Sailing into the past: A ghost story

In 1966, Queen Mary crewman John Pedder was killed by this watertight door. His spirit is said to roam the ship today. Mitch Traphagen Photo

Four of us sat in the pitch black of the forward cargo hold of the 80-year-old ship. Two others remained behind – too nervous to face the darkness. We were 40 feet below the waterline at the very bottom of the ship.

The guide, paranormal researcher Erika Frost, called out to the unseen.  I looked around in vain straining to see… something, anything.  Noise could be heard.  Immediately to my right, I could hear the guide whispering.  It sounded as though she was just inches away from the back of my head.

“Tell her we can help.”

“Please tell her.”

The guide called out again, asking if we could do anything to understand.

There was a loud moaning noise.  Later that night, while listening to the recording I made, it sounded like a male voice saying, “No.”

The guide was whispering again.

“Can you see words in the dark?”

“Tell her tell her tell her.”

We turned on our flashlights and made our way to the stairs.  Just before the guide reached the door on the first platform, I called out to her.

“Erika, were you whispering back there?”

“No, I didn’t whisper,” she replied.

Listening to the recording, it was obvious the voice I heard wasn’t hers.

The Queen Mary, permanently berthed in Long Beach, Calif., after many decades of transatlantic passenger service, is said to be one of the most haunted places on earth.  During World War II, she served as a troop ship, carrying nearly 800,000 American troops to battle in Europe.  At least 49 people died aboard the ship, some of whom are said to roam the companionways still today.

Yet perhaps ironically, reports of hauntings aboard the ship didn’t begin until it arrived in California.

We made our way to the first class swimming pool – which some believe is the most haunted place on the ship.  I saw, felt, and heard nothing.  We then entered the women’s dressing area.  It was a narrow hall lined with small stalls.  The guide asked each of us to stand in a stall while she turned off her flashlight.  She said it was a very active place and suggested we needed to acclimate to the dark.  A few moments later, she said she saw something.  One woman suddenly decided she had heard enough and quickly left.  The light went out again.  After several long moments, she turned the light on again and seemed somewhat taken aback that her three remaining guests weren’t reporting anything unusual.

As I walked back out towards the dimly lit and empty pool, I decided not to mention that something had gently tussled my hair in the dark while I was alone in the small stall.  I also decided not to mention that I was suddenly surrounded by the smell of lavender, the fresh, Old World scent momentarily replacing the musty, damp odor of the long abandoned changing room.  It was the same lavender I smelled outside of my stateroom on a visit last year.  It was the same lavender I smelled again outside of the very same stateroom just a few days ago while my wife slept peacefully inside.

Do I believe in ghosts? In all honesty, I don’t.  But I’m not presumptuous enough to assume I know all there is to know.  It has been said that places aren’t haunted, people are.

“Tell her we can help.”

I sent the tour guide an email – telling her that perhaps somewhere in the dark cargo hold 40 feet below the water, someone may want to help her.  Help with what, I have no idea.  But I’m not so presumptuous as to ignore a whisper I heard in the dark.  

I am, however, not above assumptions.  I am certain that at some place in time, a beautiful woman wearing a lavender scent waited for a gentleman outside a first class stateroom on B deck.  Perhaps it was the beginning of something wonderful for her.  Or, perhaps, he never showed up.  I really hope he did, though.

As I walked through the fresh bouquet of lavender to reach my cabin door in the early morning hours, I turned and looked out at the small and empty companionway.

“I hope you had a good life,” I said.  There was no reply.  The lavender scent began to fade away.