How Growing Up In A Haunted House Inspired My Writing

People really didn’t believe me. They still don’t. But she was real. The ghost was real. And I saw her. Often. It scared me. At first, anyway. But then she became such a unique part of my home, that I almost didn’t notice her shenanigans, like banging kitchen cupboard doors, turning on all the lights in the middle of the night and moving things around in my room. She also hovered over me. Especially when I was sick. As if she were taking care of me.

The old Victorian mansion that we moved into in 1967 was haunted. Complete with bats that flew around our rooms at night. I hated that. I have to admit that I slept most nights with a blanket over my head. Small comfort.

Gran said I had a vivid imagination. I’m not sure if she really believed in the ghost. At least she listened when I talked to her about my ghost sightings. My siblings teased me relentlessly. Being the youngest and easily scared, I was an easy target. But my vivid imagination, and my ghost, served me well.

My family were all storytellers. Especially Gran. We would sit around the dinner table and share stories about things that happened during the day. Being the youngest, I sat and listened. It was difficult being heard amongst the older, more experienced (or so I thought then) storytellers in the family. I kept my stories in my head and wrote them down later. My ability to create stories for my own entertainment served me well during long, hot, cramped (there would be four, sometimes five, of us sitting in the back bench seat of the old Buick), tedious family car rides. It served me well during the long hours I spent in bed, sick (I was sick a lot as a child). It also served me well when I was trying to sleep with a ghost hovering over my bed. I found if I made up a happy story in my head, I could forget about the ghost. At least long enough to fall asleep. Only then I dreamed. Strange dreams. Wonderful dreams. Scary dreams. The dreams became stories, too. All centered around my life in the haunted house.

Later in life, I started writing family stories, memoirs, creative nonfiction. I wanted to share the stories I had heard when I was growing up. I started with Gran’s story (“Personal Notes”, Moosehead publishing, 2008) which was followed by stories about close family friends (“The Whistling Bishop”, Baico, 2008) and then my mother’s story (“F-Stop: A Life in Pictures”, Baico, 2011). In between, I pursued my passion for fiction and short stories, finally deciding, at my sister’s encouragement, to write about my childhood memories and fantasies having grown up in a haunted old Victorian mansion. I felt it was time to write about my experiences in this grand old house and the ghost that continues to haunt my memories. And thus began my journey with “The Piccadilly Street Series”. Book 1, “Mrs. Murray’s Ghost”, has just been released by Telltale Publishing.

The story begins in Book 1 with my memories of moving into this old Victorian mansion. I was ten, just like Mary in the story. And I was so overwhelmed with the fixtures, the wooden floors that creaked, the old 1920s telephones that connected to several rooms throughout the house, and, of course, the space. In my young eyes, the house seemed massive – like a castle.

My first night in my new room was full of strange noises, creaking floorboards, banging cupboards in the kitchen, lights flickering on and off, and the shadows that lurked in every corner. I was terrified. But also fascinated. Until the bats appeared the next evening. My sister and I huddled together underneath a table or under the blankets of her bed, screaming as the bats swooped over our heads. Later, much later actually, Dad managed to seal the attic and the many chimneys that serviced the fireplaces that were found in most of the rooms. That slowed the influx of bats.

There are three more books to this series, all which combine actual memories, dreams and that vivid imagination that Gran always told me I had. Book 2, “Mrs. Murray’s Hidden Treasure”, explores the theory I shared with my siblings that, if the house was haunted, there must be a hidden treasure. We did find the odd old coin buried in the garden. Certainly not a fortune. Book 3, “Mrs. Murray’s Home”, challenges the ghost and the other characters to define what and where they believe their home is.

This is something my Gran and I always discussed. For me, home was always that grand old house. For Gran, having left Scotland as a child, part of her thoughts of home remained in her childhood memories and a place across the ocean. Book 4, “Mr. Murray’s Gun”, takes the adventure even further with the discovery of a vintage World War I gun and ammunition in the attic. I remember when we found that gun. Mom was terrified that we would accidently set it off. Dad called the local police and had it taken away. My vivid imagination even as a child had the gun marked as a murder weapon.

I literally grew up in this house. I would spend my evenings and weekends in my room, vast as it was, playing with my Barbie dolls until I outgrew them, reading and writing stories. My ghost appeared in some of my stories, but those stories mysteriously disappeared. Perhaps the ghost didn’t like them.

The house was such a big part of my life. As was the ghost. It was only a matter of time before the ghost became the subject of a big writing project. My Mom did some research on the early residents of the house and there had been a mysterious death of a woman who lived in the house in the 1930s. We assumed she was the ghost. That developed into the theory of a murder. And perhaps there had been a murder. But, then again, remember what my Gran said: I have a vivid imagination.

And, with imagination, anything is possible. And my vivid imagination had the makings of a good story, many good stories in fact, just waiting to be told.

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Emily-Jane Hills Orford has published several books, creative nonfiction stories mostly about her family. Growing up in Toronto, then Hamilton and finally London (Ontario, Canada), Emily-Jane has lots of family stories to warm the heart. She also writes fiction, historical and fantasies. In her most recent novel, “Mrs. Murray’s Ghost: A Piccadilly Street Story”, the author returns to her roots and the fond memories and dreams, growing up in a haunted old Victorian mansion in London (Ontario, Canada). For more information about the author, check out her webpage at: http://emilyjanebooks.ca     

 

About Mrs Murray’s Ghost

Mary’s family has moved into a huge Victorian mansion. She loves her gigantic new house, especially her room. But then she begins to meet the house’s other residents. Mrs. Murray was murdered in Mary’s new house. At first she tries to scare the new residents away, but there seems to be a force connecting the ghost to Mary. Even the stranded Brownies, the little people who live between the walls, feel that connection. When Mary becomes deathly ill, the Brownies and the ghost team up to try to rescue her, only to encounter a witch and her evil minions. Time is running out. They must rescue Mary from a fever-induced dream world before she is trapped there forever. As well as being a fun read for young readers, “Mrs. Murray’s Ghost: A Piccadilly Street Story” gives an historical perspective to childhood, as it dates to the 1960s. It also deals with some very current issues, specifically bullying.

 

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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing