The Big Book of Canadian Hauntings. John Robert Colombo

and which, I firmly believe, have lasted beyond her grave.

      Quite a year and a half after her death, my poor L... , with what motive I know not (unless it may have been, as I sometimes fondly hope, to assure me that she understood and sympathized with my sorrow at my having failed her at the moment of her extremity), appeared to me the same once — but never again. It occurred thus: — I had been suffering all day from brow ague, and had gone early to bed — but not to sleep. All the evening I had been kept painfully awake by that same church clock which I have mentioned above. It seemed to strike oftener, louder, and more slowly than any clock I had ever had the misfortune to come across. Of course, my ailment of the moment caused the clock’s vagaries to appear peculiarly painful, and I bore the annoyance very restlessly, with my face turned pettishly to the wall; but when the midnight hour began to chime, I felt as though I could bear it no longer. Muttering an impatient exclamation, I turned in my bed, so as to face the room, and looking across it, I saw my poor ..., standing close to a screen between me and the door, looking at me.

      She was in her usual dress, wearing (what was then called) a “cross-over,” which was tied behind; while her bonnet (which she was always in the habit of taking off as she came upstairs) was, as usual, hanging by the ribbon, on her arm. She had a smile on her face, and I distinctly noticed her lovely little white ears, which were always my admiration, and which were only half covered by her soft brown hair.

      She stood — a minute it seemed — looking at me, then she glided towards me, and I, half-apprehensive that she was about to throw herself on my bed, exclaimed, jumping up in a sitting posture: — “Dearest! what brings you here so late?”

      With deep reverence be it spoken; but as soon as these words were out of my mouth I was irresistibly reminded of those spoken (Holy Writ tell us) by Saint Peter at the awful moment of the Transfiguration! Awed and dazed at the sight of the spiritual visitants, we are told he uttered words “not knowing what he said.” These words of mine also seemed to leap to my lips, but with little meaning in them — if any.

      As soon, however, as my voice had ceased, the apparition disappeared, and I remained some moments motionless.

      One of the most curious features of the case is that, although I was very especially restless and awake at the moment of the appearance, I recognized my friend so completely, that I forgot also to recognize the fact that she had died; or, rather, it happened too quickly for me to bring that fact to mind. Indeed, it all took place in such a flash — in such a moment of time — so much quicker than I can tell it — and she looked so exactly like her well-known self, and that till she had disappeared, I really believed I was seeing her in the flesh! Of course, as soon as I had time to reflect, I remembered, and realized what it was I had seen!

      I was not frightened, but I felt colder than I had ever felt in my life, and I have never felt so cold since, but the moisture seemed to pour off my body. I called no one to my assistance; all I realized was that God had permitted me to see her once more, and that perhaps He might send her to me again. But He has not done so, and, probably, now, He never will.

      I lay awake all night afterwards, hoping for — and, I think, almost expecting — her again, and after the day had dawned I fell asleep.

      Before telling my story to anyone, and dreading unspeakably all the doubting and sarcastic speeches which such a narration would inevitably call forth, I sent for my doctor, an old and trusted friend, and after making him talk rationally to me for some time, I asked him whether he considered me in an exalted state, or whether I had ever betrayed any hysterical tendencies. He reassured me heartily on these points, and then asked my reasons for such questionings. I thereupon opened my heart to him, and he neither ridiculed nor disbelieved, but, on the contrary, told me another case of the same kind which had lately happened to a friend of his; but he strongly advised me to keep my own council at present (which I did for some time), and kindly added that he did not look upon me as a lunatic, but simply as a woman for whom one corner of the curtain which guarded the unseen had been lifted.

      In conclusion, I repeat I am ready to vouch for the truth of every word here set down, and also, should it be required, to give names — in private — to satisfy those who doubt.

3 SOME OLD HAUNTED HOUSES

      Creaky floorboards, phantom footsteps, locked doors, rusty skeleton keys, fusty attics, dank cellars, curtains that billow in the breeze, thunder and lightning, moans and groans! Everyone who has ever been to the movies or watched television has, vicariously, entered a haunted house — and then tried to get out! Then the fun begins. The scary stuff!

      In this section moviegoers and television watchers will be able to read some stories of old-fashioned houses haunted by some old-fashioned ghosts and spirits.

THE DEVIL AT LARGE

      Halifax Daily Reporter, July 15, 1869

      To His Satanic Majesty, much has been attributed in days gone by, and at the present moment it appears the inclination of the masses is far from lessening his responsibility. The latest sensation His Majesty is responsible for is the destruction of the peace and harmony of the neighbourhood of Number 294, St. Mary Street, in so far that he has taken possession of the house bearing that number, and both during the day and dark night giving blood-curdling and mysterious proofs of his presence there. “The masses may laugh and jeer and sneer,” as the inmates of the house say, “but if they were only here instead of us, they would soon find out the terrible truth we are telling.” Upon enquiry, the following is the manner and means whereby His Majesty chooses to indicate his “being there.” The house is a small one and under an apartment there is as usual in such dwellings, a small but deep and dark cellar, reached by a trap door through the floor. It is of this cellar the infernal headquarters have taken possession. The first indication of anything unusual was the flying up of the trap door one day not long ago, and the ejection from the darkness below of a scrubbing brush, a lot of nails, eggshells, etc., etc., all accompanied by a strong smell of brimstone. The eruption done, the trap door closed again, leaving the horror-stricken and trembling inmates speechless, and in a profuse cold perspiration. Of course, the neighbours heard of the mysterious indications, and a number of them, boldly declaiming they did not believe it, and were not afraid, were invited to wait and see for themselves. They did so, and sure enough as midnight drew near, bang-bang opened the trap door, out came nails, egg shells, feathers, etc., and out rushed, wildly screaming, the bold neighbours, who at once declared it was the devil, one being ready to swear he saw him sitting in a corner with his tail twisted round his neck. Then it was at once settled that the devil was in possession and no one else. The opening of the trap door and discharges took place at regular intervals. The police were then sent for and one of the number having entered the house, stood with the eldest female awaiting developments. He had not to wait long when up flew the trap door and out came the usual quantity of infernal machines. “Don’t you see him? Don’t you see him?” screamed the female, and away she rushed to tell that the devil had appeared even before a policeman. “Well,” said the policeman, “if it’s the devil in the cellar, I’ll have you up for having spirits in the house without licence, that’s all.” It’s but just to say the policeman looked into the cellar, but could see no signs of an infernal presence. Meanwhile, the trap door opens and closes at intervals, accompanied by the usual egg shells and iron nail discharges. The neighbourhood are convinced it is the devil himself, and with trepidation await the result of the infernal visit.

      A hard-headed unbeliever says that the tenant in the house has for some times found the rent rather high and is desirous to lower it or have it lowered by some or any means surely, surely not. — Montreal Gazette.

A GHOST IN WHITBY

       The Apparition