by Bill Jessome
Adeline had never begged anyone for anything before, but she was about to when something she saw in the passageway stopped her. Shadows! Eight of them. Eddie Colter saw the expression of surprise and fear on Adeline’s face and turned, but it was too late. The ghosts of Captain Swaine and his maties pounced on Eddie Colter. Adeline listened to Eddie’s horrible screams as he was dragged down the dark, narrow passageway.
Adeline waited five, ten, fifteen minutes, but heard nothing. She looked around for something to cut the ropes around her ankles and wrists. Her eyes fell upon Eddie’s knife. She was about to crawl over to get it when Captain Swaine appeared in the doorway. The sight of him sent a wave of fear through her body. She could hardly breathe and was afraid she was about to faint.
Captain Swaine stood with both hands on his hips.
“Well then, me fair lady, what am I supposed to do with you? It’s obvious you were not in cahoots with what we dragged out of here.”
How Adeline found the breath to speak then, she never knew. “Eddie Colter? What happened to him?”
“Oh, him? Not to worry ma’am. Eddie Colter has shipped out. He’s on the final voyage of life. But you, fair one, as caretaker of my humble abode—”
And suddenly, Adeline couldn’t control herself, no matter the consequences.
“Excuse me! But this is legally my home now.”
“Of course, of course,” said the grinning ghost.
Adeline knew he was patronizing her, but she let it go, not wanting to push too hard.
She watched the ghost of Captain Swaine pace back and forth across the room. She observed him closely, wondering what was on his mind and if he held her future—her life—in his ghostly hands. Then the ghost picked up Eddie Colter’s knife and knelt before Adeline. Adeline looked fearfully at the knife, but when she looked up into the eyes of Captain Swaine, she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. He quickly cut the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles.
“I’ve decided that since—what’s his name? Colter. Yes, since Colter was going to murder you, you were not in league with him. Therefore, since you’ve taken over the cottage, I’m appointing you the keeper of my treasure. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but to be on the safe side, I shall keep an eye on things. Drop in from time to time, so to speak.”
Adeline shook her head violently. “I don’t want to have anything to do with it. Take it and bury it somewhere else.”
“No, I can’t do that. It’s here and here it will stay.”
He then removed his cap, bowed low and whispered, “Until the next time, adieu, adieu.” And with that, he vanished.
Adeline got up and slowly, still dizzy from the knock on her head, made her way back upstairs. When she closed the cellar door behind her, she turned the skeleton key in the lock out of habit. But she knew better, really. She’d just have to live with those intruders from the ghost world, or leave. But she wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. No, she thought, looking around her, I’m not leaving yet. This place is just starting to feel like home.
Vanished
This ghost story first appeared in the Oxford Journal in 1954 and was brought to my attention by Nancy Huston of Dartmouth, Nova Scotia.
The tale takes place in Westchester Mountain, Cumberland County, Nova Scotia, in the year 1880. The old post road from Truro to Amherst passes over a mountain—and there was a time when people who lived in the area avoided that road as much as they could, because everyone knew it was haunted.
Our ghost has a name: Bill Eagles. He disappeared up on that mountain, but the story does not end there. Naturally Bill’s neighbours were concerned when he went missing, so they organized a search party, but couldn’t find hide nor hair of Bill. He just vanished—at least, his body had.
It wasn’t long after Bill’s disappearance that people crossing over the mountain reported seeing a ghost. But no one stayed long enough to find out what it wanted. On one such encounter, Hugh Scott left his sister’s home in Truro by way of the post road and headed home to Amherst on horseback. Bad choice. When Hugh reached the top of the mountain he slowed the horse to a walk so he could cut up some tobacco for his pipe. When he looked up, he saw the ghost of Bill Eagles walking beside the horse. Scared nearly out of his wits, Hugh dug his heels into the horse’s rump and was off the mountain in no time at all. When he later told his brother William that he had met the ghost of Bill Eagles, his brother asked whether he had talked to Bill to find out why his ghost was haunting the mountain.
“No,” admitted Hugh. “I got off the mountain as fast as the horse could run.”
“Well,” said William, “If I ever meet him, I’ll stay long enough to find out what he wants.”
A few months later William Scott got his wish. He was travelling along the old post road, near the spot where Hugh had met the ghost. And suddenly, the ghost of Bill Eagles was walking along beside the horse. William Scott, a man of his word, didn’t gallop off like his brother and others had. Brave William spoke to the ghost.
“Hello Bill, what is it you want?”
Bill’s ghost, apparently relieved that someone had the courage to ask, replied, “I want to be buried.”
“Ah, yes.” said William, “but where will I find your body?”
“You will find me just a short ways up this little brook under a pile of old brush.”
“Okay, Bill, I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.”
The next morning, William found what was left of Bill Eagles’s body, exactly where his ghost said it would be. Bill finally got his wish and was properly buried, and no one saw him again.
End of story? Not quite. Several years later in Springhill, Nova Scotia, a man by the name of Shacksteed, who lay on his deathbed, had something to get off his chest before words left him for good. He wanted more than anything to confess to those who were gathered around his deathbed that he had murdered Bill Eagles for his new boots.
William Scott confirmed that there had been no footwear near the skeletal remains of Bill Eagles.
Oh, a passing thought. Next time you folk up in Colchester County buy a new pair of boots, stay clear of the Westchester mountain. Who knows? Mr. Shacksteed’s ghost may be lurking on that high place.
Chapter Four
Seeing Things
He Told Me Himself
Clary had been out fishing almost all day, and he decided it was time to pack it in and turn the boat homewards. As he started from the fishing grounds, he had a strange feeling that something ominous was happening at home. He went up on deck for some fresh air to clear his troubled mind. Poking his head up through the hatch, he was startled to see his father sitting on the stern of the boat, cutting bait. Clary knew then that something was wrong at home: While it was not unusual for his father to be on deck, this time it was quite a shock—his father had not come on this trip because he had been ill.
When Clary tied his vessel up at the wharf, his brother was waiting for him. “It’s dad, isn’t it?” said Clary.
“Yes. How did you know?” asked his brother.
Clary looked at his brother with tears in his eyes and said, “Believe it or not, he told me himself.”
Quick Pulse
Weather permitting, a couple of times a week “John” would drive his car to a logging road about five miles from his home in Windsor. He’d park the car, get out, and jog along the deserted road. John said he preferred the isolation of the woods to the town.
One evening while he jogged, John was startled to see a woman and two children coming toward him. The woman was walking with a limp and leaning heavily on a cane. When the woman saw John, she stopped, lifted her cane, and pointed it menacingly at John. For his part, John felt something like an electric shock go through his body, paralysing him.
The old woman and the two children proceeded toward him, coming so close, said John, that if he had been able to move he would have been able to reach out and touch the child closest to him. Once they had passed, the paralysis left his b
ody and he could move again. When he turned to see where the old woman and children were, they had vanished. John says he continues to jog the old logging road but with trepidation. He has never run into the trio again.
Seeing is Believing
While attending Sunday services, Mr. Morrison was startled to see a couple suddenly appear in the pew in front of him. Where on earth did they come from, he thought to himself. He didn’t recall seeing them come in. The man was quite tall, with thick brown hair, and the woman seated next to him was also tall. Under her hat, her hair was jet black.
Since Mr. Morrison couldn’t see their faces, he was unable to describe what they looked like, but he was certain that he’d never seen them around the village. He couldn’t explain why, but he had the strangest feeling that they were from another time. They seemed to be out of place, and their clothes looked very strange, not at all the fashion of the times.
Suddenly, as if the man knew what Mr. Morrison was thinking, he turned around and stared with empty eyes. The man then turned to the woman and whispered something in her ear and they disappeared right before Mr. Morrison’s eyes. Mr. Morrison prayed feverishly after that.
In Passing
Alfred Boutillier was a student at the time of this maritime mystery. One summer, he worked on a construction gang upgrading roads. One day during lunchtime he heard the faint clanging of cowbells: He looked toward the sound but couldn’t see anything. The sound of the bells got louder and soon he saw a man leading a team of oxen. Alfred nudged the worker next to him and commented on how handsome the oxen were. Alfred’s neighbour turned to him with a confused expression on his face. He suggested to Alfred that he get out of the sun: He apparently saw nothing coming down that road but dust and black flies.
Alfred knew his fellow worker wasn’t a man to kid around, so he said no more and turned his attention back to the team of oxen that were now abreast of him. As the team passed, the driver tipped his cap at Alfred and moved on. Alfred watched the team of oxen pass. They did not saunter off down the road, but vanished in front of his eyes. Oddly enough, however, Alfred could still hear the fading sound of the bells.
Ghost Wagon
Neil drove the big rigs, hauling fish to Boston. On one of his trips back home he passed through a small community typical in rural Maine. At one o’clock in the morning, Neil was starting to feel the long hours on the road. Suddenly out of nowhere appeared a horse and wagon, piled high with furniture. A man and woman were seated up front and three small children peered out between a table and chairs.
Neil knew that there was no way he could stop his rig in time. He said a silent prayer as the eighteen-wheeler slammed into the horse and wagon. When he got the rig stopped, he ran back to attend to the family. There was no sign of the horse and wagon. No wreckage, no bodies—nothing. Neil shook his head and drove quickly to the nearest hotel, where he spent a restless night, dreaming again and again of the ghost wagon.
The Glimmer Ghost
A favourite spot of Mike Salkin and his dogs was Horse Shoe Island Park. The Island is located in the west end of Halifax off Quinpool Road, a dozen giant steps from the Armdale Rotary. On a cold November night four years ago, Mike took the dogs for their nightly walk.
Tag-along saw it. So did Keeper and Prince. And Mike Salkin saw it too. What they all saw was the Glimmer ghost. Mike and his dogs were walking south facing the Dingle Tower when they first saw the ghost. It was up on a small peninsula, walking toward the water. It stopped Mike in his tracks when he realized it wasn’t another person out for a late-night stroll.
“I realized,” said Mike, “that all I could see was half of a body, from the waist down. There was ample light and nothing was obstructing my view.”
So he wasn’t seeing things. And without giving it a second thought, Mike, with the dogs in tow, headed toward the peninsula for a better look. Mike said he never took his eyes off whatever it was, but when he walked out on the peninsula, it was gone.
“There was no way it could have backtracked or jumped into the water without me hearing a splash…unless it was a ghost.”
Mike later learned that over the years there have been several serious automobile accidents, even fatal ones, at the entrance to Horseshoe Island. Perhaps what Mike and his dogs witnessed was the ghost of one of those accident victims.
The dogs are gone to their spirit world, but eighty-four-year-old Mike Salkin is still active. During his evening walks he’s drawn to Horseshoe Island, and onto that little peninsula, by some unknown power. Mike stands there waiting, looking, but since that first encounter with the Glimmer ghost, no shadowy figures have appeared…not yet, anyway.
Man’s Best Friend...
In Life and Death
The dog was very old and going blind. The vet said it was time to let Brandy go and suggested it would be best to put her to sleep. Reluctantly, Claire and David MacNeil agreed and their once beautiful Irish wolfhound, who had given them years of devotion, was put to sleep. The MacNeils never did get another dog. In time though, they had a beautiful daughter, who they named Grace.
The parents became concerned when, on more than one occasion, Grace, now three, spoke of seeing a large black dog sitting under the apple tree in their yard, looking up at her bedroom window. Where most children have an imaginary friend, Grace seemed to have an imaginary pet.
“What did this doggie look like?” asked her father. “Oh,” said little Grace, “He’s very big, with black fur.” The MacNeils looked at each other with concern. The same thought passed through both their minds, but they shook their heads and shrugged it off. Grace had seen pictures of Brandy. That was probably it.
Later on that year, a huge fire broke out in the MacNeil home and spread quickly throughout the house. David MacNeil tried desperately to reach little Grace’s bedroom, but the flames drove him back and the debris created a barricade through which he could not pass. The fire trucks arrived, but too late to save the home. The flames and smoke were overwhelming, even for the firemen, and it looked as if there was no hope for poor little Grace.
Claire and David were watching the flames engulf their house in despair, when, from the rear of the house, a fireman emerged carrying something. With a grin on his face he said to Claire and David, “Look what I found sitting under the apple tree in the backyard, out of harm’s reach.” In his arms was Grace.
“It’s a miracle!” Claire exclaimed, crying and hugging her daughter.
“I don’t know how it happened” said the fireman. “She was just sitting there safe and sound. Oh, and your dog is safe too. Nice big, black dog was sitting right next to her.”
Watch Your !?+©–!% Tongue
Laurent J. D’Entremont of Lower West Pubnico, Nova Scotia, brought this little fish tale to my attention. Laurent remembers the subject of the story, an old man in question who drove around Pubnico in the early 1950s in a 1927 Model T Ford. Laurent was a mere kid at the time but he remembers Willie LeBlanc clearly.
The story goes like this: Early one morning Willie took his boat out to check his mackerel nets. They were empty most of the time, and that upset him to no end. He was a hot-tempered individual, and on his way back from the fishing grounds, he was swearing a blue streak because he had only caught three mackerel that day. As he sailed past the Baptist church, he let out a volley of curses, blaming the church for his bad luck. He then picked up the three mackerel and hurled them one by one at the church.
When he turned around, much to his horror, there was a stranger seated in the bow of the boat watching him! Willie was so scared that he would never even describe what the stranger looked like. Word has it he never swore again.
Chapter five
Unfinished Business
The Suit
Here’s one that’ll knock your socks off.
Back in the thirties there was a Fredericton family of humble means that from time to time received hand-me-downs from fancy relatives in the United States. One day a large box of clothes arrived,
including a brand new blue pinstripe suit. A letter from their cousin Minnie pinned to the suit lapel explained that her brother, their recently deceased cousin Charles, had owned the suit. Charles had wanted to be buried in the suit, but the family was a frugal lot and decided it would be an awful waste of a brand-new suit. So they sent the suit to cousin Angus, as they knew it would fit him beautifully. They were sure Charles wouldn’t have minded a bit.
Angus was thrilled at his expensive new suit and hurried up to his bedroom to try it on. Funny thing, though, it was as if the suit had a mind of its own. Angus had to struggle to get it on. Every time he’d lift his foot to pull a pant leg on, he’d fall over, like someone was pushing him off-balance. Finally, he got the suit on. When Angus came downstairs, everyone told him how grand he looked.
At church that Sunday the neighbours noticed the new suit and told Angus how spiffy he looked. Angus felt good. Halfway through the service, though, he felt something pulling on his suit collar. He turned around thinking someone might be teasing him, but the people in the pew behind him were watching the priest piously. Then something was pulling at Angus’s waist. When he looked down he saw his three-button suit jacket being undone, as if with invisible hands. And something was pulling his suit jacket off his shoulders! Angus fled from the church, and by the time he got home all he was wearing was his Stanfields.
It seemed Cousin Charles did mind, after all.
Annie’s Brooch
This sad ghost tale takes place in Liverpool, Nova Scotia. The account my storyteller gave differs slightly from the tale as it’s told by “Ted” R. Hennigar in his book Scotian Spooks, Mystery and Violence.
