At eight years old, my dad and his then girlfriend (now my step-mom) left the hustle and bustle of the suburban city life for a more relaxed country atmosphere. A dusty dirt road, gravel drive and 100 year old farmhouse about 15 minutes from the nearest town. Still commuting a good 90 minutes everyday to the heart of Toronto’s financial district, they craved the peace and quite away from the ever-growing urban environment, and my dad had a dream. He wanted a farm.

Living with my mom, 3 hours from their new abode, my brother and I took the three hour trek every second week for my dad’s joint custody visitation (sounds so criminal, but it was far from that). I dreaded that drive. Three hours on a Friday evening after school, we’d arrive at my dad’s house in time for bed. Then again, the three hour venture back to mom’s house. Those weekends seemed never-ending and tiring because of such horrendous car rides with limited activities. I mean, you can only play I spy for so long, then what!?

The farm was a fun escape though, and they had a pool! What kid doesn’t love a pool!? We’d run and play all day in the fields as well as the back wooded area. Though we didn’t have other children around to play with, it was a change of pace; refreshing. The house was an ancient farmhouse which had been refinished, but still had the old hitching area for the horses at the front of the house, as well as the ring in the cement step for another. Gorgeous wooden planks throughout, gently worn and weathered from the number of families and their pets who proceeded us.

One thing that will forever stick with me was the night I saw him.

My room was on the ground level by the front door while the other two bedrooms were upstairs. I was always afraid to go in there at night before the blinds had been pulled. I would race to the other side of the room and whip the blind down with one foul swoop, then jump into my bed and under the cover. I was always worried of people peering in through the window and see me sleeping.

I was nine years old. Fast asleep. I felt the weight of someone sit on my bed. I was terrified to open my eyes. I just lay there pretending to sleep, I tried swooshing my leg across the spot, thinking that it may be the cat, but I couldn’t move my leg! It wouldn’t budge. My heart began to pound as I could sense that someone was there.
As I gathered up my courage, I opened my eyes; facing towards my closet, I could see the figure of a boy. Too short to be my brother, not tall enough to be dad. He adorned long shorts with suspenders and a wide brimmed hat, I remember it clear as day.

He just stood there.

I closed me eyes. When I opened them again his back was to me.

I closed them again. He was gone.

I forced myself to believe that it didn’t happen. I forced myself back to sleep, thinking it was only a dream. My dad and step-mom moved from that house about 8 years ago.

I hadn’t even thought about that night until three years ago when my step-mom mentioned that weird things had occurred at that farmhouse. She had similar happenings a few times over the course of time they lived there.

Jump to today.

I was inside an old warehouse in downtown Toronto assessing its condition as they are building a(nother!) condo to the east. Constructed in the early 1920’s, the building has been abandoned for a number of years. It’s in poor, dilapidated condition with majority of it being gutted in previous years. Over the past 20+ years, only the main level has been occupied other then the odd movie shoot. On past days we had been through the entire building, which had given me goosebumps throughout, particularly in the basement.
Today, my co-worker was on the second floor while I worked on the third; as I made me notes I could sense that someone was there. As I glanced around, not a person in sight. I continued on my way, every now and again sensing that someone had either brushed past me, or walked by in another part of the room.
It got to the point where I was about to walk downstairs to meet up with my co-worker as it was getting really freaky. but decided against it since I didn’t want to be the ‘fraidy cat girl that can’t be alone in a big bad ol’ abandoned warehouse .

We met up once he’d finished. As he came into the last room I was surveying, I made a comment about seeing things every time I looked down to write.

Guess what?

He. Did. Too!

OMG.

So freaky!!

He saw shadows and creaks and moans throughout the second floor. (Luckily for me I was on the third floor because there were also spent shell casings from guns on the second floor used in a previous filming there — soooo freaky!)

Got any ghost stories? Share them, please! I love stories!

Oh, and the shit part?

Yeah, I was shit on by a dirty devil bird pigeon today. Asshat. I hate pigeons.