Notebook of Ghosts

The ghost of Alice Cooper no longer haunts Lafayette, Indiana. Her life, death, and short-lived haunting was portrayed salaciously by local newspapers. I like to think her spirit moved on, finding peace. This is the ghost story of Alice Cooper, often called “Baby Alice.”

In May of 1875, Alice was found dead in the brothel in which she lived on Elizabeth Street. The Weekly Journal of Lafayette wrote that her “life of shame” ended due to “congestion of the lungs produced by debauchery and exposure.” Another newspaper prematurely reported that she was found with discoloration on her right temple “as if from a blow” (Richmond Daily Independent).

Soon after her death, reports of her haunting were reported in Hoosier newspapers. The haunting occurred at her place of residence (around 13th & Elizabeth streets). A bluish orb was seen floating in the house. The orb would float into the yard and back into the house. People saw her apparition carrying various items: a pitcher, her heart, or her lungs. People reported the smell of sulfur and the sound of moaning. Her superstitious neighbors used interesting methods to remedy the restless ghost, including potions, shotguns, and horseshoes hung above doorways.

The Indianapolis News reported that her ghost scared her fellow roommates away to other quarters and that “it is hoped, to better lives.”  Well, the sightings ended and we can assume that Alice’s ghost moved on (or was never there). While the supernatural mystery is unsolved, let’s at least put to rest the judgement regarding her life and death.

On May 24th, a poem about the ghost of Alice was printed in The Daily Courier (now the Journal and Courier). I have transcribed it at the end of this post to the best of my ability. 

Apostrophe to the Ghost of the Haunted House

Avaunt! Grim specter from another world;
Thou shadowy spirit come to earth again,
To plague poor mortals with thy presence.
What brought you here? thou false presentment
Of one that’s dead, o’en “Baby Alice!”
Com’st thou from infernal shades,
Where lost ones wail, and reprobates are prone
To gnash their teeth and utter groans terrific?
Or dost thou hail from those bright spheres
Where happy spirits roam ‘mid pleasant fields,
Feeding on fruits immortal, and, in a
Never fading glory dwell forever?
What boots it though from whence thou came,
To us, poor mortal, what’s the odds?
‘Tis all the same to set us quaking in our shoes,
Our teeth to chatter, and our blood turn cold,
To see [thee] in thy snowy shroud,
With hair disheveled and with eyes of fire
[Cavorting] ‘round the house at midnight hour,
Thy hands uplifted and within their grasp
Clutching thy vitals in their blood palms!
Nor do’st thou walk the earth as morals do,
With step majestie and with modest mien;
But goest bobbing up and down,
Now here, now there about the yard,
And, presto! change! across the street
Thy phantom form appears.
And then that smell! That sulphur stench
That greets the nose and follows in thy trai [trail?]
Vile brimstone thy perfume, blue blazes
For thy coronet, encircle thee as thou dost skip
About from place to place in mazy dance,
Uncertain where to light.
What wonder then that those who see
Thy ghostly form should stand aghast,
And hair on end, with throbbing hearts
And smiting knees, seek shelter ‘neath
The horse-shoe charm, the hazel rod,
And seething [cauldron’s] power.
Say! messenger from out that bourn
From whence no traveler returns,
(Quere, how cam’st thou back, if so,
Cams’t thou the over land or water route?)
Thou’st clad too thin for thy frail form
To waltz around on these damp nights,
When clocks within the steeple toll
The solemn, lonely midnight hour,
And honest people are abed.
Thou’lt sure take cold upon thy lungs,
(Or where thy lungs were wont to be,)
And when thou dost return again
Unto thy spirit home, thou’lt find
Consumption in thy veins, (if ghosts have veins?)
And then perchance no cordials near,
No soothing syrups with their healing power
Thy cough to cure, thy wasting form to save.
Me thinks I hear thee hack; pray take a drop
From out this pocket flask, ‘twill warm thee up,
And fit thee for thy homeward flight.
Then tuck thy skirts about thee and throw
Thy water-proof athwart thy shoulders bare;
Cease scaring mortals with thy spectral whirl;
Stand not upon the order of thy going,
Take our advice and—”git!”

Journal and Courier (Lafayette IN), May 24, 1875.