Scary Ghost Stories A Haunted Island

The following scary story, “A Haunted Island,” took place on a small island in a large Canadian lake. Residents of Toronto and Montreal use this haunted island as an escape for rest and recreation during the hot summer months. This, as most ghost stories, is uncorroborated.

A Haunted Island

We were a party of 20 enjoying all that the island had to offer. When it was time to return to the city, I decided to stay a week or two longer to catch up on the important “law reading” I was suppose to accomplish over the summer. It was late September, and I would have the whole island to myself. With a two-story cottage, a canoe, and only the chipmunks and the farmer’s weekly visit with eggs and bread, the opportunities for hard reading would be great.

The rest of my party had left with warnings of Indians the coming frost. There were no other islands for six or seven miles, and this island was totally deserted and silent. This was strange because all summer it was filled with the noise and laughter of people. I was not surprised to imagine hearing voices calling me from time to time.

The cottage had six tiny bedrooms, with a bed, a mattress and a chair in each room. I picked a room that had a small balcony over the verandah roof. It was directly over the sitting room where I would do my reading. I spent the rest of the day moving my things into the room.

On the 10th day I awoke with an uneasy feeling about the room I was in. The air in the room was stifling. The more I tried to figure out, why the more unreasonable it appeared. After I dressed I went downstairs and a great feeling of relief overcame. I had decided to sleep downstairs that night, because of the uneasy feeling I had. The only thing I could recall that was unpleasant in my room was one stormy night when I suddenly awoke and heard the boards creaking so loudly in the corridor that I was convinced there were people in the house. I was so certain that I had gone down the stairs, gun in hand, only to find the doors and windows securely fastened, and the mice and black-beetles in sole possession of the floor. This was certainly not enough to explain the strength of my feelings.

I spent the morning reading, and as I was fully satisfied with my progress, I decided to fish in the afternoon. When I returned home I had caught about half a dozen black bass for supper. After cleaning the dishes, at about half past eight, I sat down with my book to read a bit before bed.

I saw through the window a canoe occupied with two Indians glide into the pathway of light, and immediately crossing it; pass out of sight again into the darkness. It was perhaps 100 feet from the shore, and it moved quickly. I was surprised that a canoe would pass the island at that time of night, for all the summer visitors from the other side of the lake had gone home weeks before. There were three more passings, with each one getting closer to the island. The canoe would be around again in a few moments, and this time it was possible that the men might land. I needed to prepare. I knew nothing of their intentions; and two against one late at night on a lonely island was not exactly my idea of a pleasant interaction.

I stood in the corner of the room with my back against the wall, and my hand on the cold rifle-barrel. After a few minutes the door, and the two windows that looked out upon the front verandah, became especially distinct, and if the Indians came up to the house I should be able to see their approach. I was extremely alarmed at the gravity of my situation and its possible outcome.

A black figure darkened the glass door, and I saw a face was pressed against the upper panes. A shiver ran down my back. It was the figure of an Indian, broad-shouldered and immense, the largest figure of a man I have ever seen. The direction of his gaze I could not determine, but it told me plainly that no corner of the room escaped their searching.

There was a faint sound of rattling at the brass knob, and the door was pushed open a couple of inches. A pause of a few seconds, and it was pushed open still further. Without a sound of footsteps, the two figures glided into the room, and the man behind gently closed the door after him. They were alone with me, but could they see me standing there? They were going upstairs, and to the room directly overhead to which they pointed had been my bedroom. It was the room in which I had experienced that very morning a strong sensation of fear.

The Indians soon reached the top of the stairs. They appeared to hesitate. I heard one of them cross the narrow corridor and enter my bedroom room directly overhead. A storm had begun and flashes of lightning lit the room I was hiding in. For 100 seconds there was silence. It was followed by a long shriek of terror, which rang out into the night, and ended in a short gulp. At the same moment the other Indian left his place at the head of the stairs, and joined his companion in the bedroom. I heard a “thing” trailing behind him along the floor. A thud followed, and then all became as still and silent as before. They began the descent downstairs.

The huge Indian leader stood a few feet past me on my right. The other Indian, within twelve inches of my face, was stooping over the thing he was dragging. It was the body of a white man. The scalp had been neatly lifted, and blood was smeared on his cheeks and forehead.

I recognized the body, and the face was my own!

I awoke on the floor the next morning, with the rifle by my side and the farmer standing over me with many questions. My brief replies were neither self-explanatory nor even intelligible. I spent the last ten days with the farmer and finished all my reading. On the day I was to leave I took one last canoe ride back to the house. I again saw the big bark canoe and the two Indians circling the island. Then the shadows deepened rapidly; the lake grew black, and the night wind blew in my face as I turned, and a bluff of rock hid from my view both the island and canoe.