks. And by the way . . . your trucks running.’
Doug went back to inspecting, so startled by Jody’s voice her nearly forgot the whispering, that is, until he thought he saw a shadow move out of the corner of his eye. More whispering. The shadow disappeared as quickly as he could turn around to see what was there. He heard something in the edge of the woods. Everything else had become quiet, no birds, no sounds of traffic, just the whispering and the pounding of his heartbeat. The whispering continued – he could just barely make out the voices. He made a couple of steps towards the woods; it stopped. Listening intently, waiting for something, anything, it felt like an eternity. Turning around to go back his truck he no longer recognized where he was. The construction was gone, so was the road into the resort – there was only a narrow trail going in either direction. Confused, he walked in the direction towards where his truck should be. The whispering increased in intensity. A shadow darted across the trail. Doug looked up, perhaps a bird or a branch was causing it. Above him the trees seemed to be growing over the trail making the woods dark. The path was now overgrown and Doug had to bushwhack in what he felt was still the direction of his truck. He turned around in confusion and the entire path was gone. He had grown up in these woods and he had no idea where he has. His heart began to race and his breath became shallow – he should have reached his truck by now. “You’re with us now.”. This whisper was clear. Doug was moving a bit faster and as he moved a thick branch he heard another whisper – ‘One of us’.
Into view was the Mountain Morgue. Doug had heard rumors of this place when he was younger but thought that they were embellished stories told to misbehaving kids to keep them in line. Like morgues in most cities it was here that bodies were brought after death to be prepared for ceremonies. But that is were the likeness ends. Rumors began to surface about the dead returning to life, zombies, the undead taking control of the morgue. The rural, out of the public’s eye location was ideal, as even the locals never knew its location. That is, until now. Doug was not one that was struck easily, yet his hands were beginning to shake. Without a road or driveway to get in our out, there shouldn’t be anyone here yet all the lights were on.
The path was gone and the trees and brush had become so thick it was as though he was being pushed to the front door of the morgue. Shadows and whispering increased –
‘We’ve been waiting for you’.
‘You are one of us now – come in’
The telling of ghost stories by the fire is a long-held, cherished tradition among campers. Sitting around a crackling fire in the dark of night, chilling tales of ghosts, monsters & other stories that keep our mind awake throughout the night. These stories, told and retold year after year, may just be true. You decide!
Unexplained things do occur out there in the woods at night. You may have heard them yourself.
Gunstock Mountain Resort Campground Logbook. August 2008:
- 11:00 pm – Two guests call Guest Services after hearing strange noises in Breezy Knoll. Screaming is heard in the background and then the line goes dead . . .
- 11:03 pm – Call to guest services about quiet hours – loud campers
- 11:10 pm – Security radios guest services to report that “something” has made a mess of Breezy Knoll site K4 – tent and sleeping bag ripped to shreds. No sign of guests. Security asks guest services to call Fish & Game – possibility of a rabid bear. Security will check with other guests.
- 11:30 pm – Fish & Game officer arrives on site. No call back from Security.
- 11:32 pm – Camper calls Guest Services about hearing more screaming. No reply from security.
- 11:35 pm – Fish & Game officer calls “It’s not a bear . . .” Line goes dead.
What is it? You’re about to find out.
On a Tuesday evening in mid-August Paul MacNeil was checking in to work at Guest Services. He decided to take a drive around the campground. It was an uneventful drive for the most part. It wasn’t until he began to make his way back towards Guest Services that he noticed the light on in the attic of the Main Lodge. He didn’t remember seeing the light on when he was on the way out. Paul took a lap around the lodge in the cart to see if anyone had driven in while he was checking on guests. No cars. Strange.
Walking in through the back entrance to the main lodge the lights in the hallway were on – thankfully these stay on all the time. Making his way towards the administration offices he could here sounds echoing from downstairs. Turning back and making his way down the stairs he came into the main hall of the lodge. The sounds were coming from the kitchen area. The hall was pitch dark. He took out his maglight and started across the 75 year old wood floor. With each step it creaked and echoed, there was no sneaking up on anyone here. The noise continued. As he made it the door of the kitchen his heart began to race, he was preparing to pounce on whatever he found in there. He opened the door and nothing was there. It was just then that the sound of 5lbs of ice crashed in the icemaker. Paul was relieved but a bit upset that he wasn’t able to bust someone.
Paul could still here the echoing crashes of ice landing in the ice machine – kind of laughing it off that he was looking for a perpetrator. He unlocked the door the admin offices. The door to the attic was open and the lights were still on. A bit confused, he could have easily shut off the light, close and lock the door and head back down to his post. Instead his thoughts changed to check if someone was here and be sure he didn’t accidentally locked them in the attic.
The creak of the attic door was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. He slowly walked up the stairs trying to keep his footsteps quiet. Why was he being quiet? If there was someone there he wanted them to know he was coming. He made with way up there stairs asking out loud if anyone was there. At the top of the stairs he looked around and called out again a little louder. Nothing. Paul walked towards the back of the room to take a last look before he made his way out of the attic – it was starting to give him the creeps, he was recalling the old wives tails of a group of performing experiments on people in the attic of the lodge back in the 40’s . As Paul looked around, he noticed some strange electrical equipment and what appeared to be an old electric chair. At that point, he thought the stories perhaps were true and he better get out of there. It was at this instant that a stiff wind came at his back and nearly blew him down. He fell to his knees. Papers, dust and anything else not locked down was blowing around the attic. Crawling on his hands and knees he made his way down the stairs slamming and locking the door behind him. He made it out the hallway, the only light in the building, where he caught his breath and tried to grasp what was going on. He could hear a creaking in the offices behind him. The door blew open. The wind was loud and he could here a loud whispering – “Come back”. The wind changed direction and began pulling him back towards the office. He tried to find something to hold until. He fell to floor – the wind tugged like an arm on his ankles, then another tug like someone was grabbing him. His hands began flailing trying to find anything to hold on to. The tugging got more intense, Paul’s fingernails we scrapping into the floor. The one solace, the light, then went black as he was pulled to back to the attic . . . . Paul has not been seen since....
