Port Carling true ghost stories

 

Location: Port Carling, Ontario, Canada

Ghost report from Doreen:

“I had just moved into a rental cottage with my husband and two small children temporarily while we looked for a house to purchase in the area. The furnished cottage was set on the side of a hill. It was small and somewhat run down but we didn’t mind since we didn’t anticipate being there long.

I always got a strange feeling in the lower level but the children didn’t seem to mind. Their bedroom was where they could play and make as much noise as they wanted.

The unexplained happenings started as soon as we moved into the cottage, with a particular picture in the bedroom falling off the wall on a regular basis. I tried to knock it off the wall by slamming the door, banging on the wall, etc. but to no avail.

One warm summer evening I heard footsteps, hurried and heavy, ascend the stairs leading up to the deck making the house shake. Thinking that my husband was home early with his visiting brother, I uncapped a couple of cold beverages and went to greet them and found nothing. No one was there and there was nowhere for anyone to go if they were. Weird. It kind of freaked me out a little but I shrugged it off.

Only when it happened again, around the same time that I realized I wasn’t alone in the house.

The kitchen seemed to be a favorite spot for activity. With taps turning on spontaneously, cupboards opening by themselves, and the timer on the stove going off — sometimes in the middle of the night. My husband put a stop to that, somewhat forcefully, I didn’t mind.

One afternoon I was cleaning the stove when I felt as if I wasn’t alone. I turned to see a young girl around six years old. She had long, tussled hair. Her face was a little grubby and the yellow sun dress was obviously a worn favorite.

I said hello, thinking she was one of the neighbor’s children whom I haven’t met yet. She didn’t say anything, just turned and vanished. I never found out who she was and she wasn’t the first ghost in the house.

One evening, after I had put the boys to bed for the night, I had made myself a coffee and was looking forward to some alone time when I heard a scream, then another. Two little boys ran up the stairs faster than the speed of light. Once I got them calmed enough to tell me what was wrong, I found out that they had seen a man with a tall hat, dark clothes and no face come into their room and stand at the foot of their bed.

I ran downstairs expecting anything, but found nothing except a cold spot where the boys had seen the figure. They still talk about it eighteen years later.

The last incident happened when I had lay down for nap one afternoon, still recovering from a cold. I had just pulled the blanket up to my chest, hands folded over the hem of the blanket, and closed my eyes when a pair of long fingered hands, sharp nailed and heavily ringed, clasped my mine, squeezed then let go. I cried out, sat up in bed and expected to see someone standing by the bed. No one was there, but I did detect a faint scent of a flower of sort. I later recognized it as rose.

Shortly after that we bought a house in a nearby town and I was very happy to move. I never felt in danger but I was never a fan of that house.”

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