Miss S saw a man walking down the stairs towards our basement. He was dressed in white and held a candle in an old fashioned holder. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look at her, just walked down the stairs and disappeared.
My husband, who was doing dishes in the kitchen had his back to the stairwell and missed the whole event.
This story didn’t reach my ears until earlier this month when I overheard Miss S talking about the man’s presence with her sisters.
When I asked Miss S what he looked like she jumped to the junk drawer, pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper, and started sketching his nose. Over and over she drew noses, trying to get the slope and rounded tip perfect.
This isn’t the first time our children have seen something in our house.
One morning when toddler Miss Q and I were lazing around in my bed, she suddenly started to giggle. “What are you laughing at?” I asked.
“That man’s making faces at me,” she said.
“What man?” I asked.
“The man who’s hanging in the corner,” she replied like she was talking about the weather, not seeing dead people.
In a completely separate moment, and without prior knowledge of her sister’s observations years earlier, toddler Miss S told me there was a man in my bedroom… in the same corner.
So is our house haunted? Has the man who used to live here come back? Does he like to watch me sleep?
When we bought our 1950’s home eleven years ago, I asked the realtor if anyone had died in the house. She told me no, as that was something people had to declare when selling a home.
Our house has had three owners: us, a single man, and a family with four children. The latter lived here for forty years. So if none of them passed away in the house, maybe someone they didn’t have to declare did?
When my grandma was a young girl living in Victoria, she came home from school at lunchtime to learn that her grandfather had died upstairs in the guest bedroom that morning. She stood on her front doorstep and called across the street to her friend, “Hey (friend’s name) guess what? My grandpa died!”
Her mother was horrified and sent her back to school as quickly as possible.
Don’t worry if you live in Victoria, her childhood home was bulldozed long ago.
Victoria is among the most haunted cities in Canada. This, we are currently capitalizing on.
On ghost tours, my friends and I have heard heavy footsteps in empty stairwells that have stopped in front of us, then continued on the next flight above our heads. We have smelled cigar smoke so putrid that we looked sideways at each other, and then accusingly at the group to see who was poisoning our still forming lungs, only to find we were the only ones who could smell it.
There is a ghost who haunts a golf course by the water. Her name is Deloris. She is most often spotted in her wedding gown and if you ring the bell between the sixth and seventh holes, she is said to appear.
One year, for my friend’s birthday, we took her down and forced her to summon the ghost.
The peaceful, starlit April evening was shattered by clangs from the bell. Moments after the final gong, one of our friends, who had been hiding halfway down the green, appeared cloaked in a white bed sheet. As the birthday girl screamed and tried to run, I couldn’t move I was laughing so hard.
In all my trips to the golf course prior and since, I’ve never seen Deloris or her murderous husband for that matter.
There might be something to it.
There might be nothing.
I have zero explanation for the stench of cigarette smoke that occasionally fills pockets of our non-smoking household. And I cannot tell you why our girls need, want and like buddies when venturing downstairs, but are okay with the idea that a ghostly man might live with us.
I guess he’s part of the family.