In February, Dave and I were at his
work-related off-site (he and his coworkers went to meetings and we
spouses enjoyed relaxing at the beautiful inn in the heart of Ontario Wine Country), and
when the meetings were done, people started to talk about what they'd
like to do with their free time. Someone mentioned wine-tasting, and
someone mentioned a hike, and then someone else mentioned exploring
the ghost town at Ball's Falls. Dave and I exchanged glances and
said, “We're in.”
When we got to the Conservation Area,
however, we were disappointed to realise that “ghost town” in
this case simply meant “abandoned townsite”, and even so far as
that's concerned, there are just a few preserved buildings – a
home, a barn, a grist mill, a church – that were locked against our
entry. It was cold and slushy and it took about an hour to walk the
entire area from the lower falls (and the townsite) to the upper
falls (where there's a small ruin from a former mill) and back to the interpretive centre, and
while it was a very picturesque hike, it wasn't particularly spooky.
What we didn't know until later is that there apparently is a ghost
story attached to Ball's Falls.
As the story goes, at the turn of the nineteenth century, a local couple was planning their upcoming marriage when the young man was called upon to fight in the War of 1812. When word soon reached his fiance that he had been killed in the bloody conflict, she put on her wedding gown, climbed the winding pathway to the top of the waterfall, and hurled herself over the top. The story varies between whether she committed suicide at the upper falls (which are 35 feet high) or the lower falls (which are 90 feet high), but either way, the pools at the bottom of each are more rock than water and she would have met a violent and grisly end. Her ghost is said to now haunt the area, and when conditions are right, people report that a luminous lady in white can be seen walking the winding, rocky paths.
Because we didn't know this story, Dave explained to his coworker Tony that the "ghost town" at Ball's Falls was a disappointment to us because he and I have a history of going on haunted walks. What is extraordinary is that I hadn't really thought of that as something we do. But we do.
For our Honeymoon, Dave and I drove down through the States, intending to split our time between New Orleans and Memphis. This was meant to be a fly-by-the-pants, no strict plans type trip, so when we got to New Orleans and Dave asked what I wanted to do there, I flipped through a brochure in the hotel room and stopped at the perfect ad: The Haunts of New Orleans Tour; and we booked it. At the appointed hour, a limo pulled up to our hotel, and other than the wizened old woman who was to serve as our guide, there were no other occupants. Perfect. We drove around the city, pulling up in front of the "most haunted" buildings and homes and cemeteries, and we ended the tour at Madame Laveau's House of Voodoo (where I bought myself a voodoo doll). Marie Laveau was probably the most interesting character we learned about: a beautiful woman of mixed race, Laveau married a white man when she was only 18, but within a few years, he was dead and she became known as the Widow Paris. Supporting herself as a hairdresser after that, Laveau was able to collect gossip and insider intrigue from her more connected clients, and as a result, she was able to make pronouncements that seemed otherworldly. Laveau nurtured this belief, and by the time she died, most people in New Orleans believed she was a powerful voodoo witch. It was her daughter from a second marriage however, known as Marie II, who really ran with the idea; leading voodoo ceremonies in the swamps and attracting the attention of every white man who was grasping after power. Marie II died in mysterious circumstances (thought to have drowned in Lake Pontchartrain), and even today, no one can say for sure which cemetery holds the remains of either of the Maries. And yet...the Saint Louis Cemetery #1 has a tomb where modern voodoo practitioners go to make offerings to their former queen, and legend has it that her ghost can often be seen hanging around the crypt, and more reliably, rising to attend the St. John's Eve ceremonies every June 23rd, holding court over the spectacular voodoo ceremonies held on Bayou St every year. One thing for sure: the palpable age of the city of New Orleans makes one believe that its history and people could certainly live on.
In 1998, Dave and his Dad went to LA to attend a sci-fi convention, and as they are both movie nerds, they went on the Hollywood Gravelines Tour. For their experience, a converted hearse arrived at their hotel and they were driven around to sites of various famous deaths (John Belushi's condo, the nightclub out front of which River Phoenix OD'd). They reported nothing spooky happening, but I include this story to reinforce the point that this is something we do.
Another year on our anniversary, we were staying overnight in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, and although at the time I wouldn't have consciously thought of this as "something we do", we made arrangements to go on a haunted walking tour. When we arrived at the meeting place past dark, everyone in the group was given candlelit lanterns to carry, and despite being a city with working streetlights, we were often glad for the added light (and I can't deny it made for a great atmosphere). As an historical fishing port, we were told many stories about ghosts trying to make their way home after being lost at sea, we toured the impressive St. John’s Anglican Church, we noted the widow's walks at the upper levels of the sea captains' homes where distraught ghosts are said to still pace and await their long overdue husbands, and we walked through the cemetery and up to "Gallow's Hill"; the site of the local high school. This building is said to be one of the most haunted places in Lunenburg, and letting ourselves in after hours sent chills up the spine. I don't recall any of the "true" stories our guide told us, but I found this online to share (and I sincerely hope the author doesn't mind me quoting her):
In the middle of the tower hung a man, strung up by his neck, the sightless eyes staring straight at Terry. He closed his eyes and shuddered. When he opened them again, the vision was gone. Creeped out, he left the tower for the day. However, twice more before the renovations were completed, Terry saw the poor man. He never did know why the apparition appeared to him, but as it didn't offer him any harm, he let the fellow alone.
Some time later, Terry was working as the night security in the old school. He went in at supper time as the work for the day finished. One of his duties was to go through the three story structure on a walk-around to make sure no one had snuck in to vandalize the place. On his first tour he reached the third floor without incident. He glanced back down the stairwell and realized the light was on in the library. He was sure he had turned it off. He raced back down the stairs thinking he'd missed seeing someone.
Sure enough, the light was on and there was a young boy sitting at one of the tables with a book. "What are you doing?" he asked the lad who looked up, smiled and said, "Just reading."
Although it seemed odd, Terry decided to leave the boy there. After all, he was doing no harm. "You can stay for now," he said. "But not long." The boy nodded. On his next walk through, he found the boy still there. "It's getting dark," Terry said, "Your mother will be wondering where you are. You need to go now."
The boy turned, smiled and---poof---was gone. Terry shivered and shutting out the light and locking the door, continued on his rounds. He did not look in the library again that night.
Over the years, we've been to a lot of historical places (from Quebec City and Boston to Chichen Itza and Machu Picchu), and although we've never had an actual encounter, it's impossible to deny that long-settled places feel populated with the presence of the dead. It's hard to say, though, if we seek out these places more than others do. Last year, at our annual Christmas Eve party, we had invited some new guests – the family of a sometime friend of Mallory's – as the Dad in the family was my new coworker. We got to talking about various trips we've taken as families (I was surprised that the last time the parents were in Vegas they drove out to Area 51: Dave and I so would have done that if we had thought of it), and they mentioned that they made it a point to stay in the "most haunted hotels in North America" whenever they could. Of course I wanted details about that, and they told me of their one "encounter".
I don't remember where they were (somewhere in the States), and they arranged to join a walking group touring the supposedly haunted cemetery. They were each given listening devices so that the guide wouldn't need to raise his voice in the hallowed space, and as they were climbing a rise between the graves at one point, the son Michael's device went to static. As the family stood in place, trying to get Michael's device to work, the tail end of the group tried to pass them, but the mobility scooter one of them was using went dead at the exact same spot. The family tried to help push the scooter, someone still trying to bang the listening device back to life, and nothing was helping, so the family moved along the path to rejoin the group – and suddenly Michael's listening device was working; and once they had moved away from that particular grave, the other man's scooter started working again too. When they caught up with the guide again and told him their story, he laughed and said, "That was a child's grave you were stopped beside, and in every tour, he finds someone he wants to prank. He must have wanted to play with you, Michael, and when you didn't realise you were being pranked, he stopped that scooter to really get your attention." Yep. That would get my attention.
So there it is: a collection of ghosthunting stories that I really didn't know were mine until Dave mentioned that this is "something we do".
Happy Halloween!
Strange stories from previous years:
Halloween I
Halloween II
Halloween III
For our Honeymoon, Dave and I drove down through the States, intending to split our time between New Orleans and Memphis. This was meant to be a fly-by-the-pants, no strict plans type trip, so when we got to New Orleans and Dave asked what I wanted to do there, I flipped through a brochure in the hotel room and stopped at the perfect ad: The Haunts of New Orleans Tour; and we booked it. At the appointed hour, a limo pulled up to our hotel, and other than the wizened old woman who was to serve as our guide, there were no other occupants. Perfect. We drove around the city, pulling up in front of the "most haunted" buildings and homes and cemeteries, and we ended the tour at Madame Laveau's House of Voodoo (where I bought myself a voodoo doll). Marie Laveau was probably the most interesting character we learned about: a beautiful woman of mixed race, Laveau married a white man when she was only 18, but within a few years, he was dead and she became known as the Widow Paris. Supporting herself as a hairdresser after that, Laveau was able to collect gossip and insider intrigue from her more connected clients, and as a result, she was able to make pronouncements that seemed otherworldly. Laveau nurtured this belief, and by the time she died, most people in New Orleans believed she was a powerful voodoo witch. It was her daughter from a second marriage however, known as Marie II, who really ran with the idea; leading voodoo ceremonies in the swamps and attracting the attention of every white man who was grasping after power. Marie II died in mysterious circumstances (thought to have drowned in Lake Pontchartrain), and even today, no one can say for sure which cemetery holds the remains of either of the Maries. And yet...the Saint Louis Cemetery #1 has a tomb where modern voodoo practitioners go to make offerings to their former queen, and legend has it that her ghost can often be seen hanging around the crypt, and more reliably, rising to attend the St. John's Eve ceremonies every June 23rd, holding court over the spectacular voodoo ceremonies held on Bayou St every year. One thing for sure: the palpable age of the city of New Orleans makes one believe that its history and people could certainly live on.
 |
| (Stupid that we took so many pics on this tour but none with us in them) |
In 1998, Dave and his Dad went to LA to attend a sci-fi convention, and as they are both movie nerds, they went on the Hollywood Gravelines Tour. For their experience, a converted hearse arrived at their hotel and they were driven around to sites of various famous deaths (John Belushi's condo, the nightclub out front of which River Phoenix OD'd). They reported nothing spooky happening, but I include this story to reinforce the point that this is something we do.
Another year on our anniversary, we were staying overnight in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, and although at the time I wouldn't have consciously thought of this as "something we do", we made arrangements to go on a haunted walking tour. When we arrived at the meeting place past dark, everyone in the group was given candlelit lanterns to carry, and despite being a city with working streetlights, we were often glad for the added light (and I can't deny it made for a great atmosphere). As an historical fishing port, we were told many stories about ghosts trying to make their way home after being lost at sea, we toured the impressive St. John’s Anglican Church, we noted the widow's walks at the upper levels of the sea captains' homes where distraught ghosts are said to still pace and await their long overdue husbands, and we walked through the cemetery and up to "Gallow's Hill"; the site of the local high school. This building is said to be one of the most haunted places in Lunenburg, and letting ourselves in after hours sent chills up the spine. I don't recall any of the "true" stories our guide told us, but I found this online to share (and I sincerely hope the author doesn't mind me quoting her):
Gallows Hill Legacy?
Terry was working as a carpenter repairing various parts of the Lunenburg Academy. While on his own, finishing some work in one of the towers, the hairs on the back of his neck raised and a track prickled across his scalp. He turned slowly.Childish company...
Some time later, Terry was working as the night security in the old school. He went in at supper time as the work for the day finished. One of his duties was to go through the three story structure on a walk-around to make sure no one had snuck in to vandalize the place. On his first tour he reached the third floor without incident. He glanced back down the stairwell and realized the light was on in the library. He was sure he had turned it off. He raced back down the stairs thinking he'd missed seeing someone.
Although it seemed odd, Terry decided to leave the boy there. After all, he was doing no harm. "You can stay for now," he said. "But not long." The boy nodded. On his next walk through, he found the boy still there. "It's getting dark," Terry said, "Your mother will be wondering where you are. You need to go now."
The boy turned, smiled and---poof---was gone. Terry shivered and shutting out the light and locking the door, continued on his rounds. He did not look in the library again that night.
Over the years, we've been to a lot of historical places (from Quebec City and Boston to Chichen Itza and Machu Picchu), and although we've never had an actual encounter, it's impossible to deny that long-settled places feel populated with the presence of the dead. It's hard to say, though, if we seek out these places more than others do. Last year, at our annual Christmas Eve party, we had invited some new guests – the family of a sometime friend of Mallory's – as the Dad in the family was my new coworker. We got to talking about various trips we've taken as families (I was surprised that the last time the parents were in Vegas they drove out to Area 51: Dave and I so would have done that if we had thought of it), and they mentioned that they made it a point to stay in the "most haunted hotels in North America" whenever they could. Of course I wanted details about that, and they told me of their one "encounter".
I don't remember where they were (somewhere in the States), and they arranged to join a walking group touring the supposedly haunted cemetery. They were each given listening devices so that the guide wouldn't need to raise his voice in the hallowed space, and as they were climbing a rise between the graves at one point, the son Michael's device went to static. As the family stood in place, trying to get Michael's device to work, the tail end of the group tried to pass them, but the mobility scooter one of them was using went dead at the exact same spot. The family tried to help push the scooter, someone still trying to bang the listening device back to life, and nothing was helping, so the family moved along the path to rejoin the group – and suddenly Michael's listening device was working; and once they had moved away from that particular grave, the other man's scooter started working again too. When they caught up with the guide again and told him their story, he laughed and said, "That was a child's grave you were stopped beside, and in every tour, he finds someone he wants to prank. He must have wanted to play with you, Michael, and when you didn't realise you were being pranked, he stopped that scooter to really get your attention." Yep. That would get my attention.
So there it is: a collection of ghosthunting stories that I really didn't know were mine until Dave mentioned that this is "something we do".
Happy Halloween!
Strange stories from previous years:
Halloween I
Halloween II
Halloween III
