The Ghost Society of Conche

We were always convinced there were ghosts lurking around these streets.

As children growing up in the nineties in outport Newfoundland, abandoned homes were the only playgrounds we had.

We held such a fascination with those forgotten places, and would make up stories about the spirits left inside after the people had long gone. 

Then, in the autumn, when the days grew shorter and our curfews reached into darkness, we’d sneak away from the sight of curious eyes, and find a way inside.

There was no greater thrill – the possibility of getting caught by an adult while crawling through an old window, the rush of a floorboard breaking beneath our feet, the shot of adrenaline when hearing a whistling wind from an upstairs bedroom.

Inside, we would dare each other to explore another part of the house. 

Finding pieces of the past – beds left fully made, bathrooms chewed by the elements, toys, dishes, boots, brooms.

As if someone had perhaps intended to return one day, but never did.

As we grew older, we watched as our playgrounds were demolished, one by one.

The streets became emptier yet louder. 

The fog that engulfed the hills along the frigid ocean had to find new places to wrap itself around.

Now, we know the real history of why our little town was littered with these wondrous derelict homes. 

The heartbreaking reality was, we were right.

There were indeed a few ghosts lurking around these streets.