―cast up at times from within a house, neighbourhood,
or landscape to draw us into its labyrinthine folds.
― Linda Lappin
Gail and Greg agreed to accompany me on the return visit to Poppy's allegedly 'haunted' house.
I was reluctant to see the house as a ghostly place simply based on Gail and I sighting a dark form on the property.
For all we knew this numinous spirit might be a genius loci, a protecting presence, and these lares, or household gods, were often depicted in architecture bearing a cornucopia signifying prosperity and abundance.
So, I didn't want to assume the worst and portray the spirit as representing malevolent intentions when its presence might be a harbinger of good fortune.
Gail was more inclined to go to the dark side on this issue based on her own creepy sensations while on the property and her own experience of seeing the change in Poppy from being vivacious to turning moody and melancholic.
I could see that Poppy was burdened but wasn't sure it was simply the result of living in the house.
After all, Poppy told me herself that she was drawn to the property and chose to purchase it. I might have thought differently if she merely inherited it.
Regardless, we all agreed to venture out to the tiny Victorian village on the outskirts of Toronto, and so, bright and early on Saturday morning that's where we were headed.
It was a sunny day and everyone was in good spirits, especially Greg, who was not bashful about his feelings toward Poppy.
"The woman is beautiful and intelligent―and an excellent cook," he chirped, "who could ask for more?"
Obviously, Gail's plan to have Greg occupy Poppy's attention while we investigated the property was both logical and inevitable since it appeared his admiration was evidently returned by her.
So, while Greg and Poppy were chatting over coffee in the kitchen, Gail and I were scoping out the ravine in back of the house in the location where Gail spied the dark figure.
Even though it was a sunny day it seemed gloomy in the heavily treed ravine.
"I told you this place is creepy," Gail shivered, "it's gloomy even on a bright day."
"Well, every location has a distinct atmosphere," I opined, "and architects have a saying that light reveals the genius loci of a place."
"Uh huh,” Gail smirked, "like I said, gloomy."
By this time we had worked our way down the hill to what appeared to be a dried river bed at the bottom. Gail was acting distinctly uncomfortable and appeared ready to leave.
"Oh my God," she said suddenly. "What is this?"
She was gesturing to a blackened post with a cross beam that had been erected on the opposite bank of the ravine.
"I wouldn't be touching that, Girlie," a man's voice called out from the hill above.
We both looked up to see an older man picking his way through a tangle of branches and vines as he descended from the other side.
"Are you both from the house above?" he asked, as he finally made it down and stood opposite us.
We are, " I answered, "I'm Laird Chapman and this is my colleague, Gail Simpson. We were commissioned by the owner to research the history of the property."
"Lucas Morton," The older man said, extending a hand to shake mine. "If you're doing research you're going to have to go back a couple of centuries."
I arched an eyebrow. "A couple of centuries? But the house can't be as old as that. It was built in the 1860's."
"Aye," the man said with a slight Scottish lilt in his voice, "but it wasn't the only house built on that site."
I was taken back by his remark. It never occurred to me there was an earlier dwelling.
"The reason I warned the lassie not to touch the cross is that it's said to bring bad luck."
"How is that?" I asked.
"A young man died here sometime back in the past when this was an actual river. It was part of Grindstone Creek and there was a huge mill just north of here. One day just after a rain when the river was swollen, a young man got caught in some vines and drowned here."
"That's horrible," Gail commiserated.
"Aye, it was. So, the local people erected a cross to mark the place but also as a warning for others to stay away. It worked, and word got round that the place was cursed and everyone avoided it."
”Thanks for the information,” I replied. “You were a big help.”
“Hope it doesn’t sour my neighbour’s view of her property. She has a lovely house and the river has long since dried up.”
“You’re right, it’s ancient history, but I appreciate you speaking to us.”
He turned to ascend the hill, but then paused and called back over his shoulder, “All the same, I wouldn’t go there. It’s like walking on someone’s grave.”
I tried not to look at Gail’s face. I could imagine what her expression would be.