The Stories That Haunt Us (6 page)

“Oh Charles, they've come for her! I don't know whether to laugh or cry.”

Cassie looked truly happy, and was whispering excitedly with what must have been her brother. Her parents—her real, ghostly parents—were beaming down at their long-lost daughter. Margaret and Charles couldn't help but be happy for their little ghost.

Cassie's father thanked Margaret and Charles for caring for his daughter. Margaret invited them all to stay but her invitation was refused; the family had to return to England as soon as possible.

Cassie hugged Margaret and told her that she would never forget her, and that she would always be her earthly mother. Margaret had tears in her eyes when she thought of what lay ahead. “I'll never see you again, will I?”

“Never is a long time. Perhaps we'll meet somewhere later.” When Cassie turned to say goodbye to Charles, he was waiting with open arms for a hug from this girl he had barely believed in a few hours before.

“It is time,” called Cassie's father. “We must hurry.”

Margaret and Charles walked with Cassie to the veranda, where her parents and brother were waiting. They watched as the Fielding family disappeared inside a swirling bright light that lifted them skyward. They stood there watching, transfixed, until the four lights disappeared in the night sky. The couple turned to go back in. From a distant corner of the house they heard a thumping sound, then silence.

Footsteps

A
young couple, David and Helen, stood on the veranda of a beautiful house in Truro discussing the age and history of the house with the real estate agent. “Old, said the agent freely, “very old indeed. Built in 1810 as a matter of fact.” The agent told the couple that the same family had stayed in the house for those years. Then, hesitantly, she told them the home had remained vacant for quite a long time because of a tragedy. When they inquired as to what happened, David and Helen were told only that a murder had been committed. The agent was reluctant to go into any more detail, and changed the topic by asking them if they would mind living so far from town and neighbours. “The nearest neighbour is two miles away and the town itself, seven,” she said. David said that he and his wife would welcome the privacy. The real estate agent unlocked the front door and showed them inside.

They checked all the rooms. Helen peeked into every nook and cranny. There were no hidden passageways, no dark hallways leading to open trapdoors, no closet walls that fell away, and no unexplained shadows passing on the stairway. It was a simple, plain old house that needed some attention. David noticed only the old house smell, but he was more preoccupied with the financing. He saw the place as a good investment, and decided they would move in immediately.

A few uneventful days passed after the move; then, just after dinner one night, as Helen stepped out into the hall, a sudden rush of cold air pushed hard against her face, and she had the feeling of being unwelcome. Her misgivings about their new home grew. It wasn't so bad when David was home but when he left for work or had to go out of town on business, Helen felt uncomfortable being alone in the house. She felt like she was being watched by someone who was right behind her all the time. Several times she thought she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned her head, there was nothing there.

One day not too long after they had moved in, Helen was alone, making the bed upstairs, when she heard footfalls climbing on the steps. She stopped and listened, her heart beating loudly. She came out of the bedroom cautiously but there was no one on the stairs. She could see nothing, it was true, but she could still hear the sound of fading footsteps! Helen suddenly became weak. She would have fallen head long down the stairs if she hadn't grabbed the railing for support. She sat down quickly, wrapping her arms around her knees, and rocked back and forth, afraid of what might be in the house with her.

When her husband arrived home from work that evening, she told him what had happened. She was convinced the place was haunted. David laughed, telling her that it was probably just the excitement of a new place, and the power of suggestion.

That night in bed, unable to sleep, Helen ran through the day's events in her mind; she wasn't so sure it was just her imagination or the excitement of a new place. She was certain that what she'd heard that morning was real.

Rolling over on her left side to face the wall, she suddenly found herself looking straight into the eyes of a child. It was standing so close to the bed that Helen could feel its cold breath on her face. The child touched Helen's cheek with the tip of her finger, whispering, ”Mummy, is that you?” Helen stiffened. The little girl stepped back—right through the wall until she was gone. Helen muffled a pitiful cry with her fist pressed to her lips. She didn't want to awaken her husband—he would only say she'd dreamt it.

Many questions swirled through Helen's mind as she fixed her eyes on the wall where the child had disappeared. This explained the footsteps this afternoon, she thought to herself. She could not stay here! How was she going to convince her husband that the house was haunted and they would have to leave?

First, she decided, she would have to find out who the child was and why she was haunting the place. Something terrible must have happened. That was it: when David left for work in the morning, she would find out all she could about the family that had lived in the house and the murder that had taken place.

The next morning, Helen was in her bedroom getting ready to go into town to the local newspaper office when the room suddenly went ice cold. An inner voice told her to run but it was too late. The mirror she was looking into smashed to smithereens. As she turned to flee, an unseen force attacked her and held her down. Her face felt like it was covered in cobwebs, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't pull them off. She heard footsteps on the stairs and the whining voice of the child calling out, ”Mummy, Mummy where are you? Don't leave me.” Helen got down on her hands and knees, dragging herself into the hallway and down the stairs. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she managed to get the front door open and she broke free. She collapsed on the ground. She wanted to run as far away from the place as she could but she was too weak to move any farther.

From around the corner of the house a tall man carrying an axe walked slowly toward her. Thank God, Helen thought. Another living human being. She assumed he was a woodsman by the plaid shirt and breeches he wore.

Helen was too weak to get up. The stranger removed the axe from his shoulder and cradled it in his arms, like he was holding an infant. Helen shivered, not from the chill in the air, but from what he might do with the axe, but fear left her body when she looked up into his friendly face. He smiled down at her before he spoke.

“I was wondering as I came around the house why you were sitting on the ground and then I remembered the chilling history of this house.” Helen explained her experience with the spirits inside. The stranger suggested they go inside where it was warm, jokingly telling her that even ghosts were afraid of a man carrying an axe.

Helen was reluctant to re-enter the house, but something about the man's demeanor made her feel safe, and she found her courage returning. Once they were seated inside, Helen asked the man to explain what he had meant when he had mentioned the “chilling history of the house.” She begged him to tell her the story. He provided her with the grisly details.

“An escaped patient from the insane asylum hid in the woods for weeks and when he thought it was safe to come out, he snuck inside this house while the family slept. He then crept upstairs and killed them all.”

“Was he caught?”

“Oh, yes indeed and hanged as well. There are reports his ghost is also seen around the property.” Helen shivered and was thankful that so far she had just run into the ghost of the little girl that afternoon.

They were still seated at the kitchen table when they heard a car drive up. Helen looked at the wall clock. It was near noon. She told the woodsman that her husband was home for lunch, but the stranger wasn't listening.

David hurried up the veranda steps and went inside. He saw his young wife slumped over the kitchen table. He thought she might be napping, but sensed something was wrong. From somewhere upstairs he heard a child's voice whispering, “Mummy, mummy.” On the wall, he saw the shadow of what looked like someone holding an axe over his head.

Music to Wake the Dead

T
he house in this story is long gone, destroyed by fire as, I'm told, most haunted houses are. For the setting, we must return to the 1940s, to a house located in east Guysborough County. The young man of the house—we'll call him “Tim”—loved music. His favourite music at that time was the famous drummer Gene Krupa. Now, Tim preferred sleeping in the attic because there he could play the drums and listen to music without disturbing the family. But he didn't consider others who might be disturbed.

One night, Tim was playing a record on a portable phonograph, and following along on his drums. He was dreaming that one day he might be as good as Krupa when suddenly the arm of the phonograph was dragged across the record, seemingly of its own accord. Before young Tim knew what was happening, the record went sailing across the room and was smashed to pieces against the wall. Sometimes, as they say, music that's played too loud might wake up the dead.

The next day, Tim reported the previous night's incident to his parents. Their immediate response was to blame his friends. “Who else was with you?” they queried. “No one!” he exclaimed. “It had to have been a ghost.” But the boy's parents merely laughed at him and would not believe his explanation of a ghostly presence.

There is more to the story, however. This wasn't the first time Tim had experienced supernatural occurrences while in the attic. A few months before, he had seen the blurry outline of a person. He had been dozing at the time, and had thought it was a dream. But when he awoke later, he felt an uneasiness and remembered the vision. His parents laughed and discounted his tale, chalking it up to an overactive imagination.

The very next morning when Tim's mother was cleaning her son's room, she felt a cool breeze sweep past her. Just before she fainted, she saw an impression on the bed, as if someone was sitting on it—someone she couldn't see. At that moment, the mother changed her mind about ghosts, and changed her address, too.

The B&B Ghost

I
n 1784, George Gracie of Boston gathered up his belongings, including a two-storey log cabin, loaded everything aboard a vessel and sailed off to Nova Scotia's southwestern shore. Like so many other Empire Loyalists before him, he began a new life on Dock Street in Shelburne.

This new citizen of Nova Scotia soon became a member of the House of Assembly. As George Gracie prospered, he rebuilt his humble log cabin into a three-storey Georgian-style house. The Gracie home still stands and is known today as Coopers Inn and Restaurant. It's also a B&B, owned and operated by Joan and Allan Redmond. From the stories I've been told, it's haunted by George. George Gracie, that is.

Before the Redmonds bought the Gracie home in 1994, the family living there asked their friend Pat Ferguson, owner of the Moon Shadow B&B, if she would check on the house and pets while they were away for a weekend. It was pitch black when Pat stepped into the hallway of her friends' home. After fiddling around for the hall switch, she finally got the lights on. Everything seemed to be in order. Pat took care of the pets, then went up the dark stairs to check the bedrooms. The last thing on Pat Ferguson's mind was the idea that someone might be lurking in the shadows. There was certainly no reason for her to believe the place was haunted.

She finished her tour of the upstairs, and went back down to the main floor. She entered the parlour, and stiffened suddenly. She heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Someone else was in the house!

Pat quickly walked from the parlour to the living room, which faced the stairs. When she looked up, she could make out the shadowy outline of a figure standing on the stairs. With her heart pounding, Pat went into the kitchen. The footsteps followed her. Pat didn't wait to see who or what it was. She threw open the back door and ran full speed until she got back to the safety of her own home.

Later, when she got control of herself, Pat realized she hadn't secured the home. She called a friend and together they went back to check on it. When they got there, the lights were off and the front door was locked. But by whom?

It wasn't long after Joan and Allan Redmond moved in that they realized they weren't the only ones living in George Gracie's home. The family became aware of the haunting when one of the Redmond children was cleaning a bedroom and noticed the bed she had just finished making had the imprint of a body imprint on it. Assuming the ghost of George Gracie was near, the child said, “That's it George. If you have to sit, then sit on the settee and not on the bed.” From that moment on there was never another visitation from the ghost.

Joan Redmond says she has never seen a ghost in her home, but when she's upstairs in the old part of the house, she has the sense she's not alone.

There were times when overnight guests at the B&B wanted to know the name of the woman who was sitting in an upstairs bedroom wearing nineteenth-century clothes. Another guest told the Redmonds that he was coming downstairs behind a woman in a long dress. He said when she moved the dress made a swishing noise. And when they reached the bottom step the woman disappeared before his very eyes! Other guests complained about radios and television being unplugged and lights being turned on and off in their rooms.