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Authors: Helen Creighton
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usual form of conversation I said, âDo you know any good ghost stories?â
âGhost stories?â He hesitated while he made sure that I was serious, and then said, âYou should have been around when my father was living. He was full of them.â Seeing my interest he went on, âHe used to tell about a house on Windsor Street where they couldnât keep the doors closed. They even put nails in them and the doors would still open.â In this story he was feeling his way along, getting his mind in order for the following tale, and trying to assemble the facts. He finished his work on the thermostat and then hesitantly continued his story.
âThere was one thing happened that my father always thought was queer. My brother could tell you about it better than I can.â He then told the story as he remembered it and later, his brother filled in the missing parts. All, including the brotherâs wife, had often heard the incident discussed and they assured me their father had always insisted it really happened. It is a different kind of âleave âem lay,â with a ghost having a proprietary attachment to a bed you would think he would be only too glad to forget.
Many years ago Mr. Burnsâ great-aunt and uncle kept a boarding-house in the north end of Halifax. Their name was McLaughlin. They bought what appeared to be a very handsome bed at an auction sale, but nobody could sleep in it peacefully. The disturbance took the form of hair-pulling and turning down the bedclothes. One of the boarders who used the bed had heard of such things happening and decided there must be a ghost in the room. He therefore asked the spirit what he wanted. The answer came that the ghost had been murdered in that bed and his body had been thrown in Halifax Harbour at Deep Water; that is, just off of Pier 2. This seems to have been the full conversation, and the Burnses were sure he had made no request.
In those days beds were often made of the finest wood, and the McLaughlins wondered if this might be mahogany. If it were, they could not understand why it had been painted over, so they decided to scrape the paint off and see for themselves. I would have thought this had happened before the ghost disturbed the sleepers, and that this might have accounted for his activity, but the elder Mr. Burns was sure it came later. At all events the mystery was soon solved for, upon one side of the wooden frame, they discovered human bloodstains. Try as they would by rubbing and scraping they could not get those stains off and they decided then they were better off without the bed.They therefore consigned it to the flames and were glad to be rid of it.The incident has never been forgotten, however, and the story has come down through the family. The owners died about twenty-five years ago, and we presume the ghost rests peacefully, now that the bed that saw his death and retained his blood stains can no longer be used by others.
Chapter THREE
GHOSTS GUARD BURIED TREASURE
When Nova Scotians tell their stories of buried treasure they assume you know the legend of the ghost that guards it. Treasure is a favourite topic, especially in rural districts. As you know, we are almost an island here and all along our shore line there are sheltered coves, bays, and beaches, with woodland growth coming close to the waterâs edge. These would all make excellent hiding places for pirates of the early days or others who may have wanted to dispose of their booty for a time. So, too, would the islands within the bays. A sea captain with a quantity of gold and silver in his possession may well have favoured hiding it until some future date, rather than risk being robbed of it upon the high seas. Or pirates may have preferred to commit it to the ground for a while and come back for it later on, marking the spot with great care by map and chart. Then again there were the Acadians who left their homes hastily. Some had time to
âGhost stories?â He hesitated while he made sure that I was serious, and then said, âYou should have been around when my father was living. He was full of them.â Seeing my interest he went on, âHe used to tell about a house on Windsor Street where they couldnât keep the doors closed. They even put nails in them and the doors would still open.â In this story he was feeling his way along, getting his mind in order for the following tale, and trying to assemble the facts. He finished his work on the thermostat and then hesitantly continued his story.
âThere was one thing happened that my father always thought was queer. My brother could tell you about it better than I can.â He then told the story as he remembered it and later, his brother filled in the missing parts. All, including the brotherâs wife, had often heard the incident discussed and they assured me their father had always insisted it really happened. It is a different kind of âleave âem lay,â with a ghost having a proprietary attachment to a bed you would think he would be only too glad to forget.
Many years ago Mr. Burnsâ great-aunt and uncle kept a boarding-house in the north end of Halifax. Their name was McLaughlin. They bought what appeared to be a very handsome bed at an auction sale, but nobody could sleep in it peacefully. The disturbance took the form of hair-pulling and turning down the bedclothes. One of the boarders who used the bed had heard of such things happening and decided there must be a ghost in the room. He therefore asked the spirit what he wanted. The answer came that the ghost had been murdered in that bed and his body had been thrown in Halifax Harbour at Deep Water; that is, just off of Pier 2. This seems to have been the full conversation, and the Burnses were sure he had made no request.
In those days beds were often made of the finest wood, and the McLaughlins wondered if this might be mahogany. If it were, they could not understand why it had been painted over, so they decided to scrape the paint off and see for themselves. I would have thought this had happened before the ghost disturbed the sleepers, and that this might have accounted for his activity, but the elder Mr. Burns was sure it came later. At all events the mystery was soon solved for, upon one side of the wooden frame, they discovered human bloodstains. Try as they would by rubbing and scraping they could not get those stains off and they decided then they were better off without the bed.They therefore consigned it to the flames and were glad to be rid of it.The incident has never been forgotten, however, and the story has come down through the family. The owners died about twenty-five years ago, and we presume the ghost rests peacefully, now that the bed that saw his death and retained his blood stains can no longer be used by others.
Chapter THREE
GHOSTS GUARD BURIED TREASURE
When Nova Scotians tell their stories of buried treasure they assume you know the legend of the ghost that guards it. Treasure is a favourite topic, especially in rural districts. As you know, we are almost an island here and all along our shore line there are sheltered coves, bays, and beaches, with woodland growth coming close to the waterâs edge. These would all make excellent hiding places for pirates of the early days or others who may have wanted to dispose of their booty for a time. So, too, would the islands within the bays. A sea captain with a quantity of gold and silver in his possession may well have favoured hiding it until some future date, rather than risk being robbed of it upon the high seas. Or pirates may have preferred to commit it to the ground for a while and come back for it later on, marking the spot with great care by map and chart. Then again there were the Acadians who left their homes hastily. Some had time to
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