Category Archives: Ghosts and Apparitions

Ghost in a Field

25 Sunday Oct 2020

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I am not sure what I saw. I don’t know if this is what you are looking for but here it goes.

My brother-in-law bought a parcel of farmland, to start an organic farming operation. He had to jump through a lot of bureaucratic hoops as well as years where he couldn’t claim the organic label.

Finally, he was able to acquire organic status but at this point, he was pretty broke. The whole family pitched in to help which is why I was out in the field, I’m a systems analyst. I have no experience in farming.

My sister and her husband had cauliflower and cabbage that needed to be harvested. He couldn’t afford to hire outside workers. So he asked for help.

I was out, in the field, harvesting some of the crop. I had been at it all day; the sun was starting to go down. I was looking down my row, to see how much more needed to be pulled and I saw a man, just standing in the field. The light wasn’t great, I thought he might have been one of my relatives or one of my brother-in-law’s friends, so I waved. He didn’t wave back, he just stood there, seemed to be staring at me. I called out to him but there was no response. Nothing.

It was pretty creepy; I was by myself in this section. I could see other people, but they were pretty far off. I guess they would have heard me if I yelled loud enough. I called out to the guy again. He just stood there. I was getting suspicious, like maybe he was up to something, maybe stealing some of the crop. I started to walk toward him, figuring he would run off. No. He just stood there and seemed to be staring at me. It was really kind of scary. I thought about turning around and finding someone to help but, there was no one close enough. The guy would have run off, with his haul, by the time I got back.

So, I kept walking toward him. I could see that he was dressed in field clothes, old jeans, and a shirt. The light was really fading but he seemed to have dark hair, not very tall.

Then suddenly, he was gone. I mean, just winked out. Gone. One minute he was there, the next, nothing.

I don’t mind admitting, I was pretty freaked out. I ran up to the spot where he had been standing. I had a hat with those lights on, we would pick until after dark. I flipped the lights on. He was gone, he was not lying on the ground, hiding. He had not run away. He was just gone. I looked down to see where his footprints were leading. There were no footprints. This is farm soil, there should have been footprints. The air turned cold, ice cold. I was suddenly, completely scared. It was in the air. Fear, I was breathing in, fear.

No, that’s not right. I terrified. I thought I had experienced fear before but not like this. My bladder let go. Embarrassing but I was so frightened, so scared, I had no control. Then I heard godawful moaning sounds. That was it, I took off running. Through the crops. I didn’t stop until I hit the area where we had parked our vehicles, earlier; had to have been close to an entire acre away. My brother-in-law was there, he was with a couple of other people, loading the day’s pick into the back of his truck.

I was leaning against my car and started to vomit. I was shaking, I was completely out of breath, my legs were jelly. My brother in law ran up to me, really concerned. I did my best to tell him what happened, in between gasps of air. He called to the guys he had been with, and the three of them, headed out to investigate.

They came back, a short time later, they had not seen a soul, they had found nothing. I wasn’t surprised. I knew no one was there. It was dark now, the sun was gone. Everyone started to come in. There was a lot of conversation about what happened. Some people laughed, said it was too much sun. Some people just looked at me, like I was nuts.

A few months later, my sister and my brother-in-law came to my place for dinner; my brother-in-law drew me aside. Word of what happened to me, spread through his little town. Probably started as a funny story about city folks. Except, turns out, it wasn’t so funny at all.

There was a previous owner of the land I was working, he used to bring in migrant workers. Rumour had it that he did not treat them well. If the day’s quotas were not met, he wouldn’t feed them. They were forced to find shelter in his barn, with his cows. There were no facilities. No showers. If they wanted to bathe, it had to be in the irrigation ditches.

There were darker rumours of physical abuse, beatings and worse, that the workers were chained up at night. One of the workers went missing. Shortly after the talk of the missing man started to spread, the farmer was busted for his treatment of the workers. Not much was done, the workers were sent home, some of them found work on other farms but they insisted one of their number had vanished. The workers report the disappearance, to the authorities – the police, when the farm was raided. From the looks of things, they were ignored.

The man was a migrant, no status and it appears, only his friends, cared. People assumed he had just taken off, to escape the abuse, maybe heading to the city but some of the workers, insisted, described a terrible beating, out in the fields. They reported hearing screams and seeing one of the farmer’s regular hands swinging a shovel, up and down, the sound of that shovel hitting something. The screams, quickly, stopped. They reported, later, the farmer and his farmhand, were seen dragging something toward an outbuilding and the sound of machinery. The migrants claimed the farmer’s employee had killed their friend, beating him to death and that the farmer helped to dispose of the poor migrant’s body, in a woodchipper.

It turns out, that the field, where I had been working, was the spot where the migrant had been murdered. I am not saying I saw his ghost. I don’t know what it was. I will say that I have never gone out in the fields since, I still help but from the safety of the vehicles. Loading produce.

It Was Only A Candy Tin

24 Saturday Oct 2020

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My parents used to rent a cottage every summer, in the Laurentians. A region north of Montreal, full of cottages, lakes, ski hills.

My siblings and I used to go for walks along a nearby country road, to a depanneur (general store), where they sold comic books and candy.

Most of the road was edged by forest, thick forest but there was a section that had been cleared, obviously a long time ago, way back was an abandoned house and a barn. It looked pretty creepy and so, of course, it fascinated us, and we came up with our own backstories, each of us trying to outdo the other, in creepiness.

The house had most of the windows broken out, the paint was a distant memory, whatever colour it had once been, was now a weathered grey, what was left, was flaking off. There was a veranda, but it was falling apart, you could see that stairs were missing, from the road. One side of the barn had collapsed, inward. It could have been a poster for a scary movie. A single tree, broken branches, in the front of the place, the driveway was overgrown, by raggedy weeds and could hardly be seen.

It must have been July, around 1984 or 85. I was 13. My brother was 15, my little sister was 11, we were on our way to the store, we were getting close to the clearing where the old house stood. I remember daring my brother to go up to the place and look inside. I probably called him “chicken” or a baby. Maybe it was having a little sister call him out or maybe it was a build up of curiosity; whatever the reason, he veered off the road and started to make his way through the overgrowth.

My sister and I ran after him, yelling for him to stop. This was breaking the rules. He broke out in a run, toward the house; we were trying to catch up, screaming at him to wait. He didn’t.

He went in, alone. I told my little sister to wait by the tree, in front of the house; this place looked dangerous. Stairs were missing up to the veranda, and the other ones may as well have been. I remember how they bowed when I stepped on them. The veranda was missing floorboards as well, exposing a dark, scary underbelly. I was sure something was going to try to grab my foot and drag me down to the dark. Even after all these years, I can recall the terror of that place. It smelled like terror – mold and damp, decomposition of who knew what. Just rot. The place was rot, personified.

I don’t remember all of it, I think I’ve probably blocked it out. I recall pieces of furniture, a sofa that had sacrificed itself to rodents, it had been picked apart, what looked like hair was hanging out. Probably horsehair. I didn’t get that close to it. There were old photos, in frames, on the floor, glass broken and the images were now nothing more than water stains and dirt. A rocking chair on its side.

There was a kitchen, cupboard doors were hanging, some had simply given up the ghost and fallen to the floor. There were dishes in those cupboards. I could see that they were filthy. I didn’t want to get any closer, there was rodent poo on, virtually, every surface.

The smell was stifling, even with the broken windows and the air flow, it was like being smothered in rank. There was an old kitchen table, covered, like everything else, in rodent droppings, 5 chairs – 3 of them were lying on their side. There was a door leading out to a summer kitchen, with one of the walls leaning inward. The furniture was still there but like the rest of the place, it was rotting.

My brother called me; he had gone up to the second floor. Yes, a really dumb move, as the stairs were in horrible shape, the bannister hanging with a hope and a prayer. All I wanted to do was to get out of the place but he was calling me and he had urgency in his voice. I stuck to the side of the stairs, closest to the wall but without touching it. There was black and white mold, everywhere. My real fear was spiders or something else crawly. The place was full of spiders, cobwebs. This whole outing was a bad idea.

I made it up the stairs, alone – nothing with multiple legs had managed to hitch a ride or so I remember.

There were 3 entrances, off the second floor hallway; 1 door was closed, the other 2 were open. My brother was standing in the frame of one. His face was filthy but he was excited. The room he was in, had 2 beds, with old, styled metal headboards. There were, I guess they were sheets and blankets at one time. Just kind of shreds now. You could see the mattress ticking and the rodents had been busy here as well.

My brother was showing me bureaus with boys’ items still on them, covered in dust, leaves and grime. He started to pull out a drawer, and the floor gave way under him. The crack of the wood and seeing him fall? I learned, that day, what it meant to be so afraid, you pee’d yourself. Only one of his legs went through, just up to his shin. He pulled himself out and he was pale, even under the dirt; his eyes were wide and teary. Big brother was scared. We both looked at his shin, it was scraped up, pretty badly. There would be a lot of explaining to do, when we got back to the cottage.

I looked at the hole and there was a box, I could make out a bit of the colour and see writing on it. Scare and pain forgotten, my brother yelped and reached in to pull it out. It was an old tin, we wiped off the top with my brother’s sleeve; it was a candy tin.

We rested it on the old bureau trying to pry the lid off. It was stuck. We pushed and prodded, but rust had sealed it shut.

Our little sister was yelling from outside. She was fed up and wanted to go. My brother and I agreed to come back, another day. He grabbed up the tin and we made our way out. Carefully.

We were desperate to open the tin, if you shook it – you could hear things rattling. It was more than he could take; we needed our Dad. The store could wait. We offered up our candy money to our little sister, with a promise that we’d bring her to the store, the next day, so much the richer for her cooperation and silence.

She finally agreed and we started toward the road. We were almost there when she said, “Who is THAT? Was there someone else in the house?”

She was pointing to one of the windows. There was a shape, a dark body shape, in one of the windows, on the second floor. It as there. It wasn’t my imagination, we all saw it. Figuring it was someone living in that mess..someone in “authority”. We took off, running all the way back to the cottage.

I remember we got in trouble, my brother more than my sister or myself. He was, after all, the eldest. We spun a tale of playing tag on the road and that’s how my brother hurt his leg. Story was that we found the tin, on the side of the road, in some weeds.

My parents were just as interested in the tin, as were we. Mom cleaned it off and my Dad went about trying to open it, with Mom telling him to be careful and not damage the tin. Dad finally opened the lid and poured out the contents. It was, obviously, a secret treasure box, for some little boy, long ago. There were 3 mandatory marbles, a couple of pennies from 1920, an old pen knife with a pearl handle, and a couple of metal toy soldiers. My brother was disappointed. I guess he expected real treasure or at least a secret decoder ring. He lost interest and wandered off. I joined him. I don’t know what my parents did with the contents of the tin.

But the story didn’t end there; that night, my brother woke us all up, screaming. My folks ran into his room, with my sister and I, in hot pursuit. He was sitting straight up in bed, there were tears on his face, he was looking at us, over my Dad’s shoulder, his eyes were wild and terrified. My sister and I were invited to go back to our room, by my Mom. We talking about what had happened, scared ourselves silly but eventually went back to sleep.

Next day, my brother pulled us aside and told us what had scared him. Something woke him up, he thought he had been shaken awake by someone or something. Rough. Hard. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and there was a bruise. A new one. There was someone in his room, he told us. A dark shape, just standing there, as if it was just looking at him, then it started to move toward him and he that’s why he had screamed. It disappeared when we came into the room.

We were at the cottage for another week, the next night, was the same thing, he screamed, we all came running. Nothing was there.

He wanted to bunk in with my sister and I but my folks wouldn’t allow it. They weren’t ogres; Mom offered to sleep in his room and he could sleep with our Dad. Neither of them were too happy about it but that was the only option. Sure enough, Mom woke up, screaming. Dad flew into the room, with my sister and I in hot pursuit. As I ran past my parents’ room, I saw my brother, still in the bed, sitting up – looking like the “O” emoji. Dad turned on us and actually yelled for us to go back to our rooms. Dad yelling just make this all the scarier. My sister and I were in tears, in our rooms. My brother came in, Dad and Mom were still in my brothers’ room, Dad had closed the door, they were talking, low but I could hear my Mom talking a mile a minute, her voice raising and lowering.

My brother told us that he thought this was our fault. That going into that house and taking the tin brought something back. Something bad. For the remaining nights, we all slept in my parents’ room. Vacation was over the night my brother screamed.

As it turned out, that was the last year we went to the cottage. My Dad was diagnosed with cancer, that October. He passed away 4 months later. Mom put the house up for sale. She couldn’t afford it and it was too hard to maintain. We had a yard sale and I noticed Mom had put the candy tin, we had found, up for sale. I asked her why she was selling it as she seemed pretty stoked about it, when we presented it. She just said, it gave her the creeps and she wanted it gone.

A few years later, when we were in our early twenties; Mom suggested we all get together for one more vacation at the old cottage. Time has a way of making your forget so, although we weren’t real happy about it, we agreed.

Our first night, we were sitting around the kitchen table, playing cards, drinking wine; my brother was telling stories about the old days, vacation – my little sister brought up the house. This was the first time my Mom had heard about it. She paled up.

There was a backstory to the house and she knew it. The couple that ran the store told her, when she had mentioned how sad it was, that it was abandoned like that. A man, his wife and 4 kids lived in the house. One of the boys was killed, he was playing in the barn and fell, breaking his neck. The father took it very badly and started drinking, then becoming violent. He beat his wife and remaining 3 kids. Finally, the wife picked up and left. The husband shot himself in the head, in his son’s room, shortly after. We all figure the tin belonged to the boy who died in the barn and maybe it was the Dad who wanted the tin put back.

I guess the moral of the story is to leave things be, if they don’t belong to you.

Halifax Haunting

30 Monday Oct 2017

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One of the more “haunted” places in Halifax; a city that is rich in history and in mystery; the wonderful 5 Fisherman Restaurant. Strange grey mists, taps going on and off, glasses and cutlery landing on the floor. The common “haunted location” feeling of never being quite alone…

Staff report cold spots and disembodied voices, including a man and woman arguing in a private dining room (Captain’s Quarters); this room also has apparitions who wander in and out. Ghostly hands are have been known to tap unsuspecting folks on the shoulder.

A frequent non-corporeal visitor is an older gentlemen, described as tall, with long grey hair and a long dark coat. He is often noticed when objects crash to the floor; one waiter reported seeing the man in a mirror after an ashtray was found, in pieces, on the floor. When the man noticed the apparition in a mirror, he turned to see who this was and there was no one there, turning back to look at the mirror, in shock, the reflection had vanished.

This same man was seen by another staff member; the man was on the phone and noticed the strange, tall man standing a distance away; he addressed the gentleman and informed him that he was be with him, directly. Upon finishing his conversation, hanging up the phone, he turned to speak to the man. He had disappeared.

Another incident was not quite so innocent; a hostess was showing clients to a table when she felt something brush her cheek, hard. She didn’t think much of it, at the time, when she returned to her station, the Maitre’d asked what had happened to her face. She went to look in the mirror and there was a clear imprint of a hand, as if she had been slapped.

A definite “must” if you find yourself in Halifax.

Motherhouse Convent, Concordia University

29 Sunday Oct 2017

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On the corner of Guy and René-Lévesque, there stands the Grey Nun’s Motherhouse; it is now the property of Concordia University and believed to be one of the most haunted buildings in Montreal.

The Motherhouse was built in 1871 for the Grey Nuns; it was not only a residence for the sisters but a hospital and an orphanage. There is also a crypt in the basement where 232 nuns are resting, hopefully, in peace.

The reason the bodies are still there, are hygienic; many of the sisters died of contagions, presumably caught while tending the sick in the hospital. Concordia did do extensive renovations, but the sisters still rest eternal in the basement.

The history of the place takes sad turn, when in 1918 there was a fire on the top floor, the orphanage. Apparently more than 50 children were trapped and died in the inferno. The exact number isn’t known as the interior was incinerated.

The sound of children crying is reported to be heard, emanating from the top floor. Some people, in residence at the building, report severe sleep disturbances, nightmares about dead children – sounds of running feet, always accompanied by the terrible, terrified, weeping of children.

There is a daycare in the building and there have been reports of children of the center making friends with “imaginary” children. The friends are described as having tattered, burned clothing.

The Ghost of Mary Gallagher

29 Sunday Oct 2017

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I would not be a true “Montréalaise” if I allowed a collection of creepy stories without the gruesome tale of Mary Gallagher.

On the morning of June 27th, Mary, her friend Michael Flanagan decided, fatefully, it would turn out, to visit her friend and fellow prostitute, Susan Kennedy. Susan lived at 242 William Street, on the second floor.

Susan Kennedy was tried and found guilty of Mary’s murder.
Also at the residence was Susan’s husband – Jacob. Jacob left the home, shortly after Mary and Michael arrived. Susan testified that she left Michael and Mary alone, while she went out to buy whiskey.

When she returned, Kennedy, Gallagher and Flanagan attempted to polish off the bottle. Kennedy, during the inquiry, reported that Flanagan went to lie down, as a result of the whiskey’s effects, in a bedroom.

According to Kennedy’s testimony, she followed him and sat down to “talk”; while they were “talking”, Kennedy’s husband came home and was not impressed by finding his wife (although she was a prostitute), in bed – with Flanagan.
There was an exchange of words between Kennedy and her husband, and he stormed out of the residence.
It is important to note that Jacob Mears, Kennedy’s husband did not drink; Kennedy, on the other hand, not only drank but was known as a rather unpredictable as well as a nasty drunk.

Flanagan was called to testify at Susan Kennedy’s trial and claimed that when he decided to have a lie down, Susan and Mary were in friendly spirits. He said, when he woke up in the afternoon, he was thirsty and asked Susan to get him a glass of water. Flanagan then suggested that they go out for a beer; there was a heated discussion regarding who would pick up the tab. Flanagan left and claimed that he saw Mary lying, face down on the floor. He claimed that there was no blood to be found. He further claimed to have not questioned why Mary was on the floor because he was in too much of a hurry to grab something to drink.

Susan’s version of the events were somewhat different. She claims that she was in bed with Flanagan, sleeping when she heard Mary invite a man into Kennedy’s home. Susan claims to have met the man, previously, but couldn’t remember his name. Due to drink, she fell back asleep but was awakened by arguing between Mary and this mysterious stranger.
Susan went back to sleep; when she awakened, the arguing had stopped….the man was gone and Mary was no more.

Susan testified, “When I saw her I got such a fright that I fell upon the floor. She was lying on her breast. Her body was next to the door with the feet pointing to the street. Her head was in the tub, also one of her hands. I am not sure but that this hand was on the floor. I went to call the police but I was too weak.” Going on, Kennedy claimed Flanagan not only saw the state of Mary’s body but when he did, he ran away.

Poor Jacob, Kennedy’s sad sack hubby, came home to the sight of Mary’s dismembered body. He left is wife in the home and ran to get the police.

Kennedy’s clothes were covered in blood. She claimed that while trying to clean up, she slipped and fell in it.

The police called in, to testify, said: Kennedy had told them that “a man came into the house Friday morning and gave her (Kennedy) some money, which, arousing the jealousy of the deceased, the latter and the man had a quarrel and the man killed her. She said she saw the man wash the blood from his hands and clear out. Before going he warned her not to tell the police. She did not know the man’s name, and was glad he had escaped because he was a good-looking fellow.”

This is a link to the story in the Witness. http://collections.banq.qc.ca/erezFullScreen…

The mystery man was never identified but, the police did find Jacob’s axe covered in blood, flesh and hair, inside the Kennedy/Mears home. Susan and Michael Flanagan were arrested.

During the trial – witnesses claimed to have heard fighting between the two women and Kennedy screaming, at someone in the flat, “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll split your head open.”

The tenant, living downstairs from Kennedy, testified that she hears a loud sound, like a body drop, then, the sound of the axe being used on something. She also claimed to have heard Kennedy say, “I’ve wanted revenge for a long time. I finally got it.”

Kennedy was found guilty and Flanagan was released. She was sentenced to be hung on Dec. 5th.
She didn’t hang, instead her sentence was commuted, and she spent the next 16 years in prison. She was released and promptly disappeared.

Michael Flanagan ended up drowning, on Dec. 5th , in 1879 – strangely, on the very day that Susan had been scheduled to hang.

Our poor victim, Mary, was buried in what is termed a “pauper’s grave”. While she may not have been on people’s minds while she lived, she certainly gained notoriety by her death and for over a century following.

The Irish, a superstitious cultural group, began to swear that Mary was still wandering the neighbourhood, minus one important detail of her person…her head.

Somewhere along the line – Mary’s legend solidified, and Montreal legend now has it that every 7 years, the next appearance should be June 27th, 2019, Mary walks the streets of Griffintown – William and Murray Streets, looking for her head.

This is all that remains at the address. If you are feeling up to the task – take a walk….


Tranquille Sanatorium

26 Thursday Oct 2017

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Off to British Columbia and the Tranquille Sanatorium; it was built in 1907, first as a ranch but shortly thereafter, it was re-tooled to house tuberculosis patients. The hospital closed as a sanatorium in 1958 as the incidents of TB had declined, it re-opened in 1959 as a hospital for the mentally ill. It closed, permanently, in 1984.

Sanatoriums and the various types of hospitals are always fruitful hunting grounds for paranormal experience. Tranquille is no exception.

The buildings are abandoned now and are off-limits, but people still manage to sneak in.

Orbs are reportedly seen throughout the buildings and sudden temperature drops from one area to another.

Feelings of sadness, being watched and just general heebie-jeebies permeate in all of the buildings. There are tunnels as well, these seem to have the most paranormal activity; the tunnels were used to move food, laundry and supplies between the various areas of the hospital but they were also used to transport the dead. The staff felt that this was the best way to avoid upsetting the other patients. Tuberculosis had/has a high mortality rate.

People report being pushed by unseen hands, in the tunnels, severe cold spots and moans are heard throughout.

Before the hospital closed as a sanatorium, it houses over 600 people, staff included. Over 1600 people died in the facility.

When it was clear that TB was on a marked decline; the hospital began to take in the mentally ill; this was from 1959 to 1984.

There are reports of a nurse, who had been murdered by a patient, in the tunnels, when he was being moved to another ward, she is still seen in the facility – sometimes in the tunnels and sometimes in the hallways.

Before it closed, nurses reported feeling like they were being watched; the mentally ill patients often became agitated, restless until they were outside of the buildings. Lights would go on and off, of their own volition. Photos taken have shown a mist that was not seen by the naked eye.

Nurses also reported hearing footsteps in empty hallways and screams from empty wards, even on the day shifts.

The “B” wing was the Pediatric ward; the sounds of children crying are said to be heard; a full apparition of a woman is seen wandering the hallways, crying – the sound of her weeping is heard even after she has disappeared.

In the basement, an electrician who died, has decided to stick around his last job site. Perhaps unaware that the job finished with his demise.

There are current non-corporeal residents that don’t seem to welcome intrusion into their cloistered world and will chase the living out of the buildings.

Headless Valley of Nahinni National Park

25 Wednesday Oct 2017

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For this one, we head to the Northwest Territories; Nahinni National Park, an insanely beautiful but scary piece of Canadian geography.

Nahinni is very remote and not a typical tourist destination. You can’t drive in – you need a bush plane or be adept at insane white water rafting and portage.

The area has a rather bad reputation with aboriginal Canadians; an evil place, filled with demons and horrific carnivores. The mountainous areas of Nahinni was the home of the Naha tribe – also a subject of horror and mystery. The Naha were aggressive and violent, frequently attacking the lower-land Dene villages, taking with them, after the attack, the heads of their victims.

Then the Naha disappeared, without a trace. Nothing. Simply disappeared.

Long after the disappearance of the Naha people; the gold rush began. Due to the remote location and some fascinating geographic anomalies (areas that never freeze due to hot springs), rumours began of huge gold veins. Few miners, regardless of “gold fever” were brave enough to venture to the area but enough had caught the gold fever to find their way to the valley now known as 200 Mile Gorge. It was through these people that the horrific legends from the area began to spread.

Enter the McLeod brothers, soon to play a pivotal role in the Gorge’s dark reputation.

In 1908, Willie and Frank McLeod made their way to an area, now known as 200 Mile Gorge; with the belongings packed, they headed into the interior and were never heard from again. Nobody really sounded an alarm; the Gorge was the deep northern wilderness after all, replete with bogs, sinkholes, bears, wolves, a territory whose dangers were totally uncharted.

A year after the brothers disappeared, their bodies were recovered, next to a river. They had both been decapitated and their heads were missing.

This could have been written off as the work of robbers, after whatever gold the brothers had found. It could have, except about 9 years later, another miner died. Martin Jorgenson. He had built himself a small cabin. He died in that cabin when it burned down; his remains were recovered. Most of his remains, there was no skull.

Several decades later, another miner was found in his sleeping bag, also minus his head.

These are the bodies that were recovered. It is estimated that 44 people have simply vanished in the valley.

The native Canadians of the region believe the valley is cursed, some believe that the disappearances and gruesome decapitations are the work of the ghosts of the Naha tribe.

The area remains as a largely untouched part of the country; the difficulty in reaching the area and perhaps the legends manage to keep Nahanni mysterious and not a little scary.

Ghosts of Place du Canada

23 Monday Oct 2017

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Going to hang around Montreal for another story; this one is about a popular spot in Old Montreal, Place du Canada.

During spring, summer and fall, you can see all sorts of Montrealais(e) enjoying the lunch or just taking in the scenery in and around the square.

It is a popular place and as you can see in the photo, a very pretty one but….and isn’t there always a “but”, beneath their feet lie the metaphorical and literal skeletons from Montreal’s past.

In this case, the Sainte-Antoine Cholera Cemetery; estimates are hard to come by but safe to say, thousands of people were, in some cases, all too quickly turfed during the cholera and typhus epidemics, some in mass graves, beginning in 1832. The largest admitting period for the cholera victims – some of them, horrifically, not quite dead, was between 1832 and 1854.

In deep rooted Montreal tradition, roadwork had been planned and this included widening of streets, encroaching on the cemetery. Bodies were being exhumed. Cholera and typhus victims’ remains. The citizens objected – vocally and applied pressure. No one wanted the plague dead transferred through the city. So, the remaining bodies were left where they were, in some cases, unceremoniously, dumped.

The city decided to build a park, this way they were not obliged to move anymore bodies. So under those picturesque walkways, park benches and flowers, lie the hapless bodies of ex-Montrealers.

The square, understandably, is known for its….atmosphere, most often, after dark. A lot of people have reported feeling nervous and uncomfortable; some have claimed to have heard prayers and in some cases, strange shapes, mists and even orbs have been observed.

Sometimes You Leave With More Than Your Luggage.

05 Thursday Oct 2017

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My husband and I booked a bed and breakfast in xxxxx, outside of Ottawa, Ontario. It was an older former farm home, rolling hills, well-kept lawn. Really a nice place. We were only there for the weekend, a wedding.

We checked in and put our bags in our room. It was nicely decorated, antiques – the whole works. My husband was acting strangely, while we were unpacking. He kept looking over his shoulder and was behaving very antsy. I asked him what the problem was and he told me that it was nothing. Forget it.

We grabbed a bite to eat and I was really tired at this point. I wanted to go back to our room and get some sleep, the wedding was the next day, at 11:00. My husband ordered a second coffee and asked for dessert. He never has a second cup of coffee after dinner and absolutely never eats dessert.

I asked him, again, what was bothering him. He repeated that it was nothing and to drop it. He really started to draw out the dessert and coffee. I was getting irritated and told him to finish up, that I wanted to go back and get some sleep. He got huffy but finished up his coffee – left most of his dessert.

When we arrived back at the B & B, he started fussing around the car. Picking at lint and brushing off his dash – he had it cleaned before we left. There was no lint and the dash was spotless. I was really irritated and went in without him.

I said good night to the owners, they were in the living room, watching television. I explained that my husband would be in, shortly.

I headed up to the room and changed into my pyjamas, I heard the door open downstairs and my husband’s voice. He was talking with the owners. I went about my night routine and had finished brushing my teeth when he finally came up stairs. He sat down on the bed. There were two lamps, on the night tables, on either side of us. I climbed into bed and turned off my lamp. I asked him if he was planning to come to bed or sit there all night. His behaviour was peeving me.

He snapped at me so I turned over and closed my eyes. He sat there for a while and then, I guess he realized he was tired as well. He went to the bathroom, did his routine and came back to the room. He sat on the bed again, fully clothed. I remember I was pretty mad at this point. I told him to get into his pyjamas and turn off the light.

He did 50% of what I asked, he put on his pyjamas but left the light on. I told him he had better tell me what his problem was or I was going to get really mad.

He told me that he felt uncomfortable as soon as we arrived. He said he felt like someone was watching him. He tried to laugh but I could tell he was upset. So, I told him to leave the light on but to please lie down and try to get some rest. He was probably overtired.

He laid down and I dozed off. Somewhere in the middle of the night, he shook me, hard.

The light was off – he was telling me to look near the window – there was a woman. I looked over but I couldn’t see anyone there. He insisted that a woman had been standing by the window, staring at us.

I told him, he must have been dreaming and switched on my lamp. There was nothing there but I did notice a definite smell of perfume in the air. It wasn’t mine. It was very flowery. I felt it was best not to say anything about it but he did. He asked me if I smelled something – like flowers. I lied and told him that I didn’t and in all honesty, I was getting a little spooked.

I said that if he felt that strange, to leave his lamp on. He told me that he had never turned it off. I’m pretty level headed but I have to admit, I was getting a little nervous and I was glad for the light from the lamp.

We tried to go back to sleep and really didn’t do much more than doze on and off. I was dozing when he poked me again – he said the smell was back and he looked scared. I think that scared me more than the perfume smell, which was back.

I tried to make light of it and tell him that the owners probably had those spray deodorizer things. Neither of us were convinced but we had to get some sleep. We tried again.

He didn’t have to poke me – I woke up because there was the distinct feeling of someone sitting on the end of the bed and my lamp was out. I didn’t turn it off. I knew I didn’t. My husband and I lay there, holding hands, tightly. He reached over and switched on the light. It felt like, whatever was at the end of the bed, got up, but slowly.

That was it, we knew were not going to get any more sleep. It was about 5:00 am so we stayed up. We decided we would either stay in a hotel that evening or head home. We put out our clothes for the wedding and packed up everything else. When we heard movement downstairs, we grabbed our suitcase and garment bags; my husband took them to the car and I went into the dining room. The lady of the house had coffee prepared and mentioned that we were up early. She asked if we had not slept well and seemed very concerned. I didn’t know what to say, so I just blamed it on our not being used to sleeping away from home. It was a lie but I just didn’t know how else to explain our behaviour.

We had paid for the entire weekend but told the owner that we would be heading back to our home, due to an unexpected business call. We told them we didn’t expect a refund as we had booked for the two nights.

After the wedding we did, in fact, drive home.

That should have been the end of things but it wasn’t. A few nights later, I was reading in our room when I smelled that same perfume. My husband walked into the room and I thought he was going to faint. He became very pale and his eyes were opened wide; he was looking around our room in a panic and I knew he smelled the perfume as well.

The smell disappeared and we prepared for bed, leaving one of our lamps on. We didn’t even discuss it, the lamp was left on.

We slept well that night, after the perfume incident. I think we convinced ourselves that it was just our imagination.

Then, later in the week, we were both awakened by something – the lamp was still on but near our window was a shadow. It looked like a woman. My husband flew out of bed and switched on the overhead light; the shadow disappeared but we both felt like something was in the room with us.

We had brought more than our luggage home.

This went on for a few weeks, the smell, the feeling like someone was watching but we didn’t see the shadow again. My husband and I were exhausted; we didn’t know what to do. This was our home and we felt, unsafe, in it.

I mentioned what was going on to a very good friend of the family and she suggested we call a medium. My husband was resistant at first; he didn’t want people thinking we were crazy but a few more nights of the perfume, with that uneasy feeling and he agreed to the medium.

I don’t know what we expected a medium would look like but she was a surprise. She was dressed like anyone you see in the mall, she was very nice, polite and respectful. We sat down and offered to tell her our story but she didn’t want to hear it. She asked if it would be okay if she took a solitary walk around the place. My husband and I went outside.

After about 10 minutes the medium came outside, she explained that we had an entity in the house. It didn’t feel like it meant us harm although the spirit seemed to be focused on my husband. She asked about the house and its history; we explained that we had never had a problem until the stay at the B&B.

The medium thought that perhaps my husband reminded the spirit of someone and she had attached herself to us.

She arranged to do a “cleansing”, she called it. There were three people and the medium, my husband and I were not present. The medium felt it would be easier to convince the spirit to leave, if my husband was not around.

Whatever they did, seems to have worked. It has been 3 months since the last incident.

(Names and places have been removed by request)

Something on the Lakeshore

11 Saturday Feb 2017

Posted by in Ghosts and Apparitions

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I thought I would share this with you because you are in Montreal and probably know the area.

In the West Island, there is Lakeshore Road and like its name suggests, it runs parallel to the Lake St-Louis/St. Lawrence. I work close to downtown and occasionally, I just want to take a leisurely drive home to relax.

Last year, I was driving along this route, the Lakeshore and the sun had, pretty much, set; I took a curve at the corner of Lakeshore and Bayview in the Pointe-Claire area and I saw a black shape on the sidewalk, I drove past and looked in my rear-view mirror. There was nothing there. I didn’t really think much of it; end of the day, tired – tricks of the light.

A few months later, I was driving the same route home. It was brighter out, not yet sunset. I took the same curve and on the sidewalk, was that shape. I was startled but you know how it is, I was driving and it didn’t really hit me for a second or two as I drove by. Again, I looked in my rear-view and then my side mirror; I couldn’t see it. I pulled over and looked out my back window. The shape was gone. This time, I knew I had seen something and it wasn’t a trick of the light. I got out of my car and walked back to the spot on the sidewalk when I had seen the shape. There was nothing, I looked around, no one. Could have been my imagination but I felt a real chill, I had goosebumps. This freaked me out and I took off, back to my car.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, I took that route home again; it had been a while and I had convinced myself that it was all in my mind. I took the curve, slowed up and it was there again. A black opaque shape about 6 feet tall. I’ll be honest, I stepped on the gas. I looked in the rear view but this time it was still there. I pulled over, sat in my car for a few minutes because I was too shaken to investigate. I looked back and it was gone.