I used to live in Yarmouth in the South End of town growing up, on 36 Queen Street (In Nova Scotia of course). It was a massive old grey house with several massive oak trees growing outside (estimated to be 200+ years old), placed next door from a convent and a beautiful old sea captain's home (last owner I know of we called Mrs. Cann, the place was chock full of antiques and items from around the world, most of the house was built from oak, etc and simply stunning)
The house we lived in was old. I don't mean turn of the century, I mean one of the original houses in Yarmouth old. It was originally built for a Captain's daughter and her husband as a gift, from there it was used as an orphanage, a hospital in the Civil War, home for the elderly, home for the mentally handicapped and so on.
The old part of the house was a cube shape, and the newer part (which was an add on done about 200 years ago) was added on when it was an orphanage. All in all the house was build in the 1700s and can be seen on a map in the Yarmouth County Museum. As my parents did renovations throughout the house we found all sorts of odd things, like false ceilings (the original ceilings were 14-16 feet high, and in the kitchen in the newer part they were pure copper and beautiful and still there, just a sub ceiling was put up to cover it). 2 of our closets had hidden / built up areas and there was all sorts of stuff in the walls, like old clothing and the like. The old plaster was full of horse hair and other oddities to help hold it together.
Anyways, we moved there when I was 11 and from that day I knew it was haunted. I was in the house and I heard someone breathing so I went out into the driveway and waited for my family to come back. It was later that summer when I was up playing video games in my bedroom when I heard a my sister asking my mom when the cookies were going to be ready. I went down about an hour later looking for some yummies and my mother and sister came in the house from spending the whole morning grocery shopping and out visiting some friends.
The next year, my dad was put onto night shifts at the airport where he worked as a Coast Guard Radio Operator (used to be a Lieutenant in 2RCR, whichever infantry regiment is in Gagetown, eludes me atm). He got up half way throughout the afternoon and raged up to the upstairs bathroom (1 of 3) to see who kept flushing it over and over. Got into the room, the toilet flushed and no one was there, he told us that he watched the water swirl and the handle pop back up. And my dad isn't one to tell tall tales or exagerate stories.
Over the several years we lived there, people would walk by and see figures in the windows, we'd hear running throughout the house, knocking on the doors outside, screams now and again and catch slight shadows of conversations. We'd also see shadows and someone staying there overnight saw a figure pass them, we'd feel cold drafts that couldn't be explained and at night when laying in bed you could feel something pressing on the bed like a hand, and occasionally feel what felt like a animal (cat) walking on the bed.
The last night I spent there was about a year after my mom and dad separated, I was 15 at the time. Me, my dad and my twin brother made sure all the heaters were drained of water and closed, and the place was shut tight since no one was there at the time and hadn't been for several months. We pulled a bed into the kitchen to sleep and used the oven for heat (was in March). We all went to sleep only to be woken up by someone hauling what sounded like a dresser across the floor upstairs, or a large chest. A minute later we heard footsteps, then
"We have to have it moved out by tomorrow"
"Well get a move on, we have to move it fast"
Some more was said, but we couldnt make it out because of all the footsteps and stuff being hauled around and thumping on the floor, by this time I had almost shit my pants.
And my biggest reason to believe that these weren't people?
There was no floor upstairs in that part of the house. It was totally removed because of a wiring job done back in the early 20's or so that required the floors and walls to be totally gutted, and my father hadn't gotten around to laying the floor again. The next night it literally burnt to the ground.
This isn't some ghost story pulled out of my head or my ass, or one I made up. The house was real, the events were real and my family did live there, from 1989 until 1994, my parents separated and we moved to the Annapolis Valley with my mom and my dad went on a series of training trips for his work.
There's a new place built on the site now, it was empty for several years. I often have dreams about that old place, quite vivid to be honest...I wonder if the tenants of the new house build there have had any experiences.
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