The 9th Street House

I once lived for four months in a rather beautifully redone 1915 house. It was in a small city I didn't mind growing up close to, but was unsure if I really wanted to live there. This was a trial I reminded myself, temporary. 

The basement wasn't really finished, having a sort of floor and walls set up to deter water if water should somehow get in. Storage was what it was used for. The main floor was all open with 2 tiny bedrooms on one side and a bathroom in between them. The ceiling had once been an attic, but half had been opened up to allow the illusion of a much larger space. The other half was a loft. That loft I claimed as mine. There was a pullout ladder which led up to it. The ladder was sturdy and narrow. I carefully put my sewing machine up there, workout equipment, and my beloved guitar. The acoustics were magnificent. 

I got a part time job down the street, and so during my days off I had the place completely to myself. I read a lot. More than I had read in a long time. I often got lost in books for hours at a time, usually until daylight faded. Being it was winter, daylight was gone by five or so.

Around two o’clock one afternoon I heard a rustling sound, it sounded like someone shuffling through papers. I was completely alone, reading on the couch. I thought at first it was maybe me, my hands on the huge Stephen R. Donaldson book, turning pages furiously, thinking it had gotten to me. I stopped reading and lay completely still. There it was again, shuffle, shuffle, looking for something. It was definitely coming from behind me. I nervously sat up and looked over the couch. Silence. My heart thumping, I set back to reading, and then I heard a different kind of rustling. This time I knew it was our four foot, two inch round rosy corn snake, moving around in its tank. I gazed at the snake and managed a small smile and then went back to reading once again. Shuffle, shuffle.  I sat straight up, and looked at the snake, it was up and looked like it was listening as well. I got up and turned on some music and tried to forget about it. 

The house was always cold, in that it was cold while I was alone in it. I would constantly be cranking the heat up to 76F and it wouldn’t climb higher than 71 when I looked at it later. My then boyfriend didn’t think it was all that cold, after all we were just getting used to living in a house rather than a top floor apartment. While he was gone though, I often had to have a blanket on me, and wore bunnyhugs (hoodies) constantly.  

A few days later I was alone up in my loft when pure inspiration struck. The time for writing a new song had come. Excitedly, I scribbled down the lyrics I had in my head and picked up my guitar. Sitting cross-legged on my mat placed on the laminate flooring, I started to play. The sounds were lovely, and I was really feeling it. Stop and start, that’s how it goes while creating music. I was really into playing when I heard them. Footsteps. 

Crisp clear footsteps walking with shoes on. Footsteps downstairs.  Footsteps starting in the kitchen and making their way over to the living room and directly below the loft. What I felt was instant. I knew I wasn’t alone. I called down, “Honey, are you home early?” No answer. I knew damn well he wasn’t, you could hear the front door open from anywhere in the house.  The footsteps stopped, and I started playing again. Then they started again and I started freaking out a bit.

I imagined that pullout ladder slowly closing and me being trapped up there.  Trapped for this spirit to do with me as it pleased. The moment passed and strangely enough I realized I didn’t feel threatened. I had been alone a few times before by then, and it hadn’t yet hurt me. I got up and looked straight down over the railing to the main floor eight feet below. I saw nothing. Curious, I glanced over at the snake. It appeared to be listening as well yet again. I called down “I know you are here, I won’t upset you if you don’t upset me.”

There continued to be a presence in the house, although I’m not sure if anyone else felt it. I like to believe we just accepted each other after that little confrontation. I left for reasons not related to the haunting. I decided this small city life wasn’t for me, that Saskatoon was really where I belonged. Where I feel at home is here, although I do love to travel. Traveling is how you keep the blood pumping, the stories coming.

Scouting The Marr Residence

I was a little hesitant walking up to the oldest building in Saskatoon still on it's original location. I had been there once before in 2005 on a sunny beautiful summer day to support a charity book sale. This building is an important part of our Saskatoon heritage and there is a lovely sign which sums up why. There is also another reason why people visit this building: it's haunted. 

Broadcast in season 2 of "Creepy Canada", it is reported that there are ghosts pretty much on every level. Children's laughter can be heard upstairs, on the main floor there is a man by his writing desk, and in the basement is a man who is supposedly a woman hater.

When I first visited in 2005 I felt a little weirded out. I was allowed to go on the back enclosed porch and it was as cold as can be. You can no longer go out there, and definitely not in the basement. I remember not wanting to be there very long, so I picked out a couple of books to buy and left quickly.

Today's experience was a little different. My sister and I went knowing a little more about the place, and genuinely interested in the heritage. I actually brought my camera this time, and decided to over photograph everything. Taking shots like this and this, pointless really. And here I am looking dreadful and like nothing at all is about to happen (and yes, that is a Hanson bag you see). 

We strolled on up to 326 11th Street East, and entered the lovely veranda. Nothing creepy there. We took our time though, taking in little details, perhaps we were a bit reluctant to go inside. Upon going in, this is what we saw. Yeah, again nothing creepy. Unsure of where to go next we headed up those steep stairs and encountered two staircases. Torn between which way to go we took the left one, and upon seeing a closed door at the end, we entered the bedroom on the left instead. 

It was huge really, although we then learned that 4 children slept in that one bed. The other side had a sewing machine, and a creepy cradle, Clothing was shown as well. I thought I was imagining things, but after being in that room for a few minutes I couldn't deny it: I felt strange. I felt a little dizzy and light headed and felt a definite presence. I then voiced these feelings to my sister who affirmed she felt the same way. When we visited the room a second time I took a picture just outside of the door. You can use your imagination as to what that light on the bottom right of the picture showed. Could it be light from the window? I'm doubtful only because the door was completely open and there was no filtering of any light that would have hit that spot. I decided to take a few more pics in that room and this is what I came up with. Two spots in different locations (side/lower right), pictures taken one right after the other (these are a bit fainter). This whole orb thing is not something everyone believes in, but I do think it holds some weight in some situations.

That room still felt creepy so we visited an office, which was uneventful and then went to the other large bedroom. I felt absolutely nothing in there and tried to get artsy with a photo. It took a bit to get it to focus for some odd reason. Well the light was magnificent and all kinds of orbs appeared, the one on the left that has lines through it is a reflection off a part of my camera, and some are obviously sun spots, but you be the judge. Another pic right after. I later went back into the room to satisfy a bit more curiosity and this is the picture I took.

We headed downstairs to check out the rest of the place, the sun was shining lovely into this large dining area. Nothing strange here. Took a left to enter another room, perhaps this is a den, with a fireplace and a writing desk. Yes, this is the writing desk. I have to admit, I felt a weird sensation through my body when I stood right in front of it, same as what I felt upstairs. It wasn't as strong but it was definitely there. For some reason I felt compelled to take a picture of the window, and took another one just for good measure. You see what I see right? Very faint, but it's there in one picture (side right) and gone the next.

After that we headed to the kitchen where sugar coated jujubes of some sort and Fudgeios were had. I felt absolutely nothing, but it was obvious there were three rooms we weren't allowed to go in that branched off of there. One in particular led to the basement I'm sure. Not too interested in the rather large kitchen for its day, we went outside. This is what we saw. I know right? Nothing except the back of the house.

I wouldn't say we were disappointed. Our ghost hunt officially being over, we decided to try our luck on Roll Up The Rim at Tim Hortons. I won a coffee. My sister was so completely pre-occupied with sharing ghost stories of her own, she forgot to roll up that rim. Better luck next time.

Photography School

I got my first SLR camera in the summer of 2003. It was film and I was about to embark on my first and last bit of college. Only a 5 month course. This is isn't about how enlightening I found this course. This is about how I got through it.

The camera was a Nikon F80, and I have to say that I really do love film still. Film lends another dimension to a photograph somehow. Black and white was what we were about to study, and that excited me as well. It got me thinking about my mom and dad's photos when they were little. It was always fun to use my imagination as to what colour their clothes were, and what kind of day it was outside. 

Due to an unfortunate little accident, I ended up not having a car for a lot of this photography course. I lived with my older sister and she lived nowhere near school. I took the bus. To most people this is not all that unusual.  The course ran from October to March. What you need to understand is that this was that winter when it was FREEZING quite often. We're talking anywhere between -25C to -59C. I had to walk to the bus stop and wait for what seemed like an eternity, and then when I got downtown, I had to walk another 3 blocks to the school. I personally have never been a fan of winter.

I want to say that I was Miss Popular, and reinvented myself and all that kind of stuff, but I really wasn't, and didn't. People were nice to me of course, but I felt a little out of place. I was just a small town girl in a big city and was not knowledgeable on the technical side of photography. Most of my classmates were older and had been experimenting with their own cameras for quite awhile. I tried to do a good job, but let's just say it was not my best work. 

The darkroom was a place that smelled of chemicals, that gave me headaches, and yet also excited me. It was a long and laborious process, but worth it. What I couldn't understand was why everyone took so long to do their work in there? I suppose that I'm just fast at working, not the type to labor over something for hours. Do your work and move on.

We went on shoots as a class and I have to say that I wimped out at one of them. It took place at a farm, and me, having a sensitive nose, didn't do so well. My stomach heaved a sigh of relief, I did not enter any barns. I just shot what I could outside. I definitely got harassed for that ever after. We had a little display of our hard work at the end of the course. I was proud of myself, but a little in awe of some of my really talented classmates.

I found photography hard and more complicated than I ever thought it would be. I was starting to wish I had back my old little see through $30 purple camera. I just pressed the button and there the picture was. Then I realized how much I could manipulate a photo to make it look more interesting and that's what kept me going. I could get creative with it.

What still lingers with me: Red lights remind me of darkrooms. I can still smell the chemicals at random times, the strong smell stinging my nostrils. I sometimes hear the film moving over in my head after I take a picture. Cold walks to and from that bus stop. Visiting my friend after school at her hairdressing school. My after school part time job at the photo counter. Oh and the hot chocolate. If I smell really good hot chocolate I think of school. We had the best hot chocolate machine there, and after coming in from that awful cold, it was the perfect solution. 

check out what photography I'm doing now at Struck Photo