The Hotel Galvez. A Ghost Story, In Three Parts
This week I’m going to tell you three ghost stories from The Hotel Galvez.
The hotel has since been completely renovated, reimagined, and renamed Grand Galvez, but that’s not the hotel of my stories. My Galvez was a refined, sleepy, seaside hotel that retained its early 20thcentury charm. I’ve stayed there many times over the years and have always felt the presence of the hotel history, but I didn’t connect with the paranormal activity in a way I could describe until a visit in late October of 2015.
Part One:
We’d purchased tickets for the 2015 Witches’ Ball, hosted by The Witchery, a metaphysical shop on The Strand, and arranged to spend the weekend with my friend Meagan and her partner at the Galvez. We met for breakfast on Saturday morning, went shopping at The Witchery and then Meagan and I spent Saturday afternoon reading tarot in the hotel lobby before taking a late afternoon nap, pre-gaming for the night to come. This was when we both had our first paranormal encounter but didn’t realize the synchronicity until we compared stories later that evening.
Meagan’s room was a couple of floors above ours. Neither of us were on the ‘haunted’ fifth floor, but that didn’t seem to matter because we were both woken abruptly from our naps by a loud voice telling us to ‘Get Up!’. We realized when telling each other about the voice, that it was the same words, same tone of voice, and at the same time. And, had our helpful visitor not have intervened, we would have likely overslept, so thank you, whoever you were.
Before getting dressed I went to the window to check the weather and was bumped twice by the heavy curtain, even though I was standing several inches away. I thought it was odd and tried to dismiss it, but it felt deliberate. A little while later, I was standing across the room looking at the same window when the acrylic wand used to slide the curtains began to swing. It started slowly, then picked up momentum until it was swinging at a 45-degree arc. I knew that was deliberate and meant to get my attention, so I acknowledged the gesture and finished dressing to go out.
The Galveston Scottish Rite Cathedral is an imposing art deco structure that dominates a city block. The night of the Witches’ Ball was dark and stormy, the perfect evening for witchy shenanigans. The party room was located at the top of a pair of very steep, very high and very treacherous, stone stairwells. One look and I knew I only wanted to navigate the stairs once that evening. The room was packed and eventually the music and general mayhem became too much, so we sought respite in the dark and quiet library downstairs.
If you ask me, that’s where the real action was happening on that Witches Ball night. The library was large, but felt intimate and cozy, with low lighting in the alcoves and several seating areas meant for quiet conversation or contemplation. We settled in, with the storm raging outside and the ghosts of Freemason’s past convening inside. We were guests and observers in their space, something the handful of other partygoers who’d reached their limit understood as well, grateful for the welcome.
Our friends emerged from the Ball at the end of the evening, aglow from the merriment. The problem was the thunderstorm that had been toying with the island that night showed no sign of abating. We’d been dropped at the door upon arrival by Meagan’s partner who, by this time, was in no shape to drive and she had to rely on his drunken instructions as to where he’d parked the car. There’s no doubt she’s a witch because she returned with the car in a matter of minutes and despite the rain, wasn’t even damp. She said the rain had let up long enough for her to get to the car. Just for her, apparently because everyone else on the street was drenched. We drove back to the hotel singing along with Stevie Nicks at the top of our voices, thunderstorm bedamned.
As we pulled into the Galvez’s circular drive, Meagan draped herself, all red hair, black-laced red corset, and fishnet stockings, across the hood of her silver Jag and slid over to meet the valet on the other side, dropping the keys in his hand as she gracefully landed on her feet and floated through the double doors into the lobby in a singular motion. I’ve included this part of the story because the ride home was one of the most magical experiences I’ve ever had. For Meagan, it was just another Saturday night.
The storms continued to worsen that late October weekend. The previous evening didn’t end until the wee hours of Sunday morning, so we opted to stay another night and spent the whole of Sunday sitting in the comfortable lobby, reading books, watching the wind and rain batter the palms, and feeling very pleased with our decision. Everything was quiet on Sunday night. I expect the ghosts were partied out as well.
Part Two:
Our next visit to the Hotel Galvez was in 2018. Melissa, the concierge and resident Ghostess, was at the front desk and as she checked us in, she told us about the hotel tours. She was leading a ghost tour of the hotel that afternoon and “Mr. Bobby” Hilton, the hotel ambassador would be available for a historical tour of the hotel the following afternoon. We signed up for both on the spot.
Melissa’s ghost tour took us through the ballrooms, music room and into the downstairs ladies’ room (which is notoriously haunted and once you hear the stories, you’ll never feel alone in there again). She took us to room 501, the ‘hottest’ spot for paranormal activity in the hotel, then up to the former realm of the Maceo family, the suites on the top floors. She shared stories and photos from the treasure trove of both she’d collected over the years. But the most important thing she shared was her experience in both proving, and debunking, paranormal evidence. She taught me how to look for ghosts, rather than waiting for them to come to me. This experienve had a profound effect on me, and we became fast friends.
After a long day, we turned in early. David went right to sleep, and I was relaxing by watching mindless television when the clearly defined shadow of a woman in a long dress, with a bustle and hat, walked past the foot of the bed, and stopped. I politely asked her to leave because I didn’t want her to wake David (and scare him). She complied and left the room in a grapefruit scented mist. My favorite.
We were up before dawn the next morning and I wanted to try out my new paranormal investigation skills, so we went to look at the glass doors that connected the hallway to the hotel spa. Melissa told us that after the spa closes for the night, and before it opens the next morning, small handprints appear on the inside of the glass. Sure enough, there were small, thin, but very visible handprints, child-high, on the inside of the spa doors. The area where the spa was located used to be a candy store. Apparently, some of the children who now live in perpetuity at the hotel still remember.
By this time the coffee bar was open, as was the pool. I left David in the lobby with an espresso while I went to the room to get my headphones so I could watch a video on my phone while he went for a swim. I’d packed my white iPhone headphones in a case, inside the overnight bag, but they weren’t there. Or the suitcase, or anywhere else in the room. I searched thoroughly and figured I must have forgotten them. I returned to the lobby, David had a swim, and I sat by the pool in the early morning sun.
After his swim, David went to the room to change for breakfast and came down with my headphones, which were sitting in front of the television set. The headphones and case were bright white and the cabinet was dark brown. There’s no way I missed them. Melissa later told me that these kinds of pranks were common, especially with headphones.
Part Three:
Our last visit was in 2019. It was David’s birthday and we decided to spend the night at the Galvez after coming off a cruise. I’d accepted an offer from the hotel to upgrade for a nominal fee, for whatever room type was available and was thrilled, and a little terrified, to learn that we were upgraded to a suite on the seventh floor. I knew from Mr. Bobby’s tour that this was the realm of the Maceo family when they lived and ran their business during Galveston’s gambling and underworld heyday in the 1940s and 1950s.
We arrived at the hotel early that morning and having just left the ship, we were tired and grateful to settle into the suite. David snoozed on the sofa in the living room, and I stretched out on the bed. The rooms faced the gulf and were filled with morning sunshine so the shadow that appeared through the wall, passed quickly across the room and through the opposite wall, caught me off guard. It wasn’t like a shadow ON the wall, it wasn’t dependent on the wall at all, but walking on the floor.
A couple of hours later we ventured into the common area outside of the rooms, where there was a pool table. I quietly asked permission to use the table and hang out in the space, and we played a couple of uneventful games before going for lunch.
I invited Melissa to come for a tarot reading when her shift ended. As I laid the cards on the table in the living room, she immediately turned her head, having caught something in the corner of her eye. She indicated at the spot where the shadow had passed through earlier in the day. I nodded and told her about the visits that seemed to be headed directly for Sam Maceo’s apartment next door. Before she left, Melissa offered to let us tour the McArthur Board Room, just off the common area. It was already after dark so I asked if we could go the next day, in the daylight. I’m not the bravest of ghost hunters.
After reading Melissa’s cards I went downstairs to meet David for a quick dinner. Returning to the suite I was faced with a decision. Do I leave the light on in the living room or turn it off? I opted to leave it on. I also left the television on in the bedroom, something I don’t like to do. As I began to drift off to sleep, I felt the unmistakable sensation of a small child climbing into bed next to me, snuggling up against my back. Another one soon joined. I let them stay for a little while, then asked them to leave so I could go to sleep. I felt them climb down and they exited through the bathroom, not before tapping on the tub, rat-a-tat-tat, several times like a drum, on their way out. Melissa had warned me that the children like to turn on the tub faucets, so I wouldn’t be caught off guard. They left the faucet alone but slid the dimmer controls on the switch so that when I turned on the light, the room was still dark until I figured it out. It was a very sweet, if unnerving, experience and one I’ll never forget.
Throughout the night, both David and I heard voices and movement in the common area outside of the suites, but we were the only guests on the upper floors that night. The only paying guests, anyway.
I have more ghost stories from other places, but this is quite enough for now. Thank you for sticking with me this far.
*Note – Bobby Lee Hilton passed away in 2019 so his tours are no longer available but here’s an interview he did for the Texas Bucket List, not long before he died. There are several excellent articles on the web about him as well. I’m so very glad I got to spend the afternoon with him, listening to his stories and simply being in his presence.
Melissa’s ghost tours are available several days times a week, throughout the year. You can find out all about them on her Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/ghostessofgalveston or email me at the address below and I’ll connect you.
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