Tucked away in the heart of Ballyjamesduff, the building that now houses the Cavan County Museum was originally constructed in 1883. Designed by renowned architect William Hague Jr., it served as a convent and boarding school for the Sisters of Mercy for well over a century.

The convent closed its doors in 1992. Four years later, following a sensitive restoration, the site reopened to the public as the Cavan County Museum—a space dedicated to archaeology, local heritage, folk traditions, and military history. One of its most immersive features is the World War I Trench Experience, which offers visitors a sobering glimpse into the front lines.

But the building itself is also treated as part of the collection. And with good reason.

Staff and visitors alike have spoken of strange sensations—robes rustling along quiet corridors, the scent of incense drifting through empty rooms. Some have reported a presence. Not threatening, but watchful. As if someone still walks the halls.

The figure most often described is that of a tall nun, silent and solemn in her habit. She has been seen gliding along upper corridors or standing quietly at the end of a hallway before vanishing without a sound. Her presence is said to be calm, even comforting—more caretaker than spectre. According to local accounts, she appears most often in November, close to All Souls’ Day.

One former staff member, when asked about the sightings, simply smiled and said: “She’s never done harm. But she’s definitely there.”

As night falls and the museum closes, some staff have reported the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps—as though someone is making their rounds, room by room. Just as the Sisters once did, many years ago.

Cold spots are often felt near the old chapel and the upper floors where the nuns once lived. These sudden drops in temperature are frequently accompanied by a distinct feeling of being watched.

And in the section that once served as a girls’ boarding school, a different kind of presence has been reported—the faint laughter of children. Not loud or disruptive. Just soft, fleeting echoes near the interactive exhibits. As if the energy of former pupils still lingers among the displays.