This and Other Realities:

And Ghosts

Paycheck by paycheck, a miner built his house, resourcefully, while living in a weathered canvas tent on the newly constructed floor during the early days of the Gold Camp called Kirkland Lake. The little house was perched on a rocky hillside not far from ‘The Mile of Gold’ made famous when gold-bearing ore was mistakenly used to construct the downtown road.

This miner and his wife raised two children in that small house. The children grew up, left home, then the miner died. Finally, after many years alone, his wife died too.

That small property on ‘Comfort Street’ came on market just when my husband and I began searching for a new place to house ourselves and our two young children.

When we stepped inside that building with the realtor, both men looked shocked as I immediately expressed an almost overwhelming feeling of love and desire to own this house despite its many obvious ‘problems and flaws’. My husband couldn’t understand my resolute enthusiasm to buy this house and property backed by an area of wilderness. Only later did I understand this strange enthusiasm myself.

The entire interior needed to be ‘gutted’ for us to live there. Necessary and costly changes took three long months before we could move in.

During the first few weeks after buying this house, we found a useful crowbar hidden inside an old wall, a vintage crank-up phonograph player with dusty, vintage records in the attic, and a ghost. Well, actually, two…

After Roger’s workdays and suppers over those three months, he went straight to work on renovating our new home. I helped as often as possible.

One night when working alone, Roger had a ‘visit’.

With no interior ‘wind’ to explain it away, the open interior kitchen door suddenly slammed shut. Then the crank-up phonograph player turned on. Roger watched in amazement as the manual armature moved effortlessly across and down to rest the needle on the old record. He was then treated to the crackling voice of a male singer from another era. Roger froze as he sensed an invisible presence in the room. His mind raced to explain what was happening. No exterior doors or windows were open and there were no drafts. Silently laying his tools down, he left the house, ‘the presence’ and the music still playing.

A very ‘down to Earth’, sensible and practical man, my husband was not prone to fanciful imaginings. Seeing him quietly tell me what happened, I was convinced of the presence of yet another ghost. I’d already come to understand why I’d been influenced to buy this ‘starter house’. A ‘lady ghost’, the children who needed to sell it for inheritance and one ‘empathic’ buyer…Ah, those ‘invisible influences’!…

The next night, Roger gathered up his courage and returned to lay claim to ‘his’ house. He reported nothing unusual when he returned.

Shortly after moving in, I watched my lovely teacup and saucer slide sideways on the table. I acknowledged ‘the lady’s presence’ and thanked her for our cherished new home.

The ‘man ghost’ was another story. Our children, Alissa and Aaron, were still sleeping when Roger left for work early one morning. I woke up suddenly to find a man standing at the foot of my bed. Startled, I said telepathically, “Who the hell are you”?! He looked at me with a bewildered expression and simultaneous thought, “Who the hell are you”?! With that, he vanished in an instant.

‘How silly of me to say that’ I thought. I considered ‘hell’ to be just a state of mind and I understood he was the deceased miner still attached to his beloved house. I wondered about possibilities over a morning coffee. I’d clearly seen ‘the ghost’ of the dead miner in ‘my time’ but had the miner seen ‘the ghost’ of a strange woman in his bedroom during ‘his time’ and physicality? Might this be a case of ‘both/and’??

I sent a quiet prayer for these benign ghosts with kind and comforting thoughts, assuring them we’d take good care of this place we now called ‘home’ too.

(A true story retold October 30, 2021)
Shelley Wilson