Chapter Two - Where the Hell is John Smith?

John Smith leased the Lodge in 1980 with the intention of turning it into a resort for golfers. Golf was just on the verge of becoming huge in Canada and it was actually a wise idea on his part. The Lodge had its own 9-hole golf course and there was an 18-hole course just a few kms down the road. Now that I think about it, it really was a great plan.

However, the Lodge didn't seem to agree. Smith wasn't there a month before we started hearing about his odd behaviour. My grandmother received phone calls in Toronto from Smith's staff, complaining that he had become reclusive and was selling items out of the Lodge that were not his to sell. Someone in town had spotted him walking down the street, agitated and talking to himself.

After a couple of site inspections, where Smith seemed overly cheerful, but otherwise alright, we received a call that he had vanished. I remember going to the Lodge with my mom, aunt and grandmother and being greeted by a couple of members of his staff. One, a chunky middle-aged woman who I will call Annie (because I forget her real name) seemed positively ecstatic at the the thought Smith might be dead. "I think he killed himself in one of the cabins!" Annie chirped. The others agreed. He must be dead somewhere on the property.

As we drove away, I remember my mother saying something to the effect of, "I bet you one of them killed him and stuffed his body away somewhere." She was joking. I think. My family really did not want to have anything to do with Smith or any of his weird employees. No one really seemed all that concerned.

It was an odd situation. My kid's intuition was telling me the Lodge didn't want him there. I knew it as soon as we stepped foot on the property. Whoever (or whatever) roamed those grounds did not like the cut of his jib, not one bit. Who the hell was going to listen to what an 11 year old kid had to say? Particularly on this subject? Although, deep down, I think everyone was thinking the same thing.

I don't recall there being any police involvement. Perhaps everyone assumed Smith had done a runner, as he had invested a lot of money in the Lodge and was probably very deeply in dept, to banks and investors. My grandmother put the Lodge on the real estate market and there it languished, with absolutely no interest, until the following summer when once again, my family needed a place to live and once again, we moved back to our little house on the hill.

Things were very different on the return to the Lodge in the summer of 1981. John Smith had started painting the main lodge before he disappeared. It was now half brown with yellow trim and half red with white trim. It gave it a very strange look, like its summer with Smith had driven it mad. Because he had sold off the tractors and gang mowers, there was no way to cut the acres and acres of grass and it was a foot high by June. There were trees down from a winter storm and one had ripped all the phones lines right off the side of the main building. Luckily, our house had a line. A party line. Our ring was one long, one short. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Party_line_(telephony)

One thing that could be said about having very young parents, is that they made everything an adventure. Returning to the Lodge in its tumbledown state was a Great Adventure. To sweeten the creepy deal, we took over the guest cabin (known as The Merry Castle) next to our house and we each had our own large room, with two double beds and a sink in each room! Amazing! Room for friend and cousin visits! I loved my room. It was safe. There was nothing spooky in there. In fact, I felt quite protected.

My dad was working at another hotel and was away a lot. My mum, 9 year-old brother and my 12-year old self held the fort most of the time. Though we were quite secluded, the property was very open and visible both from the road and from the lake. The place had an obvious abandoned look to it and we often felt very alone and vulnerable. In fact, there were incidents of vandalism and teenagers using the empty cabins to party and get it on, but not as many as one would think. Something seemed to keep people away.

We were sad to discover on our return, that one of the trees near our house had died. Or so we thought. One morning, about a week after we moved back, we were eating our breakfast outside, enjoying the early July sunshine. "Bette Davis Eyes" was playing on the radio. It was one of those days when the Ick was not present, when the day was bright and happy. What I like to think of as The Good Lodge. I remember my mum suddenly saying "Hey! Wasn't that tree dead? Are those buds?" Sure enough, the tree, which had literally been blackened and withering just days before, was budding. Somehow, I just knew, the tree had come back for us. That whatever was good at the Lodge, was welcoming us back.

A few days later, my dad had the day off and decided to do an inspection of all the guest cabins. There was still that nagging rumour that John Smith had offed himself somewhere on the property and was mouldering in one of the rooms. For that very reason, my brother and I had given all the cabins a very wide berth indeed.

We were in the house, watching our one TV channel (CBC was gearing up for the wedding of Charles and Diana... ) when my Dad burst in, out of breath and clearly shaken.

"You'll never guess what I found in cabin 9!" he said.

Next up - Chapter 3 - What Dad Found in Cabin 9

(The pic above shows The Merry Castle on the left and our house on the right. The tree in question is the tall one on the hill, between the buildings. This pic was taken several years before, when the Lodge was operating.)