It is unclear upon arrival whether the
mangled teddy bear by the door lost its eyes to a playful family dog or a
satanic ritual. The only indication of modernity is the royal blue tarp
covering a corner of the castle.
The stone-walled dwelling marks the end of
Gimghoul Road, part of a subdivision less than 2 from UNC campus.
Once the Scooby Doo-esque sense of
foreboding begins to wane, the natural beauty of the place sets in. The
flowering cherry blossoms surrounding the 2-acre area juxtapose the legend of
death, secrecy and unrequited love for which the castle is infamous.
 |
| A Dogwood tree blooms in front of the castle's lookout. |
Laurie Beth Harris, a sophomore Southern
Studies major, stopped by the area on a walk around campus with some friends.
She said her visit to the castle was prompted by personal intrigue.
"I wanted to go because I heard
someone died there," she said. Harris said that although her sense of
foreboding upon approaching the castle proved unfounded, she might have had
better luck after sunset.
ONCE UPON A TIME: The birth of a lore
The seemingly out-of-place landmark has a
haunted and muddled past.
Its history begins in 19th century. According to legend, former UNC
undergraduate Peter Dromgoole entered the school in 1831.
While in school, Dromgoole met and fell in
love with a young woman known only today as Ms. Fanny. It is said that
Dromgoole and Fanny spent most of their courtship exploring the wooded hill
where the castle now sits, Piney Prospect.
Their star-crossed love ended in tragedy
when a jealous suitor challenged Dromgoole to a duel in the hopes of winning
Fanny's love. Dromgooole, who legend dubs "a great lover but a poor
marksman," was shot, killed and laid to rest in the plot of land where his
love first flourished — or so the story goes.
According to a report from the UNC
University Library, five UNC students decided to form an exclusive
secret society in 1889. The students -- Edward Wray Martin, William W. Davies,
Shepard Bryan, Andrew Henry Patterson, and Robert Worth Bingham -- eventually
decided that forming a society for the sake of having one was not sufficient.
When they heard politics professor Dr. Kemp
Battle tell his class about the legend of Peter Dromgoole, they found their
ticket to legitimacy, or at least a cloak of it.
The society went through a series of name
changes; Dromgool evolved to Gimghoul. One member said the reason for the
change was to "accord with midnight and graves and weirdness."
 |
| A sparsely wooded area shields the fraternity from unwelcome tourists. |
CITY PARK TO CITADEL
The story behind the Orders' acquisition of
the land upon which their headquarters was built is a tale of its own merit.
According to "Order of Gimghoul of the
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill Records," in 1915 a land
company from Durham showed an interest in purchasing what UNC students now know
as Battle Park.
This did not sit well with the Order for
which the land represented the resting place of their namesake; legend has it
that somewhere in Battle Park is where Peter Dromgoole was murdered.
To preserve the sacred land, each member
pitched in $50 and made a counteroffer to the University, ultimately winning
the treasured estate.
Eight years later, the Order decided to
parcel up the land: one third of the lot sold as a residential area, one third
sold back to the University to be maintained as a campus park, and one third
was kept by the group. It was on this final third of land that the Order built
their fortress, adding a unique and unnerving landmark to the college town.
According to the Gimghoul Records,
Nathaniel Cortlandt Curtis, an architect and Gimghoul alumnus, drafted the
castle’s blueprint in 1924. After enlisting the help of stone masons from
Valdese, NC, to provide the castle walls, by 1926, the Order’s fortress was
complete.
The records state that the Order’s and the
castle’s upkeep was under control of one Gimghoul alumnus after another — each
of them caring for the place until their death. The most recent of these
custodians was George Watts Hill, who contributed much of his own money to the
welfare of the castle until his death in 1993.
According to the association's records, the
castle and its neighboring suburb was deemed a historic district in 1993. Since
then, the land has been owned by the Gimghoul Corporation and is leased out to
the Active Order on a yearly basis.
UPHOLDING THE TRADITION
Today, the Order's existence, although the
details are murky to the general public, is said to be similar to that of a
typical fraternity — with one major exception.
"I'm not a Gimghoulian," said
Aaron Moore, a UNC junior, "but if I was, you wouldn't know."
"From what I've heard, they're pretty
much a secret fraternity now. They don't invite very many in, and those they do
invite are sworn to secrecy," he said. Moore said he has heard the list of
members is only released 50 years after they are inducted so the society
maintains its mystery.
 |
| A view of Gimghoul Castle not visible from the road. Behind the manor, more than an acre of land is covered with winter's foliage. |
The structure's recent history is vague at
best. But the campus grapevine wraps around the story that the Order still
holds a dedicated membership. Or, at the very least, there is usually one or
two cars parked in the driveway.
"When I went, a blue CR-V there and a
silver sedan were parked there," said Todd Lewis, a drama major. "I
stood on the back porch and looked through a window to try and get a view of
the inside. But I couldn't see anything."
But he said the red Solo cups he found
behind the castle helps develop the Order's image as a modern fraternity in his
mind. Lewis said the only invitation he would accept from the Order would be to
a house-party they were holding. But, as of now, it doesn't seem like the
secret society will be hosting many social gatherings open to outsiders.
Upon arriving at the castle's entry, a
baby's cry could be faintly heard from the other side of the door. After
repeated knocks without answer, the door came ajar and something black and
shiny protruded from with it. The large dog began to bark for back up.
A shirtless man in his thirties came to the
door with a toddler in his arms. "We don't do interviews," he said,
peeking through the crack between the door and its frame. "This is private
property," he said in response to a reporter's plea.
"We don't do interviews," he
repeated and shut the door. The last audible sound coming from inside the
castle was the metallic creak of a heavy lock sliding shut.
S I D E B A R
Mentioned
Gimghoul Alumni Worth Noting
