Trifecta of Terror - Three Haunted Summers - Chapter One - Welcome to The Lodge

I have lived in some strange places. By strange, I mean fucking weird. Haunted and such. I grew up in the Highlands of Haliburton, a magnificent piece of planet Earth in Northern Ontario. When I lived there, in the 70's and 80's, it was wild, secluded, untouched by the ridiculousness that is called "cottaging" nowadays. Our nearest neighbour was two kms away, across the golf course. Next nearest, across the lake.

My family owned and operated a resort on Lake Kashagawigamog, from 1974 to 1979.  It was paradise for my brother and me as children. Hundreds of acres to roam, swimming, boats, tennis, waterskiing, private roads for zooming along unchecked on our bicycles. Amazing ski and snowmobile trails. There was fishing and a playground and corn roasts and even a pony. To me, it was a place of great joy, of family and hospitality, warmth and cheer.

The cast and crew of  the movie "Meatballs" stayed with us in the summer of 1978. Bill Murray stayed in cabin number 2 (though this was not his primary residence; he had a swanky room at another hotel, but spent quite a bit of time at the Lodge, due to the party atmosphere).  I often wonder if any of them had any otherworldly experiences while staying with us. There were a lot of drugs, so the answer is probably "yes".

The following year my grandfather passed away and no one really had the heart or the will to keep the Lodge running. My grandmother, aunts and uncle moved to Toronto, leaving my parents, brother, me and two dogs alone on this vast, shuttered property.

This is when I began to notice that things were a bit... odd.

It was mostly a feeling of, well, ick. One minute we'd be happily playing outside with the dogs when a feeling of distinct unwelcome would come over us. A supernatural "get off my lawn!" Even the dogs were affected. We'd all slink back inside our little house until the feeling had gone.

My family's house faced the main lodge, now sitting (crouching) dark and empty. It was a building that had a face, if you know what I mean. It had always been a friendly face, a welcoming face. Now, it was a sinister face. A glaring, unblinking face. A face that dared us to come in and play. What kid wouldn't want to go inside, slide around on the polished pine floors in their socks, have a game of ping pong, play with the old cash registers... ?

You could not have paid my brother and me to go inside that building.

After a very hard winter, which saw us melting snow for water when the pump house froze, a man who I will call John Smith, took out a lease on the property. He was going to turn it into a pro shop and appeal to the golfers or something, I can't quite recall exactly. This meant that my family and I had to leave, but I don't think any of us were all that broken up about it.

Then the phone calls started. "Is this place... haunted?" "John is acting strange." "Have you heard from John?" "John has disappeared."

UP NEXT: Chapter Two - Where the Hell is John Smith?