On the last Friday of each month, we pause our reading of Meadow Lane and the Skylark Bell, and instead cover a real-life supernatural, or at the very least, unusual, and unexplained, experience. In today’s episode we will recount a very frightening experience at a childhood home near the end of the cul-de-sac on Edgar Street.

Music: Nightbridge and The Lady in the Room by Cannelle (www.cannellemusic.com)

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TRANSCRIPT:

We moved into the house on Edgar Street in 1989 or 1990 when I was 9 years old.

I’ve always had a great imagination, perhaps this story could be chalked up to that, but… well, I’ll let you decide.

Edgar street is located in a small city in Ontario, Canada. One end of it abuts the main highway through town, and the opposite side ends in a cul-de-sac. There is only one street intersecting Edgar Street, but it doesn’t go through, causing the two streets to form a T shape with Edgar as the top part. With these geographical characteristics, Edgar Street is rather quiet, with only people who live there, or their guests, ever driving on it. 

Our house is second last to the cul-de-sac. The cul-de-sac itself doesn’t have any houses on it, instead it is surrounded by a playground with a large grassy area that stretches nearly the length of a football field back to a winding creek. On either side are of the grassy area are fields with apple trees, rose bushes, tall grass, and dirt paths where neighbourhood kids ride their bikes. There are several kids on our block, and we love hanging out on the playground and exploring the abandoned barn behind the houses across the street from me, or catching whirly bugs and frogs down by the creek.

The house itself is a two-story house, with two bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor, living room, kitchen and bathroom on the main floor, and a family room and bedroom in the basement. My bedroom is located upstairs at the front of the house. The ceiling slopes and there is a dormer window looking out at the street. Across the hall from my room is my parents’ room, whose windows look out at our backyard and the fields and creek beyond. Outside my bedroom door, there is a short hallway that leads to the stairway going downstairs on the right, and the bathroom on the left at the top of the stairs.

I don’t remember at which point I started seeing the women, but I remember what they looked like very vividly. At night, there would be an old woman in the hallway between my bedroom and the bathroom – which was rather problematic. She wore a long dark cloak type garment and would stand with her back to me as I peeked out my bedroom door. Then, when I would step out into the hallway, she would turn, her face completely covered with deep wrinkles, and she would smile. This is the scariest part – when she would smile, her loose, rotten teeth would fall out to the floor one by one. I would run back to my bed and hide under the covers. Thankfully she never left her spot in the hallway at the top of the stairs to follow me into my room, but I spent many a night holding my bladder because I didn’t want to encounter her.

In stark contrast, there was a completely different character in my parents’ room who I dubbed “The white lady”. I would only see her if I was outside playing in our backyard, whether I was running through a sprinkler in the summer, or making an obstacle course for my dog out of the mounds of snow that would fall in the winter months. I would look up at my parents’ bedroom window on the second floor, and she would be looking down at me with a gentle smile. She wore a long white dress and had pretty long hair. In my memory, she kind of glowed a bit, and there was no colour to her. I was never afraid of the white lady, and often wished it was her in the hallway at night rather than the old lady with the rotting teeth.

These encounters happened several times over the two years or so that we lived in that house. I never talked about it with anyone, unsure of whether I was actually seeing these things or whether I was dreaming or imagining them. 

Looking back I’m inclined to think it wasn’t real, however… one thing gives me pause.

After a couple of years, my parents decided it was time to sell the house on Edgar Street. We listed the house for sale, and once it sold we bought a house out in the country. From my very first night in the new house I stopped using a nightlight, despite it being much darker in the country than in the city without streetlights to brighten the night, and I never again saw either the kind woman in white, or the old woman with the rotting teeth. I often wonder, if perhaps they are still each at their post, one in the window, one in the hallway, of the house on Edgar Street.

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