Though not far off I-4, 40 miles east of Orlando, it’s easy to miss what The Twilight Zone’s Rod Sterling called “the signpost up ahead. “
The signpost says, simply, Cassadaga. The residents (and quite a few otherworldly spirits, it’s said) live in Victorian cottages with the peeling vestiges of white and sun-bleached pastel paint, where verandas sag and tendrils of vines creep along windowsills and picket fences. There are the requisite tin roofs, garden gates that have settled in at odd angles over the past century, and an assortment of stained glass windows and wind chimes. There are cats, of course, and the pièce de résistance, the haunted Cassadaga Hotel.
No, it’s not another Disney project. A young clairvoyant famous for his séances carved The Southern Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp (which is a village, not a camping camp) out of the untamed Central Florida landscape 125 years ago, before Walt Disney was born. And don’t bother scouring the real estate ads for a charming fixer-upper, because only certified mediums and spiritualist healers may buy here. According to cassadaga.org, mediums can communicate with spirits of people who have passed on, while spiritualists “channel God’s energy for emotional and physical healing through the laying on of hands.”
Believers, skeptics, and paranormal researchers come to absorb the essence of the camp and the hotel, which is in the town but privately owned, with its own psychics and readers. Some hope to get a message from a departed loved one, have their dreams interpreted, or take one of many classes. Me, I hope to encounter the hotel’s sassy cigar-smoking, gin-drinking Irish ghost named Arthur.
On my last visit years ago, I booked Room 22, Arthur’s favorite haunt. The place exceeded my expectations, with its dark and creaky hallways, miniscule rooms with toilet-shower closets, an outrageous assortment of mismatched furnishings, and bumps in the night. Alas, Arthur didn’t appear, but we’re told he’s still around, so here we are.
On this recent hot Saturday afternoon, Cassadaga appears to be in a deep trance. The hotel looks the same except for a sign advertising, incongruously, Sinatra’s Ristorante and Piano Bar. It looks movie-set perfect: vintage and millennial-hip. Currently, the only action is happening in the hotel’s tiny gift shop at the reservations/reception/psychic and astrologer booking/desk. While waiting our turn, my boyfriend, Randy, and I peruse the well-curated merchandise one might expect: love and prosperity potions (fragrant oils for sprinkling around) candles, handmade jewelry, and objets d’art.
Room 22 apparently has been painted in the past decade, and there’s a vastly improved, comfy-looking bed. But to my joy, the spookiness remains. No TV, no phone, Victorian fringed lamps, and lace curtains. Though Randy prefers a different level of comfort, he’s being an excellent sport.
In the camp’s Education Center and bookstore across the street, we check today’s list of certified mediums and healers on call, and flip through a well-worn binder reading their bios. The point is to feel the vibe of the right one for you. But we’re feeling a much stronger vibe for the two-hour Encounter Spirits Night Tour, $25. (Bring your cameras, our guide Dawn Medley advises, to capture the ghostly lights called orbs that aren’t visible to the naked eye.)
Fairy Trail
You could walk the entire village end-to-end in about eight minutes – or 45 if you detour onto the tiny forest path called the Fairy Trail. Beads, bangles and various glittery things hang from tree branches. Beneath them, gnomes, fairies, mermaids, dragonflies, and other whimsical creatures coexist in pure Cassadaga-style of mystical dishevelment. Visitors sometimes add small items of their own. There are random benches, and the path ends at a beautiful seven-foot tall butterfly wing sculpture, one of a series by renowned regional artist Erica Group.
Orbs
At dusk, a small group gathers in the Education Center. Dawn Medley gets us in the spirit with stories of unexplained phenomena, passing around grainy photos showing apparitions lurking about. She’s brought her EMF detector – a ghosthunter’s must-have – which dances with lights when she invites any attending spirits to make their presence known. Seems like the effect of a loose light bulb to me, but the others are delighted. Then, we’re off in pursuit of orbs, trailed by one black cat and a black and white one. We’re encouraged to take lots of pictures: houses, gardens, walls, and each other. On one particular spot beneath giant oak trees, we each get a turn to stand for photo ops where the orbs are especially active. They do not disappoint. Tiny circles of white and occasionally green or red light glow around us in everyone’s pictures, most shot by cell phones and pocket cameras. Randy attracts lots of orbs. My regular DSLR camera (with no flash) catches only a few. Some say it’s bugs caught in a camera’s flash. I wonder if it’s more about light refraction and dust in front of the lens. Still, it’s fun. While no children joined this tour, it could be a cool offbeat family experience, especially with teens.
The kids
Knowing we’d miss the restaurant serving hours, we’ve pre-ordered from Sinatra’s extensive menu. It is perfectly prepared and ready for us to enjoy beneath a midnight black sky at our private veranda table. While Randy returns our trays to the dining room, I ask a passing staffer about Arthur. “I haven’t heard anything from him recently,” she says, barely stopping. Then she adds over her shoulder, “but the kids are really active this week.”
In the morning, I step out to grab a coffee before heading to the church service, and have to squint at the small green thing lying just beyond the threshold. It’s a plastic superhero, toppled over on its back, arms wide in supplication. Then I notice more of them strewn about. A housekeeper is approaching, picking up a fire truck and some toy cars along the way. She stuffs them into an open niche in the wall next to the fire extinguisher. “Those kids!” she says. They must have played all night.”
Ghostly kids who like to play? Even better than Arthur!
Visit cassadaga.org or hotelcassadaga.com.