The air was charged, the rain delayed, and the sun had begun its nightly descent leaving a trail of orange mist in its wake. It was a perfect night for a ghost tour through a pioneer village. The spirits must have thought so too, because I have never encountered so much paranormal activity in one evening. I always seek to both believe and disprove oddities when they come my way, and then lean toward the stronger evidence. Believer or no, I will share my experiences of that evening. Make of them what you will.
Our tour through Black Creek Pioneer Village was hosted by The Haunted Walk (links below). Having attended several of their walks, I knew the evening would not disappoint and would be, at the least, a scenic walk filled with ghost stories. The paranormal experiences were a bonus. We were lucky our group consisted of only two other guests, while the later group was much larger. I should also note that we were each given an LED flashlight as this factors into one of the stories.
Entering the village, we passed the Halfway House where a woman in a blue gown has been spotted walking along the balcony and on the main floor. When she appears she is said to be so visible that she was mistaken for one of the village’s actors. Alas, I did not see her, though I did feel the need to snap several photos in case my phone camera could see her. She must have been busy, because she did not make an appearance.
The Stong House
Moving on we entered the larger Stong House where Michael, a teenage boy of the Stong family had passed away from a hunting accident. Upon walking inside, I felt drawn to a room on the main floor, but first we went upstairs to listen to our guide recount the ghost stories associated with the property. At the landing at the top of the stairs is a bedroom with a red blanket covered bed. Passing it I felt like someone was there, so I leaned in and whispered to my skeptic husband, “One hundred percent there is something in there. I can feel it!”
Yes, I was beyond excited and loving this tour, but I did feel something. Passing a huge walking wheel, we stepped through a doorway and listened to a selection of Stong house ghost stories. Given time to explore, I turned, immediately drawn back to that room— plus I wanted a cool pic of the walking wheel in the dim lighting. As I peered out of the doorway, looking toward the bedroom I stepped toward it and saw a black shadow dart about half way down from right to left in the doorframe. My flashlight died just as I saw the shadow. I jumped. I gasped. It was all very quick. The flashlight was drained and my husband, knowing I am not one for bravery in darkness, gave me his.
Anyway, me being me, had to share with the group what happened. We were gathered by the red-bed room, when my entire left side began to tingle. Goosebumps popped up on my arm and as I instinctively turned around, I took several steps toward the walking wheel. The chain used to block village guests from touching protected items was waving back and forth. No one was near this chain. No one claimed to have even come near it, but there it was swaying. The really interesting part? One of the most common paranormal claims of the Stong House is that the chains move on their own. Oh and that room on the main floor I was drawn to? It had a second set of stairs that led upstairs toward the room where Michael likely passed away.
The Church
The tour continued and we entered the old church where my sister had been married years ago and I had stood as her maid of honour, choking back tears. As we sat in the front pew listening to our guide tell us ghost stories, I felt watched as though someone was in the second to last back row listening too. I experienced nothing else here, though we were told a little boy is sometimes spotted.
Moving outside, we were shown the village’s cemetery. While the stone markers stood against the setting sun as bats flew overhead, we all cooed at the cuteness overload of being joined by a hoppy, clover eating bunny. The bunny seemed unbothered by our presence, perhaps realizing the heavy energy from the home behind us posed more of a threat.
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The Reverend Jenkins’ House
By this point in the tour, I was secretly playing a game with myself. Could I guess the type of energy associated with a property before it was revealed in the stories? Standing outside of the Reverend Jenkins house we were told some backstory and then asked to enter.
Stepping inside, the room immediately to my left felt heavy and I felt drawn toward it. It was a sensation similar to what I felt at the Stong house, only here, I felt frightened.
We were ushered into the living area and told several ghost stories of how the activity had been so intense, that the stairs are now closed off for safety concerns. However, in past years, the activity has seemed to settle down somewhat— from aggressive to less intimidating. We were then informed that many of the haunted encounters take place in the front room, you know, the one I stopped and examined. The guide and I shared a look. The Reverend’s Bible is said to be turned to different pages without any logical explanation.
Given time to explore, I returned to the front room, snapped some pictures on my phone (almost all turned out blurry beyond recognition). Then after walking through the dining area, I approached the bedroom. The blocked bedroom with stair access. I won’t say my blood ran cold, because I felt more of a heavy feeling of doom. Glancing upward, I spotted the stairs and eyed the darker than dark landing.
You know that feeling on Halloween night when a house is covered in mannequins and you know one is a real person being still and they will move and shout, but you don’t know when, but you just know? That’s how I would describe the upstairs. It felt like someone was up there. Waiting. Watching. Both of my arms exploded with goosebumps and I bolted outside. On route I suggested to another guest, who is sensitive to energies, that she may want to peek in that area. Not long after, she joined me outside feeling light-headed. My skeptic husband was still wandering around inside and I ventured back in to find him. He didn’t, after all, have a working flashlight.
For whatever reason, fear or my unhealthy longing to be liked even by the most terrifying of folk, I started talking to the Reverend. Who knows what nonsense I spouted. Something about apologizing for my likely scandalizing appearance (a T-shirt with bare arms! Gasp! And fitted jeans! Double gasp!) and how we would be leaving soon and I hope he would have fun reading his Bible.
I soon realized the other two guests had joined me and so four of us stood listening outside the bedroom. Then I heard it. Something dropped upstairs, hitting the floor. Nothing heavy, but something lighter like a coin or metal button. If I’m honest, I’d say the sound was similar to the sound of a modern pen hitting a wood floor and then rolling for about half a second. That might make no sense, but it gives you an idea I hope of what I heard. Of what we heard. I know I didn’t imagine it, because others heard it too.
“I’m done now,” I said, tone light but all serious. “OK bye Reverend Jenkins, we’re leaving now. I hope your Bible is good reading,” I said walking quickly to the door. “You can’t follow us home.” I always like to add that last bit, but especially wanted to say it here.
Berwick House
The last house we entered on our tour gave me feminine energy feelings before even entering the home. Upon hearing the ghost stories, my instincts proved to be correct. As our guide stood on the staircase to recount several tales of the unexplained, my eyes continued to drift down the hallway, not for lack of interest, but more from untamed curiosity. It felt to me as though someone was sitting in the far room, in the dark and out of view. Upon completion of the storytelling, I headed toward the back of the house. There I passed through a dining room and my eyes came to rest upon a blue door in a quaint kitchen. I found out later from a local ghost aficionado that the door has been reported to slam shut on its own.
My heart outpacing my footsteps, I journeyed upstairs toward the bedrooms. Reaching the landing, my chest constricted and my breathing felt tighter than usual. I turned to tell my husband this and as I did I felt a deep pain in my sternum. It was an odd sensation and nothing I would have mistaken for my own body’s symptoms (A bit of a hypochondriac, this last statement is crucial to note). The feeling did not linger too long as I quickly became sidetracked peeking into the bedrooms.
We had been told a mother who had lived in the house had lost a child. As a mom myself, I sympathized with the grief the woman must have experienced in life and may continue to grip in death. I whispered something empathetic about her situation and how I wished peace for her spirit. I looked down to notice the barrier chain blocking the room swaying much like the one at the Stong house. Only I couldn’t be sure I hadn’t touched it here. I didn’t think I did, but I wasn’t sure. I asked my husband to watch the chain as I walked around then down the stairs. Perhaps the creaky movements would debunk the swaying chain. Only it didn’t. It stayed still.
Down stairs I gave another chain a cheeky little push seeking to prove I had only brushed against the one upstairs unknowingly. Hmm. Well, that was interesting. The chain was very heavy and so my push made it sway fast, not slow. The weight of it also quickly slowed the speedy movement so that it returned to stillness almost immediately. I fiddled with it a minute or so but could not recreate the slow, almost exaggerated, sway of the chain upstairs or at Stong house. Maybe nothing, but strange.
Conclusions
By the end of the tour I had experienced more goosebumps and chills in one outing than ever before. Upon reflection, I was curious if the chest sensations from Berwick house might have been the feelings of a tight corset or perhaps a resident ghost had died from a heart attack. Two years earlier at a tour of Hamilton’s Dundurn Castle, I had experienced something similar. My chest felt tight and the need to cough was overwhelming. The tour guide then told us the lady of the house had died of tuberculosis and suffered from terrible coughing fits. Once again, all symptoms disappeared upon leaving the area.
The entire evening at Black Creek Pioneer Village was fascinating and I would happily do it again. There is a more intense session offered called Alone in the Dark that includes an immersive paranormal investigation. Am I brave enough? I am and I hope to try it one day. In the meantime, please let me know in the comments on Instagram and Facebook if you enjoyed reading this article and please share if you’ve experienced anything similar. I’d love to know! And if you’re wondering…the flashlight never turned back on.
Links
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Published August 1, 2024.