This story is directly related to the story I wrote in the last entry, on August 27. In that entry was an account of paranormal activity in Ontario told by Tracy. This next story is told from her sister, Kim's, which coincides with some of the information Tracy has already divulged, plus some tantalizing extra insights. So again, this is a word for word account by Kim.
I think for anyone who might read this to really understand the experiences that my sister(Tracy), and I have wrote, it is important to also touch on some of the family history and also of the area. The majority of occurrences take place in a rural northern Ontario community on a family farm that had been passed down through the generations beginning with my great-grandfather Alfred on my dad's side of the family. Although it isn't clear how much land Alfred had purchased. I am told Alfred and his wife Ella Mae chose to raise their children on one small lot that later became my home.
From all the information and statements that I gathered over the years, I believe that Alfred had divided the land between two of his children, son Jack, and his daughter Grace. Jack with his wife Jean later lived on the same piece of land as Alfred. Grace, married to George, built a home on the far western corner, not far from a fairly large creek that ran down the length of property. Grace and George had three children, the eldest daughter, Edith Jane, son, Alfred George, and youngest, Frederick James.
On June 15, 1950, the children were playing by the creek, when the youngest boy Freddie had fallen in. Alfred George, named after his grandfather, is believed to have went to the aid of his brother first and quickly headed into the water, and his sister, Edith followed. Tragedy struck, and after a thorough search, all three bodies were found in the creek that evening by my grandfather, Jack. Edith was 11 years old, Alfie was 9, and Freddie was just 7.
Now the stories I have been told about the first house that stood on the farm are chilling o say the least. I wish at times I knew more about the history of the house, and whether or not it was actually built by my great grandfather or if it had already been there when he required the property.
Jack and his wife Jean lived in this along with four of their children before their marriage ended. From what I understand, Jean moved west and unable to take the children, Jack remained in the house with two daughters - my dad and his younger brother, Jackie.
Reports of this house from my dad and grandfather Jack, ranged from hearing voices, numerous people running up and down the stairs or having conversations, and it escalated to items being thrown at the kids. This seemed to happen on a daily bases and it didn't seem to matter what time of day or night. My dad's oldest sister, Claudette, seemed to take the worst of the damage. My grandfather told me that once during a heated argument between Jean and Claudette, a hot frying pan sitting on the stove violently threw itself at Claudette and hit her in the back, leaving a terrible burn and a bruise.
There was also an old barn on the farm that had an old style door latch for a handle. The youngest child, Sam, was so little at the time, she was unable to work the latch open. She'd rattle it back and forth to no avail. She could not force it open. When Jean left to move to the west, Sam went to live with a friend of the family until Jean was able to send for her. Even though she was gone from the house and property, The boys, who remained at the old house, could ofter hear the door handle rattle and click as if Sam was on the other side trying to get in.
The only real memory of the first house that I have is in 1978-79, when I was about 8 or 9 years old. My father had saved up enough to start building his own home on the farm and I remember going with him and my mother to the farm to pick out a spot for the new house. Just as we were getting out of the car, my dad told me to stay out of trouble and I was not allowed to go in the old house. As my dad roamed around, I remember peeking through the old glass windows and seeing all sorts of neat things in the rooms. I remember thinking that although everything was tarnished with dust and dirt, it was almost inconceivable that it was empty. I got this notion that people should still be living there. I recall seeing pictures still hanging on the walls and cups on the table. Then something shiny on the floor caught my eye, and I knew right away that it was money. It looked funny to me. I had never seen this type of currency before. They were shiny new, and large and so many of them. I remember wanting them so badly that I figured if I begged my dad long enough, he would let me have them.
Calling for my mom first, I hoped that she would go into the house and get me this money. I pointed through the window at the money on the floor for my mother to see. She hollered for my dad(Boyd) to come look. "Boyd, you got to come see this. There is a pile of silver dollars on the floor!" I remembered getting so excited. I was jumping and dancing around my mom, entertaining the belief that we had suddenly become super rich. My dad peered through the window and to my disappointment, he didn't seem to care one bit.
"Can I have them dad, please dad, can I have them?" No sooner did that come out of my mouth did I regret it. The expression on my dad's face changed so quickly. His good mood suddenly plummeted and anger and hatred took its place. With his face all twisted, blackened eyes, and his voice deep and low, said: "I said no. No one is allowed in the house."
My father never got that angry with me. In fact, that was the first time that he actually scared the hell out of me. Running back to the car in tears, I heard my mom yell with panic in her voice: "Boyd! What the hell is wrong with you!" Immediately after that, we left and that was the last time I seen the old house still standing. Or so I thought. I actually did see the old house once more after that, but it was years after my dad tore it down. Yes, I'll explain that later.
A few weeks after the silver dollar incident, my dad and his brother went to the farm to start tearing down the old house. My dad was persistent, calling hydro several times to make sure it was safe - that the power was turned off before they begun to dismantle it. My dad then climbed on the roof and started disconnecting wires. I don't know if he did get a jolt or if he luckily figured it out first, but I remember him coming home mad as hell. He called hydro and after a lot of swearing and yelling, he asked them if they were trying to kill him. Although Hydro swears that the pole was dead, and the work order was completed, mysteriously, the power still ran live to the house.
After the house was only a pile of rubble, the construction of the new house began. The new house was built directly across from the old, several hundred yards apart. Some lumber was salvaged from the old house, which was also used in the construction of the new house. I am not completely convinced that using old building material for the new house could be the only explanation for all that happened, but I am sure it didn't help matters.
A year later, the house was completed. My dad's brother, Jackie bought a trailer and moved it to the south side of the property across from ours. Only the Trans Canada highway divides the two pieces of land. I only mention this little fact because the experiences in Jackie's home, although mild in comparison to ours, adds further credence to the idea that it could be the property as a whole that is disturbed. Or...maybe it's a freakishly weird family curse that knows no boundaries. There were so many experiences that I find it hard to know where to start. It's impossible to list all the events chronologically. In fact, this is my third or fourth attempt at even writing this paragraph. As soon as I recall one experience, another memory even more unbelievable than the first creeps into my mind.
I think I'll start with the clown. I hate clowns. I cannot remember exactly how old we were. I was maybe 11, Tracy 5 or 6, and my brother Kevin was about 2. My grandfather Jack bought Kevin this red stuffed musical clown. The ones with the wind up red ball nose, and would play a tune when it was wound up. One night I heard Tracy and Kevin screaming from the bedroom - a high pitched blood curdling scream I will never forget. I must have been sweeping up the floor, as the next thing I remember is being in the bedroom doorway with the whisk broom in my hand. The kids were sitting in the middle of the bed. I got this tingling sensation, and numbness all over my body. I followed the children's gaze to the corner of the room to my left. Still in the doorway, I then heard the laughing and giggling. There it was, the clown, on the ceiling, spinning head over heels in circles. Then it stopped upright and violently shook while continuing its incessant giggling. Somehow I mustered up a good dose of courage, and in an instant, I was underneath it, and beating the abomination with the broom. With each strike I kept telling myself that it wasn't hard enough. I'm not sure how long it took - maybe a few seconds, or a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime to knock that little red bastard off the ceiling. I don't remember what happened to the clown in the days to come.
There were two other incidents that took place involving toys that would take on a life of their own. There was a yellow toy telephone that would ring and roll its eyes when pulled by a string fastened to the front. If left out, we were certain to be woken in the middle of the night, hearing it ring up and down the hallway outside our bedroom. It wasn't until the phone chased my sister down the hallway did my mom finally get rid of it.
As far as actual spiritual manifestations in the house, there were not too many that I can recall. At times, strange figures I could see out the corner of my eye, or a glimpse of their reflections in windows or mirrors. The only spirit I can honestly say I have clearly seen was that of a little blond haired boy. It wasn't until my dad saw the little boy that we started to call him Alfie. My father reassured us that Alfie had been around for years and was quite harmless. Dressed in blue coveralls and tousled dirty blond hair, Alfie seemed to be a little shy, as he was either peeking around corners or running from room to room. On one occasion, my cousin Dwayne was visiting at our house with the intention of staying the night but he had quickly changed his mind after he followed Alfie down the hall into one of the rooms believing that he was following my brother. Neither my brother or sister were home at the time and even though I tried to convince Dwayne that everything was fine, he still insisted that he wanted to leave. Dwayne wasn't our only house guest to report that they had seen Alfie, and over the years, my dad became proficient in calming people's fears and keeping the panicked reactions to a minimum. I saw Alfie four times on the old farm and at least three times years later after my own move to B.C.
Unfortunately Dwayne wasn't the only person who left our home after a paranormal experience, stressed and scared. One evening while my parents were out, the neighbors had sent their youngest son, Dave, over to sit with me and watch the kids. The reason for this was because there was a terrible lightning storm coming through and I was really too young to be alone with the kids and without a phone. Ontario lightning storms can be the most amazing and frightening experiences. The night was as black as could be, but with the flash of lightning you could see clear across the fields as if it were a mid-summers day. The sky would light up for fifteen seconds or so, and it would be long enough for your eyes to adjust and clearly see your neighbors home across the highway. As Dave and I stood watching the light show through the big picture window, the wind picked up and was tossing a wheel barrel down the lane. At first it looked like a scene right out of the Wizard Of Oz, and I laughed at Dave who had to go outside to case the barrel down before it caused any damage or reached the highway. Still at the picture window and Dave outside, we both waited for the next flash of lightning to see where the barrel was headed. Just as the sky lit up, Dave was gone, suddenly running directly across the driveway toward the barrel, which was being held against a tree by the wind. Just before he reached it, the sky went black for a second or two, and then another flash lit up the sky even brighter than before. The wheel barrel was still against the tree and right behind the tree stood the first old farmhouse. It was tall, grey and weathered looking with windows that appeared to be staring right at me and watching like it was alive. I heard a loud scream and I witnessed Dave stop dead in his tracks, and then he stumbled and fell backwards on his butt as he tried to turn and run back to the house. Back in the house and white as a ghost, Dave started flashing the outside light on and off which was our safety signal to the neighbors that there was trouble and to come to their aid. Without saying a word and visibly shaking, he waited for his brother Stan to pull up to the house. When he did, Dave jumped on his dirt bike and left. Although we never talked about it later, I can only assume that Dave saw the same image of the old house as I did.
I wish I could better describe the feelings and emotions that a person could experience just by being on this farm - isolated, depressed, feeling a heavy burden and often guilt. Many times there were bursts of anger, which led to a lot of violence. Of course with the alcohol abuse that the family endured for so many years can be blamed for a lot of those incidents, but sometimes I wonder if something else didn't bring it on. There were many moments when the two least likely people would turn violent and angry toward each other over something so minuscule that you might consider that there were other forces at work. Once, my dad's brother Jackie, who is the most calm and easy going man in the family, came home one day after work to find out some family were visiting from Cochrane for the weekend and he was less than impressed. You see, while Jackie was at work, one member of the visiting family, Richard, stopped in to see his family and with Jackie's wife's permission, took the kids for a little ride on Jackie's four wheeler. When Jackie found out he became uncharacteristically angry and violent, beating the hell out of Richard. My dad was called over to calm Jackie down, and he was quick to send the family away before further trouble brewed. This seemed like further evidence to my theory that something more going on than anyone could possibly fathom.
Both the land and the house had a way of taking things and giving back. It was normal to have items disappear for long periods of time, only to show up later in the most unusual places and sometimes not even in the house. Missing items such as books, dishes and once even a toothbrush, turned up in the barn. There were times items that we had never seen before would just appear amongst our things - cutlery even of all things. One time a strange butter knife appeared, which almost drove my mother crazy with fear. The image on the handle was of people crawling up a ladder or rope with flames and the devil beneath them. For years, my mother had a garden and every fall and spring either my dad or my mom would turn over the soil to have it ready for planting. One time, my mother uncovered an old rock foundation while working that was the same size as her entire garden. A year later in the same spot, she dug up an old button up shirt and a pair of denim pants.
As kids growing up in that environment, we all had made a vow to each other that as soon as my parents no longer needed that house, we were going to burn it the first chance we get. I have since moved my parents into another house in the same town, and my father insisted to be the one to tear the farm house down. It took him the last two years to do so, and just this last spring, he applied for a permit to burn what remained. Two weeks before he was to burn it, it is believed that a vehicle passing by on the highway tossed out a cigarette which started a grass fire on the property. The fire quickly spread down toward the house and in the end, the old barn, and stretched to the hay fields beyond. What was left of the old house was the foundation and floor, untouched by the flames and still remain.
Although we laugh about it now, it does play on the question that because things happened to us while living on the farm, is it the land or some kind of family connection.
Kimberly
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