Dimly lit taverns, smoke-hazy lounges, and shadowy basements often hold our fondest memories—or our most blood-chilling horrors. There are spirits poured neatly over ice, and then there are Spirits that linger in the dark, tethered to pigment, wood, and thread. Canvas and ink are meant to capture life, yet sometimes they entrap something far more sinister. The following accounts chronicle the unnerving, unexplained phenomena surrounding haunted portraits and cursed artwork—where the boundary between the medium and the unseen world dangerously dissolves.
 Mont Robinson a bartender who drowned himself haunted the gravel pit where he died c.1893
Perhaps being a bartender comes with its own special risk, unknown to the casual observer.
In February, 1893, J.M. "Mont" Robinson, a bartender who lived in Summitville, Indiana, drowned himself. He went to a gravel pit filled with water near town, and left his coat and hat on the shore. He was 40 years old, and left behind a wife and four children. He had some financial reverses, and his health was bad. The pond was deep, and saloon men from where he worked had been cutting ice from it during the cold weather. The next day, his boss passed by and saw the hat and coat on the bank. Right away he realized they belonged to Robinson. Suspecting what the man had done, he went back to town and brought a party of friends with grab hooks and dragged the bottom thoroughly. Eventually the body was found and taken to his home. It seemed that once Robinson lived in "good circumstances" and owned a farm near Summitville, but he lost it through bad management and sickness. Less than a month after he died, Mont Robinson was seen near the pool where he drowned. People who passed by the area at night, which was half a mile outside of town, would see him standing on the bank as if in the act of plunging into the pool. It seemed he didn't realize he had been successful in ending his life. 
The writer of the story gave this example as similar to the one that was central to his story.
The Spirit of the Bartender Lost at Sea, Bound to Frame 
Picture mentioned by commentator that is found at the John Ringling Museum
The Demon in the Emerald Abyss The Blue-Grey Gown  People see different and sometimes terrifying images in this painting
The Unnamed Malevolence of Horseley Fields
The most disturbing artwork often hides behind deceptive normalcy. A simple portrait can appear harmless until the eye lingers, revealing a creeping dread that leaves observers desperate to escape. Psychic Philip Solomon acquired a notorious portrait with a long history of terrorizing its owners. Its dark legacy began three decades earlier when a friend purchased it from a shop in Horseley Fields, Wolverhampton. The canvas bounced from buyer to buyer, even traveling across the Atlantic to America, yet it inevitably returned to Willenhall. The identity of the original painter remains unknown, along with the source of the malicious energy trapped within its fibers. Are these accounts true, or are they mere urban myths echoing through time Solomon noted how the object maintained its grip, and he recounted the following: From the moment she got it home, my friend had problems with the painting. It kept falling off the wall of its own accord and terrifying her children who said people came out of the painting. She asked me if I would take it off her hands which I did. But, I have to be honest, it even unnerved me. I quickly sold it on to a lady who had a bric-a-brac shop on Walsall Road, WIllenhall. But she had big problems with it, too. It scared people and some even fainted after looking at it. Dogs also hate it. Once more, it came back to me free of charge.  The Anguished Man comes from an unknown artist and is undated
The Anguished Man
This horrific legend began as online lore before manifesting as a physical nightmare. The tortured portrait was allegedly created by an artist who mixed his own blood into the pigments before ending his life. Sean Robinson inherited the painting from his grandmother, who harbored a deep terror of the piece and swore it was cursed. Once hung on a wall, the standard paranormal cadence began: dark silhouettes drifting through hallways, disembodied crying, and raspy whispers cutting through the silence of the night. Robinson, residing in Cumbria, U.K., documented the surreal phenomena in a series of videos released in 2010. He captured metallic scraping sounds emanating from the basement where the painting was quarantined, strange mists coalescing near the stairs, and the visual shadow of a spectral man. Viewers who stared into the painting's agonized face online reported sudden bouts of severe nausea and unexplained nosebleeds. By 2016, the grim tale had attracted filmmakers who acquired the rights to adapt the story into a film.  Bekinski's work, all untitled, are dark and apocalyptical
The Nightmare Canvases of Zdzisław Beksiński
Zdzisław Beksiński (1929–2005) was a Polish painter whose haunting, untitled works evoke visceral dread. Plagued by severe OCD and agoraphobia—which he morbidly dubbed "neurotic diarrhea"—Beksiński was a self-taught artist whose work spanned from the 1960s into the 1980s. He depicted desolate, apocalyptic worlds overflowing with decaying landscapes, skeletal monoliths, and weeping, mutated figures. Beksiński consistently refused to assign titles or offer interpretations for his work, leaving the dark imagery open to the observer's worst fears. Tragedy shadowed the artist's personal life. His wife, Zofia, died in 1998; just one year later, on Christmas Eve, Beksiński discovered the body of his son, Tomasz, who had died by a deliberate drug overdose. The final blow came in 2005, when Beksiński was brutally stabbed 17 times in his apartment by the teenage son of his caretaker over a refused $100 loan. An eerie belief persists among collectors: those who gaze into Beksiński's hellish vistas for too long invite an untimely death.
 Man Proposes, God Disposes by Edwin Landseer c.1864
Man Proposes, God Disposes
Painted in 1864 by Sir Edwin Landseer, this macabre masterpiece imagines the gruesome fate of Sir John Franklin’s doomed 1845 Arctic expedition. Housed at Royal Holloway, University of London, the painting depicts two polar bears savagely tearing apart the remains of the crew amidst jagged ice and broken wood. The grim imagery was a comment on the tragic fate of the 129 men who disappeared in the Arctic. The painting was so disturbing that Lady Franklin reportedly could not bear to look at it. Landseer was an artistic child prodigy who, during his lifetime, painted and produced sculptures. He was encouraged by one of his teachers to perform dissections of animals in order to fully understand musculature and skeletal structure. He formally exhibited his work at the age of 13. He was commissioned to create the lion sculptures in Trafalgar Square in London. The sculptures were installed in 1867, showing gigantic sphinx-like cats measuring 20 feet long, 11 feet high, and weighing seven tons. He became a wealthy bachelor. In the late 1830s, he suffered a mental breakdown and, for the rest of his life, was troubled by recurring bouts of melancholy, hypochondria, and depression, often aggravated by alcohol and drug use. In the last three and a half years of his life, his mental instability was problematic, with his talented hand and brain becoming increasingly feeble, and at the request of his family, he was declared insane in July of 1872. During exam season, the staff routinely cover the canvas of Landseer's work with a Union Flag. Rumor holds that in the 1970s, a student was driven to madness while staring at the painting during an examination, taking his own life and leaving behind a final note: "The polar bears made me do it." While the suicide remains unverified, generations of students swear that sitting near the piece induces an overwhelming feeling of despair and cognitive failure. Landseer’s grim visual was inspired by real-world horror. The HMS Erebus and HMS Terror vanished without a trace despite carrying years of provisions. Later search expeditions, aided by Inuit accounts, uncovered skeletal remains on King William Island that bore unmistakable evidence of desperate cannibalism.  The Hands Resist Him by Bill Stoneham c.1974
The Hands Resist Him
Created in 1974 by artist Bill Stoneham, The Hands Resist Him is widely considered one of the most notoriously cursed pieces of modern art. The painting depicts a young boy standing beside a hollow-eyed, life-sized glass doll in front of a glass door, against which dozens of pale, disembodied hands press from the darkness. The piece drew global attention in 2000 when a seller listed it on eBay with an explicit paranormal warning. The listing stated that the characters in the painting would fight or step out of the frame at night: At the time we wondered a little why a seemingly perfectly fine painting would be discarded like that (today we don't!!!). One morning our 4 and 1/2 year old daughters claimed that the children in the picture were fighting, and coming into the room during the night.  Bill Stoneham, self portrait (Source - Stoneham Studios)
The eBay listing logged over 30,000 views, with users reporting strange physical reactions simply from viewing the digital thumbnail—including sudden illness, psychological blackouts, and the urge to burn white sage to cleanse their homes.
Though the seller eventually attempted to tone down the claims, a trail of real-world tragedy surrounds the piece. Between 1978 and 1984, three key men connected to the painting died: LA Times art critic Henry Seldis (suicide, 1978), gallery owner Charles Feingarten (cancer, 1981), and actor John Marley, who originally purchased the painting (died during heart surgery, 1984). The painting was ultimately acquired by a private collector, while its sequels and prequels continue to provoke unease among paranormal historians.  Replica of the Love Letters
Replica of Love Letters
Hanging on the fifth floor of the historic Driskill Hotel in Austin, Texas, this harmless-looking portrait conceals a tragedy. The painting depicts a young girl holding flowers, closely resembling four-year-old Samantha Houston—the daughter of Texas Senator Temple Houston—who tragically fell to her death down the hotel’s grand staircase in 1887 while chasing a leather ball. Her father was Senator Temple Houston, and her grandfather was General Sam Houston. Her sister Louise, age 2, died the same year from cholera infantum and was buried in the same Mobeetie Cemetery as Samantha. In 1897, the couple lost another baby that was one month old. The painting titled Replica of Love Letters was produced by Richard King from an original painted by Charles Trevor Garland (1866-1906), a British artist. People who have viewed it, not only the one in the hotel but replicas, report nausea and uneasy feelings around it that they cannot account for, since the subject is so innocuous. Guests and staff report that the little girl's facial expression visibly shifts when no one is looking directly at her. Others report the sound of giggling and the phantom bouncing of a ball echoing down empty hallways near the frame. Visitors viewing simple photographic replicas of the painting often experience unexplained motion sickness, dizziness, and a sudden, oppressive sense of grief.  Bernardo Vicente de Gálvez y Madrid, 1st Count of Gálvez (1746 – 1786)
The Ghost of Gálvez
The Grand Galvez Resort in Galveston, Texas, houses a striking, full-length portrait of Bernardo de Gálvez, the 18th-century Spanish military leader and Governor of Louisiana. While many historic portraits feature eyes that seem to track the viewer, the Gálvez painting possesses a far more peculiar reputation: travelers attempting to photograph the artwork often find their images ruined by unnatural blurriness, cold spots, or dark light artifacts—unless they explicitly ask the Count's permission before snapping the photo. The hotel itself sits upon grounds steeped in sorrow. Built in 1911 over the site of the former St. Mary's Orphan Asylum—which was completely swept away in the horrific Galveston Hurricane of 1900, taking 93 children and 10 nuns—the resort is home to scores of restless spirits. Another hurricane roared into Galveston in 1915, claiming 275 lives — yet the hotel, unlike the orphanage nearby, survived. During Prohibition, a speakeasy operated within its walls. By the years of World War II, it had become a U.S. Coast Guard station, its halls empty of the tourists who once filled them. Reports of the unexplained still drift through the 226-room structure. Room 501 is tied to the legend of the Ghost Bride. As the story goes, a young woman used to climb to a hatch on the roof and gaze out to sea, waiting for her sailor to come home. Word reached her that he'd been lost with his ship. Grief-stricken, she hanged herself in the hotel's west turret. It's little wonder, then, that her spirit is said to linger still. Other apparitions haunt the lower floors — a little girl bouncing a ball, a man glimpsed in the hotel laundry. Children's laughter drifts near one of the bathrooms and the Music Hall. A ghostly maid makes her rounds, and a man has been seen walking straight through a closed door. Given how long the Galvez has stood, it's no surprise so many spirits might call it home. But one incident, occurring just three years after the hotel first opened its doors, stands apart — a case unsettling enough that it alone could explain a restless ghost.  Hotel Galvez, postcard
The Girl on the Beach
In 1914, the body of a beautiful young woman was found shot to death on Galveston Beach, within sight of the hotel. Suicide seemed the obvious explanation — until the details refused to add up. There were no powder burns at the wound. No weapon was ever recovered. No signs of struggle marred the sand. No one on the boulevard reported hearing a gunshot, or a cry for help. Her clothing — fine, expensive — bore no identifying marks, and she wore no jewelry at all. A Galvez Hotel employee discovered her body half-buried by the high tide. The physicians who examined her found that the bullet had passed clean through — a wound that would have killed her instantly. Whatever blood had spilled at the scene, the waves had long since carried away. Police theorized she might be the daughter of a wealthy family — lured to the beach, then robbed and murdered. She wore an expensive white dress of sheer fabric, new tan shoes, and matching silk stockings. Beside her lay a Panama hat and a single glove. She was strikingly beautiful: long, dark hair, gray eyes, no trace of makeup, and about 5'5" tall. Later that afternoon, investigators found something curious near the body — a small figurine of the Virgin Mary. Police began checking whether she'd attended services at St. Mary's Cathedral, searching for any thread that might lead to her name. On July 22, 1914, newspapers reported she might be Mrs. George Hopper of Cleburne, Texas. The lead went nowhere. Investigators also learned that on the night of the murder, several quarrels had broken out along the beach. One in particular stood out: a man and woman had driven up to the resort. He went in to arrange accommodations; she refused to leave the car. A violent argument erupted before the couple sped off into the dark.  Was Elvira Davis murdered? c.1914 (Source - The Austin American)
A Name, At Last
Finally, on July 24, cousins came forward and identified the woman: Elvira Davis of San Antonio, private secretary and librarian to the wealthy capitalist George W. Brackenridge. One theory took hold — that given her state of undress, lacking underskirts or petticoats, she'd been murdered inside the hotel, then dressed and carried down to the beach afterward. Brackenridge admitted he'd received a business letter from her the week before, though he insisted it gave no hint of any intent to end her life — a claim he would later recant. Rumor also spread that she feared cancer, the disease that had killed her sister, and that she suffered from chronic rheumatism of her own. Police floated yet another theory: that she'd been part of an automobile party that drove out to the beach, where she met her death for reasons unknown. The coroner's official ruling was maddeningly vague — death by "a bullet fired by some person or persons unknown." Two weeks later, Governor Colquitt offered a $200 reward for the arrest and conviction of her killer. The Verdict That Wouldn't Hold Despite the coroner's findings, the grand jury reversed course by the first week of August, ruling her death a suicide. The police disagreed — insisting she'd been murdered — and no one ever explained why the official story had changed. The police chief went further still, casting doubt on her very identity. Chief Perrett claimed he could produce affidavits showing the dead woman was no older than 24 — while Elvira Davis had been 44. That discrepancy, paired with the absence of powder burns and the absence of water in her lungs, cast serious doubt on the suicide ruling. Bruises marked her face, evidence of a beating before death. Fingerprints were found on her throat. And yet — complicating the murder theory just as thoroughly — was a farewell letter sent to her employer, and a telegram to a friend, Dr. Schaefer. In them, she wrote that hereditary rheumatism was overtaking her, that she had no one left depending on her, and that she couldn't bear becoming helpless in the care of others. Her parents and four of her siblings had already passed. A Mystery That Never Closed So which was it — murder, or suicide? And was the body even Elvira's at all? Four years before her death, she'd been living quietly in Benicia, California. After the inquest, the search for a killer simply faded away, even as police continued to insist she'd met with foul play. Perhaps she is one of the restless ones — the kind who cannot lie quiet in the grave. Perhaps she still walks the halls of the Galvez Hotel, waiting, like the bride of Room 501, for an ending that never comes. Comments are closed.
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