When I graduated, a friend asked if I wanted to come play music with some fellers in Toronto before I left to teach ESL in Korea. He got me a decent job doing AV work at an old hotel downtown with his crew, so even before I got my physical degree, we’d packed everything into my 2006 Sunfire and drove from Newfoundland to Toronto in 2 days.
The Korea plan was bullshit, by the way. I didn’t care what I did after I graduated; I was tired of reading, I needed a break, and at least in Toronto we’d play some shows, make a little money, and meet some new buds along the way. I was in my 20s and I had access to my student loans for another month after graduating.
We started the band pretty fast—I wrote a bunch of songs for my own ep and the fellers liked them enough to start playing shows, padding the set with some covers; some indie punky nonsense, playing Blondie, Rihanna, Ty Segall covers, blowing my voice out every time we played. The whole band (Macky, Doug, Stein, and me) all worked at this hotel downtown built before the turn of the last century.
Sidenote; our storage was underground and had this blocked off door behind some old hall speakers. Old hotels are all like this, pristine where it counts but look like bombed out hospitals beyond the staff-only doors. We wedged open that blocked off door once and found it led directly into the sewer system below the street.
The old rusted out chambers seemed to go on forever, and as a Ninja Turtles fan growing up, I definitely had an affinity for grimy spaces like that, but there were times you’d be hanging in storage by yourself between events late at night, the air pressure would change with the subway coming into King Station a block away, push the door open a crack, and plenty of times it sounded like something was breathing from the darkness, just out of sight. That feeling of being watched made my skin crawl.
Anyway, when I started at the hotel I was part time for the first month, so I had time to write, time to get high, and I still had the Sunfire so I spent a lot of time just cruising around our neighborhood—it was the end of August so it was hot and lazy. 1000% what I needed after years in university.
Mack had a two bedroom in the west end north of Little Portugal with his (at the time) friend, Huntsy. Absolute garbage; years after all of this we found out Hunter stole Mack’s rent cash for coke a couple months before he disappeared back east. Such a dumb shit. Back then though, his coke habit was still in the party phase which meant his bed was free a few nights a week, and on the nights it wasn’t, Stein and I shared the combined living room/kitchen. 4 twenty-somethings crammed into this basement apartment with a cat they called Bananas.
We did that for the first 3 months I was in Toronto, the first 2 weeks of which Stein and me would switch out who got the floor and who got the love seat until it got to a point where we realized both of us preferred the floor and would each take a loveseat cushion as our de facto mattresses. Needless to say, between the 4 of us, we were all actively trying to find good excuses not to be home all the time.
So one night we’re at this afterparty; a friend’s band had played a great show and the guitarist had half the crowd over to his townhouse off Queen West and I was already planning to pass out on a couch if the opportunity availed itself.
That night I was battling the anxiety hard with darts (cigarettes), just chainsmoking Pall Malls. Rachelle popped out and we started talking about Ru Pauls Drag Race, I was tankered and saying Ru Paul was the Professor X of the LGBTQ community:
‘They’ve brought together all these people that dont neatly fit into society and has given them support to accentuate their secret powers—Drag Race IS X-Men’
…something like that, it was fuzzy and dumb. Anyway, we’re laughing about dumb shit and at some point I asked her if she believed in ghosts.
Back when I bartended it was a great way to get silly spooky stories out of people and gauge their beliefs to a certain degree. A little cringe looking back, and for a lot of reasons, I stopped asking people after this.
She told me about this group of friends in high school out in rural Ontario, out where the German farmland is, way the fuck out. It was one of those haunted highway legends: you drive down this road just after sundown, weird things happen. The sort of thing you could swap out ghosts, aliens, cryptids etc. for whatever else, cheesy trope-y stuff, good spooky fodder.
She said they all dismissed it growing up, but avoided the stretch all the same. Supposedly, if you caught it at the right time, your radio signal would drop out and in the static you’d hear some low bassy tonal pattern in the hazy frequencies, some people hearing faraway voices crackling through.
If you made it to the end of the road, you’d come upon this gated wooden fence, the fence would lead down a short trail, the trail to a wooden bridge over a small river. From the bridge the trail would lead to these overhanging trees that linked together overhead blocking out the sky shaped like a keyhole, and on the other side of that thicket, there would be a field, a massive wheat field, and in the field would be an old farmhouse, a farmhouse that wasn’t there during the day.
I’m not sure what the deal with the farmhouse was, but a few weeks before she graduated, Chelle and her buds got brave and went out. She said there were two cars full of kids, 7 or 8 of them, and they were set to hit the McDons in the town-over after they went out to the gate. So the two cars started out.
It was all innocent, the sort of ‘let’s get the Ouija board out’ teenage spook ‘em up that passes the time when you’re young and have nothing better to do. The cars rolled around the corner of this little dirt road and started down. Chelle was in the car behind and as soon as they rounded the corner, the fella driving the car ahead just took off, kicking up dust and disappearing around a bend in the road. They laughed and rolled their eyes; teenage boys are idiots.
They were listening to AM radio to increase the spook factor when it happened.
The signal dropped. No tonal pattern, no faraway voices, but their signal was gone. Letting it hiss quietly, the girls in the car were giggling as the farmland stretched out on either side of the lazily winding road ahead. The road was oddly narrow, tall pines having been planted in sequence acting as a barrier between the rolling fields and the road. The dust from the lead car had settled, the twilight fading into night, the drive was short enough and after some time they arrived at the old dilapidated gate, but their friends were nowhere to be seen.
Chelle said when they pulled up, they were alone which didn’t make any sense. There weren’t any other roads off that stretch, no driveways, just a straight shot and nothing else. If the other car had turned around they would have crossed paths, but what do you do in situations like this? You try to freak out your friends, so almost immediately they started coming up with theories.
‘Maybe the road got them’
‘Maybe we died in a crash and this is purgatory’
‘Maybe one of us is insane and you’re just imagining us’
The giddiness turned to boredom as they waited until one of the guys, Trevor, flicked on a flashlight and hopped out.
They started daring one another to go past the gate. Chelle said she was a little shit back then and started goading the boys to go further and further down the trail.
‘I bet you can’t make it to the bridge’
Trevor’s eyebrow raised, he grabbed the flashlight and started down the trail. At most the bridge was a 5 minute walk past the gate, so after 15 minutes they started to get that itchy feeling something was off.
Still no sign of the other car and now Trevor was gone. Chelle and the others swallowed, clicked on their cell phone torches, and inched past the gate, into the pitch of the trailhead, toward the bridge.
‘It’s not funny, Trevor!’ They called into the darkness, the car disappearing behind them. The light breeze rattled the branches above them, they moved in a tight pack. Further into the trail the bridge came into view, the rushing water beneath drowning out their calls; it was still, the sky bright from the moon, Chelle remarked that it was calm on the bridge. Then out of the darkness:
‘RAH!’ Trevor jumped out of the bushes, the flashlight under his chin. The girls screamed and he started cackling. After berating him, telling him to go fuck himself etc. they hung out on the bridge a while mesmerized by the rapids below, lighting a joint, the early summer wind blowing through the forest.
Having come this far they figured, well why not? Let’s go see if the farmhouse is really there.
They made it to the keyhole of overhanging trees that seemed to extend a little too far, finding themselves looking out into a wheat field, the moon huge above, and sure enough, silhouetted on the horizon was a farmhouse. The farmhouse that wasn’t there in the daylight.
They stopped, Chelle saying she felt sick.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ she told me, ‘As soon as it came into view it was like vertigo or something, looking around everybody had this gaunt, pale, clammy complexion–we all looked green.’
How was this not bullshit. They’d been down this trail plenty of times over the years. In the winter they’d come out and slid on the hills back here time and again. The farmhouse was just dumb legend, but she looked at me with this intensity.
‘It was there that night. I can’t explain it at all, but it was there, and when we went back a few days later it was gone. Just like it’d been every other time we’d ever gone there.’
Trevor started into the field toward the farmhouse and the little crew followed, but this was one of the weirder parts of her story. Chelle said Trevor eventually ran out of breath and they all caught up to him, and so there they were just trudging through the wheat for what seemed like 20 minutes and when they looked up, it was as if they were no closer to the farmhouse at all. They were a little ways away from the edge of the forest, but could still easily make out the keyhole back to the trail. They commented on it and walked another 10 minutes until they realized they were essentially in the same spot, like they were walking on a treadmill.
Chelle said at that point they kind of gave up on the whole thing. No one was dressed for a hike and aside from Trevor, everyone just wanted to get back, so they started back to the woods. In through the dark overhang they started joking a bit and eventually made it back to the bridge, but not before they saw it.
Trevor at the back of the pack said something like, “Fuck that” and just started sprinting back to the car. When they looked back to the keyhole of overhanging trees, back at the edge of the field, obscured by the darkness, stood a tall figure, glaring at the group, breathing deep and heavy.
At first frozen, the crew wasn’t sure what to do, aside from staying quiet, when the figure took a step toward them.
As soon as it moved the group followed Trevor’s lead and took off sprinting back to the car. Trevor had it started and as soon as they were in they took off down the dirt road at full speed, everyone out of breath, everyone with tears in their eyes.
Back to the line of trees and the outstretched fields the radio crackled back to life–the mix of AM static, multiple signals mingling, dead voices from the ether breaking through until suddenly the signal cleared and their phones all collectively started buzzing and pinging with messages from the crew in the other car.
‘Where are you guys?’
‘Helloooo’
‘Where did you guys go?’
‘Are you even coming?’
‘Fuck it, we’ll see you guys at McDons’
What had happened was inexplicable and by the time they pulled into the McDonalds parking lot they’d calmed down enough to start rationalizing everything. Maybe it was the joint, maybe it was a bear or something, who knows, but Trevor insisted, he saw its eyes.
Chelle said the guys in the other group all had the same story, that Trevor’s car just disappeared behind them at a certain point, that they got to the gate and sat there for like 20 minutes waiting for them, and when Trevor’s car didn’t show up they just started back to the McDonalds thinking Chelle’s crew got too spooked and turned around.
‘That’s probably the only time I’d say, like, anything paranormal happened to me. We went out a few days later and everything was there except for the farmhouse, but the whole time, even in the light of day, it felt like we were being watched.’ She shuttered, ‘gives me the heebie jeebies thinking about it. Honestly, any time I’m alone now, that figure just… I feel like its there. Like, I can feel it breathing behind me.’
I was stunned, ‘Actually?’
After a pause, she laughed, ‘Nah, man. Spooky stuff though, eh?’
I chuckled, we lit another dart, I told her about the handful of other stories people had told me over the years, back when I used to bartend, but I told her I’d always been a skeptic of paranormal stuff. For me, that stuff and the occult was novel and interesting but more often than not explainable. Like, there’s that whole thing about ghost sightings having a major influx in the 19th century, just as gas lamps were being introduced into households. Turns out ghost sightings and carbon monoxide poisoning share a ton of similarities.
Anyway, the night went on, eventually I passed out on buddy’s couch, and the next week or so I was just living this part time AV tech, post grad, end of summer lifestyle, living out of a suitcase, sleeping on Mack’s living room floor, playing music when we had the chance, and so on, but I couldn’t get Chelle’s story out of my head, so one night I messaged her.
‘Where is the gate? Can you pin it and send it to me? I want to go.’
‘That’s fucked, don’t do that.’
We went back and forth for a little while until she said something like ‘Your funeral’ and sent a screenshot of the inlet road. ‘Be careful dude… I know what I saw’
A few days later, I jumped in my Sunfire and started the two hour drive north.
What a fucking mistake.
Rolling into the little town, my google maps started redirecting me in weird directions, routing me seemingly away from the inlet. Following it to a tee, it led me to this highway overpass that was under construction, abandoned backhoes and excavators lining the road. Slowing to a crawl, I jammed my brakes just in time to find myself parked at the edge of a pit about 30 feet deep, the highway just beyond.
Looking to the map, I found a path to the other side of the highway, and after driving in circles for a while, arriving at a handful of other dead ends, rerouting again and again, around 2pm I finally figured a way from a dirt road, through what looked like someone’s private property, back onto a stretch that led me to the inlet.
Driving out, sure enough, there was the row of trees. All in a line on both sides, spaced evenly but just far enough from one another they wouldn’t quite hedge. The regularity of their spacing was uncanny and didn’t leave any room to pull off on the shoulders, and sure enough, there were no driveways nor other roads off this stretch whatsoever, only the road ahead.
I flipped the radio over to the AM signal and a country station hummed out some Waylon Jennings hits as I rolled along. My cell phone signal started disappearing around then, but the radio signal was strong and after a while I finally made it to the end of the road, and there amongst the brush was the wooden gate.
Dilapidated was an understatement. The wood was rotted away, the hinges on the gate rusted and crumbling. I backed my car in, parked it on the gravel, and started down the path.
It was honestly a lovely day; sun out, birds in the trees, warm breeze, just a perfect late summer day for a hike. Down the trail, the bridge was moss covered and beaten down but well built, and there in the distance, swaying above were the big overhanging trees, leaned to make a keyhole through the woods.
A few minutes later I’d made it to the edge of the wheat field, golden and dancing in the sunlight. The horizon was wide, the sky enormous, the sounds of chickadees and running water behind me, the soft tidal swells of wheat swaying in the wind made the moment incredibly peaceful, but there was no farmhouse. I stood for a while there, taking it in, and eventually turned and went back to my car.
I would return after sunset.
On my way out, I took a few pictures of the gate, and once my signal returned, sent them to Chelle. Her response was nonplused to say the least.
‘What the fuck dude, you actually went?’
‘Yeah, it’s really peaceful out here — now to see if this haunted farmhouse comes out after dark muahuhahahaha’
‘That’s fucked. Leave man. So dumb.’
I went for a bite at the MacDonalds the town-over, killing some time. I stopped to fill up on gas, and when I asked this gas station clerk if he’d heard of this haunted farmhouse etc., the steely glare I received should have told me everything I needed to know.
‘Lots of people drive off the road down there for no reason. Lots of folks gone missing around there over the years. Best to keep clear. Bad juju all the way around.’
’Sure, but you don’t actually believe it do you?’
‘Best not to go lookin’ for things you don’t wanna find’
Re-fueled on snacks and gas, the day slipping away, I started back to the road. Routing through the dirt road, through the private property, finding the inlet and parking at the crossroads to watch the sun set over the fields around me. I smoked another cigarette and listened to the AM radio crackling, the warm summer air cooling as the light dipped below the horizon. Flicking my cigarette, I hopped back into my driver’s seat, turned up the radio, and put the car into drive.
The road seemed narrower than before. The trees on the shoulders leaning in over the road. I chuckled to myself, ‘spooky stuff.’ Bumping along the dirt road, around a curve ahead, I was surprised to see headlights crowning around the bend. I flashed my high beams to indicate theirs were on, but they continued, and fast, completely blinding me.
As they approached it was apparent we were going to crash head on, they were almost entirely in my lane, forcing me to swerve. I clenched my jaw trying to thread between these headlights and the tree line. Whipping past, they blared their horn. I couldn’t make out the figures in the car, only their tail lights in the kicked up dust through my rearview.
I stopped my car and breathed, turning the radio down, lighting another cigarette, wondering why the fuck I was out here in the first place. What a dumb way to get your kicks… but I pressed on.
Another 10 minutes down the road the radio cut out, not to static, just dead silence. I was so zoned in, I barely registered when I finally came upon the gate.
‘Alright.’ I exhaled to myself. Clicked on my headlamp and started down the trail I’d been on mere hours before. The first thing I noticed was how much quieter it was at night. No birdsong, no scampering chipmunks, just stillness and the river ahead. I walked along listening carefully, past the bridge, through the overhanging trees, until I was standing back on the edge of the wheat field.
I swear to fucking god. It was there.
This two story farmhouse up on the crest of the hill, silhouetted by the moonlight. Matching Trevor’s energy I shrugged and started into the field. Walking for 20 minutes, I was away from the tree line and getting out of breath when I stopped and looked up.
That’s when I saw it.
This silhouetted figure walked out on the porch. I froze solid and ducked down, the glow of the moon illuminating the figure only enough to make out its inhuman features. The figure gazed out into the field, breathing the night air. It stopped and I could make out the glint in its eye. It was looking directly at me. That’s when it started into wheat field, its movements jittery but nonetheless heavy.
I ducked down even further and started inching back to the forest. Everything felt weird, disconnected like a dream, it felt unsafe, and an overwhelming nausea welled inside me. Back to the keyhole, there was no sign of anything, looking back to the farmhouse, the figure was nowhere to be seen, I breathed a sigh of relief and started back toward my car, checking the path behind me all the way.
I was speed walking and when I got to the bridge I could feel its eyes. Spinning around I expected the figure to be stood in the path, but nothing. Picking up my pace, I jogged back to my car, locked the doors, started the engine, and closed my eyes, catching my breath. When I opened them, I glanced in my rearview and obscured by my exhaust, there it was, its tall form and its terrible eyes, red in my brake lights breathing the fumes.
Jamming it into drive, I sprayed rocks behind me as I peeled away into the night, the figure fading into the darkness. I was driving way too fast for the little road, but every part of my psyche was screaming. The radio cracked back to life, these low dreadful tones eking through manic chattering as I scrambled for the volume knob, tears forming in my eyes.
Silent in the car I took another breath, still driving as fast as my little Sunfire would take me when in my periphery I saw movement in my rearview mirror. Focusing, there was nothing. I looked back to the road ahead when I felt its breath on my neck. Suddenly ahead I could see headlights. In my panic I’d drifted into their lane and at the last second laid on the horn as I pulled my car back to my side, my tires squealing, kicking rocks into the tree line.
As soon as I was past them, the breathing stopped. The radio was softly playing Merle Haggard as I made it back to the crossroads. I drove slow and silent all the way back to the city, the Am radio coming and going as it pleased, my single loveseat cushion waiting for me on the living room rug back in Mack’s basement apartment.
I kept it to myself for days after, but haven’t been able to shake it ever since.
Any time I’m alone its red eyes are still on me, breathing heavy, waiting.