Joseph McNamara H.
Yelp
If you're like me and you're fascinated by this murder case and its place in U.S. history, one of the biggest disappointments about this place is what a joke the whole thing seems to be to the folks who run it.
It's not really a museum dedicated to the Borden case or even the lives of the people involved; it's a museum dedicated to the different types of media, lore, and memorabilia that references the case. This is an important distinction. It's abundantly clear from just taking the tour that most of the relevant artifacts and documents are in the possession of the Fall River Historical Society, and this monstrosity is essentially the "Disney ride" version of the saga. The effect is, at best, kitsch, and, at worst, morally egregious, not unlike the Salem Witch Museum. For example, if you're familiar with the case, you know how important the small barn behind the house was to Lizzie's explanation of where she was and what she was doing at the time of the murders. That area is now a gift shop.
On my second visit to the Borden House, I paid to stay overnight in the Bridget Sullivan room. I find the case to be most interesting from her perspective as a witness. If you're an overnight guest, you have the run of a portion of the house--in my case, most of it, because no one else happened to be there that night--and can freely explore. This would be a huge selling point if the place weren't chock full of cheap props and axe joke signage. I assume that because it was a Monday night, the regular "ghost tour" wasn't happening, so I didn't encounter any staff either. I'm sure that's fun for families on a budget, but it's also nonsense when it comes to why the house is worth learning about. There were, however, dummies covered by bloody sheets in the places where the bodies were found. These creative choices are justified as "macabre humor" by the museum literature, but they're so half-heartedly executed that they come across as gross and mean-spirited. The house is also full of anachronistic items, along with knick-knacks and framed images for which context isn't provided.
The "bed and breakfast" element is obviously a ploy to milk people for their money by allowing them to explore the paranormal mythology of the location, but the hotel aspect comes at the expense of any authentic comprehension of how challenging it would have been to live in such an environment in the 1890s. But who cares about authenticity when you can put up a Christmas tree in the sitting room in December--just feet away from a covered dummy representing Andrew Borden's hacked corpse--for the sake of pulling off yet another axe joke?
Because I was the only guest staying there on my particular night, I had the unique experience of being aware that an employee was also present somewhere on the property due to the presence of another car in the back parking lot without ever encountering that person. This was easily the creepiest part of the whole stay. There are security cameras prominently mounted in every common area of the house. If the place was only a show business museum, which is all it is at its most substantive, this would be justifiable; but because it also technically functions as a hotel, the cameras create the sensation of being constantly watched by an AirBnB host with a prominently displayed murder fetish. This was made even more uncomfortable by the presence of a camera directly above and between the doors to Sullivan's room and the closest bathroom.
The surrounding neighborhood is entirely contemporary, so even though the Borden House is poorly maintained with respect to history, it remains the most well preserved piece of Fall River history aside from the nearby church.
In the middle of the night, I suffered an attack of conscience and realized I couldn't stay any longer. There was nothing directly ghostly or frightening about what I was experiencing; I was reminded of the detail from the trial pertaining to Lizzie laughing at the top of the main stairs when Bridget was letting Andrew inside the house. It seemed like there was always a spirit of contempt in how Bridget interpreted that laugh; perhaps because it was at the expense of her, the maid, oblivious to the massacred corpse Abby, the lady of the house, just feet above her head; or at the expense of Andrew, even more oblivious to his impending fate. But that night, it seemed like I could almost hear the owners of the museum laughing at me as yet another gullible guest, forever content to find entertainment in other people's tragedies.
I got out of bed, packed my things, and went out to my car. It was parked in a paved-over area where there used to be pear trees, a few feet away from the closed gift shop that stands there in place of the barn.