It was a warm fall morning in Santa Barbara, and, despite it being a Saturday, I had just arrived to the campus of the Music Academy of the West. There was a rental event later that day, so I wanted to check in on the group as they arrived in order to make sure they had everything they needed. I nodded politely at a few folks, exchanged greetings with the Academy facilities staffer working the event, and then headed toward my office in the Marilyn Horne Main House.
I tried the front door, a heavy wooden thing with a sturdy, old-fashioned handle. Locked. I pulled out my key, inserted it into the lock, and turned. The door swung inward, and I thought for a brief moment that I heard an unfamiliar sound. I paused, but upon hearing only silence, closed the door behind me and refastened the lock.
But no sooner had the heavy thunk of the deadbolt echoed through the foyer than I heard the sound again. Oooooooooooooooooo. I nearly dropped my keys. Ooooooooooooo….ahhhhhhhh. There was an odd sound echoing through the halls of the stately old home, and that sound sure seemed to be someone singing.
***
Music Academy of the West has its fair share of ghost stories, which certainly makes sense given that its campus is not just a music school, but also a historical estate. These days, the keeper of many of these tales is recently retired Buildings and Grounds Technician Fred Lehto, who worked at the Academy from 1977 to just a few weeks ago. Fred’s status as the resident paranormal expert seems fitting. After all, every good ghost story needs a wise and mysterious caretaker who has been around for ages, peering around corners and issuing vague warnings. (Now if you know Fred, I know what you’re thinking: his colorful outfits, friendly demeanor, and warm smile hardly lend themselves to a spooky atmosphere. But can we just suspend disbelief for a moment?)
When it was announced that I’d be interviewing Fred for a blog post celebrating his retirement, more than one person insisted that I collect some of his ghost stories. I was only too happy to oblige. Most, but not all, of the spectral tales that follow come courtesy of Fred. Some of them come from Fred’s own experiences, while others were relayed to him over the course of his four decades at the Music Academy. Whether you’re a believer in beings from the beyond or a skeptic of the supernatural, these ghost stories are sure to provide a chill.
Singing, Footsteps, and the Figure in the Window
Fred’s first sign that all may not be as it seemed at the Music Academy came during his very first week of work. It was early in the morning, and although Fred was the first member of staff to arrive, he found that he wasn’t alone on campus. As he walked toward the front door of the Main House, he noticed a group of kids standing with their backs to him. They formed a small crowd in front of the building, their necks craned upward, their eyes fixed intently on the second story windows. Each of them had one of those banana seat bicycles that were so popular at the time, and it was evident from their postures – one foot on the pedals, one foot steadying them against the ground, their hands tightly gripping the handlebars – that they were prepared to bolt at any moment. “Hey, hey, what are you kids doing here?” Fred shouted good-naturedly as he approached. If their conspicuous readiness to flee was a posture adopted in preparation for the arrival of the Academy’s staff, they showed no signs of it. Not a one of the youths even so much as shifted an eyeball away from the house’s upper floor. “I wanted to show my friends the ghost in the window up there.” “The…what?” Fred asked. This was the first he was hearing of any ghost. “Well, sometimes we come here early in the morning or in the evening just before sunset and there’s a shadowy figure in one of the windows up there.” The kid gestured upward. “It usually looks back down at us, then we, you know, run away.” Fred paused and looked up at window. From next to him came the squelching sound of little hands tightening on rubber handlebar grips. But nothing happened. No apparition appeared that day and eventually the kids rode off. Fred shrugged, laughed the incident off, and then went about his work. As he continued working at the Academy, though, more strange stories were relayed to Fred. At first these occurrences were cursory. Someone would approach him in the hallway to ask who was singing in Lehmann Hall, except there was nobody in Lehmann Hall, or one of Fred’s coworkers would tell him they’d gone to the second floor to investigate the sound of footsteps, only to find that every single room was empty. Fred continued to write these stories off. They were nothing but a childhood urban legend, overactive imaginations, or the natural settling of an old house.
It is one thing to explain away the claims of others. It’s quite another to answer for the evidence of your own ears. Fred’s first personal experience with the unexplainable came in the form of the Academy’s most commonly reported spine-chilling occurrence: phantom singing.
Fred first heard the singing when he was working late – and alone – in the Main House. It sounded as if it was coming from Lehmann Hall, so he went to investigate. After all, no one except for him was supposed to be in the building. When he reached Lehmann Hall, however, there was no one there. He checked the adjoining library and other nearby rooms. Nothing. The building was entirely empty.
Numerous people over the years claimed to hear this singing. In every instance, the story remained the same. The vocalizing came at a time when no one should have been around, and any investigation of the sound would turn up no sign of the mystery singer. The singing shade seemed contained to Lehmann Hall, a suspicion borne out by the fact that a previous facilities director’s dog would not enter that room under any circumstances.