Haunted Canada 9

by Joel A. Sutherland

  As Lillian got older, her health began to fade. She was so ill that her time outside had to be severely limited, so an underground tunnel was constructed to connect the mansion with the Wellesley Hospital. Jenn Anthony, a former general manager at The Keg Mansion, reported that some people believe the spirits of those who died in the hospital still wander through the property, forever lost, confused and often in eternal pain.

  Lillian Massey died in 1915. It’s rumoured that one of the family’s maids was so distraught by her passing that she hanged herself in the main foyer. Customers and staff have reported catching a glimpse of a body swinging from a length of rope. After a quick blink and a rub of the eyes, the maid’s body disappears.

  Alice Massey, Lillian’s sister-in-law, poses outside Euclid Hall (now The Keg Mansion) with her son Lionel and an unidentified woman in 1922

  And there are plenty more ghosts in the mansion, including another mysterious woman spotted in the dining room. Melanie Elaraby went to the restaurant with her husband one Friday evening. She was overcome by a mix of excitement and anxiety as soon as she entered the building, and her heart began to flutter in her chest. Shortly after they were seated, Melanie felt a cold chill spread up her arm that covered her skin in goosebumps. She dismissed the feeling and placed her order, but it didn’t stop there. It felt like cold fingers were caressing Melanie’s hand. She kept thinking a fly might be crawling on her, but there was nothing there. When she moved her hand off the table, the feeling went away, but it came right back the moment she put her hand back on the table. And then the phantom touch moved to the back of her neck, and Melanie immediately saw a ghostly woman standing beside her — a woman only she could see. She was young, blond and had blue eyes set in a wide face. She wore her hair tied above her head and was dressed in a light blouse and a long skirt. The woman didn’t speak, but Melanie got the feeling she was shy of her husband, who was still oblivious to the spectral presence. She remained beside Melanie for the rest of the meal, silently watching her eat. It’s remarkable that Melanie had any appetite left at all.

  Others regularly see and hear children playing on the stairs. Laura Dee has had two encounters with ghost children in The Keg Mansion. The first was when she was walking toward the bar and passed a dark-haired boy playing at the top of the stairs.

  Strange, she thought, knowing that children weren’t allowed in the bar at night. They aren’t, but who would be able to kick out a ghost? When Laura looked again, the boy had vanished into thin air.

  The second experience was in 2014. Laura walked upstairs to the bar with a friend, and as they passed the same spot where she had previously seen the dark-haired boy, they both stopped dead in their tracks. They could hear kids running up and down the stairs, laughing and yelling and making a racket. But there were no children there at all.

  Spirits and steaks. Both can be found in abundance in The Keg Mansion.

  THE HAUNTING OF CHERRY HILL HOUSE

  Mississauga, Ontario

  When asked by a local newspaper, the Mississauga News, to dispel the persistent rumours that Cherry Hill House was haunted, Ron Duquette was reluctant to agree. It’s not that he was afraid of the building that’s considered to be one of the most haunted houses in the city; he was a skeptic of the paranormal. Ghosts didn’t exist, so what was the point in trying to prove there were none in Cherry Hill House? It would be a senseless endeavour, a waste of his time. When Ron finally agreed, he had no idea what horrors awaited him.

  Built in 1822 by Joseph Silverthorn, a farmer, sawmill owner and militiaman who served during the War of 1812, Cherry Hill House was a large two-storey Georgian-style home. The name came from the cherry trees the family had planted along the driveway. Joseph lived in the house with his wife, Jane, and their twelve children. The Silverthorns were among the first settlers in the area, and the house, surrounded by woods that spanned seven hundred acres, is believed to be the oldest surviving structure in what is now the city of Mississauga. The Silverthorns owned the house until 1951.

  For a time thereafter, an eccentric, reclusive old woman named Daisy Anne Lindsay occupied the house, and that’s when the ghostly rumours surrounding the property really took hold. Among the local children, Daisy Anne became known as the Witch of Cherry Hill. The children who were brave enough to venture onto the property could often be spotted running and screaming back to safety as Daisy Anne flew out of the house in a threatening manner with a broom raised high above her head.

  By the early 1970s, Daisy Anne had moved out and the house sat empty and abandoned. It had been significantly vandalized and many pieces of furniture had been stolen. However, several rope beds and an old spinning wheel remained, gathering dust and cobwebs as the years passed. The city wanted to build a new road straight through the property, but due to the house’s historical significance, it was decided to move it more than 350 metres north to a new site, and that’s when Ron Duquette was asked to prove that the rumours of it being haunted were false.

  Those involved agreed that the best way to do so would be to hold a séance in one of the upper bedrooms, an area that had apparently been a hotbed of paranormal activity. It was an idea everyone present would live to regret.

  It was a late night in early fall of 1973 and the woods surrounding Cherry Hill House were cold and dark. Ron Duquette and seven others, including a professional medium, walked up the front steps, over the creaky verandah, and through the front door. Once upstairs, they sat around an old table in the centre of the bedroom in complete darkness. Someone struck a match and lit a candle. The flame flickered and shadows danced on the walls. The medium asked everyone to hold hands and close their eyes. The group willingly did so and waited in stony silence broken only by the soft rustle of the wind blowing through the trees outside and the occasional groan of the house. As the medium called out to any spirits inhabiting the house, Ron heard footsteps slowly coming up the stairs, but no one appeared in the doorway.

  A little while later, a young reporter from the newspaper unexpectedly began to shake in her seat. She writhed and kicked and spasmed violently for no apparent reason, moaning loudly as sweat poured down her flushed face. The rest of the group sat frozen in fear.

  “My name is Hamish McKenzie,” the young woman suddenly said, but her voice was not her own. Instead she spoke with the voice of an old Scottish man who sounded like he was in a great deal of pain.

  Ron and the others listened in shock as the ghost of Hamish McKenzie communicated with them, using the poor young woman as a human loudspeaker. The reason he was in pain was because he had been injured in the Boer War. He had come to search for his relatives, the Silverthorns, and admitted that he was afraid to die.

  No one had the heart — or the guts — to tell him he was already dead.

  After five minutes speaking with McKenzie, the medium decided it would be best to end the conversation and the séance altogether. The young reporter was driven home and taken to her bed, where she remained for several days. She couldn’t find the strength to rise and she had a pounding headache nearly the entire time. When she finally recovered and returned to her old self, she had no memory of the possession. Needless to say, Ron Duquette was no longer a skeptic.

  In June the house was moved to its new location where it remains today, and the ghosts moved with it. Its notoriety continued to spread and many curiosity seekers attempted to sneak into the house, so the restoration team hired security guards to keep watch through the night. One of the guards, Ron Land, was sitting in his car when he saw a white shadow holding a long sword rise out of a mound of dirt. Ron cautiously exited his vehicle. His dog, Cindy, ran toward the spirit. But when the figure charged toward them, both Ron and Cindy turned and fled in terror. The next guard didn’t last long either, as late one night he was confronted by a ghost riding a horse, both glowing brilliantly white in the moonlight. Like Ron Land, the guard fled the premises, never to return.

  Locals follow along as Cherry Hill House makes the journey
north to its new location

  The house has been occupied more recently by a string of restaurants that can’t seem to remain in business very long, leading some to believe the building is cursed. People have seen a number of spirits and had odd encounters. A little girl has been seen staring out of the upper windows when the building is closed for the night. Lights dim on their own, glasses fall off tables, doors open and close, cold spots float through hallways and rooms, and reflections of ghosts have been caught in the mirrors.

  Ashley Pacheco, a bartender who used to work in the building, would often place a bottle or a glass down on the bar only to find it somewhere else seconds later. Similarly, reporter Tina Robinson, who was having dinner in the restaurant while working on an article about the building’s history, placed her fork on her left and her knife on her right. When she looked back down, the cutlery had been reversed. She asked the server if she had moved it, but the server looked at Tina as if she had lost her mind.

  In 2005 an elderly woman had a lengthy and animated chat with someone without realizing she was speaking with a dead person. She was part of a large dining party, and when questioned by the others as to what she was doing, she replied, “I was having a conversation with the woman in the rocking chair by the fireplace.” The rocking chair by the fireplace, however, was empty.

  Margo Marshall, bar manager of one of the more recent restaurants, was closing up the downstairs pub. It was 2:30 a.m. and she was alone in the building. Suddenly, she heard a terrible crash on the floor above. She was too scared to go investigate, so she called the maître d’ the next day to ask if anything had been out of the ordinary when he’d arrived that morning.

  “A dining room table had been turned over and the glasses broken,” he replied at once. One of the spirits, it would appear, didn’t appreciate Margo’s company so late at night.

  People have wondered over the years who the ghosts are that refuse to leave Cherry Hill House, and most are quick to agree that they must be the original family who lived there. One of the most persistent theories is that one of Joseph and Jane Silverthorn’s sons, George, is responsible for much of the ghostly goings-on, and there’s a centuries-old mystery to support this belief.

  George married Louise Leonard in June 1852, in the Dixie Union Chapel across the street from the family home. A celebratory feast was held in Cherry Hill House following the ceremony, but the festivities were interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. George excused himself and stepped outside to speak with a man whom no one at the party knew. He didn’t return. The woods around the house were searched and the depths of a nearby swamp were dragged to no avail. Neither George nor the mysterious man was ever seen again.

  That’s not to say that he had left the family home forever, for it is said that anytime George’s disappearance is discussed within Cherry Hill House, the front door opens and closes all on its own.

  TERROR ON THE THIRD FLOOR

  Yellowknife, Northwest Territories

  It was nearly midnight when a man was startled out of his sleep. There had been a loud noise from the bathroom.

  He was staying in the Quality Inn & Suites in downtown Yellowknife, and had hoped to get a good night’s sleep, but that was proving to be impossible. Not only had something woken him up, but he had pulled a muscle in his rib cage earlier in the day and the pain was getting worse with every passing hour.

  As he wondered what had caused the sound in the bathroom, he remembered that he had fallen asleep with the television on. Now it was turned off. Had he turned it off in a semi-conscious state and forgotten doing so? The room was too dark for his liking, so he grabbed the remote control from the bedside table and turned the TV back on. Blue, flickering light from the screen cast a pallid glow over the room.

  Slowly, still battling the pain of his pulled muscle, he got out of bed and poked his head into the bathroom. The tap was turned on and water was flowing into the sink. He might not have remembered turning off the TV but he was certain he hadn’t left the tap on. He turned it off and then noticed a bar of hotel soap lying on the floor beside the bathtub. Had that been the cause of the sound that had woken him up? It seemed likely. As he wondered how the water had turned on and how the soap had been knocked to the floor, he suddenly felt like he wasn’t alone. But then his pain intensified and he needed to lie back down in bed. He muted the TV but left it on.

  Sleep didn’t come. By 2 a.m. the pain was unbearable. Every small movement was excruciating. And then the feeling that he wasn’t alone returned.

  The man didn’t dare look, but he was certain someone was standing at the foot of his bed. He closed his eyes tight and waited, but the “someone” didn’t go away. Instead, it sat down on the bed beside his feet. His heart began to pound in his chest and his breath became heavy and laboured.

  Despite the terror that had gripped him, the man managed to look at the foot of the bed. No one was there … but the TV had been turned off again and there was an indent in the mattress where he’d felt the presence. It looked like someone was sitting there, but the man saw no one there. When he moved his feet and sat up, the indent filled in as if the presence had stood up. He turned on the bedside lamp and looked back at the foot of the bed. The indent returned.

  Overcome with fright and unsure what to do, he picked up the phone and dialed 0.

  “Front desk,” a woman on the other end of the line said. “May I help you?”

  “Yes!” the man shouted frantically. “This is room 300. Is there any chance I can change my room to a lower level?”

  “I’m sorry, but we are completely booked today. There aren’t any more rooms.”

  The man begged her to double-check, so she put him on hold. Speaking to another person helped calm his nerves a little, but he was still feeling uneasy in the silence, so he turned the TV back on.

  The woman returned and confirmed that the hotel was completely booked. She then asked, “Is everything okay with your room?”

  The man briefly wondered where to begin. With his TV being turned off twice? With the tap turning on? With the soap being thrown to the floor? With the feeling of not being alone? Or with the feeling of someone sitting down at his feet and the indent of their invisible body?

  “Everything is okay,” he said reluctantly. It was easier than admitting the truth, which he knew would make him sound like he’d lost his mind. They wished each other a good night and hung up.

  Great, now what? the man wondered. Do I leave the hotel and book somewhere else? He didn’t want to spend another minute in the room, but after spending so much money on it he also didn’t want to spend any more by checking into another hotel. Resigned to the fact that he had to stay there for the rest of the night, he left both the TV and the lamp on and tried to fall back asleep. Amazingly, he did.

  But his sleep didn’t last long. At 4:30 a.m. he was awoken by another sound. This time it wasn’t the sound of soap falling in the bathroom. It was the sound of a woman screaming in one of the rooms next to his own.

  “Who are you?” the woman screamed at the top of her lungs. “Get out!”

  Once again feeling helpless and afraid, the man picked up the phone and dialed 0.

  “Front desk. May I help you?”

  “This is room 300 again,” he said. “Someone is screaming down the hall in one of the rooms.”

  “Are you sure, sir? We didn’t get any phone calls from your level.”

  “Yes! A lady shouted in distress, and—”

  The staff member interrupted the man and asked him to hold. As he waited he realized the TV and lamp had been turned off, once again plunging the room into darkness. Before he could turn either back on, the woman returned on the line. She told him that other guests had just called to report the disturbance and that two security guards were on their way up to investigate.

  The man hung up and turned on the TV and the lamp. He didn’t even bother trying to fall back asleep. Instead, he lay awake as he waited for the sun to rise, bringing
an end to the horrible night.

  Time passed slowly, but finally it was time to check out. He packed up and wheeled his suitcase down the hall. As he passed two housekeepers he caught a snippet of their conversation.

  “… no one was in the room but people called downstairs …”

  If no one had been in the room, why had the front desk staff said the entire hotel was booked?

  The feeling of someone sitting down on his bed occupied his thoughts as he waited for the elevator, and he was so engrossed that the ding indicating it had reached the third floor startled him.

  When he arrived at the main floor, the woman at the front desk greeted him. He could tell by her voice that it wasn’t the same person he had spoken with twice during the night.

  “Did you like your room?” she asked brightly, a wide smile on her face.

  “To be honest, no,” the man said. He was tired, sore, and more than a little upset thanks to the night’s events, and he could no longer keep his thoughts to himself even if it did make him sound like he’d lost his mind. He told her about all the odd things that had happened overnight.

  The woman stared at him with an open mouth and wide eyes. But instead of thinking he was crazy, she believed him.

  “Sir, you’re not the first person to mention that,” she said. She leaned in a little closer and admitted that a couple who had recently stayed in the same room had claimed they had seen a man appear in the middle of the night. He wore old-fashioned clothing and a miner’s hat.

  Interestingly, the Quality Inn & Suites was originally an independent hotel called the Yellowknife Inn. It was opened in the 1940s and its most popular feature among locals was the main floor diner called the Miner’s Mess.