attention. I was pleased to learn that for decades, people have reportedly encountered the unexplained all throughout the sprawling twenty-two–acre property.
Established in 1851, Fort Phantom Hill—along with three additional sister forts in Texas—provided assistance to westbound settlers by ensuring safe passage through an area that was home to Comanche Indians. Captain Randolph B. Marcy sent Lieutenant Colonel J.J. Abercrombie to build the fort in 1849 and construction quickly began. Fort Phantom Hill was never officially given a name—it was originally referred to only as the “Post on the Clear Fork of the Brazos.” It has since become known as Fort Phantom Hill simply due to its location on the hill, although many legends exist to suggest that the spirits who inhabit the area today are responsible for the name.
Five companies of infantry were housed at the fort, but life for them was anything but easy. The area was barren and finding a reliable and steady source of water was one of their greatest challenges. I am sure the soldiers would have appreciated access to the man-made lake about two miles south of the fort today. Life was relatively uneventful for the soldiers occupying the land, save for a few encounters with Kiowas, Penateka Comanches, Kickapoos, and Lipans—none of them especially confrontational.
Fort Phantom Hill was not destined to last forever, as it was abandoned in April 1854. Sadly, most of the buildings were set ablaze and destroyed, though no one could determine how the fire began. What was left of the fort following the fire was turned into a way station for the Southern Overland Mail in 1858 and manned by a Mr. and Mrs. Burlington, who lived alone on the property. Colonel J.B. Barry of the Confederacy used Fort Phantom Hill as a base of operations during the Civil War, and in 1871 it served as a sub-post of Fort Griffin, which was located near what is now Albany, Texas.
Today the property remains isolated and nearly deserted, with three buildings still standing and about a dozen stone chimneys scattered about.
Both paranormal enthusiasts and everyday visitors to the ruins have often reported hearing what they believed to be Indian voices and calls coming from several areas within the fort. At times they have felt surrounded by the voices, becoming so uncomfortable that they felt forced to leave. Other stories circulate regarding a man who was supposedly lynched near Fort Phantom Hill for a crime he did not commit; one by one, all of his executioners soon met mysterious deaths of their own. Perhaps the spirits of the Native Americans and this unfortunate individual still keep a close and watchful eye on everyone who enters their territory.
After my discovery of these legends, I was eager to experience Fort Phantom Hill for myself. Allen and I marked it out on our map and set our sights on arriving one blustery winter morning just as the sun came up. As we approached the intact magazine sitting just off of the highway, we noticed a sign reading “No Metal Detectors Allowed.” Preservation of the site is the main priority of the Texas Historical Survey Committee, which oversees the property. Whatever remains beneath the surface at Fort Phantom Hill, it is best left undisturbed.
After spending a few moments snapping pictures near the magazine, we crossed the highway and waited for the caretaker to come and unlock the chain that secures the main entrance to the ruins. The sun had been up only for a short while, and the sky was littered with grey and looming clouds. It was a chilly morning and we had bundled up in anticipation of wandering about the grounds in the cold air. After just a few minutes of waiting in the car, a gentleman approached us with a friendly wave and allowed us to enter. Michael Sanchez introduced himself and walked us toward the guardhouse, which is the main building closest to the entrance.
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I am a little bit slower on Saturdays.”
Mr. Sanchez lives in a home just across the street, and opens the fort to the public every day at dawn, making sure to also lock it up at dusk every evening.
He took a quick look around as we discussed our excitement in visiting the ruins. Both Allen and I walked around the guardhouse and peered into the small barred windows and locked door.
“This building used to be open to the public, but it has since been locked up,” explained Michael. “But sometimes if you look in through the doorway and let your eyes adjust, you can see a big owl roosting up near the roof. It’s kind of neat to have him in there, making the fort his home.”
I stood in the doorway and tried to focus my vision, but there wasn’t a lot of light and I did not get to see the fort’s resident feathered friend.
I went on to mention that I was interested in profiling Fort Phantom for a paranormal book project, and Michael told us that several investigative groups had made it out in recent months to try and capture activity. Michael has been the caretaker of the fort for over twenty years and has met a lot of curious people interested in learning more about the history of the ruins.
“Throughout all of the years you’ve spent out here at the fort, have you ever personally experienced anything paranormal?” I asked.
“I was so proud of this one experience,” he said. “About a year ago, I walked out of my house when I heard troops calling cadence down in the valley behind the powder magazine. I went in to grab my wife so that she could hear it. When she came out, we didn’t hear anything except the sound of cars passing by. When a car passes, that’s really all that you hear. She wanted to go back in the house, but I told her to stay and listen. After the cars were gone, my wife heard the voices off in the distance too. I wish I would have written down the date somewhere so that I could go out at the same time a year later to see if I would hear it again. I never did.”
Allen mentioned the possibility of residual energy still present in the area.
“What else would there have really been to do out here but practice their marches?” he said.
Michael told us we were welcome to walk the property and spend as much time there as we needed before he left to return home. We had a very pleasant time discussing the fort with him and the possibility that maybe some of the soldiers who once lived here may still visit from time to time. I could tell he was extremely proud of how long he had been at the fort to oversee the ruins, and that he hoped to be there for many more years to come.
Just north of the guardhouse sits an old cistern. Just beyond that is a cannon, which stands alone in an area just before where the officer’s quarters once stood. The old stone chimneys and what remains of the foundations are really impressive, and inspired me to imagine what the structures looked like when they were new. I could picture the soldiers as they moved from one area of the fort to another, with a positive liveliness and purpose. I felt a sense of reverence as Allen and I explored and photographed each crumbled structure.
As we made our way to the commissary building, which is still largely intact, I honestly felt as though someone else was following closely behind us. I turned around several times wondering if there were other early morning visitors trailing along, only to find that we were still alone. We had the entire place to ourselves, and we spent a great deal of time just soaking in the environment around us.
There is an old wagon sitting among a patch of small trees and cactus that adds a bit of charm to the frontier atmosphere. Not much sits between the old commissary and the hospital complex due south of it. We took our time to walk across the property, all the while removing small sticker burrs from around our feet.
Allen and I discussed what it must have been like, literally stuck out in the middle of nowhere. The isolation from others surely must have had some impact on the soldiers who were stationed at the fort. What would these men have done to occupy their time? Fort Phantom Hill was a solitary and quiet pleasure for us to visit. As my husband and I wandered through the buildings and the brush, we held a silent hope that we too would hear the sound of the soldier’s cadence carried solemnly on the wind.
