The Real Haunted Midwest, Hunting Ghosts at the Mason House Inn in Iowa

Early April, in the cool morning air along the banks of the sleepy Des Moines River sits the sinister, and ominous, Mason House Inn. Approximately three hours north, two happily engaged couples ready themselves for what they believed would be a lighthearted, overnight getaway at a secluded bed & breakfast. The unspeakable terror that would befall these four innocent travelers would soon be revealed. This is usually how a typical horror synopsis would read, this time it was real, well, sort of.

The facts read more like this: The Mason House Inn was built in 1846 as a hotel for steamboat travelers and is a former civil war hospital & stop on the Underground Railroad. The Mason House Inn currently operates as a bed & breakfast owned by the kind and accommodating innkeepers Joy and Chuck. At this beautiful inn, which is situated along the banks of the sleepy Des Moines River (though neither sinister nor ominous), Joy and Chuck are not the only permanent residents. The Mason House Inn has a history and it is most certainly alive.

Armed with an arsenal of information culled from Joy's personal online journal and a penchant for the paranormal, the four of us did actually embark on what we hoped would be a lighthearted, overnight getaway. Nine A.M., anticipating a beautiful day of driving and relaxation we set off for the first of our several destinations on the road to The Mason House. Roadside attractions are a must when traveling by the American highway system and much like pizza, even if it's bad, it's still real good. A small sign noted our first stop, listed was a local legend about a Native American maiden committing suicide by jumping from this swinging bridge. At nearly three hundred feet long, this wooden swinging foot bridge located in a wooded area on the edge of a small town, had seen better days. Swaying and creaking with every step we noticed several bolts missing from the frame, not to mention the complete lack of support brackets in some areas. After successfully traversing the decrepit structure safely and taking a few minutes to snap some photos, we were back on the road.

Stepping out of our pavement pounding automobile for the second time on this odyssey of the paranormal and roadside trash culture, we were on the cusp of something truly unique. Below us, in all its winding, brick lain glory, was the world's most crooked street--Snake Alley. Many would suspect that San Francisco's Lombard Street would hold this title; it is in fact a title held by a fairly small city on the border of Iowa's eastern edge. Returning to the cockpit of our speed machine we set our sights on the great Mississippi's lock & dam #19. The lock & dam #19 is a mammoth waterway used to usher freight vessels across the former 28 foot falls that existed prior to the locks being implemented.

With our final destination locked in and within reach, the realization set in-we were about to set foot on one of the most haunted sites in North America. Casual conversation turned into a scenario more akin to campfire tales of childhood lore. Rolling into what could loosely be considered a town; Bentonsport is so small it would make a town of one thousand seem like a booming metropolis, we could see the peak of The Mason House rising through the trees. Joy greeted us with open arms and, post check in; we were given the grand tour of the inn. When asked, Joy immediately opened up about the ghostly happenings in our nocturnal dwelling.

Retrieving a list of apparitions from my pocket that I had previously created utilizing Joy's online journal, I began to inquire about them by name. Harold, Amanda, Markie...and so on. My list contained roughly sixty names, cause of death, and their primary paranormal activities, i.e. knocking on walls, full body apparitions, playing in the hallways, whispering names of the guests, pulling covers off beds, etc. Joy graciously answered each question with ease, as if the ghosts were merely acquaintances. We realized there would be little settling in here, we had too much work to get done.

Utilizing our collective ghost hunting knowledge, we surmised that the four of us together probably made a single, mediocre ghost seeker. Our gear consisted of two digital cameras, night vision video, a pendulum, a highly sensitive audio device, and our skepticism. Immediately we began taking photographs but to no avail. The pendulum also yielded little results. Starving, the decision was made to pursue sustenance. Upon returning to the inn we located a print on the bed where a body had sat prior to our arrival. This occurred behind locked doors and though the camera was recording, no sound was audible.

Our excitement gave in to many more photos, some of which contained miniature spheres known as orbs in ghost hunting circles. Night vision took hold of these orbs in motion as they darted through the lens' eye. Hours pass with no real action and fatigue began to set in. Excitement gave way to rest and conversation, which invariably led to some of our group falling into slumber.

The early morning hours crept in. While lying alone, a male voice very obviously speaks my name directly into my right ear. I sit up in anticipation for what is to come. Across the room, still vehemently avoiding anything that has to do with waking, was the gentleman that was supposed to be monitoring our audio enhancer. I assumed I must be hearing things in my less vital state. I had to be. But the ladies in the next room heard the voice as well, confirming my suspicions.

My mind raced with the possibilities of what is real and what is not, the rest of our stay would establish the truth of the situation. With vigor the four of us were now awake and ready. This is when the cold began to wrap us in its icy embrace. I was amazed as the alpha-male of our group began to talk of invisible arms wrapping themselves around him, his feelings of nausea, and visible tears began running from his sockets toward his jaw line. As these feelings subsided so did the cold.

Morning approached and we were welcoming the daylight hours when, seemingly from nowhere, the washroom door closed violently, it was the antitheses of silent. Three occasions this occurred, suddenly the knob on the entrance door began to shake as if someone was attempting to enter. The final word had been communicated. The morning sun rose, the breakfast conversation focused on overnight shenanigans, and the food was aplenty. Sounds of the parlor's piano were the end notes to our journey. I am a sucker for any form of travel, and for any form of writing, I knew I had to throw myself in deep and drown in this experience, I wasn't the only one.

To book a room at the the Mason House Inn contact Joy at www.masonhouseinn.com, For more information regarding the swingin bridge, snake alley, and the lock & dam 19 please follow the links provided within the article.