After having moved just over a month ago, Rachelle and I found ourselves back in our old stomping grounds in East Toronto on Saturday. We had a few errands to run, and while Rachelle was off registering for a program at the Jimmy Simpson Community Centre, I went to our old corner store to say hello to the owner. While there I happened to bump into the new tenant of our old apartment. She seemed very excited to see me and we fell into a weirdly competitive conversation about our new places. In short order she asked me if I wanted to come up to the apartment to see all the changes that she and her husband had made.
And so I did.
The place looked good. Really, really good.
They’d made what we had used as a study/guest room into a breakfast nook, and transformed our dining room into a study. Did some fancy things with the lighting, too.
It pissed me off.
Show-off lady: “So you can see that we really opened up the space here by creating flow from the bedroom. Less chunky, you know? And of course, the lighting we’ve put in has made a world of difference! It was so dark before, like a coffin, you know?”
“Like a coffin,” I quietly repeated.
She gave me one of those forced, head-at-a-tilt smiles.
Me: “Our new place has a backyard.”
Show-off lady: “ You know what my husband and I call backyards?”
Me: “ No.”
Show-off lady: “Raccoon parks!”
And then she shrieked with laughter.
Me: “Have either you or your husband developed the rash yet?”
Show-off lady: “Sorry?”
Me: “ Nothing.”
Show-off lady: “ We’ve made so many wonderful friends here, too! From what I hear I guess you two liked to keep to yourselves?”
Me: “ You know, this building is over a hundred years old. It used to be a hotel. There were five known suicides that took place in here. I did some research. And weirdly, they all took place in the area you’ve made into a breakfast nook. You know, the room where the ceiling leaks.”
Show-off lady: “Our ceiling doesn’t leak.”
Me: “ It will.”
Show-off lady: “ Well, I wish you the best of luck with your new place!” and then she held the door open for me.
Me: “Two of the suicides were gunshot wounds to the head. One was a hanging and the other incident involved a knife. We had a priest come in to bless the place after a few months, but the noises and thoughts continued. Rachelle said it was because I didn’t pray hard enough, but I tell you, I prayed so very, very hard! Anyhow, you take care and know that for the most part the presences aren’t very influential, but if you get the rash, well…Oh, never mind. I’m babbling. You take care!”
And then I left, shouting back up the stairs, “By the way, exorcisms don’t work!”