by Bill Jessome
When the Nickersons investigated further, they discovered that some years earlier, a young man was killed when his vehicle smashed into a large boulder on their property. Apparently, the young man’s ghost was knocking on the door trying to get help.
The Nickersons are somewhat philosophical about the ghosts that have returned to (or never left) Mystic Farm. As Jill Nickerson put it with a smile, “They’re part of our family—or we’re part of theirs.”
The Tancook Spook
O ne of my more memorable Maritime trips was a visit to Big Tancook Island, located in Chester Basin, Nova Scotia. I was producing a television program about the island and its people. It was an unforgettable experience because of the generosity and friendliness of those wonderful Tancookers.
One afternoon, I was invited up to the wheelhouse of a local boat, and the conversation eventually got around to Maritime Mysteries. I was asked if I was familiar with the story of the Tancook Spook. I came away with a wonderful and humorous story of one pesky spirit.
Most everyone at one time or other has experienced how pests in the home, if not eradicated, can get out of hand. But what about a persistent and pesky ghost who’s making your life miserable? How do you get rid of that? Do you call in a ghost exterminator? Well, if you live on the island, you call for the services of a Tancooker who has a sure fire old-world method of getting rid of those unwanted spooks. His method, however, isn’t foolproof. You’ll forgive me if I take license in the telling of this story, as I’ve heard at least half-dozen versions. This is my favourite.
There once was an old man who lived alone, until one day, an unwelcome and unannounced guest arrived. This old gentleman didn’t even know the intruder was in residence until one night he was awakened by some awful noises coming from the attic. “Damn,” he thought, “racoons must of gotten inside.” But when he went up to investigate, there were no animals and nothing was disturbed. The old man was no sooner back in his bed when the racket started up again. Only this time, the noise sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. But when he went downstairs to check, he found nothing out of the ordinary. The old man didn’t return to bed, but sat up next to the kitchen stove until dawn, thinking about his problem and if his house was haunted. Every night was the same. He became a victim of some ghostly pranks, including the slamming of doors, and heavy footsteps on the stairs. The last straw came the night he heard whispering at his locked bedroom door. Next morning, he went to see the one person who could tell him how to get rid of the ghost once and for all.
The information the old man was given had nothing to do with seances, burning candles, prayers, or holy water. All he needed was an oversized potato sack, a shovel, some patience, and a lot of luck.
Around eleven o’clock, the old man retired for the night and deliberately left the bedroom door open. He held the potato sack in his hands, hidden under the blankets, and waited in the dark. He had been told that when a spirit enters a room the air around the spirit is icy cold and there is also an odour. Sometime after midnight, he heard footsteps coming along the downstairs hall. He held his breath and waited. The footsteps were now on the stairs. The old man’s heart began beating faster and faster. If it didn’t slow down, he was sure he’d have a heart attack and the ghost would have won; would have gotten him out of the house for good! He was sure that’s what the ghost wanted.
Suddenly, he felt a chill go through him, and there was a distinct change in the air. He was certain the ghost was now in the room. He could also smell a peculiar odour. Suddenly, from the left side of the bed, cool air swept over his face. Was the ghost now standing over the bed looking down at him? It was now or never. With one incredibly fast motion, the old man threw off the blankets, raised his arms high, and where he believed the ghost to be standing, covered the spot with the potato sack. He couldn’t believe it! The sack was jerking so hard, he could hardly hold it. It was as though the bag was filled with snakes! The old man quickly tied the bag with a strong rope. While he got dressed, he watched as the ghost inside the bag tried to get loose. He was surprised how light the bag was when he flung it over his shoulder and went outside. There, he picked up a shovel and headed into the woods in back of his home. He remembered what his friend told him—find a spot that is isolated and dig a deep hole and bury the sack. That will be the end of the ghost. When he was finished, he patted down the earth with the shovel, tipped his cap, and went back home to bed. When he woke up the next morning, he was refreshed. It was the first good night’s sleep he had had in weeks. However, the best laid plans often go awry, and in this case, that’s exactly what happened.
About a month after the old man buried the ghost, a group of young people on the way home from a party came across the newly dug ground. They wondered if someone had buried something of value, or perhaps even a corpse! Full of false bravado, they began digging until they uncovered the potato sack. They looked at each other and smiled. It took a while before they got the knot around the sack untied. When they finally opened it, all that came out was a puff of foul air.
At the exact moment the sack was opened, the old man was awakened abruptly by an angry voice screaming curses. He heard dishes being smashed and the sound of angry footsteps coming upstairs! He knew at once that the ghost was back.
The Unseen Ghost
O ne day not so long ago, I received a letter from Cynthia Sharpe of Cow Bay, Nova Scotia, telling me a fascinating story of what happened to her and her family after they purchased a century-old home. There is, for me at least, something fascinating about an older home; and at the same time something foreboding. It’s as if I expect the place to be haunted. Not all are, of course, but Cynthia’s is.
When buying one of these ancient dwellings, you never know exactly what’s included in the purchase price, until you live in it for awhile. That’s what happened to the Sharpe family. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, everything was as it should be, until one evening while Mrs. Sharpe was wrapping Christmas gifts in her bedroom. Her dog was lying at her feet. The closets in the home have the old fashion latches that must be lifted to open. No one else was in the room and there was no one in the closet—no one human, that is. Suddenly, the latch on the closet door lifted and the door opened. When the dog looked toward the open closet door, her fur stood on end and she flew downstairs. That was the first indication that there was something in the home other than human beings. Cynthia says the closet door may remain unopened by human hands for days, even weeks, but will suddenly fly open and slam shut all day.
At other times, houseplants are tipped onto the floor.
During the Christmas holiday of 1996, for example, the family was seated in the living room when a Boston fern was overturned. The pot was smashed to pieces and dirt spread all over the floor and curtains.
No one, including the Sharpes, has ever seen the spirit. Cynthia says there are times when she believes she sees something. To get to the door, visitors must pass in front of the picture window first. Cynthia says when she’s watching television she’ll sometimes catch glimpse of someone passing by the window and she’ll tell her husband they have a visitor. But when he answers the door, there is no one there.
There were many other strange happenings: once the handle on the stove flew across the kitchen floor. Cynthia was relieved that her mother-in-law saw this happen, and that she was not the only one to witness such things. Another time, a loud noise shook the whole house. When Cynthia went upstairs to check, she found her childhood sleigh, which usually stood against a bedroom wall, upside-down in the middle of the bedroom floor.
The incident that scared Cynthia the most happened one day when she was working in the kitchen. Suddenly, the washboard she had mounted on the wall exploded. Cynthia says she was putting leftover food in containers at the kitchen table and had taken a few steps to the refrigerator when she heard the explosion of glass. When she looked down, there were several shards of glass where she had been standing moments before.
Is there an
explanation? Cynthia says she hasn’t one. So why do the Sharpes stay? Cynthia says so far no one has been hurt, and she feels that whomever, or whatever, it is, just wants everyone to know they’re not alone in the old home.
The Uptown Ghost
P arkerhouse Inn stands a step back from the busy sidewalk on Sydney Street in uptown Saint John, New Brunswick. It was built on the grand scale of the Victorian influence, and it has a history of undying love and ghostly manifestations. If you feel a cold breeze as you walk by 71 Sydney Street, there’s a good reason for it. Here’s why.
In 1890, a Saint John doctor, Walter Woodsworth White, built a magnificent home for his bride to be. Ah, but love at times is fickle. The beautiful young maiden changed her mind. He was too old, she said—all of 28. In time, however, she changed her mind and three years later they were married and moved into their honeymoon mansion. They had three children and lived happily into their later years until the good doctor died. The grieving widow was devastated. The mansion became a cold, lonely, and empty place without her beloved.
The widow acted on impulse and sold their beautiful home, but as the years went by, she regretted her decision and longed to be back at 71 Sydney Street. Her wish came true, but not in this life.
Today, Parkerhouse is operated by Kathy Wyatt and Gary Golding. Aside from the regular paying guests, the innkeepers believe they have a non-paying one—not of flesh, but of spirit. And they also believe the apparition is the good doctor’s wife. Kathy Wyatt questions how else one could explain the extraordinary things that have been happening in their newly acquired home. There is, according to Kathy and Gary, a sense that there’s another dimension within the mansion, and that someone or something is living in that space.
The first incident happened with a spinning wheel that was owned at one time by Mrs. White. Just three days after the new owners moved in, they were seated in the den discussing the day’s activities, when for no apparent reason the spinning wheel began turning. A quick check of the whereabouts of the family confirmed there was no one near the wheel. There have been other incidents that convinced Kathy and Gary they are not alone in the home. A second unexplainable incident happened while Kathy’s mother was visiting over the Christmas holidays. She was suddenly awakened when her body rolled over to the other side of the bed. It was as if someone had sat down on the edge of the bed, there was no one in the room at the time. No one can convince Kathy’s mother that she was dreaming or seeing things. Something did sit on the bed! That she was certain of.
Gary Golding is the type of person who does not accept anything quickly, especially anything about the paranormal. However, seeing is believing, and Gary firmly believes that something spiritual has taken over the inn. As he put it, “It is a feeling that aside from us humans, there’s another presence in the home.” Kathy agrees, and adds hastily, “The ghost is a kindly soul, a motherly type.” And she knows when the ghost is near—her dog, K-C, senses the ghost’s presence first and bids a hasty retreat.
The Ghost Burner
B efore buying that older home, there are things you should consider besides the possibility of a leaky roof or damp basement. You should also inquire about the history of the property. Who owned it originally, who died in it, and under what circumstances.
This is the story of one old curmudgeonly ghost who just wouldn’t stay where he belonged—in the ground. When he was alive, he had agreed to give his neighbour first refusal on buying his homestead when he and his wife passed on, providing his daughter, living in the U.S., wasn’t interested. The daughter wasn’t interested, and honoured her father’s promise to sell to his neighbour.
The only reason the neighbour wanted the home was to get control of the land so he could keep developers out.
It wasn’t long before the new owner’s son moved in. It was an ideal place to study—no interruptions to contend with. Little did he know that someone else had also moved in, or had never left. That someone else was a mean-spirited ghost who was about to make the young man’s life miserable.
The new tenant was no sooner settled in for his first night’s sleep when suddenly he heard the sounds of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. He sat up in bed thinking perhaps it was his father coming to check on him. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t anyone, but he knew there was something at the top of the stairs—perhaps now even in the bedroom. Needless to say, the young man kept the light on in his bedroom for the rest of the night.
Next morning, he crossed the road to his father’s home and told him that the house he had bought was haunted. When the father merely smiled and spoke of people with vivid imaginations, the boy invited him to spend a night in the old house. The challenge was quickly accepted by the father. Again, no sooner were they comfortably in their beds that night when they heard a creaking sound from somewhere downstairs, possibly in the hallway. They then heard footsteps on the stairs, and a scraping sound, as if someone was dragging their nails along the wall. Neither realized that the ghost was in their bedroom until the window was slammed shut. Father and son spent the rest of the night with the lights on, staring at the closed window. Both agreed in the morning they would figure out a way to rid the place of this late-night intruder.
How does the ghost-plagued dweller get rid of something from the other side? People have tried everything, from seances to exorcism. But there is yet another way: a sure-fire ghost-burner. While sipping his morning cup of coffee, the father smiled as the answer to the ghost problem came to him. He imagined the old ghost was also listening, but powerless to do anything about it. That brought another smile to his face. “This is what we have to do to get rid of the ghost,” he told his son. “We have to find some old clothes the ghost wore while alive and burn them—shirt, pants, shoes, overalls, anything.” There was nothing of the old man’s left in the house, but hanging in the barn they found a pair of overalls and a plaid shirt. The father instructed his son to place the clothes on the ground and then pour kerosene over them. The father struck a match and dropped it on the soaked clothes.
Gone for good? One doesn’t know for sure whether the burning of the old man’s clothes actually sent him back to his grave. Perhaps his spirit was merely carried on the flames to the neighbour’s attic where he is biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to return to his old haunts…
The V.I.P. Ghost
B uilt on Hollis Street in 1862, the Halifax club is one of city’s oldest landmarks. It is a staid and quaint club, where the likes of Sir Charles Tupper and Sir Robert Borden sipped afternoon tea. A list of the original members of the club reads like a city street map, Almon, Binney, Cogswell, Creighton, Cunard, and Uniacke to mention just a few. No one knows if the ghost that haunts the place today is one of those builders of the city and country. According to the few employees who have seen him, or think they have, he’s a slow and deliberate ghost, prowling every room as if in search of someone. There have been many stories as to who he is and why he’s haunting the place. The most popular one tells of the untimely death of one of the more prominent members who died in the arms of a lady of the evening. She promptly removed him from her boudoir and had him dumped on the doorstep of the club.
Like it or not, the gentlemanly ghost will continue to haunt the old place until he finds what he’s looking for. Until then his presence will be felt in this comfortable old-world atmosphere.
The McFarlane Ghost
T his ghostly tale began in 1965, when the McFarlane family rented the old Ford home on Bridge Street in Sackville, New Brunswick. The family consisted of John McFarlane, a physics instructor at Mount Allison University, his wife and four sons.
The McFarlanes enjoyed living in this stately old mansion until they discovered that a spirit from the 1870s was living with them. This unnerving discovery was made by their youngest child, Andrew.
Andrew would regularly tell his parents during breakfast that sometime during the night a strange-looking woman had stood by his bed and whispered “There, there, my c
hild you will get better, the doctor is on his way.” Or she would sit on the edge of his bed and stroke his forehead in a soothing manner.
For a time, Andrew’s mother dismissed it as nothing more than a vivid imagination. That was until one morning, while making Andrew’s bed, she was overwhelmed by a strong lavender odour, a scent she never used. Mrs. McFarlane slumped down on the bed. She felt a power controlling her, and knew she was not alone in the room. She sensed that someone was there close by, perhaps even sitting next to her. When she gained her composure, she immediately left Andrew’s room and went directly down to the kitchen. She was now convinced that what Andrew told her was much more than a child’s fertile imagination.
That evening, Mrs. McFarlane told her husband what had happened and that she believed their home was haunted. Unless he found a way to get rid of the ghost, she insisted that they would have to move. Mr. McFarlane called on the services of a local medium, who recommended a seance that might identify the spirit and its reasons for haunting the home. Andrews’s older brother David witnessed the seance and remembers what the medium told him after he came out of the trance: “While I was in a trance, the ghost, speaking through my body, spoke of how bitterly cold it was; how much frost was on the windows. Then the tortured spirit, in a mournful voice, spoke of how her child had galloping consumption.” The medium also told the McFarlane family that while in the trance, he had seen people hurrying in and out of the child’s bedroom and he was certain one of the people was the doctor. He then said the ghost, in great anguish, had told him of her son dying in her arms. The spirit blamed herself for her son’s death.
The medium concluded that Andrew’s room had been that of the spirit’s child, and that the spirit kept returning to comfort the boy. That was no relief to the McFarlane family—they moved.
