Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens Phipps After Dark Haunts with Psychic Vincent Sisters

Psychic Vincent Sister at Phipps Conservatory: The Grid of Spirits

During the Haunts After Dark event at the stunning Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, Suzanne and Jean Vincent served as the featured guest speaker and main presenter, sharing the haunted history of this historic space. As paranormal investigators and psychic mediums, Psychic Vincent Sisters had the wonderful opportunity to connect directly with the guests as they came through, sharing my real-time impressions and the stories of the spirits that linger within these Botanical Gardens glass walls. The psychic Vincent sister’s paranormal experience was truly uncanny, as the conservatory's history came alive throughout the night.

The Entrance: Right at the historic entrance, the spirit of George W. Burke—the former parks superintendent who tragically took his own life here in 1926—still watches visitors arrive. Investigators often catch his silhouette dressed in a 1920s suit reflected in the glass. While investigating this area, a staff member came forward to share their own chilling experiences, mentioning that they frequently hear phantom running water and strange noises coming from the restroom used by the offices. Right there, I could hear George pacing up and down the corridor, softly sobbing and muttering in distress, caught in the residual loop of the brutal public nervous breakdown that led to his tragic end.

The Palm Court: Under the 65-foot glass dome, the temperature plummets instantly as the phantom energy of founder Henry Phipps takes over. Suddenly, the heavy, unmistakable scent of premium cigar tobacco fills the air, sometimes accompanied by the sound of faint coughing echoing through the room. Witnesses have reported catching glimpses of his dapper, old-fashioned outfit shifting through the greenery. You can feel his physical presence as if a spirit is reaching out to touch your hair, and staff members have even reported the eerie sound of papers frantically shuffling near the office, as if his spirit is still obsessively looking for something left behind.

The Anomalies: In the South Conservatory, spirits draw directly from the electrical currents, causing the Garden Railroad trains to violently flash on and off, while down in the Welcome Center, the faucets blast on at full stream by themselves.

The Broderie Room: In this 1936 monastic garden, the suffocating silence drops at 3:00 AM. Guards hear the scraping of leather sandals on brick and smell burning frankincense. On the border near the Three Bronze Maidens in the back—which were brought over from the Sarah Mellon estate—you can actively sense a lady's presence. In the shadows, you can see the transparent, ghostly energy of Sarah Mellon herself. She lingers in the room as a phantom gardener, quietly potting plants and tending to the greenery. The moment you step into her space, the air becomes thick with the overwhelming, unmistakable scent of fresh roses, honoring the blooms she loved so dearly in life. When I started my walkabout, a staff member came up to me and said it was absolutely uncanny—hardly anyone knows the deep history of those specific statues, but based on what I was sensing, they agreed that it perfectly lines up with the lingering spirit of Sarah Mellon.

The Orchid Room: The most chilling, physical encounter of the night happened right here among the blooms. I was leaning in toward a glass display case filled with miniature orchids, gently reaching out to touch one. As I looked up into the glass panel of the case, I froze. Reflected perfectly in the glass was Anna Phipps—the wife of Henry Phipps. Her hair was swept up elegantly, and she wore a beautiful, cream-colored, old-fashioned dress. A second later, she vanished from the glass.

As I kept looking at the orchids, I suddenly felt someone physically touch me. I spun around, completely expecting to see my sister, Jean—but Jean was standing a good distance away. Instead, I caught sight of a transparent, shadowy figure darting off into the darkness. It was Anna Phipps, patrolling the room and letting me know she was actively making sure no one touches her prized orchids. As she disappeared back into the shadows, the air turned freezing cold, leaving behind the strong, unmistakable aroma of her signature Shalimar perfume.