Another Sixteen Screams For Halloween: Day 5 (Haunted Waters)

That ongoing strike has necessitated a shakeup or two for the spooky marathon this year, so here's one of them. Rather than use a slot on some studio horror film, I am instead throwing a curve and talking about a book of folkloric scary stories from my home island of Newfoundland. It's a different tact for analysis, to be sure, but trust me. I can get in and out of here and pique your interest. I'm sure this is true of many places, but it feels especially true for Newfoundland: this island has a secret history, only able to be told by the old stories passed down from the generations. The nature of folklore and an "old yarn", as they call it here, is very much a thing that thrived here back in the old days when most people lived in isolated little coves and fished all day. By night, some of those little coves were haunted, and a few of these stories are in this book.

This is not the grand master narrative of the history of our fair island. This is a microcosmic set of stories passed down and collected by a professional folklorist, archived for our intrigue and reading pleasure. They span a great length of history, some taking place long ago and others in modern times in modern cities. All of them have haunting in common, an encounter with a ghost. Some are spooky tales of terror which frightened these people on one terrible night. Some are benevolent spirits, of loved ones long gone. They span not just history, but all across the island. Even here, where I am down south, are mentions in the book of shipwrecked ghosts and hidden pirate treasure trapped within deep rock walls. 

There's a sort of folkloric alchemy going on within the pages of this book: the stories about immortal haunting spirits themselves are immortalized on the page, lingering in this world ever after. I cannot share every story here, but I will share just one place with you which left an impression: Ridley Hall, in Harbour Grace. Reading about its history, in brief, was one thing. Actually seeking it out on the Google Map, and looking at its ruin in contrast to the picturesque seaside view it overlooks? Something else entirely, a psychogeography trapped within the pixels of my screen. The book opens its chapter on it with a killer line: "For the most part, the architectural history of Newfoundland and Labrador is a symphony composed in wood.". Ridley Hall, a place that people describe in the book as feeling off, haunted in some fashion. Looking upon it, allow me to paraphrase another writer who spoke of a similar place with fascinating fear.

"Ridley Hall, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met nearly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Ridley Hall, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”