MYSTERY
OF THE SINGING GHOST
By Ana Riley
© Ana Riley 1999
CHAPTER 7 – Page 43
CHAPTER
7
You can see from the last chapter that our family isn’t as perfect as I’d like it to be. Our family would be absolutely perfect if Alex wasn’t around, and it would be happier if mom wasn’t at my aunt’s. Mom has a buffer effect on Alex. He’s more tolerable when she’s here.
My dad’s a great guy and normally, summers
with him are wonderful. This
particular 
summer is a bit different since mom is away.
Dad isn't quite himself and I’m left holding my ground with two males.
Sometimes, I misunderstand my dad. His thoughts are on something completely different than whatever issue it is that I think we’re dealing with, and his facial expressions aren’t revealing. For example, after talking about the ghost in the garden the other night, I found out that Dad wasn’t that angry with me for not returning his car in time for his meeting. I had interpreted his silence to mean great disappointment with me. What he was really concerned about was what had happened at his meeting.
Dad
explained that many of the farmers are suffering in this area because of poor
crop 
prices and high operating
costs. Some of the farmers are
being forced to grow crops for corporations because sales from the usual grains
harvested are so low. One result of the
farmer being contracted by a corporation is that the farmer and his family may
be uprooted, walking away from a homestead that has been in the family for
generations. Perhaps the
greatest risk is that whatever funds are negotiated, they are usually
less than what might be gained if the farmer were to maintain his or her own
business.
Some farmers supplement their livelihood by raising cattle. Just last month, the international beef and pork markets were closed to Canadian producers because one lonely cow got mad cow disease. My dad thinks politics may be behind the shutting down of the beef and pork trade.
I don’t pretend to understand the grain or cattle industries. Ethan grew up with these concepts, so I’ll ask him to explain all the ins and outs of what’s going on. In the meantime, my dad is concerned and wants to help local farmers.
This issue also affects Dad and Mom directly. A neighboring farmer works part of our quarter section of land each summer as well as his own five sections. He pays us a little money for the use of our land.
My
dad explained that our renter might decide to contract future crops with a
corporation. Poor grain prices are
causing him to struggle with his farm.
Until now, the renter was growing organic grains.
If he signs a contract with a corporation, it will mean that pesticides and other
growing chemicals will be used. The
renter is even considering genetically altered seed, whatever that is.
People say that all it would take is a few seeds to blow over and contaminate
surrounding crops.
Dad said our
renter spent the last five years growing organically and could receive full
certification within the next year [Dad says it takes four to seven years of
growing organic crops before a farmer can be fully certified because the soil
needs to be guaranteed chemical free].
If our renter contracts 
with
a corporation, all his efforts for the past five years will be for naught.
Even if he contracts out his land to a corporation and continues to grow
organic crops on our land, Dad’s concerned that contamination might spill over
from one crop to the next. Of
course, there are also the ecological effects on water supplies and
wildlife, which are all concerns for my parents.
I now know why my dad was so short with Alex and me over our silly argument about the tape recorder and whether or not we had captured the singing of the ghost. By the way, you may be interested to hear that Dad didn’t send me away to Montreal or Pakistan. Ethan was right. Dad is a reasonable man.
Now that you’re up to date on all that has happened in the past few days, I want to tell you that I am thrilled to be going on this ghost investigation with Ethan today. He will arrive any moment now … in fact, he’s driving into our yard as I speak. I wish you could see him in his jeep. He’s glorious!
“Hi, Ethan! Ready to meet a real ghost?”
“As ready as ever. Hop in.”
The smell of the leather in his jeep is so masculine. I don’t want to go on and on about the leather seats, especially if you’re a guy reading this story, but then, maybe you’re learning something about what real women like in a man. Leather seats are definitely important.
“How
did your mother do with the weddings this weekend?” 
I had seen quite a few decorated cars and one couple had a horse-drawn
carriage decorated with real flowers. Even
the horse’s reins were covered with carnations.
“She’s exhausted! Last minute changes are always the greatest challenge.”
“You’d think after months and months of planning, the wedding families would have the details worked out.” I wonder if talking about marriage with Ethan is a good idea. He might think I’m interested in the topic as far as he’s concerned. I’ll change topics. “Anyway, about this ghost we’re investigating…apparently the farmer who owns the land hasn’t dared to destroy the haunted house. I bet we could get inside the house and take a look around. Good idea, huh?”
“Do you have the location of the ghost house?”
“Sort of. We have to check with the man who owns the grocery store in a small town north of Hampton.”
“Hampton?”
Photo by A. Riley 2003
“The ghost house is southwest of Hampton.”
“How did you hear about this ghost and haunted house?”
“The people we bought our farm from told us about it. They knew the people who were being haunted.”
“What did they tell you?”
“Well, first of all, the ghost is a beautiful young girl about my age, with long, blond hair and blue eyes. This beautiful girl ghost came out of the attic each night, dressed in her nightgown, and went down the stairs, which creaked when she walked, and then she would clang whatever she could to wake up the children who were sleeping on the second floor of the house.
“During
the day, the ghost would go in and out of the house, letting the screen door
slam behind her. The farmer’s
wife would hear the constant slam of the screen door and the hair would stand on
her head and she would feel a cool tingling on her flesh. She put up with this
for a year and a half, and then, she couldn’t stand it anymore.
Everyone in the county knew about the ghost, so no one would buy the
farm. One night, the farmer packed
up his wife and seven children and just left!
They were so frightened and didn’t know what else to do.
They farmed the land except for bushels of acres around the house, which
has been left to this day.”
Ethan is grinning. There are ‘bushels of acres’, aren’t there?
“When did all this happen – the haunting, I mean?”
“Late ‘30’s – early ‘40’s.”
“Whatever happened to the farmer and his family?”
“They moved to Yorkton [Click to learn more: http://www.city.yorkton.sk.ca/]. He started the general store in Yorkton. His wife died shortly thereafter. Three of their children died at a young age. The others died of old age. There are two remaining sons. One is over eighty and what he does remember gets mixed up with other stories from his past. The youngest son was born after the move into Yorkton. Look! There’s the sign for Dalmany, the town where the man is that we’re supposed to get directions from!”
I have never traveled in these areas before. The fields are splendidly gold with rows of wheat wrapped into large bails that stand solemnly, regally. Some of the bails are smaller and square. Some are large round ones that one farmer has put white plastic covers on.
“Ethan, look at the stoops of wheat. I thought they didn’t stoop wheat anymore, with the invention of machinery.”
Ethan’s got that grin on his face again. What did I say?
“Stooks aren’t around much anymore. That is unusual to see.”
“Hey, Ethan, see that bail over there with the face on it?” One family took the time to create a happy face on the front of the bail. “It’s fun to see some artwork out in the middle of nowhere. Have you ever bailed wheat?”
“You
mean bailing hay? Yes, we all
helped out at harvest. Some years
there was more work than others.”
“You bailed hay and worked in your mom’s shop? How old were you?”
“I started bailing when I was around twelve years old.”
That explains Ethan’s wonderful muscles on his broad shoulders and chest. I’m amazed at how hard kids work on the prairies, especially if they have an interest in the farm. Some of the girls I know at school get up early and do chores for two hours before coming to classes. One guy said he couldn’t come to our SRC meeting after school one day, because he had to go home and cut wood. He’s in grade ten. His name is Sean. Alex knows him. Sean barely passed his grade – not into academics – but ask him anything about wildlife, hunting, farming or anything that has a motor in it, and he can talk for hours about it, or fix it. I admire that sort of intelligence. It’s practical, useful. If Alex could speak intelligently about anything, he might prove his worth on Earth.
“That looks like a corner store.”
“Must
be. There’s nothing else
around.” Ethan has been
relatively quiet for the duration of the drive.
I wonder if everything is okay. I
don’t think now is the time to ask him about the farmers and the corporate
takeovers. 
I wish you could see the old, creaky door that leads into this store. It’s solid wood planks joined together with metal strapping and large, steel nails. The hinges alone must weigh a lot.
The floor is also wood – long, wide hardwood boards nailed with wooden nails, not polished or refinished, like it would be in the city. I like it this way. You can see what the most popular items on the shelves are by the way the wood floor is worn there. The floor in front of the candy counter and the cash register are worn the most. They look like they dip down a little from the weight of the many soles that have anxiously stood there, waiting to get their favorite treat and then waiting to pay for it so it could be delightfully consumed.
The
smell is a multitude of things from dill pickles in a large crock in the corner
[five 
cents
each, according to the sign], to the rubber tires suspended over the
shelf
along the back wall. There
are scented candles and potpourri next to hand made greeting cards, some
so dust covered they have probably been here for years.
There’s also the smell of detergents and cleansers, a truly abrasive
sting to the nose after the candles. Finally,
the smell of vegetables from one corner where it looks like someone simply
dropped a sack of corn, potatoes and beets, reminds me that this is one
store for all needs and purposes. I
think the hand-made crocheted baby 
sweaters and blankets on the wall behind the
cash register would need to be washed before ever giving them away as a gift,
especially with the cigarette burning in the ashtray on the counter. It appears as if the smoker has finally heard the little bell
on the door as we came in.
“Yes, folks. What can I do for you?”
“Hi. I’m Gia Roan. I called you regarding the ghost house near Hampton.”
I like shaking hands with people. It
gives me an immediate idea of what type of person 
he or she is.
This man is old, probably over fifty or sixty, and his hands are strong
but skinny. His fingers are very
skinny. He’s very skinny. He probably smokes more than he eats.
Ethan is staring strangely at me. I forgot to warn him about my last name.
“I 'member you callin’, young lady. You say you want to go and look at the old Zarnisky place…Anythin' in particular you lookin’ for?”
“No. I just want to see the place, maybe take a few pictures and find out all I can about the ghost.”
“Well, I can tell ya all ya need to know about the ghost.”
I can’t believe my luck! Even Ethan is shocked at how well this is turning out.
“Was there really a ghost?”
“Oh sure! Everyone knew about it. Young girl. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. Blond. Long hair. Lived in the attic. Came out at night and tried to rattle stuff around so as to wake up the children who was sleeping. Daytime, she went in and outta the house. Drove the family nuts. They all up and moved out after a year or so.”
I don’t want to tell him that I know all this as he seems to be excited to be telling us about it. Maybe he’s excited to be chatting with someone altogether. Doesn’t look like business is booming. He hasn’t touched his cigarette. Maybe he’s trying to quit. Maybe there’s someone else in the back, though the yellow stains on this man’s skinny fingers is a sure sign he’s a dedicated smoker. The smell of that cigarette is disgusting. I wish he’d butt it out.
“Did the haunting continue after the family moved?”
“Sure did. I was a young lad at the time. We’d go out to that abandoned house and party, if ya know what I mean.” When he winks, a million wrinkles surround his eyes and ripple right down to his cheekbones. The grin on his mouth makes dimples appear in the sunken lower part above his jaw. He definitely needs to eat more.
“That there ghost would scare the dickens outta us boys. We tried tellin' our folks but they paid no heed. They figured we’d got all partied up and didn’t know what we’re talkin’ about. But she was real all right! No mistaken’ it!”
I think this skinny, old merchant is a nice person beneath his rustic surface. His eyes twinkle when he speaks and he seems generous. His store is still operating, so people must still be buying products from him.
“Here,
I’ll draw ya a map to the old house.”
The pencil he’s using, with the teeth marks on the end from his chewing it, looks as old as he is. It’s hard to tell where the yellow of the pencil stops and the yellow of his skinny fingers begins.
“Thanks. This will be a great help.” I have to explain to Ethan about using the name, Roan.
“Anything else, folks?”
“I’d
like to get some gum.” Ethan
carries his change in his pocket. 
I
often wonder how many men lose money because they don’t use a wallet.
The old man hasn’t touched his cigarette. I wonder if he’ll smoke it once we’re gone.
“One more thing, young man. Use your wits when you walk into that old yard. There’s a couple o’ wells that the covers are missin’. Don’t want you or that pretty little lady of yours fallin’ in.”
The
autumn air is refreshing after being inside the store with its symphony of smells.
I’ll quickly take a photo of this General Store.
“Ethan, his map says we need to go that way.” I like being a navigator. “So, Ethan, about me saying my name was Gia Roan…”
He’s grinning at me again, the same grin he used when I said, 'bushels of acres' and 'bails of wheat'. It’s a non-threatening grin, but obviously I say something that's odd or funny.
“My second name is Roan. That was my mother’s maiden name. I like to use it when I’m doing an investigation. Makes me feel like a writer or a reporter or something wonderful. I’m not lying. It is my name. Besides, what’s wrong with being a little creative when one is investigating ghosts? Or what’s wrong with having a nickname? Gia Roan is kind of a nickname, right? Or pseudonym. It’s not a sin…”
He’s smiling and wants to say something. I can just tell. I’ll pause and let him speak.
“Gia Roan’s a great name. I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t know it was your second name. It’s unique.”
The expression on his face supports his sincerity. That’s good. I wouldn’t want Ethan thinking I’m weird or dishonest or untrustworthy or that I’m living in a fantasy world. I may not be able to carry on a lengthy discussion about farming but I am practical and pragmatic. Pragmatic – I like that word.
“According to this map, that’s the farmyard there.” This is the first time I’ve seen Ethan take a hand away from the steering wheel. He’s such a perfect driver. “We’ll park here and walk in.”
The grass and weeds are so high that only my head shows above the growth. Thank goodness I wore these hiking boots. The underbrush is so thick and full …
“Eeeek!
Ethan! Something just
crawled over my boot. I think it
was a snake!”
“Garder snake. They’re harmless.”
“Snakes!
There are snakes in Saskatchewan. The
real estate agent never told
us that!
How
dare she not reveal such information to future landowners!
Are these garden snakes everywhere?
Do they come into houses? Will
they come up the toilet?”
Ethan has that grin on his face again, but I don’t know what he could find humorous at this moment. Snakes have been known to climb into sewer systems. My grandfather was in Africa and a snake came up the toilet there.
“GardER snakes are out at this time of year. They can get into basements and nest there but I’ve never heard of one coming up through the sewer system.”
“How come I haven’t seen any on our land?”
“Shakespeare has probably kept them away from the immediate house. You also have a few barn cats, don’t you?”
“Dad says we have three or four. I’ve only ever seen a black one and the tabby. They don’t hang around humans much. Do cats eat snakes?”
“I suppose they can. I’ve never seen it myself. Hawks enjoy a snake meat feast as often as they can. You have hawks, right?”
“Absolutely. They are magnificent creatures, aren’t they?
“I had a pet hawk once. It was maimed. One of my brothers took care of it until it was ready to fly again. I named the hawk, Samual. We became buds and after a short while, Sam would sit on my arm and take food out of my hand.”
This memory must be a particularly fond one for Ethan. His voice is warm and mellow. He’s always a little more gentle when he talks about these kinds of things.
“So,
hawks, dogs and cats ward snakes off.
I’ll
remember that. It’s not that I am
completely afraid of snakes. I
never screamed when we went to the Reptile display at the zoo in Calgary, like
the other girls in my class did. Actually,
I found looking at the Cobra completely fascinating. They were feeding it when our class arrived.
The other girls were grossed out. I
quite enjoyed it.” I don’t want
Ethan thinking I’m some sissy that can’t adjust to new environments,
particularly those in nature.
“Careful where you step, Gia. The old store owner said there are a couple of uncovered wells near the house.”
“Do you think they’ve not repaired the well lids because they’re too afraid to come on the land because of the ghost?”
“Could
be. Maybe nobody has the time or
interest. Besides, people aren’t
supposed to trespass.”
“Is that the front door? Hey, we can maybe go in through that side door over there. If you stand beside it, I’ll take a picture.” I love my camera. The zoom loves Ethan’s facial structure.
The house is large for something that was built at the turn of the century. Still, it would be considered small, especially for raising seven children in.
“This lean-to was probably added on years later. It’s not built from the logs like the rest of the house. Curious log design. They’re all standing upright on end.”
I’ve always been interested in architecture. It’s remarkable to see one of these log houses rather than just read about it.
“Why do you think they did that?”
“I’m not sure. I do know that some of the Norwegians in the area built their homes this way.”
“What is that stuff packed around the logs?”
“Mud, straw, horse manure.”
“This house has wood siding on top of the logs. These logs are dry, so dry they look petrified.”
“They’ve been well sealed for over a hundred years.” Ethan is taking in this adventure as if it were his brainchild. I’m glad he’s here.
“Let’s go inside. There should be enough light for me to get some good camera shots.”
“Careful. Some of the floorboards could be rotten.”
The
stale smell inside the house is different.
It’s not that wet, moldy smell that is in old buildings. It’s probably not moldy because the windows are smashed
and some of the walls haven fallen away, allowing constant air movement.
No, this smell is different entirely.
It’s dusty, and there are cobwebs everywhere.
The cobwebs are intricate and huge.
Some look as old as the house.
“Ethan, there’s the staircase leading to the second floor. Let’s go up!”
I’m pleased that Ethan isn’t paranoid about adventure. “Watch for loose boards.” I’m pleased that he takes care of me.
“There’s no railing. Interesting how the stairs are built against the walls. These stairs are so small and low, you almost have to crawl up on your hands and knees… yikes! Help! Ethan!”
“I’ve got you! Are you hurt?”
The
warmth and strength of his hands are so comforting.
“If it wasn’t for you being right behind me, I would have fallen
through to China! Oh, thank you,
Ethan!” I’d kiss him but there
isn’t enough room to turn around and shift positions.
Besides, I’m covered with dust and cobwebs. I can’t imagine a guy wanting to kiss a girl who looks like
that.
Photo by A. Riley, 2003
“Hey, we can stand up. We’re on the second floor.
There are one, two, three, four bedrooms. No bathroom up here. Can you imagine having to crawl down these stairs at night and go outside when it’s minus thirty degrees in the winter, just to relieve yourself? I bet those kids held it all night rather than to have to do that!”
I am so grateful our farm has indoor plumbing. I don’t mind adjusting to various environments as long as there are toilets and showers. A world without either would be unimaginable!
My parents used to take us camping – environmental education, they called it – and I hated camping when it was cold in the Rockies, in the middle of July no less. I’d be shivering in my sleeping bag and then, the more I shivered, the more I had to go to the toilet. But the toilets were down a ways from our tent, and there was always the fear of running into a bear or other wild beast like an elk or wolf. I’d make up my mind that I would wait until morning, and then I’d spend the rest of the night shivering, holding it in, shivering some more, and wishing I were at home. I wonder what Mrs. Zarnisky did when she was pregnant? Having to crawl down these little stairs with a big belly in the middle of the night – unimaginable!
“Ethan, these rooms are so small. How many kids do you think slept in one room?”
“Two, three for sure! Maybe more. Bunk beds would make it work.”
“This looks like the staircase to the attic. And look at these jars? They’ve got beans in them and all kinds of … What was that?”
“Listen … I hear footsteps…Ethan!”
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