There’s something strange going on at the Hotel Julien in Dubuque, Iowa. It doesn’t look haunted at first glance, but if you spend the night—look out—because you just might meet Public Enemy No. 1.
Hotel Julien (circa 1930)
Locals say it’s haunted by the ghost of Al Capone. He rolled into town in the 1920s, and took over the entire eighth floor. His men spread out like killer bees, patrolling the hallways, their jackets bulging where guns hid.
Some say he owned the place, or had a stake in it. The hotel had been struggling for years. Then overnight, it was transformed into the finest joint in town. Suspicions, yes—but people understood, curiosity could buy you a case of lead poisoning.
Then, as quickly as he came, Al Capone disappeared—back to Chicago, and a fast-growing empire of booze, women, and bullets. But something stayed behind.
A hundred years later, something is off on the eighth floor. The elevator goes up and down on its own. Lights flicker. Shadows move where no one’s walking. More than one visitor has seen a man in a pinstripe suit standing at the end of the hall, smoking a cigar. Sometimes when you’re lying in bed you hear a woman—or women, whispering so close you’d swear they were next to you. But when you open your eyes. Nothing.
The hotel’s been remodeled and rewired, but the ghosts are still there. Change doesn’t bother them.
Employees have their own rules. Night shift workers never ride the elevator alone after midnight. They stay away from mirrors, and if they smell cigar smoke, they walk the other way.
If you’re a guest, and ever stay on the eighth floor—don’t panic if the elevator doors open on their own. Just say, “Evening, Mr. Capone,” and keep walking.
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