but a couple of the other librarians have heard moaning coming from that exact spot over the years.”
An army of goosebumps began a slow march up my arms toward my neck.
“All right … so who was John?”
Caroline turned back to look at me, her blue eyes like ice. “I wish I could tell you, Max.”
“Well, can’t they look through the old records? There should be a way to see if someone named John lived here when it used to be a house?”
What I wanted to say was that this was finally a chance to get some real evidence to hold up all her crazy ghost stories. But, of course, I didn’t.
Caroline crossed her arms in front of her chest and smirked in a self-satisfied kind of way. “So, does this mean that you’re finally admitting that you believe in ghosts?”
“No … not at all,” I replied, suddenly defensive. “It’s just that some proof would make these stories a lot more believable.”
“Well, we did look through the old records and there were a lot of Johns who lived here. Remember, it was a very popular name back then. Ellen Ramsden was married to a John. And her son was named John, too. And the owner who came after her was named John. And so was his son. And there’s a big gap in the record-keeping between 1860 and 1890.”
“A gap? Why?”
“The building was rented out between those years. So, I guess there’s a chance that John was someone who lived here during that time. But, of course, all of this is based on the assumption that you believe in ghosts.”
I didn’t believe in ghosts, did I? I honestly didn’t know what I thought anymore. This girl was seriously playing with my head. Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of a door slamming from upstairs. My head whipped around. There was Nana still sitting and typing at the reception desk where she’d been all along.
“Did you hear that noise?” I whispered, turning back to Caroline.
She shook her head. “Are you okay, Max? You look pale.”
Grabbing my backpack, I stumbled out of the room. “I … I have to go now. I’ve got some studying to do before my afternoon classes.”
Although I didn’t turn around to see her face, I could tell from the little whine in her voice that Caroline was sorry to see me leave. “Okay. But will you come visit me again next week? I’ll try to remember some new ghost stories for you …”
“Yeah … no … I’ll see you later,” I said, hurrying through the entryway. No promises. I wanted to walk out the door and breathe fresh air again. I wanted to race down the garden path and never come back. I wanted to forget everything about this place. But I knew that would be impossible. I would be back … and it would be soon. The lure was too strong.
Yanking down the handle, I hurled open the door and charged outside into the crisp autumn morning. My body heaved with relief as I gulped down the fresh air. I felt like a drowning man who’d just been pulled from the water in the nick of time.
9 - John
During the summer of 1886, I received some terrible news; news that I had been dreading since I was old enough to read. Father had made the final decision about my future. My mother relayed the tragic details to me on the morning of my twelfth birthday while the two of us were in the parlour preparing to leave for church. Her usual gentle countenance was clenched with regret.
“John, I’m very sorry,” she said, her voice reduced to a dry whisper, “but your father has decided that the time has come …”
The mantle clock ticked loudly behind us as Mother’s voice faded to silence. But certainly she had no need to explain further. I understood immediately to what she was referring and the words felt like knives cleaving my heart.
Simply stated, I was doomed. My father wanted me to start work in the forge. My life as a student was over. I felt like a prisoner who had just been condemned to a life sentence of hard labour.
“But Mother, I’m only just turning twelve,” I said, careful to
An army of goosebumps began a slow march up my arms toward my neck.
“All right … so who was John?”
Caroline turned back to look at me, her blue eyes like ice. “I wish I could tell you, Max.”
“Well, can’t they look through the old records? There should be a way to see if someone named John lived here when it used to be a house?”
What I wanted to say was that this was finally a chance to get some real evidence to hold up all her crazy ghost stories. But, of course, I didn’t.
Caroline crossed her arms in front of her chest and smirked in a self-satisfied kind of way. “So, does this mean that you’re finally admitting that you believe in ghosts?”
“No … not at all,” I replied, suddenly defensive. “It’s just that some proof would make these stories a lot more believable.”
“Well, we did look through the old records and there were a lot of Johns who lived here. Remember, it was a very popular name back then. Ellen Ramsden was married to a John. And her son was named John, too. And the owner who came after her was named John. And so was his son. And there’s a big gap in the record-keeping between 1860 and 1890.”
“A gap? Why?”
“The building was rented out between those years. So, I guess there’s a chance that John was someone who lived here during that time. But, of course, all of this is based on the assumption that you believe in ghosts.”
I didn’t believe in ghosts, did I? I honestly didn’t know what I thought anymore. This girl was seriously playing with my head. Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of a door slamming from upstairs. My head whipped around. There was Nana still sitting and typing at the reception desk where she’d been all along.
“Did you hear that noise?” I whispered, turning back to Caroline.
She shook her head. “Are you okay, Max? You look pale.”
Grabbing my backpack, I stumbled out of the room. “I … I have to go now. I’ve got some studying to do before my afternoon classes.”
Although I didn’t turn around to see her face, I could tell from the little whine in her voice that Caroline was sorry to see me leave. “Okay. But will you come visit me again next week? I’ll try to remember some new ghost stories for you …”
“Yeah … no … I’ll see you later,” I said, hurrying through the entryway. No promises. I wanted to walk out the door and breathe fresh air again. I wanted to race down the garden path and never come back. I wanted to forget everything about this place. But I knew that would be impossible. I would be back … and it would be soon. The lure was too strong.
Yanking down the handle, I hurled open the door and charged outside into the crisp autumn morning. My body heaved with relief as I gulped down the fresh air. I felt like a drowning man who’d just been pulled from the water in the nick of time.
9 - John
During the summer of 1886, I received some terrible news; news that I had been dreading since I was old enough to read. Father had made the final decision about my future. My mother relayed the tragic details to me on the morning of my twelfth birthday while the two of us were in the parlour preparing to leave for church. Her usual gentle countenance was clenched with regret.
“John, I’m very sorry,” she said, her voice reduced to a dry whisper, “but your father has decided that the time has come …”
The mantle clock ticked loudly behind us as Mother’s voice faded to silence. But certainly she had no need to explain further. I understood immediately to what she was referring and the words felt like knives cleaving my heart.
Simply stated, I was doomed. My father wanted me to start work in the forge. My life as a student was over. I felt like a prisoner who had just been condemned to a life sentence of hard labour.
“But Mother, I’m only just turning twelve,” I said, careful to
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