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Wynyard Story

It was a late night in the early fall of 1794 where on the side of Citadel Hill which at the top of it existed the third version of the Halifax Citadel, was a small, poorly put together wooden building, one that was hastily put together in the matter of a few weeks and not meant to last any more than a few years. It was being used as a supplementary barracks within the grounds of the Citadel and at this time this building was being used as an officer’s quarters.

As officers at this moment in history bought their commissions into the army, they didn’t have to work to become officers, rather commissions were something that you could buy and sell almost like stocks nowadays where the commission was dependent on not just the rank but also the regiment that you were with. The higher the standing: the more victories and better reputation a regiment had, the costlier it was to get a commission for that regiment. Even in some of the lowest-ranked-reputation regiments buying a commission to be an officer would have been the equivalent of several hundreds of thousands of dollars nowadays and that’s just for the lowest ranks. You can buy a commission for any rank and have the price increasingly go up or down. On top of that you were also able to sell your commission back to someone else if they wanted to join the army and take your rank as you retired. All this to say that the guys who were officers for this time were either filthy stinking rich themselves or they came from filthy stinking rich families. Most of the time an officer within the army, whenever they entered a new spot, would buy their own house within the dwellings themselves and then just sell it back to the highest bidder when they were going to leave and go to a new spot. However, this wasn’t mandatory; in fact, many officers didn’t end up doing this and the ones that didn’t were given their own form of quarters where they’d get a large room to themselves and a steward that would come and attend to their every need.

It was in this officer’s quarters where two men had lived: two men by the names of General George Wynyard and Colonel Sherbrooke. Both men were very high ranked officers within the British Army but had also spent quite a few years together within the regiment and as a result had quite a bit of a camaraderie. These are guys that were normally shut-ins that didn’t like to attend any sort of social events or gatherings; they liked to spend as much time with themselves as possible, but because of their development side by side within the army they did make an exception to spend a bit of time with each other.

It was on this particular night when General Wynyard wasn’t feeling too well and Colonel Sherbrooke had offered to spend the night with him instead, rather than being in the officer’s mess where they could relax, have a few bottles of wine and chat and share stories amongst each other. This was quite easy to do as an officer would get two bottles of wine every single day on top of their normal rations. Trust me, they had plenty! It wasn’t just the rank-and-file guys who were going down to the bars and partying their hearts out. The officers, even though they had a lot more composure to keep were doing just as much if not more drinking than the guys beneath them.

But that aside, this particular night leads into a set of strange, borderline unexplainable circumstances which if you were to tell it to anyone nowadays, they’d look at you and consider you crazy and not believe anything you say whatsoever. Due to the circumstances that surround both the events of this night and the events that happen after, this seemingly unbelievable story not only gains a substantial amount of credibility, but seemingly overnight in just a span of a few weeks, skyrockets in popularity and at one point even becomes the most popular ghost story within the entirety of the British Empire.

This story is called the Wynyard Story named after one of our two titular characters that it happens to take place with. It was on this night when Sherbrooke and Wynyard were talking with each other, having a good time, sharing laughs when suddenly at around 10:45 maybe 10:50 at night or so (some of the details are a little conflicting), but suddenly there was a small knock that comes at Wynyard’s door. Just as naturally as he breathes, without even taking a pause in his conversation, he walks up and proceeds to open the door as this is something Wynyard has had to deal quite a bit with. To provide a bit of context for the building that they’re situated in, this officer’s quarters has a front door that faces out towards the street in front of them but it’s also a two-storey building, one that’s got rooms on the first floor and second floor where, if you walk through the main door, you have a room in front of you and a long hallway that spans to both your left and your right in front of that room that will connect all of the rooms on one floor together. And then on either side of that hallway is a staircase that will lead you up to the porch of the second floor of this officer’s quarters. It just so happens that poor General Wynyard gets the room that is directly in front of the main entrance to the officer’s quarters and as a result, anytime that someone comes up and knocks with business for the officers, he must be the one to get up, go answer the door and guide them properly. Just as naturally as the dozens or at this point maybe even hundreds of times that he’s done it, he walks over and opens the door and what does he find? That there is no one outside. The sky is practically pitch black with the exceptions of a few small lanterns hanging a few feet above him dangling over the street providing small bits of illumination onto the streets below. He angrily shuts the door and grumbles to himself as he walks back over to sit back in his chair. Poor Wynyard has just been Ding Dong Ditched! This is not the first time this has happened to him and it’s not going to be the last. In fact he’s so ticked off about this that Colonel Sherbrooke who’s sitting on the other side of the room hears him muttering under his breath not quite clearly but it sounds something like “So help me God, if one more man were to get up and go knock on that blasted door I refuse to get up and go answer it.” Which I’m sure is a promise he meant to keep, but little did he know in not that long it would become practically impossible as about 40 maybe 45 minutes later there is a very small almost indistinguishable knock that comes at that front door. Does Wynyard ignore it on purpose or does he not hear it; it’s hard to say. What we do know is that Wynyard continues with his conversation. Instead of the knocking ceasing it not only slowly grows in speed but it also starts to grow in volume in fact at one point it gets so loud and so irritating that it becomes practically impossible to ignore and in a fury Wynyard springs up out of his chair, runs over to that door and he practically tears the thing off its hinges opening it. From the other side of the room where Sherbrooke has a side profile of Wynyard, he sees him getting ready to tear into whoever’s on the other side of that door. All of a sudden his body drops, everything relaxes and he’s standing there for what might have only been 10 maybe 15 seconds but to both of these men it must have felt like an eternity, when all of a sudden Wynyard quickly steps off to the side of the door as a man proceeds to walk in through the front. One described by Colonel Sherbrooke as a man between 5 foot 10 or 5 foot 11 with extremely white clammy skin. He was extremely frail and looked like he couldn’t be more than 100 lbs soaking wet. Which funny to mention, is that this man that walks through the door is actually soaking wet! He’s got short black scraggly hair that’s completely soaking wet; he’s got unkempt facial hair that looks like several weeks maybe even month’s-worth of it that’s also dripping water down onto the floor below him. You can see the sheen of the water reflecting off his wool tunic and pants, and the water tarnish that’s been done to the brass buttons on front of him. This man also has eyes sunken so far into the back of his head they look like they will pop out of his skull at any moment. He had bags under bags under bags underneath his eyes and looks like he hasn’t slept a wink in months. His pupils were so expanded that Colonel Sherbrooke couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were as they looked like empty black masses in the back of his eye sockets. He looks over at each of these men, gives a small nod and then proceeds to walk all the way into the back of Wynyard’s living area where there exists a small doorway without an actual door on it that leads to general Wynyard’s bedroom. He’s got a bed and nightstand tucked into the back right side of the room and over on the back left corner he’s got a small walk-in closet that contains all his civilian clothing and uniform supplies that he needs to operate throughout his business. This man proceeds to walk into the bedroom, takes a sharp left and disappears around the corner seemingly just as fast as he had walked into the room in the first place, leaving a small water trail almost perfectly tracing the footsteps he had walked. After witnessing this, for lack of a better term, both men are completely stunned by what they see. Sherbrooke is the first one to snap out of that confused daze and looks back over at the door, realizes it’s still open and doesn’t want to let in too much cold air and so of course goes to close it. He looks over at Wynyard who’s got this 1000-yard death stare that looks like it could not only bore a hole through the wall of his room but go through all the others and maybe even out the other side of the quarters itself. Sherbrooke walks over to Wynyard, grabs him by the shoulders starts to give him a light shake and exclaims something to the likes of “snap out of it! Good God man, what is wrong with you? This miscreant has just walked into your quarters uninvited, makes his way into your bedroom, and is likely trying to steal your uniform as we speak! Why won’t you do anything about this?” All Wynyard can say, his gaze still unbreaking, in fact it’s hard to even call it saying anything as he’s more or less grumbling under his breath as he keeps repeating to himself “oh God, oh God, oh God!” Sherbrooke goes “ “oh God” what are you talking about “oh God”?” At that moment Wynyard stares back at Sherbrooke and softly under his breath he says, “I think that man was my brother.”

“What do you mean that’s your brother? What are you talking about?” And it’s at this point that Wynyard proceeds to explain there’s a bit of an urban legend within the Wynyard family; one that seems to get passed down from generation to generation and has over the past several hundred years. One that says that someone that’s close to you whether it’s a family member like a brother, sister, mom, dad, whoever they may be, or maybe a very close friend who’s played a pivotal role in your life, and maybe you’re out going about your business and maybe you see them in a spot where you know for a fact that they shouldn’t be, or you know that they’ve never be in the first place. Maybe they’re wearing something that you know they don’t have, or maybe you pass them in a hallway, or crossing the street and they look at you with a look on their face that you didn’t even know that they were capable of making. If any of this happens to you, then there is a chance that it might not be that person that you’re looking at in the first place, at least not in the physical sense as it could very well be the last vestiges of this person who has oh so recently just passed on and with the last moments they have in the living realm, are going around to all of the people that were important to them in their mortal life and saying their last goodbyes before they move on to whatever comes next.

And frankly, as ridiculous as that sounds, at the very least, gets both men into motion for very different reasons. Sherbrooke is more concerned about stopping and detaining this man who just walked in, and Wynyard is more concerned with trying to meet up with this spectre and finding out if it really is his brother or maybe it is just some sort of random intruder. So now both men walk through that doorless doorway into Wynyard’s bedroom, look around, and they don’t see him there of course. However, they do see a small water trail on the floor that goes almost perfectly to the walk-in closet tucked in that back left corner. They walk over, open it up and they find absolutely nothing there; all of the head dresses are still neatly organized on the top shelf as with all of his shoes and boots and socks that are neatly organized and lined up on the bottom section, and hanging up on a pole are all of his tunics and under shirts and trousers still neatly organized by uniform whether they be military or civilian. It looks like not even a small wind has passed through. In fact, upon further inspection, when they leave this closet and look back down at the entrance, that water trail that had led them to the closet in the first place seems to completely cut off as soon as it hits that door. At this point, a lot of the other officers who are in the quarters are hearing this commotion and guys from both the first floor and 2nd floor then come down to see what’s going on. But it is far too late: any signs of this spectre that had disturbed Wynyard and Sherbrooke’s night have completely vanished.

All they can do is take accounts of what happened from both men, which seemed to line up perfectly, detail for detail. They are encouraged to write their experience down in as much detail as they possibly can, not only to help verify their story but because it might be interesting for anyone that’s willing to lend an ear.

Nothing else happens over the rest of the night. However, over the course of the next several weeks, these men, who were quite introverted, suddenly become some of the most social people you’ve ever seen in your life. These men, whether alone or together are going to every single ball or gala, fancy dinner event parade, meetings with socialites and aristocrats or whatever they may be. Everywhere they go, anyone that’s willing to lend an ear, they tell as many people as possible about the strange occurrence that had happened to them. It’s after that few weeks where there’s hardly an ear within the city of Halifax that doesn’t know about the tale of the Wynyard story. It doesn’t break any international boundaries and stays contained within the city.

About three and a half months after the incident occurs it’s getting into the later winter months. The ice has broken in Halifax harbour and it’s a lot easier for ships to cross the ocean. The first packet of mail from overseas has finally made its way into the city of Halifax and of course, not only is there mail for citizens of the city from the empire, but there are also letters for the guys that are stationed within it. Wynyard happens to be no exception, and he receives a letter addressed to him from his mother that is dated the morning after the incident had occurred. Wynyard opens it up and it exclaims that due to some very unfortunate circumstances his brother Jack Wynyard had passed away at the family apartments over in Kensington Palace. Jack Wynyard was also a very high-ranking officer within the British Army and passed away from a very severe case of tuberculosis. It just so happens that his time of death was recorded to be the very hour that this vestige visits Wynyard and Sherbrooke.

With this seemingly newfound evidence, the small bits of skepticism that had surrounded the Wynyard story among the locals had vanished preserving the high reputation that these very high-ranking officers had with both social standing and in the army. This story now breaks out of Halifax and eventually makes its way back to London, spreading throughout the rest of the territories like wildfire.

The Wynyard story was the most popular ghost story of all time but eventually the story dies down, and less people are hearing about it.

Several decades later there is a very famous author that comes to visit the city of Halifax; one who happens, not even a year after his visit to Halifax and hearing about the Wynyard story from some of the locals, proceeds to write his own ghost story. That happens to be called A Christmas Carol and in fact, it’s Charles Dickens that makes his visit over to Halifax in 1842.

While we’re still looking for evidence to suggest that the Wynyard story could be a main inspiration for A Christmas Carol itself, we’re always still looking and if it does happen to be the case then that is how, through two seemingly unrelated stories, one set of events would not only become the most popular ghost story of its time but now many would consider to be the most popular ghost story of all time.

Context: This story was told to me by B.E.W, a Military Interpreter at the Halifax Citadel Canadian National Historic Site. It is commonly recounted to visiting tourists during ghost tours at the site. It tells the story of a military man who is visited at his barracks on Citadel Hill in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada by a man who turns out to be the ghost of his recently deceased brother. This story became famous internationally and may even have inspired Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”.  

Analysis from storyteller: B.E.W. says that he first learned of these stories around 5 years ago when he began working at the fortress and enjoys them the most because they are “not tall tales; there are multiple varied accounts of them happening and they even have some authentic documentation to back them up”. Also, he says that “these are the stories that the people on my tours are always most intrigued by”.

Analysis from myself: This is an interesting part of the history of the city I was born in and a place that I have visited many times. I assumed there were hauntings but not with such specific documentation of historical accuracy. It brings the past to life and makes me appreciate the history of my hometown. It makes me think about ghosts having unfinished business with the living.

The Ghost of Avalon

Text: “In the summer of 1987, right after I graduated from high school, my family rented an old beach house on the 200s block Claressa Street in Avalon on Catalina Island. For those who know Avalon, it was founded in the late 1800s and became an upscale vacation destination in the early 1900s. My great-grandparents had a long-sold off house there and once the iconic Art Deco casino was built in the 1920s, the big bands would come and host their national radio programs from there while dressed-up couples danced the night away overlooking the bay. 

The old beach houses (and Casino) are known for being haunted with spirits from vacations past, but there wasn’t any reason for me to believe it since I’d never seen anything myself in all the years my family had vacationed there. That changed that summer of 1987. 

The original Avalon beach houses all had a similar design with the bedrooms often opening up from each other rather than a hall. In other words you had to walk through one bedroom to get to another, train car style. I was in the bedroom that you could only reach from the one my parents were in, and I had to walk through their room to get to the bathroom.

We would spend the days on the beach and in the sun, and go to bed fairly early since almost all activity takes place there around the ocean. Not much happens at night in Avalon. So after dinner we’d play board games or cards, then go to bed so we could get up early for another day of surf and sun. 

I had gone to sleep that night as always and was awakened by a man standing at the end of the bed looking at me. He was dressed in a dated-style suit with a freshly starched dress shirt with crisp collar points that came up higher on his neck than was the style during the Reagan administration. He was wearing a tie and had a brown hat, rounded bowler style, on his head. He just stood at the foot of the bed looking at me. 

At first I thought I was still asleep, dreaming, or in the confused state between wakefulness and deep sleep. But once I sat up and knew I was 1000% awake and was scared even though he was just standing there looking at me with a benign expression on his face. 

I screamed thinking someone had broken into my bedroom and my mom came running out of her bedroom. She also saw him but knew immediately he wasn’t ‘real’, or flesh and blood like we were. 

She explained to him that he didn’t belong there, that we were in the house now for a visit and that he needed to move along. Just a few seconds later he disappeared into the air. No walking through walls or talking, just dissolved into the air at the foot of my bed. 

I was rattled the whole rest of our vacation but he didn’t appear again. The house is still standing as it was 40 years ago. I’ve walked by it on subsequent trips and thought of the tall, thin man in the suit that visited me.”

Context: This story was shared by the informant, who was a young child at the time of the experience. The event marked a significant moment in the informant’s life, as it was the catalyst for their belief in the supernatural. Prior to this encounter, the informant had not paid much attention to stories of ghosts or spirits, but the vivid and unsettling experience that summer changed their perspective. The informant interprets this as the beginning of their belief in such phenomena, as it was the first time they had directly encountered something they couldn’t explain through logic or reason.

Since then, the informant has experienced several other supernatural encounters, reinforcing their belief in the paranormal. The informant’s perspective is further shaped by the fact that their mother had similar beliefs and, before she passed, shared other stories of her own supernatural experiences. This shared experience between the informant and their mother helped to strengthen their connection to the supernatural world and solidified the informant’s conviction that these types of encounters are real.

Analysis: The figure in the story—a man dressed in an old-fashioned suit—seems to reflect a historical presence tied to the location, adding to the eerie atmosphere of the old beach house. The figure’s benign, non-threatening demeanor contrasts with the fear that the informant felt, suggesting that the supernatural can be perceived as both unsettling and intriguing, rather than immediately harmful.

The way the informant handled the experience—by accepting the figure’s presence and interpreting it as part of a larger, supernatural world—illustrates how personal beliefs can be shaped by direct experiences. This encounter became a touchstone for the informant’s worldview, influencing how they view similar occurrences in the years that followed.

This story also underscores the broader cultural theme of haunted locations, especially in areas with long histories like Avalon. The idea of spirits lingering in places with significant pasts is a common motif in folklore. The informant’s ongoing belief in the supernatural and the continuation of similar experiences suggest that such encounters are seen not as anomalies but as part of a larger, unexplainable reality that transcends time and space.

Informant Info

Race/Ethnicity: White

Age: 55

Occupation: Mother

Residence: Westlake Village, CA

Date of Performance: April 3, 2025

Primary Language: English

Other Language(s): N/A

Relationship: Parent

The Legend of the Lost Canoe

Title: The Legend of the Lost Canoe

AGE: 52
Date_of_performance: May 5, 2025
Language: English
Nationality: Canadian
Occupation: retail worker
Primary Language: English
Residence: Toronto, Canada

Folklore Explanation :
“There’s a local legend around the Toronto waterfront called the Lost Canoe. I first heard about it when we moved here—someone mentioned it on a ferry ride out to the Islands. The story goes that people have seen a canoe gliding silently over Lake Ontario late at night, with no paddler in sight. It’s supposed to be the spirit of a warrior who went missing during a storm centuries ago. Some say he was trying to cross the lake during a battle or to deliver a message and never made it.

What makes it stick is how eerie it feels when you’re out by the water at night—especially in the fall or early spring when there aren’t many people around. You can imagine something like that being true. It’s not something people talk about often, but it comes up once in a while—especially among boaters or people who’ve lived in the area a long time. Whether you believe it or not, it gives the lake a kind of presence. Like it remembers.”

Analysis:
The Legend of the Lost Canoe is an example of local supernatural legend tied to place-based folklore in the Toronto region, particularly around Lake Ontario and the Toronto Islands. While not part of institutional Indigenous oral history, it draws from widespread Indigenous narrative motifs—such as lost warriors, sacred journeys, and spirits of the water—though its current form is shaped more by settler storytelling and urban folklore transmission.

This legend falls into the category of contemporary legend or ghost story, and it is typically spread orally, through casual conversation, local tours, and boater subculture. It serves as a way to mark space with memory, especially in areas that are otherwise seen as recreational or modernized. The legend reflects a broader pattern in waterfront communities where lakes and rivers are attributed with spiritual significance and residual memory, giving the environment an emotional and historical depth. In this way, the Lost Canoe becomes part of Toronto’s vernacular landscape mythology—not formally archived, but deeply felt by those who know it.

The Theatre Ghost

Folk Belief / Supernatural Legend
Occupational Folklore — Performance / Supernatural

1. Text

According to JP, a theatre major at American University, it is widely believed among actors that every theatre is haunted. JP remarked, “There’s this idea that if a theatre doesn’t have a ghost, then it’s not a real theatre. People will talk about the ghost like it’s part of the company — like, ‘Oh, that was just Margaret, she likes to mess with the lights. Margaret is the name of the ghost at my hometown community theatre.” In the thespian experience, this belief is not treated like a horror story. Rather, it’s more matter of fact. “Even if people don’t say they believe in ghosts, they’ll still act like they do when something weird happens.” While the ghost does not inspire constant fear, its presence serves as a quiet overseer, subtly encouraging actors to stay disciplined out of concern for provoking its displeasure.

JP recounted several incidents that reinforced the belief for them and their peers. At various theatres she has performed at, she and others have reported hearing footsteps above the stage during late-night tech rehearsals, despite no one being scheduled in the catwalks. “Sometimes you’ll be alone, checking lighting cues, and you just know someone’s up there,” they said. “You feel watched. But then you look, and it’s empty. You get used to it.” Other stories involve doors closing on their own, props mysteriously going missing, and cold drafts in sealed rooms. “There’s a joke that if you forget your lines, it’s the ghost messing with you,” JP said, noting how the attribution of mistakes or malfunctions to a spectral presence creates a shared explanation — part humor, part ritual. JP emphasized that the presence of a ghost is never framed as malicious. The ghost is watching over the show. Making sure things run right and that the actors behave and respect the theatre.

2. Context

My childhood friend JP first encountered the idea that every theatre has a ghost during her early years in high school theatre. Unlike more formalized stage practices, this belief wasn’t something she read in a handbook or was taught by a director; it emerged instead from whispered stories backstage, joking warnings from older students, and the occasional unexplained flicker of a light or creak in the catwalk. The ghost lore was passed down informally, but consistently, and JP recalled being both intrigued and unsettled by how seriously some of her peers treated it.

This early exposure to theatre ghost legends served as a kind of initiation into the spiritual texture of performance space. JP explained that at first she thought it was a joke, but then
“Things in the theatre just happened. Weird things.” Her experience reflects a common pattern in folkloric transmission: belief that lives in the in-between, not quite serious, but not quite ironic either. The ghost was never officially acknowledged, but it lingered in the space as a shared understanding, subtly shaping behavior and mood. JP recalled how she and others in her community theatre would light scented candles during long rehearsals as offerings for the ghost. These actions, though never required, were widely understood as gestures of respect toward the spectral inhabitant of the space.

As JP transitioned to university theatre, she found the tradition not only persisted but deepened. “Every theatre I’ve worked in has a ghost,” she said. “And every group of actors has their own stories. Sometimes the ghost has a name, a backstory, even a favorite seat.” The ghost becomes part of the architecture — not just of the building, but of the community itself. For JP and many others, acknowledging the ghost is less about supernatural belief and more about honoring the memory and mystery that accumulate in performance spaces over time.

What makes this kind of belief so compelling is how it reflects a broader folkloric pattern: the connection between space, memory, and presence. JP noted how the ghost acts almost like a moral overseer. “You don’t want to be the one who disrespects the ghost. It’s like bad luck.” In this way, the ghost reinforces discipline and attentiveness, not through fear, but through tradition and shared reverence.

In sum, JP’s account of theatre ghosts illustrates how deeply embedded folklore is in the daily rhythms of performance life. The ghost is both metaphor and myth — a symbol of those who came before, a reminder of the theatre’s history, and a comforting, if uncanny, presence that binds the community through story and ritual.

3. Context

This belief in haunted theatres reflects a common theme in occupational and place-based folklore, where specific environments, particularly those imbued with high emotional energy, become sites of supernatural narrative. The idea that “every theatre is haunted” is both a literal superstition for some and a symbolic expression of the liminality of theatrical space. A theatre is inherently in-between: between fantasy and reality, between actor and audience, between everyday life and the world of the play. In folklore studies, such liminal spaces are often associated with the supernatural.

The ghost becomes a personification of memory and tradition within the theatre. Whether or not individuals believe in literal ghosts, the stories serve as a way of connecting the present company to past performances and performers. It offers continuity across generations and productions, creating a sense of sacredness around the theatre space. By giving the ghost a name, performers not only “own” the legend but also invite it into their communal identity — blurring the line between character, audience, and spirit.

Furthermore, attributing strange or disruptive events to the ghost provides a socially acceptable way to manage fear, stress, or uncertainty. If a light cue goes wrong or someone forgets a line, blaming “the ghost” allows the group to defuse tension and humorously redirect frustration. This aligns with the functionalist theory of folklore, where narratives and beliefs serve social and psychological purposes, even if they are not factually “true.”

Additionally, theatres make use of the “ghost light” — a single bulb left burning on stage when the theatre is dark. This is a perfect example of how ritual and practicality blend in folklore. While its technical purpose is to prevent injury in a dark space, it is widely described as a way to appease theatre ghosts and keep them from causing mischief. This convergence of utility and superstition further illustrates how deeply embedded folklore is in everyday theatrical practice.

In sum, theatre ghost stories are not just about the paranormal. They are about belonging, tradition, and emotional truth. They mark the theatre as a space set apart, one that holds memories, magic, and mystery, whether real or imagined.

The Ghost Hand Story

The informant was sitting in his room with his siblings in San Diego, and was extremely ill in bed. He was praying that someone would take his pain away, and he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, which he says was a ghost that was haunting the house. He then started to feel better, and the family swears that there was a ghost in the room.

Date: February 21, 2025

Language: English

Nationality: White/Hispanic

Occupation: Father/Lawyer

Primary Language: English

Residence: California

Analysis: The informant lived in a very old house, which had lots of ghost stories that had been passed down from previous owners, with new stories being made within the informant’s family as they experienced new strange occurrences. This folklore is shared within the family to scare the new generations and also bond people together.