Haunted

by Dorah L. Williams

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said as calmly as possible. “I just wanted to see what you were up to.”

  “You look sad,” my little daughter said with concern.

  “No,” I said and smiled. “I’m all right.”

  “That’s good.” Rosa smiled back at me and turned again to her program.

  I stood in the living room for a few minutes, reluctant to return to the kitchen. The telephone’s ring startled me, and I felt my heart racing as I picked up the receiver. It was our dentist’s office calling to remind me that our six-month check-up was scheduled for the following afternoon. Just as I was about to thank the secretary for calling, the stereo in the family room came on, blaring music at full blast. The whole house seemed to reverberate with the noise. I ran into the family room with the portable phone, turned off the stereo, and apologized to her for the earsplitting racket. I was beginning to feel that whatever was sharing our house with us demanded a great deal of our attention.

  The day was too sunny and warm to waste time sitting inside, so Rosa and I quickly got dressed and went out to enjoy the morning. We had recently given her a two-wheel bicycle for her fifth birthday, and it seemed like the perfect time for her to practise riding. I got the bike and some gardening tools out of the shed in the backyard and carried them out to the front of our house.

  I stood on the front lawn watching Rosa wobble up and down the sidewalk. With one eye on her tiny helmeted head and one on the patch of soil before me, I started to dig away in our front garden beds, preparing the ground for planting a little later in the spring.

  Rosa rolled by happily on her bike, turned proudly in the driveway, and went for another spin to the extent of her boundary, six houses away. She was content riding her bike for the remainder of the morning, and I was able to till and weed all of the garden beds. When I had finished my work, I sat on the top porch step and watched Rosa, who waved to me as she circled in the driveway yet again. It was such a beautiful day. The winter had been so harsh that this spring was especially appreciated.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face. Suddenly an image came into my mind of a middleaged man sitting in a rocking chair and reading a newspaper on that very porch, although its floor was painted a bright red. From his clothing, and the chain leading to the watch in his vest pocket, the scene appeared to be set many, many decades ago.

  I opened my eyes and gave my head a slight shake. That had been very peculiar; the vision had just seemed to spring into my mind. I closed my eyes again but experienced nothing unusual. Still, the image had been so vivid that I could clearly recall what the man looked like. The porch had appeared just the same, except that the floor boards were red instead of brown.

  I took another look at Rosa riding up and down the street then left the porch for a moment to retrieve a small paring knife from the kitchen. When I came back out I looked around at the floor of the porch and decided to scrape in the far left corner. I kneeled down and began gently to peel away the many layers of paint affixed to the wide pine floor boards of the porch.

  The first layer, of course, was brown. I gently lifted up a fleck of paint from the top coat and saw another layer of brown. The layer beneath that was also brown. Next, I came to a layer of blue. Beneath this, I found a layer of white, and finally, a layer of red. It was the last layer I found and had therefore been the first coat of paint applied. I stared at the colour for a moment and felt a slight chill. I had not known the porch had ever been painted red, yet the colour had been prominent in that flash of an image I had seen. The vision had been so clear, it was like sitting right next to the man reading the newspaper in his rocking chair.

  Rosa noticed me crouched down on the porch.

  “What is it, Mommy?” she asked as she drove up the walkway towards the stairs.

  “I was just looking at this old floor,” I said. “Do you want to ride for a few more minutes before we have to go in to get lunch ready?”

  She nodded her head vigorously and went off for another spin. I sat down again on the top step, watching my daughter ride her new bicycle. I was having trouble forgetting the image of that man reading the newspaper. I had always been a history buff and enjoyed poring over books, photographs, and journals of other eras. I thought of all the historical events over the past century that would have made newspaper headlines to be read in a rocking chair on that very porch. It may have been a similarly warm spring day back in 1912, for instance, when the owner of that house sat on the porch reading about the sinking of the Titanic. But, I reminded myself, the house had actually been vacant for some reason then and would remain so for several more years. It would be a wonderful experience, though, to find a sample of some of the old newspapers that had been read there.

  I finally sighed and called for Rosa to put her bicycle away as it was time for lunch. I had cleaned and redecorated every square inch of our house: if any previous owner had left any old newspapers behind I surely would have found them by now. Besides, I reasoned, the paper my mother had saved from the final day of World War II had been as carefully preserved as possible. I now had possession of that artifact, tucked safely away in a storage box, but it was so yellowed with age and brittle to the touch that it was almost impossible to handle it at all without the paper crumbling. If that one had so deteriorated, how could other old newspapers survive through the decades?

  I had heard stories of homeowners discovering letters and newspapers behind walls and under floorboards, and I wished I could be that fortunate. Dismissing the notion of such a find as wishful thinking though, I led Rosa into the house and we began to prepare sandwiches for Kammie and Matt’s lunch.

  After the children had eaten and returned to school, Rosa and I spent the afternoon tidying up the house and doing some work on the back lawn. When Kammie and Matt arrived home again at four o’clock, we all went to the store to pick up some items I needed for dinner.

  As we walked to the nearby market I explained to them that the garden areas were all ready to be planted now, and like last year, they could each have their own patch of soil in which to plant what they wished. That was exciting news for them as they enjoyed growing their own flowers and vegetables. Kammie had already decided that she wanted the area of garden right beside the front stairs, and as we approached the house on our way back, she pointed to the spot to lay her claim.

  I was walking along with Kammie, discussing the best time to plant her flowers, and Matt and Rosa were following a few steps behind. As we approached the walkway to the porch, Kammie and I both stopped suddenly and stared at the front lawn. As we had walked towards the house, a newspaper had materialized right in front of our eyes. It had not been there one moment, but was definitely there the next. The paper was spread out, as though it was being read, on the front lawn beside the porch stairs.

  Kammie and I looked at one another.

  “Where on earth did that come from?” I finally managed to say.

  “It must have got away from the paper boy when he was delivering his newspapers,” Kammie suggested logically.

  “Yes, it must have,” I agreed. “But it seemed to appear out of nowhere. I didn’t see it blowing down the street.”

  As I neared the paper to retrieve it, I saw that it was actually only one large piece of newsprint spread open, and therefore, four actual pages from a newspaper. The only thing that seemed unusual about it, at first, was its size. The paper was too wide and too short to be from our regular local newspaper. It looked new. I concluded that it could only have been outside for a short while, as it had rained the day before. When I picked up the paper to look at it, however, even before I noticed the advertisements and the photographs, I was surprised by the small size of the type. The numerous articles were much more compressed than those printed in any current newspaper.

  “What is this?” I wondered aloud as I followed the children up the front steps to the porch.

  When I fi
nally looked at the top of the paper, I saw a name I did not recognize and a date I could scarcely believe: “The Mail and Empire, Toronto, Thursday, August 17, 1933.”

  I almost dropped the newspaper in my shock. Kammie had seen the date by this time as well, and she looked at me with wide eyes and an open mouth.

  “How can it be that old?” she asked. “It looks like it’s brand new.”

  “I know,” I said as my eyes scanned the paper, thinking it might be some kind of joke or novelty item.

  The week before, a newspaper carrier had left several copies of a free weekly paper at the side of our house, apparently too tired to finish his route. The papers had sat between our house and our neighbour’s for two days before they were discovered. In only that short period, they had turned yellowish and soggy from their exposure to the elements. I thought of those papers as I gently held this mint antique newspaper in my hands. Where could it have come from? How could it look and smell so new?

  So many articles were crammed into the four pages of newsprint. There were stories about the many indigent citizens trying to survive the difficult times of what would come to be known as the Great Depression. But, the advertisements were fun to read: “Cruise the Great Lakes over the Week-end. From Toronto to Sault Ste. Marie. $15.00 Return.” Another told the reader, “Today is Bargain Day at Eaton’s: women’s shoes–$1.89; all wool dresses–$2.95; real silk hosiery–.69; cotton pyjamas–$1.00; and Men’s two-trousers all wool navy blue and plain gray serge suits–$20.00.”

  There were stories of tragedy as well: a little boy had drowned after becoming entangled in weeds in a river and a five-year-old had been scalded when he upset a kettle of boiling water. A lighter toned feature, positioned at the bottom corner of the third page, was entitled “Home Run Standing.” The baseball leaders were Foxx, Athletics, 35; Ruth, Yankees, 26; and Gehrig, Yankees, 20.

  One of the most notable news story concerned the race riot at Christie Pits in Toronto, Ontario, the previous evening between the Jewish and non-Jewish spectators at a baseball game. Another article ran under the headline: “Germany Is Seen As World Menace ... Minister and Author Fears Result of Hitler Regime.”

  The children and I sat on the front porch, and I read them portions of news from the past. We all were amazed at finding this perfectly preserved piece of history and still puzzled at how it had come to be lying on our front lawn. I realized it had only been a few hours earlier that I had sat at that spot and wished for that very experience. Although I was thrilled with the page, I regretted it was not a complete copy.

  “Where could this have come from?” I mused again.

  “I know!” said Kammie. “I bet it came from under the porch!”

  “No, it couldn’t have,” I said. “That’s all closed in with brick and lattice. Not even a strong wind could have blown it out from under there. Besides, if it had been outside all these years, it wouldn’t be in this kind of condition.”

  “Couldn’t we just get a flashlight and check and see if there are more newspapers?” Kammie asked.

  “Go ahead,” I told her. She could get the flashlight from the kitchen if she wanted and see for herself, but I was sure that there was nothing under the porch.

  Lattice covered the left side of the stairs, edging one of the garden beds that I had tilled and weeded that morning. Kammie kneeled down to look, and before she even turned on the flashlight, she let out a small gasp.

  “What’s that?” she said, pointing towards the lattice.

  Matt, Rosa, and I hurried down the stairs to see what she had found. Just inside the lattice was what appeared to be a bundle of newspaper. I knew with certainty that there had been nothing there when I had done my gardening, and it was obvious from the embedded rusty nails in the lattice that it had not been disturbed in many years.

  I sent Kammie in to fetch the hammer so I could remove the lattice and retrieve the item. As I waited for my daughter to come back with the tool I tried to estimate how old the paper could be. I knew no one had recently removed the lattice. When Ted had examined the underside of the porch the previous year to determine what would be needed to turn the porch into a sun room, he had shone his light through the holes of the lattice, but he had not removed the wood itself. Nor had he mentioned seeing a newspaper under there. I peered at what was obviously a complete edition and not just one large sheet of newsprint.

  Kammie gave me the hammer, and I carefully began to pry the nails out of the wooden lattice so I could remove it. The nails were so thoroughly rusted in place that it was some time before I could finally pull the lattice from the side of the stairs.

  When I had retrieved the folded newspaper, the children gathered around me to see its date. It was obviously not a copy of our small local paper; it was much too thick for that. We were all astonished when we read: “The Toronto Daily Star, Wednesday, November 28, 1934.” I later learned that this name had been shortened to The Toronto Star in 1971.

  It was beyond my comprehension how two Toronto newspapers, one complete and one partial and long defunct, printed within fifteen months of each other in the 1930s and in excellent condition, had come to be there only hours after I had been hoping for such a find. Both old newspapers had appeared out of nowhere, just as I had wished after seeing the image of the man reading a paper on the front porch. It seemed unbelievable.

  I took the paper up onto the porch and spread it out on the floor. We gathered around the old newspaper, and I looked through its pages, sharing the various news stories I saw with the children. The main story of the day was about “Baby Face” Nelson, the lead member of the late John Dillinger’s gang, who, along with two FBI agents, had been killed in a shoot-out the previous night. Another page informed us that the Dionne Quintuplets had just celebrated their sixth-month birthday and were now expected to live an average life span. Still another story concerned silent film star Douglas Fairbanks, who had been cited as a co-respondent in Lady Ashley’s divorce case against Lord Ashley and therefore had been ruled by the court to pay all the costs involved.

  The page that delighted the children the most featured the comic strips of the day. They smiled and giggled at the antics of Popeye, Li’l Abner, and Tarzan and the Lion Man. The entertainment page encouraged the public, for the admission price of twenty-five cents, to see such films as Anne of Green Gables, starring Anne Shirley; The Girl from Missouri, with Jean Harlow, and The Merry Widow, with Jeanette McDonald.

  This remarkable piece of history also featured articles that contained first-hand accounts of the often insurmountable hardship the Great Depression was casting on the nation. Unlike history books, those articles presented the human side of that era.

  I was eager for Ted to get home at dinner time so I could show him our amazing finds. As I refolded the newspaper, Kammie touched my hand, and I looked into her worried eyes.

  “We aren’t going to bring that into the house, are we?” she asked me quietly.

  “Of course we are,” I said, still excited.

  “I think we should put it back,” Kammie insisted.

  I then understood why she was worried. As with the old cream jar, ink-well, and button found in the backyard, bringing this paper into the house could cause an increase in our disturbances. Although we still experienced occasional paranormal activity, thefrequency and intensity had lessened after we had replaced those items in the ground. As that was not a risk I was prepared to take, with some disappointment I put the old newspaper from November 28, 1934, back under the porch, exactly where we had found it. The page from the August 17, 1933, paper, however, had not been contained within the property but had been found lying on the front lawn. I thought it would therefore be safe to take it in the house, and I carefully folded it up and carried it up to my desk in the attic.

  When Ted got home later that evening we told him what we had found. He of course found it a little hard to believe, but after I had shown him the page from the 1933 edition of The Mail and Empire, he could not logical
ly explain how it had materialized. He too was shocked that a paper that old could appear to be that freshly printed.

  “Where did you say you found the other paper?” Ted asked.

  “Under the porch,” Kammie told him.

  “I didn’t see any newspapers, and I spent a lot of time looking under there,” he said.

  “I know,” she giggled, amused at her father’s bewilderment.

  “It was leaning against the inside of the lattice, right where we’ve replaced it,” I said.

  Ted went outside to see that for himself. I assumed his main concern was whether I had damaged the lattice, but he came back into the house shaking his head.

  “Who could have put that there, and when?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. But you have a logical explanation for it, right?” I smiled at my husband.

  He had to admit, that time, he definitely did not.

  15

  PAGE FIVE

  One Sunday evening, later that spring, I found myself unable to settle in the family room with the others as I impatiently waited for a phone call from Beverly. She had attended a family wedding with her sister, Dennise, that weekend and had told me she would call when she got home. Finally, late in the evening, the telephone rang. Beverly told me that Dennise had been intrigued by what she had told her.

  As Dennise was unable to visit our town, and therefore, our home anytime soon, I had described the paranormal events we had experienced to Beverly, who had then shared that information with Dennise. Even if she was unable to visit the house herself, I hoped that she could offer some advice on the matter based on what she heard.

  Although the sightings of the actual spirits had frightened me the most, I found the appearance of the nail and the two newspapers to be the most bizarre and inexplicable incidents. I had asked Beverly if she could question Dennise about those events in particular. Was it at all possible that those materialized items had been meant as a gift or a sign? And, if so, what did they mean?