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“The old log cabin that once stood near the village of North Wiltshire, P.E.I. was, so they say, haunted as long as villagers could remember. The family of Irish emigrants who first occupied the little place soon found they could not cope with the strange things that went on under its roof. So, they fled from its haunted disturbances to find peace and quiet in another part of the Island. The second family, that moved in some years later was confronted with the same spooky problem but one that proved more serious as readers may find out by this narrative.” - The Guardian, December 21, 1948.

According to the tale spun by those people only one room was haunted, a little bedroom in the northwest part of the building. The disturber of this room was a gaunt, toothless spirit of huge size and as agile as a cat. Almost every night the family heard the thing prowling around the room as it moved this and that article of furniture.

Things might have gone on in this manner for years had not an old friend arrived one night. Without the haunted room the family was pressed for a place to lay the newcomer’s head. Would they risk putting him in the room of evil memories? Or would the head of the house, Bill, surrender his bedroom to the visitor and sleep in the haunted room himself? The man of the house chose the latter.

Awakened by unseen hand

Sometime during the night Bill was awakened by an unseen hand pulling his blankets from his bed. Vainly, he tried to recover them. Then he reached over and touched a match to the candle that stood on a chair beside the bed. Instantly, the candle was blown out. Twice more he repeated this, and each time the candle was extinguished by a cold breath upon Bill’s cheek. Then he sat up in bed, cold and shivering, in only his nightshirt. In a corner of the room, he noticed the bedclothes piled up.

Up to this time Bill had been only mildly scared, not actually afraid. He was a hard man and it took a lot to make him scared. Everyone who knew Bill knew he had plenty of guts. Frankly, Bill was not actually afraid of ghosts, and he often remarked they never would harm anyone - that is as long as folks kept their proper distance.

But on this particular night he was a bit upset because he could sense the presence of the unknown. No matter how he tried to figure it out, the whole setup was as crazy as a patchwork quilt. But ghost or no ghost, Bill couldn’t sit there and freeze to the marrow. So, he jumped out of bed and made a beeline for the bedclothes.

In the twinkling of an eye the power took hold of the man, and forcing him back upon the bed, jumped upon him time and again. No sooner would he free himself than the thing would be upon him again, crushing the very breath from his body. Finally, an unseen hand reached out and five long bony fingers tightened around his throat. Bill gasped hard, as the fingers dug deep in to the flesh. Then he passed out completely.

Next morning, they found Bill walking up and down the road, pale and shaken. The experience of the previous night had almost cracked his mind. The eyes in his head were bulged out like the eyes of a person newly hanged. When his neighbours addressed him, his answers came in gasping, feeble whispers.

Tradition says that not for all the gold in the world would Bill be persuaded to cross the threshold of the haunted log cabin again. After that horrific experience Bill could never settle down. He drifted from district to district, pursued to the end of his days by the unseen ghost which attacked him in that little village in P. E. Island.

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