Chenier/Pointe-Claire Hotel/Pionnier/Clyde’s

Located in Pointe-Claire Village, Pointe-Claire, QC

From what I understand, the ghosts at this location are kept “under wraps”, no pun intended.

This area of Pointe-Claire is very rich in history; dating back to the mid-1600’s.

As per the Ville de Pointe-Claire web site: The Charlebois Hotel, c. 1910

According to the registry, Lot 64 – where 286 Lakeshore is located – has been the site of innkeeping activities since at least the 1880’s. Then operated by Louis Labelle, “innkeeper of the parish”, on the property of his wife, Émilie Charlebois, the site was sold to Thomas and Herménégilde Duchesneau in 1886.

It was then purchased by Léon Charlebois in 1894; his name is legible on signs hung on the building at the turn of the century. Subsequent deeds indicate the owners to be Ferdinand Lanthier in 1896; Mélanie David, wife of William Rickner, in 1900; and Wilfrid and Napoléon Schetagne in 1901.

In 1904, Napoléon sold his share to Wilfrid and waived his “right to operate a hotel… within the limits of the village of Pointe Claire”. In 1907, Wilfrid sold it to Edmond Malette with “all the furnishings of the hotel”.

In 1925, Sylva Malette sold to Willie Bougie, innkeeper of Lachine, who in turn sold it to Léo Chénier in 1926. The hotel was henceforth called Chénier, and kept this name until the building was sold in 1947 to new proprietors, Albert Brisebois and Gustave Paquin. When Brisebois bought his partner’s share ten years later, the hotel was named the Pointe-Claire Hotel.

In the 70’s; the hotel ceased to exist. During the late 60’s and early 70’s; the hotel had garnered a very bad reputation. It had become rundown and shabby, catering to a shadowy clientele. It was sold and the new owners renamed it as “Le Pionnier”  renovating and making over the building, leaving the historic exterior but gutting the second floor to create a mezzanine. They left the third floor intact, replete with the rooms which were pressed into service as offices for the owners and storage. Some remained empty.

In the late 70’s, I worked there, on the second floor mezzanine. My shift finished early in the morning hours; frequently, not leaving before 4 or 5 in the morning. On occasion, I would have to bring various items upstairs for deposit in the owners’ offices. I hated going up those stairs. The atmosphere was so completely opposite to the fun and good natured havoc of the bars below. It was an oppressive feeling; like you were being watched but by someone very close. If I could avoid going, I would. One night I had some paperwork that needed to be left for one of the owners. I couldn’t talk anyone else into going up those stairs. We never discussed it, out loud; new employees were usually put to service by running whatever errand needed to be run, upstairs. It wasn’t long before they suddenly became too busy to oblige.

The first incident happened shortly after I was hired. I had to bring some paperwork up to the office.   Walking up the stairs, I felt like someone was behind me, it felt like it but it wasn’t possible. The stairs were very narrow and I was absolutely alone. Upon reaching the third floor, I walked down the hallway; the floor was oppressive and had a very unpleasant odour due to age and neglect. I placed the papers on the desk and turned around to see someone hurry past the doorway; it was only a couple of steps away but when I reached the hall – there was no one in sight. There was no sound of someone walking down the stairs and all the doors to the other rooms were closed, someone opening and closing the door would have been heard. I was, to say the least, creeped out. I, virtually, ran down the stairs.

The second incident occurred about a month later; again, I had to bring something upstairs – I think it was my tape from the night’s sales, regardless, up I went again. Again, I felt as if I was not alone and apparently, I wasn’t. I was in the office, putting my tape in an envelope when someone put their hand on my back. My boyfriend at the time also worked at the bar and so I figured it was him. I was wrong. I turned around, to give him hell for creeping up on me but there was no one there. I took off through the doorway and saw a dark shape move through one of the closed doors.

That was the last time I ever agreed to go up to the third floor again.

A few years ago, I found myself back in that bar with a few friends; the young woman waiting our table and I struck up a conversation – old day vs the now kind of thing. The girl brought up the third floor. We ended up talking about it which was a taboo topic back in the day. Taboos change. She was a little hesitant with her questions – beating about the bush.

Had I ever been up there?

What was it used for, back then?

Did I know anything about the history of the place?

I knew what she was trying to get at but was tentative about how this topic would be received. So I ask her if something spooky had happened to her and her body language showed immediate relief. Yes, she told me and related her tale of the third floor; she had gone upstairs for some supplies, when she reached the top of the stairs she saw, what she thought was the shadow of someone going into a room.

As she walked down the hallway, she noticed that the door to the room, where she had seen the shadow, was closed.  She went to the supply room and as she was opening a box, she felt someone behind her. When she turned, she saw a dark form wavering in the doorway, she fell over a box trying to back away. The form came into the room but rather than advance on her, it turned and seemed to go through the wall.

She went on to tell me that other co-workers had also experienced inexplicable occurrences in the building.