Haunted Echoes of Lake George: A Paranormal Investigation at the Old Courthouse and Jail

Nestled in the picturesque village of Lake George, New York, the old Warren County Courthouse and Jail stands as a relic of a turbulent past. Built in the mid-19th century, this imposing brick and tin structure has witnessed centuries of human drama—from the brutal skirmishes of the French and Indian War to the grim realities of incarceration. Over the years, it has evolved from a courthouse and jail into a historical society museum, housing artifacts from colonial conflicts, Native American relics, and remnants of 18th- and 19th-century life. But beneath its weathered facade lies a darker legacy: tales of violent deaths, unsolved mysteries, and lingering spirits that refuse to rest. In this article, we delve into a chilling paranormal investigation conducted by the Finding Dystopia team, capturing the eerie encounters and historical echoes that make this site one of the most haunted in the region.

The investigation began on a crisp evening in Lake George, where the team—comprising Joe, Kayla, Sue, Brian, and others—met with local guides Mary and Scott. Scott, a longtime custodian and historian, provided a guided tour, sharing anecdotes that hinted at the building’s supernatural undercurrents. “People have seen French and Indian War soldiers in here,” he recounted, “and Indians. There’s been whistling in ears, radios turning on by themselves, and even a hand pushing a woman down.” These stories set the stage for what would become an unforgettable night of exploration.

As the group entered the basement jail cells, the air grew thick with unease. The cells, locked to prevent accidents, held echoes of their former inmates. Scott unlocked a few for the team, revealing rusted bars and dim lighting. One cell, in particular, was notorious: a psychic had collapsed there years ago, unable to endure the oppressive energy. The team set up their equipment—EMF detectors, spirit boxes, and audio recorders—to capture any paranormal activity. Kayla, feeling nauseous and overwhelmed by anger, had to step out briefly, a common reaction to the site’s intense residual emotions. “It’s saturated with the emotions of the people who were held here,” Sue explained, noting how the bricks and iron seemed to absorb centuries of despair.

Upstairs, the exploration continued in the courtroom and adjacent rooms. The team conducted a séance, using tools like the EMF candle and Rempod to detect spirits. Whispers of names began to emerge: Eugene, Jean, and later, Richard. Brian felt a strong presence in the corner of one room, where a Native American face had once appeared in a photograph. The group questioned the entities, asking if they were judges, inmates, or soldiers. Responses came through equipment glitches and spirit box fragments, creating an atmosphere of intrigue and fear. “Is there somebody up here?” Joe called out, his voice echoing in the empty space. A deep voice seemed to respond through the spirit box, leading to revelations about the building’s haunted history.

One of the most compelling aspects of the investigation was the connection to real historical events. Scott shared stories of former sheriffs and inmates, including Carl McCoy, who committed suicide, and prisoners who carved artifacts during their confinement. A particularly fascinating tale involved a murderer who built a miniature church while awaiting trial, using the proceeds from its sale to fund his appeal. Despite eyewitness testimony, he was acquitted on a technicality. The team wondered if his spirit—or that of his victim—lingered in the courtroom.

As the night progressed, the group ventured into the clock tower and attic spaces, areas rarely accessed by the public. The original clock mechanism, a marvel of 19th-century engineering, ticked away, its presence adding to the eerie ambiance. Scott warned that the town discouraged visitors up there, but the team pressed on, capturing orbs and unexplained lights on camera. In the attic, old church pews from a “fish church” and dated artifacts evoked a sense of forgotten rituals. A Native American descendant who visited earlier had apologized to her ancestors, triggering drum music and visions. The team felt the weight of history, with spirits from the French and Indian War possibly attached to the relics.

The basement remained the focal point of activity. The team returned there, sitting in darkness to amplify their sensitivity. “It’s heavier with the lights out,” Kayla noted, describing feelings of anger and chatter. Brian picked up the name “Fitzpatrick,” while Sue sensed multiple entities, one particularly malevolent. Equipment malfunctioned inexplicably—spirit boxes failed, batteries drained—attributed to spirit interference. Through the spirit box, Joe, isolated upstairs with noise-canceling headphones, received fragmented messages. Words like “terrible,” “jaw,” and “Parle Vu France” suggested French soldiers or Native Americans from the war era.

The investigation took a dramatic turn when the conversation shifted to water-related tragedies. The spirit box mentioned “2000,” “wave,” and “under,” leading the team to inquire about drownings. Suddenly, the name “Richard” emerged, and details of the 2005 Ethan Allen boat accident unfolded. The Ethan Allen, a tour boat on Lake George, capsized in a storm, killing 21 people, many of whom were elderly and in wheelchairs. Richard, the captain, had pleaded guilty to negligence but died in 2016. Through the spirit box, Joe channeled what seemed to be Richard’s guilt and sorrow. “Help me,” the box said, as the team urged him toward the light. Messages like “upside down,” “wreckage,” and “penalty” mirrored the tragedy. Another entity, Peter, appeared, expressing devastation and reluctance to cross over.

The team’s empathy shone through as they offered comfort. “It was an accident,” Sue reassured. “You can let go.” The session culminated in a poignant release, with Richard seemingly finding peace. This encounter highlighted the site’s connection to Lake George’s violent past, where bodies from wars and accidents lie buried beneath roads and buildings.

Throughout the night, personal experiences added depth. Sue recalled seeing a trapper-like figure in the 1990s, matching descriptions of Rogers’ Rangers from the French and Indian War. Brian glimpsed a shadowy figure in the doorway. The EMF candle flickered in response to questions, and devices activated without explanation. Even mundane elements, like a broken picture frame of Sheriff McCoy, felt ominous.

As dawn approached, the team wrapped up, exhausted but exhilarated. The old courthouse, with its blend of colonial artifacts and spectral inhabitants, proved to be a hotspot for paranormal activity. The investigation revealed not just ghosts, but unresolved traumas—guilt from accidents, anger from injustices, and echoes of battles long past. Scott’s parting words echoed the sentiment: “This place is insane.”

In reflecting on the experience, the Finding Dystopia team emphasized the importance of sensitivity in paranormal work. Sites like this serve as reminders of human suffering, where spirits may seek acknowledgment or release. While skeptics might attribute phenomena to EMF interference or imagination, the team’s evidence—audio recordings, photos, and personal accounts—suggests something more profound. Lake George’s old courthouse isn’t just a museum; it’s a portal to the past, where the living and the dead converge.

For those intrigued by such mysteries, visiting Lake George offers a chance to explore this haunted gem. But approach with respect: the spirits here have stories to tell, and not all are ready to move on. As Joe concluded, “That was the wildest session I’ve ever experienced.” In a world of rational explanations, places like this remind us that some echoes never fade.