The Stories That Haunt Us (15 page)

When Mrs. Mueller opened the garage door, Mr. Forester couldn't believe what he was looking at. The Model T was still in showroom condition.

“I can't believe it, Mrs. Mueller. I just don't know how it can still be in such pristine condition after all these years parked in this barn.“

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Mueller, “my husband's spirit?”

Mr. Forester nodded and smiled.

“Go ahead and sit in it, Mr. Forester.”

“You don't mind?”

“Of course not. I insist.”

Mrs. Mueller then moved to the other side and got in. She patted the driver's seat, smiling.

Mr. Forester got behind the wheel. Not only was it in showroom condition, but it also had that special new-car smell. Maybe he could buy this from her as well!

“Go ahead,” Mrs. Mueller said, “Go ahead take hold of the wheel.”

Just as soon as Mr. Forester's fingers wrapped around the wheel the engine turned over.

Startled, Mr. Forester tried to pull his hands off the wheel, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remove them. The vehicle backed itself out of the garage and began to pick up speed as it moved toward the cliff. Mr. Forester tried to steer away from the cliff, but it was as if someone else was steering. He tried desperately to jump out of the hurtling car, but he couldn't. Something kept him anchored to his seat. When Mr. Forester turned to Mrs. Mueller the wind was blowing her long white hair around and over her head, making her look for all the world like a cackling witch. Mr. Forester screamed as the Tin Lizzie went over the cliff into the void below.

The young man turned the car down Ocean View Drive. He turned to his pretty bride and said, “Keep your fingers crossed, honey—this could be our new home.”

When the young man stopped the car an elderly woman with long white hair stood on the stoop smiling. She suggested they look around outside first. She led the way along the well-worn path toward the high cliffs. When they came to the open garage, the young man stopped in disbelief. “That's not a Tin Lizzie, is it?”

“Why, yes…yes, it is…Would you folks like to sit in it?”

Dead Ringer

T
his is the second story passed on to me by Russell McManus of Truro, Nova Scotia.

One of Russell's hobbies is collecting coins. When the Truro Exhibition closed for the season, Russell grabbed his metal detector and headed to the field that was used as the parking lot. He began his search for coins near the horse barns. Luck was on his side: where usually he found only new coins, keys and nails, this time he discovered a few very old coins, along with some blackened nails and glass. And the ground nearby contained small pieces of old charred wood, indicating that there had been a building there at one time, and one which had possibly burned down.

Russell's metal detector was recording a signal about eight inches deep. He dug down, and just as he was going to pick up whatever his detector had found, two horses in a nearby coral went wild. The horses reared onto their hind legs, pawing at the air with their front hooves, clearly terrified of something. They were snorting, whinnying and trying to break out of the coral. Two handlers had to rush into the coral to calm them down. Russell, meanwhile, pulled an old horseshoe out of the hole he had dug. And as he lifted the horseshoe from its grave, he heard a horse thundering toward him at full gallop. Russell was frozen to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle, and could only keep his head down to protect himself. Something brushed past, knocking him off balance. When he got to his feet there was no sign of the charging horse—the two horses in the coral were calm and grazing.

I wonder if Russell McManus has that horseshoe nailed to anything, or if he did the wise thing and put it back where he found it.

‘Some Monster of Iniquity'

T
here are three good reasons to enter a cemetery: to be buried, to visit a loved one's grave, or to read the many fascinating tombstone inscriptions you can often find. In the Methodist cemetery in Middle Sackville, New Brunswick, there's an inscription on a tombstone that reveals to the world that the man buried there did not die of natural causes. No, William Fawcett was murdered!

This is the inscription on Mr. Fawcett's tombstone:

In memory of William Fawcett who was a plain industrious hospitable
and deeply pious man whose uniform and Christian conduct gained him
the respect of all who became acquainted with him while reading one of
Mr. Wesley's sermons.

His immortal spirit was instantly precipitated into the eternal world
to take possession of its final rest by some monster of iniquity that will
be discovered at the last day who intentionally shot him dead through
the kitchen window on the evening of June 19, 1832 in the sixty-third
year of his age
.

The coroner reported that the body of Mr. Fawcett was found in a seated position, a book of John Wesley's sermons fixed firm in his hand. It lay open at Wesley's text on 2 Samuel 18:33, “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom. Would I had died instead of you.”

Here the plot thickens. The coroner's report concluded, “What renders this dispensation more particularly depressing, is that suspicion has fallen on his only son, Rufus, as perpetrator of the murder.” Rufus was charged with the crime, but was then acquitted after a trial. He left for the United States and the murder of William Fawcett remains a mystery to this very.

Chapter Six

You Can't Outrun
a Forerunner

Empty Saddle

M
abel of Lower Sackville told me this story in a theatre line-up. She credits it to her grandfather. It was his great grandfather, Victor, who was involved in the tale.

Victor was driving his team of Morgans to town for supplies when the incident happened. Suddenly abreast of his wagon, there appeared a beautiful and magnificent white stallion. After he caught his breath, Victor noticed something most peculiar. Although there was no one in the saddle, someone or something was holding the reins taut. He also noticed the great brown eyes of the horse bulging out of their sockets and its flared nostrils. Victor knew horses better than most and he knew this one was afraid of something.

Victor's throat was so dry that when he spoke his voice cracked “Who is it? What do you want from me?” But as soon as he spoke, the horse disappeared. Victor tried to find out who owned a white stallion, but no one for miles around owned such a horse. A mystery to be sure.

Between the Holly

I
t was a week before Christmas and preparations were in full swing at the MacDonald homestead. At the urging of his family, Dan R. headed into the woods to chop down the family Christmas tree.

That afternoon, under a clear and cold sky and with a newly sharpened axe slung over his broad shoulders, Dan R. headed into the deep forest. Most people who entered these woods didn't wander too far off the beaten path for fear of getting lost…or of what might be watching from the trees. But Dan R. knew the woods. They had been his playground as a boy.

After an hour of walking through the thick brush, he came into a clearing. Sitting atop a small knoll he spotted the perfect balsam fir. He placed the axe to one side and began clearing the snow from around the trunk. Suddenly a shadow crossed over him.

The fine hairs on his neck stood out and a shiver went through him. A bear was the first thing to cross Dan R.'s mind as he reached for the axe and turned around slowly. Seated on a horse-drawn sleigh and staring silently at Dan R. were a man, a woman and a child. The child was so bundled in winter clothing that Dan R. couldn't tell whether it was a boy or girl. The one thing he could see was the bright red Santa cap the child wore. Dan R. stood rooted to the spot, puzzled. There was no road to enable a sleigh to get this far into the woods, only a footpath. Yet here before his eyes was a horse and sleigh with three people in it. But how did it get there?

As a police officer, Dan R. was a cautious and intuitive man who never ignored the signals from within. He tightened his grip on the handle of the axe just in case. He smiled, nodded and spoke. “Hello there folks. Getting a tree for Christmas. You look like you're lost, are you?” When there was no response, Dan R. walked toward the sleigh. When he was close enough to see their faces, he noticed the child was weeping, as was the woman. The man wore a blank stare. Dan R. noticed something else was not right with the scene. Water was dripping from their clothes, the sleigh and the horse. It was as if they had just come through a torrential downpour.

As soon as he took another step, the horse, sleigh and family vanished before his eyes! The shock was so sudden that Dan R.'s legs came out from under him and he fell to the snow. When he recovered his senses, he decided it was time to get the tree and get out of there. An hour later Dan R. crossed over the logging road and made his way down the hill into his backyard. He was happy and relieved to see his home.

After supper, Dan R. and his wife watched the children decorate the tree. They sang Christmas carols and ate sweets. He was still dumbfounded by the afternoon's events but did not want to alarm his family or put a damper on the festivities, so he held his tongue.

When the kids were finally in bed, Dan R. told his wife what he had seen in the woods earlier in the day. “The people you described sound like the new folk who moved into the old MacGregor homestead. “Perhaps it was a forerunner,” his wife said. Dan R. was not convinced by his wife's explanation, but exhausted from the days events, he fell asleep.

Dan R. was brought out of a deep sleep by an insistent knocking on the door. It was one his fellow officers, who stated he was needed at Moon Lake. There had been an accident. Someone had gone through the ice. Dan R. dressed hurriedly and made his way to the scene.

When Dan R. stepped out of his truck, an officer was waiting. He was holding a bright, red Santa cap in his hand. Dan R. knew then, without a doubt, that his wife was right—it had been a forerunner indeed.

The Coffin Maker

I
was attending a memorial at a local funeral home when I heard this forerunner story. The incident happened over a hundred years ago in a small New Brunswick community near Riverview.

Murdock, the village undertaker and coffin maker, knew everyone for miles around. He was a sly old man who kept up on the state of the village, and always had just enough coffins at the ready. One night, the coffin maker was sound asleep when he was awakened by the sounds of someone sawing and hammering—and it sounded like it was coming from his workshop. Holding an oil lamp high, Murdock made his way downstairs through the kitchen and to the door that led to his workshop. When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, the shop was empty…except for the most beautiful coffin he had ever seen. It was an extra large one.

Murdock, smart man he was, knew a forerunner when he saw one. The village coffin maker and undertaker thought to himself, “just my size.” He returned to bed and died peacefully in his sleep that same night.

A Knock on the Door

H
ere's a story from Dr. Helen Creighton's popular
Bluenose Ghosts
book. Dr. Creighton loved the community of Pubnico and it is said she heard this story on one of her many visits to that area.

The story involves a girl from Halifax, and her brother, Willie, who at the time of this incident was serving in the army overseas.

One night there was a knock on the door. Even though it was late for visitors to be calling, the girl went downstairs to answer it. She was overjoyed when she opened the door to find Willie standing there, decked out in his uniform. In a sombre and sober voice he said to his sister, “My work is over. I've done what I had to do.” The girl reached out to embrace her brother but as she did, he mysteriously disappeared.

Awakened by the knocking, the girl's father had come to investigate. When he saw his daughter standing in front of the empty door, he was angry with her. “What are you thinking opening the door to any stranger that might be there at three in the morning?” he said in a raised voice. Frightened and confused, she told her father, “Willie was just here. He stood right there on our front porch and said his work was done. I tried to hug him, but he just disappeared.” Her father thought she must have been sleepwalking for how else could he explain why Willie would show up, make this statement, and then leave?