Sitting on a sprawling 330-acre parcel just east of downtown Birmingham, the Birmingham Race Course doesn't look like a place that carries much mystery. Its grandstand is utilitarian, its parking lot vast and often half-empty. But the track has a history shaped more by ambition, disappointment, and collapse than by the pageantry of the sport it was built to celebrate — and beneath that history runs a thread of paranormal lore anchored to the land itself. The facility opened on March 4, 1987 under the name the Birmingham Turf Club, conceived as a showcase for thoroughbred horse racing in the Deep South. Backers envisioned a destination drawing gamblers and racing fans from across the region. Legendary jockey Willie Shoemaker recorded TV commercials from the winner's circle. The Birmingham Inaugural Stakes drew more than 13,000 fans on opening night, and the $85 million facility was heralded as a new era for Alabama entertainment. But the momentum collapsed almost immediately. Only a fraction of that opening crowd returned the following night, and the track bled money — reportedly losing up to $100,000 a day in its early weeks. It went bankrupt and shuttered within its first year. Delaware North Companies bought the property and reopened it in 1989, but it closed again by 1991. Greyhound racing magnate Milton McGregor purchased the course the following year and lobbied successfully to bring dog racing to the facility. For a few years, horses and greyhounds ran in alternating races on the same track. The combined betting handle peaked at $163 million in 1993, then began a long, steady decline. Live horse racing was abandoned entirely in 1995. The track reinvented itself multiple times — nightclub, boxing venue, home to the Alabama State Fair, and eventually a facility relying on simulcast wagering and slot-like historical racing machines. McGregor died in 2018. Live greyhound racing ended March 18, 2020. In April 2025, the Poarch Band of Creek Indians completed the purchase through their gaming arm, Wind Creek Hospitality, with plans to redevelop it into a destination resort. The paranormal claims trace back to the facility's very foundation. Accounts circulating for decades hold that the Race Course was constructed over an ancient Native American burial ground. Whether that claim can be formally verified, the land sits in a region deeply marked by Indigenous history — Creek and Cherokee peoples inhabited central Alabama for centuries before European settlement, and the broader Jefferson County area contains numerous known and undocumented ancestral sites. That history has shaped how visitors and staff interpret what they experience there. Employees working late hours have reported shadowy figures standing out on the darkened racecourse — present one moment, gone the next. The stables have drawn particular attention, with accounts of maniacal laughter and disembodied voices coming from areas where no one is present. Phantom hoofbeats have been reported on various parts of the property, a detail that carries specific weight in a place built around the sound of animals running. Visitors describe feeling suddenly and inexplicably watched, an ambient unease with no visible source. What gives the Birmingham Race Course an unusual quality among haunted locations is the layering of its story. The land may predate American settlement by centuries. The facility built upon it was born amid grand promises and failed almost immediately, repeating that cycle several times over three decades. And its new owners are the Poarch Creek Indians — the only federally recognized tribe in Alabama, and the direct descendants of the peoples whose ancestral territory once included this very ground. Whether that represents a closing of a circle is a matter of interpretation. The grandstand still stands, the racing machines still run around the clock, and the long corridors between the old stables sit in the particular silence of places that once held much more life than they do now.