Curiousity killed the cat

This past week I was fortunate enough to have taken a tour of Portsmouth, New Hampshire with Roxie of New England Curiosities. She knows her stuff. I found her to be charming, knowledgeable, and funny. We met at Deadwick’s Ethereal Emporium, which is a fascinating little shop. It is filled with taxidermy, Ouija boards, spell books, and other curiosities.

Portsmouth is a town of underground tunnels, quirky old homes, and a cast full of interesting characters. The city has been plagued by a massive fire, and more than its fair share of murders, scandals, and witchcraft. Serving as a vital role in the Underground Railroad, Portsmouth also has a lot of bragging rights, situated in a breathtaking waterfront setting. It really was a perfect night for a ghost tour, complete with a full moon, and all.

One of the first stops was the Music Hall theater, which, along with other local theaters has housed a variety of ghosts. The theater is quite colorful. There is a pink lady and a gray man. If you aren’t careful, you may be sitting in the lap of the former, as he has one particular seat that he likes to occupy. There is also a cat ghost that strolls around the property. I am not sure how the cat died….Dog? Natural death? Curiosity? However so, don’t be alarmed if you feel the cat affectionately rubbing up against your legs, but see nothing there.

Two key players in the Portsmouth paranormal community are Frank Jones and John Paul Jones (not to be confused with the John Paul Jones from Led Zeppelin). The two Joneses are not related to each other, to the best of my knowledge.

Below is the John Paul Jones house. He creeps into a lot of stories and houses in Portsmouth. JPJ was a great naval commander, but he had never really met anyone to love, nor with whom to settle down. Rumors were that he had a budding relationship with Sarah Purcell, the widow of the original owner of this house, but his true love was the sea, and he left Portsmouth to fulfill his true passion. But he died alone and depressed in France at a young age, after working hard, but never earning the rank that he deserved and for which he was qualified.

JPJ was allegedly buried twice. His mummified corpse was found much later after his death in Paris, and he was reburied in Annapolis, MD. Roxie gave us some homework after the tour to look up the “corpse of John Paul Jones”. I did my homework, but instead of posting the photo I’ll let you decide whether to look up the photo yourself or not.

The house is now a museum. Guides have described the feeling of a friendly presence or two, perhaps the spirits of John Paul Jones and Sarah Purcell, keeping an eye on the historic home.

Frank Jones was the fun-loving beer brewer of Portsmouth. He bought a building in 1870 called the Rockingham, which was a hotel for the well-to-do. Destroyed by fire in 1884, Frank rebuilt the Rockingham, leaving the dining room as its focal point. It now houses beautiful condominiums and a steakhouse, “The Library” on the ground level. Filled with stories of debauchery, adultery, and general social disobedience, the elegant old building has many entities wandering throughout.

Pictured below is a house where at least three deaths occurred. Roxie hesitated to keep this house as part of the tour, because of the content of the stories. There is a darkness that embodies this house, and just looking at it across the street, I picked up on a sad and depressing energy.

This house, as well as about four or five others (one being the second photo pictured in this blog, with the full moon glowing behind it) are on the same general corner where the John Paul Jones house stands. It is a juicy little corner for tales of the paranormal.

I am barely scratching the surface of all the stories and lore that Roxie shared with us on the tour. And this tour only scratched the surface of all the haunted places in Portsmouth. (That’s why there are quite a few different tours offered.)  Welp.  Guess I’ll just have to travel back to learn more. No complaints here. Quirky New England towns are right down my dark alley. The cat’s meow, so to speak……