stillpoint

musings from Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington ... home of The Write Spot

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

The White Lady of Box Grove, a true ghost story

Sunday, December 15, 1975

"Mommy?"

Adam's voice came in a tight whisper, an instant response to the squeak of floorboards as I climbed the stairs. It was our second night in the old rented farmhouse and my not-quite-three-year-old son was restless in unfamiliar surroundings.

"Coming," I whispered back, hoping we wouldn't rouse his baby brother.

Adam looked up, eyes full of worry, as I bent to tuck in his covers. "Sing me a song?"

"Sure. Just one, though. It's my bedtime, too." I settled on the edge of his bed and gave him a quiet rendition of his favourite, You Are My Sunshine.  "Okay, now?"

"I guess." He didn't sound too sure about the state of his okay-ness, so I sat for a moment longer, my hand resting gently on his arm.

"Where'd that lady go?"

"What lady, hon?" This was a puzzler. We hadn't seen a soul all day. Not since late the night before, when the friends recruited to help with our move from Toronto dropped off the last boxes.

"The white lady." Adam pointed across the room. "She was there."

A chill spidered its way up my spine as I turned to follow his sleepy gaze. In the corner of the room, three-month-old Matthew nestled peacefully in his crib, sound asleep.  No lady. I let go of the breath I'd been holding and turned back to Adam. "When was this, sweetie?"

"I woke up," he said, sounding peevish now. "She was looking at Matty again. I said hi and she did this," Adam lifted one finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. "Then I heard you. And then I looked and she was gone. Is she your friend?"

I stroked his hair, hoping he wouldn't notice the trembling of my hand. "I think you must've been dreaming." I certainly hoped he'd been dreaming. Thoughts of other, more ghostly, explanations for a strange lady in white seemed to swarm and scuttle through my mind.

"No," said Adam. "I told you. I woke up. She came last night, too, but you were asleep."

Gooseflesh prickled up my arms. Across the room, baby Matthew grumbled and stretched. "Well," I said, trying to sound a lot braver than I felt, "she's not here now."

"Did she go home?" he wondered, scanning the room once more.

"Home to bed," I whispered. And hoped with every fibre of my being it was the truth.

"Good," he said. "She was tired." And with that astounding statement, Adam's eyes drifted shut.

I didn't sleep at all that night. After relating the whole, spooky story to my husband, I'd insisted the two of us make a top-to-bottom search of the house. Our dog trailed along from room to room, looking baffled and sleepy but only raising her hackles once, when a mouse peeked out from beneath the fridge. No unseen, unearthly presence. No odd feelings. No lady in white.

Adam never mentioned the lady again. Whenever his Dad or I tried to bring the subject up, he acted as if he'd forgotten all about it. Winter turned to spring and we settled into life in the sleepy Ontario hamlet of Box Grove, enjoying our drafty but definitely not haunted country home.



Months later, my husband paid a visit to a neighbouring farm in search of nesting straw for our chickens. He returned looking a bit unsettled. After some coaxing, he related this conversation with the old farmer.

"Everything okay over at your place, then? Nothing… strange?"

Strange? At first, hubby thought the farmer meant the strange kind of science involved in hen husbandry or septic tank maintenance. But, no.

"They say it's haunted, that place of yours. Last folks didn't stay long. But now you're there, fixing things up… well, maybe things have changed. Maybe the White Lady likes you."

Cue goosebumps.

I like to think the White Lady did like us. Hadn't Adam said his lady was tired? Perhaps knowing the old homestead was loved and cared for once again gave her peace. Perhaps, with us, the White Lady of Box Grove finally found her rest.


True story. Happy Halloween!




Update: This story was published in the 2015 Halloween edition of the Markham Economist & Sun newspaper.


stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington



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Wednesday, October 21, 2015

The Write Spot: Sandra Carey Cody


Welcome to The Write Spot, a bi-weekly author series spotlighting the many and varied places where writers write. This week, I'm delighted to welcome mystery author Sandra Carey Cody as my guest.

Sandy says she dreamed of being a writer for most of her life. She was born and grew up in St. Louis, Missouri and eventually attended Washington University there. She met Pete, the love of her life, when she cut an algebra class to go ice skating, proving that breaking the rules can sometimes be a good thing! The two were married not long after and job transfers took them down the Mississippi, first to Memphis, then to Baton Rouge, and finally "up north" to Doylestown. Sandy went to work as a legal secretary when her two sons were still in school. She's a proud grandmother now, and she enjoys volunteering, usually doing something with either books or small children – sometimes a happy combination of the two.

So, how did Sandra Carey Cody finally become a writer? In her own words: "I've always been a lover of stories, but didn't actually begin writing until my boys were grown. I joined a writers' group at the Doylestown Library and met others who shared my dreams (and fears). Fellowship with those kindred spirits made me realize that maybe, just maybe, I could actually BE a writer. They gave me the courage to follow my dream – and I've never looked back."

Sandra Carey Cody's Write Spot


  
Your Write Spot definitely says "Author at Work" – spacious, organized, lots of books – and I love your leafy view. What makes this the perfect Write Spot for you?

One thing I love about my space is that it's upstairs, in a corner room, tucked away from what's going on in the rest of the house so it's possible to get away from the distractions of the "real" world and live in the world of my imagination. I have some of my favorite books within easy reach, a picture of William Faulkner to remind me of the possibilities of storytelling. Equally important is the uncurtained window, just to the left of my desk. It looks out into the branches of a huge maple tree – alive with birds and squirrels and a constantly shifting pattern of light and shadow – sights and sounds that never fail to delight and often inspire.

Nice. I might spend more time tree-watching than writing! Other than your computer or laptop, what's the one thing you couldn't be without in your 'Write Spot'?

See that mug on the desk? It's indispensable – not as much for the tea it contains as because it gives me something to do with my hands when I can't find words to type. When that happens, I wrap my fingers around its warmth, run them over the smooth surface, and allow myself to daydream until random thoughts assume the shape of a story. And (pretty please) if I can have just one more thing, it would be my dictionary. I'm a terrible speller – not a good thing for a writer.

What are you working on now?

I'm working on a sequel to Love and Not Destroy, something that was totally unplanned. That book was intended to be a standalone, but I found that I had to write a sequel because I needed to know what was next for the characters.

In Love and Not Destroy, a young woman who was abandoned as an infant learns who her biological parents were and why they made the choices they did. There is closure for her, but I couldn't stop thinking about her situation, wondering how she would relate to her newly-discovered birth mother, and how the biological and adoptive mothers would relate to each other. That was the genesis of All That I Am, my current work in process. However, in the writing, the story took an unexpected turn. Another character stepped forward and demanded equal time. So now I'm weaving two storylines together – and loving it. I feel that I'm digging deeper with this story than I have in the past, challenging myself in new ways. I admit there are times when I wonder if I can pull it off, but am excited by the challenge.

Where can readers find out more about you and your books?

Readers can visit me at sandracareycody.com and at the following:

Twitter: @sandracody
Amazon: Author Page    

Sandra Carey Cody's Love and Not Destroy is available now. 


A baby is found in a basket on the grounds of a small-town museum during their annual Folk Festival. Twenty-two years later, a homeless man is murdered in the exactly the same spot. Connection? Or coincidence? Peace Morrow, the foundling, now an adult working at the museum, is haunted by this question and thus begins a quest that explores the nature of family, of loyalty and responsibility. As she tries to reconstruct the victim's history, his story becomes entangled with her own search for family roots. Her journey leads her through the dusty boxes in the museum’s storage area, to an antique market in a tiny hamlet in northern Pennsylvania, and, ultimately, to the innermost reaches of her own heart. 




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About The Write Spot:
I've always been fascinated by what goes on behind the scenes. Whether it's backstage photos from my favourite play, a peek into the kitchen where a chef is working her culinary magic, or simply a glimpse through an uncurtained window into a stranger's private world, there's an undeniable thrill of discovery, a sense of secrets shared. It's no surprise, then, that I'm immensely curious about where other writers do their work. I've blogged about it before in this post about my own 'write spot' and so enjoyed the comments, I was inspired to launch a regular feature here at stillpoint. Watch for The Write Spot every other Wednesday and join me as I discover the many and varied places where writers write.


stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington

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Wednesday, October 14, 2015

man vs squirrel, a true story...


October is Squirrel Awareness Month. Who knew? I'm not sure who founded this month-long squirrelly love-fest. Even the great Google doesn't provide a definitive source, although there are plenty of squirrel appreciation links and enough cutesy photos to make even the most jaded among us crack a smile. So, are we expected to place tribute offerings of nuts and gourds at the base of the nearest oak? Fly fake squirrel tails from car antennae and flag poles? Post "up with squirrels" avatars on our social media profiles? I'm game, being quite fond of the wee beasties myself. But, I confess, my first thought when the news popped up in my Twitter feed was, "thank goodness my Dad's not around to see this."

Dad, you see, had a great big chip on his shoulder when it came to squirrels. It wasn't always the case. In fact, I vividly remember him laughing along with my toddler self at the twitchy-tailed antics of the troop in our neighbourhood park, even taking along some peanuts to feed the little guys. But that was before The Awful Awning Incident.

This is the awning in question. It graced the front of my childhood home on Haslett Avenue in Toronto, and it was Dad's pride and joy. In fact, everything about that house was Dad's pride and joy. He'd spend hours pruning and mowing, painting and polishing. No weeds need apply to Dad's gardens. Fallen leaves dare not linger on the sidewalk. Windows sparkled, paint gleamed, and the green and white stripes on that lovely canvas awning shone bright in the summer sunshine.

Our neighbours in the other half of the brick semi had no need for awnings, shaded as they were by the towering Norway maple that stood, majestic, in the middle of their tiny lawn. A few overhanging branches are visible in the photo but, for the most part, the tree kept to its side of the shared front walk, thus avoiding arboreal confrontations between Phyllis and Phil, my adorably named parents, and our equally adorably named neighbours Millie and Mel. (It's true. You can't make this stuff up.)

I loved that big tree with its spreading branches and mossy trunk. In spring, I'd spend hours sprawled on the cool grass watching maple seeds helicopter their way to earth. In autumn, the world became a bright kaleidoscope of falling leaves. Best of all, the tree was home to a happy tribe of squirrels who spent their days playing tag and scolding the neighbourhood dogs.


I was eight the year of The Awful Awning Incident. We'd returned late the previous night from our annual family vacation in cottage country. The last few weeks had been rainy and cool but this first morning home dawned sunny, hot, and humid. Mom was sorting laundry in the kitchen. I was at the table, listening to the snap-crackle-pop of my breakfast cereal and looking forward to taking my library book to the verandah and settling in for a morning with Swallows and Amazons. Dad was already out there, sweeping the floor and setting up the folding chairs. I heard the familiar squeak-squeak-squeak of the pulley as he lowered the awning. And then…

A wild, unearthly bellow echoed down the hall, followed by a series of chatters and thumps, and a string of turn-the-air-blue words I can't bring myself to repeat.

After a moment of stunned silence, Mom dropped her laundry basket and ran for the front of the house with me close on her heels. We burst through the screen door and stopped short at the sight of Dad, who was waving his arms and sputtering. "Look!" He pointed a shaking finger at the awning. "Just-just… look at what those bloody squirrels have done!"

We looked. A band of ragged, gaping holes marred the entire width of our beautiful awning. Balls of fluff, leaves, twigs, and fur littered the steps and flower bed. On the lawn, one very large and very angry daddy squirrel chattered insults at my increasingly red-faced father. Mrs. Squirrel and the kits had scrambled to safety in the maple tree but her mister was hopping mad about the abrupt eviction from their squirrelly B&B.

Photo by Doug88888 via Flickr | CC-BY-NC-SA-2.0

Dad never forgave those squirrels. He certainly never carried peanuts to the park again. His rage became the stuff of Haslett Avenue legends. No pesky varmints were going to outwit Phil Cooke.

"Leave your awning down all the time," suggested one neighbour.

"Roll it up with mothballs inside," offered another.

"Well, you could always just plant a nice, big tree," said Millie and Mel. (I'm pretty sure their hobby was bear-poking.)

Life quickly returned to normal for the squirrels, high in their treetop den, but the Cooke family went without shade for the rest of that long, hot summer. The following spring, workers arrived to install a shiny new green and white striped awning. Aluminium this time. I can still see my Dad standing on the front steps, one hand on his full metal awning, as he glared a challenge into the top branches of the big maple tree. "Let's see you blighters chew on that," he said.


Happy Squirrel Awareness Month, everyone!


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stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington

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Wednesday, October 07, 2015

The Write Spot: Kathye Quick


It's time for another edition of The Write Spot, a bi-weekly author series spotlighting the many and varied places where writers write. This week, I'm delighted to welcome author Kathye Quick to the blog.


Born long ago in a place not so far away, Shenandoah, Pennsylvania, Kathryn Quick has been writing since the Sisters in St. Casmir’s Grammar School gave her the ruled yellow paper and a number two pencil. She writes contemporary and career romances, romantic comedies, historical romances as well as urban fantasy.

Kathye has been a member of New Jersey Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America since 1990 and considers it an honor to have been NJRW President in 1992 and 2001. She is one of the founding members of Liberty States Fiction Writers, a multi-genre writers' organization dedicated to furthering the craft of writing and helping aspiring writers move on to publication. Kathye originally wanted to be President of the United States or an Organic Chemist, but somehow life got in the way and she got married right out of high school and had a set of twins two years later. The Presidency seemed out of reach and night school to get her Ph.D. to create a new molecule that would ultimately result in the betterment of humankind seemed a little time consuming while trying to raise twins, so she decided to write instead. 

In her "other" life, Kathye is married to her real-life hero Donald and has three grown sons all having adventures of their own and three "bonus" grandchildren. She is a die-hard New Jersey Devils fan, works for Somerset County government (as close as she could get to the White House), and is plotting a novel about a new molecule that will ultimately result in the betterment of humankind.

Kathye Quick's Write Spots


Welcome, Kathye. It's interesting that you've shared not one but two Write Spots. Please tell us what makes them work so well for you.

Write Spot One is in front of the TV for the first draft.  Now I know that is probably making people winkle their foreheads, but I need noise in order to get creative.  If there is silence, I get bored; If there is only music, I tend to sing along and get nothing done.  While doing the first draft, stuff coming from TV actually spurs on the creative process; a word, a line, even commercials.  They all help me create.

Now Write Spot Two is where the magic happens – LOL.  I do need a bit more quiet for the polishing, editing and catching all the typos.  The TV is on in the other room, but the sound is not as loud.  I think the TV is only playing as my security blanket, like that cute kid in Peanuts.

But I must confess.  All work stops during Game of Thrones (Jon Snow better not be dead.  Hopefully he is not all dead just mostly dead like in The Princess Bride).


I hope you're right! That's quite the doll collection you've got going on. Is there a story behind it?  

I started collecting dolls when I was a young 'un. LOL. 
These are my prized possessions since only the dolls on the shelves survived hurricane Floyd in 1999. My foundation collapsed and I had no time to save most of them. You are so "write" on. Sometimes I think they even talk to me about my plots.

What a shame. I'm glad you were safe, though, and able to save at least a few of your special dolls. (A bit spooky to think of them talking to you, though!) Other than your computer or laptop, what’s the one thing you couldn't be without in your Write Spot?

I guess this is obvious by the first answer – my TV.

What are you working on now?

I am in the editing stages of Book Two in my Bachelors Three Series for the Wild Rose Press, so I am at Write Spot 2 now. Goal: to get the manuscript to my editor by the end of October.

Book One – Bachelor.com is out now and is a geek to chic transformation story with secrets.

Book Two – Solid Gold Bachelor has my rock star hero coming back home to find the girl whose heart  he broke on his way to fame and fortune, only to bring murder with him.

Book Three – The Bachelor’s Agenda sets politics and the media on a collision course when the perfect Senatorial candidate meets the perfect trash newspaper reporter.

They sound like fun, Kathye. Where can readers find out more about you and your books?

You'll find me online at:  kathrynquick.com 

I'm also active on the following social media sites:


.
Jack Reeves has loved Kinley Adams since the day he rescued her computer from a fatal blue screen. In the two years since, the computer programmer has fantasized about a life with her. Kinley, an Engineering Assistant, has come to think of Jack as more than just a friend. One night, just when each had finally decided to reveal their feelings are deeper than friendship, a terrible automobile accident puts their confessions on hold.

Doctors have no choice but to rebuild Jack's face, and the result changes everything. Can Jack and Kinley overcome his transformation from geek to chic, a secret double life, and a horde of willing women who have discovered the new Jack Reeves? Will the frog ever become the prince and ride off with his princess to live happily ever after?

Buy the book: Wild Rose Press  |  Amazon


Permalink to this post: The Write Spot: Kathye Quick

About The Write Spot:
I've always been fascinated by what goes on behind the scenes. Whether it's backstage photos from my favourite play, a peek into the kitchen where a chef is working her culinary magic, or simply a glimpse through an uncurtained window into a stranger's private world, there's an undeniable thrill of discovery, a sense of secrets shared. It's no surprise, then, that I'm immensely curious about where other writers do their work. I've blogged about it before in this post about my own 'write spot' and so enjoyed the comments, I was inspired to launch a regular feature here at stillpoint. Watch for The Write Spot every other Wednesday and join me as I discover the many and varied places where writers write.


stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington.

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