The Moving Doll of Allaire House

My family house finally sold and I have been thinking about it a lot lately.  This is the blog post from my last trip to the house.  I will miss it.

For the last week, I've stayed in my family home.  My family home, The Newton-Allaire House, in Cheboygan, Michigan has served as my inspiration for many years. It has always been my favorite place, and, as a child, I would have prefered to stay in this ghostly mansion than take a trip to Disney World. The old mansion is filled with ghosts and ghost stories and if you scroll down you'll find some of the many ghost stories that I grew up with. Lately, the ghost stories from this house have been few and far between. It has sat empty since my grandmother died and my family decided to sell the house. For many years, the house didn't sell and sat in silence, as if waiting for something. I always prayed that it wouldn't sell, although I know the rest of my family has prayed it would. The rest of my family sees the house as a decaying burden that serves no purpose. I have always seen it as a link to our family history. This week, if all goes well, the house will sell. I will say goodbye to the beautiful mansion that inspired so many of my ghost stories and will always haunt my dreams. Such is life, but as the house vanishes from my life, I've caught my first glimpse of paranormal activity here that I've seen in years.

On Tuesday, my boys played tricks on each other in the upstairs bedrooms of the old house. My older son moved a doll from room to room and tried to convince his younger brother that the doll was evil and moving on its own. After my younger son came screaming down the stairs in terror, I decided to put an end to this game. I went upstairs with my angry face on and found a mound of what looked like a small child beneath the covers in one of the bedrooms. The mound was moving and I could see it shifting beneath the sheets. I could even see a hand moving under the sheet.  I assumed it was my eldest son, waiting to leap out at his youngest brother and scare him to death. I pulled back the covers and found the large plastic doll under the sheets staring out at me with glassy eyes. I have never been afraid of strange events in this house, but I knew if my sons found out about this they would  be sleeping on top of me so I have kept this event to myself. It is the first unexplained event in this house for many years and I think it means that even though I won't be here anymore, the house is awake again.  The pictures I took of the house this trip have a few orbs in them.  The house is a dusty old lady, so they could be tricks of light and dust, but I'm glad to see some sign of ghosts again.  I'm also glad for the chance to say goodbye to the house I've loved my entire life.

This is a crooked picture of the giant doll I found beneath the sheets.

 

 

Cheboygan on Dwellable

The Newton-Allaire House Revisited

When I was a child, ghosts were very real to me.  I knew they shouldn't be.  I knew what my mother told me.  She told me that ghosts were not real, but every time I traveled to the family house in Cheboygan, Michigan, I felt that they were real because I felt them in the house. It is because of this house and because of my grandmother, who lived in the house, that my fascination with ghosts and haunted places grew into what it is today.  The most haunted place I have ever visited is my family home, the Newton-Allaire house in Cheboygan, Michigan. This house has been in my family for almost 150 years. As long as I have been alive, it has been the residence of my grandmother and my great-aunt.  Several years ago they both departed the home leaving it empty. The house itself is a beautiful 8 bedroom Victorian within walking distance of the down town. My grandmother spent much of her life painstakingly restoring the house so that it is as historically accurate as possible.   When she was alive, she spoke of the house as a person and loved it as if it were her child.

This seems appropriate to me, because the house has always seemed alive and the house has always been alive with ghost stories. My father once told me that there was a spot in the house that turned ice cold at midnight. At night, the house is filled with odd noises and bizarre lights. One of the last times I stayed there, I was awoken int he middle night to find my night table shaking and what sounded like a train passed through my room. My mom says she awoke one morning to find a ghost holding her hand. The same trip that I awoke to the loud noises, I had travelled to a wedding as well. My wedding clothes were carefully nestled at the bottom of my suite case. I never used them during my stay at the house and I never touched them, however after I left, my family found them laid out in an unused room. They were laid out like someone was going to wear them.

When I was little several sets of family photos came back from the house filled with white blobs. My parents, reluctant to believe in ghosts, tossed the photos and blamed it on bad photography, but I always knew the house was filled with the ghosts of our family. The house was alive with them and I think that is why I never wanted to leave. I still miss it and I often hope the ghosts aren't too lonely.  I am leaving on Sunday to journey back to the old house.  The last time we visited, it had been empty so long that the ghosts seemed to have gone with the people.  It was quiet and all haunting activity was gone.  I'm hoping this time, I'll catch a glimpse of the house as it was when I was a girl.  I'm taking my little bag of ghost hunting tools and I'll be staying in the room with the most haunting activity.  Whether or not I find ghosts, I know I'll find my family there and that it will be a wonderful trip that I've been looking forward to for a very long time.

Cheboygan on Dwellable

The Lady of the Lake

Huddled up against the shores of Lake Huron and tucked away in the shade of maple trees, there is a small cemetery. The cemetery is called Forester Cemetery and is the home of a lonely white lady ghost. The cemetery sits perfectly positioned to provide a perfect view of the great lake. The tombstones there are old and some have been broken and propped back up. Many of the markers have been so eroded that the names are gone. The wind from the lake has wiped away all traces of those who lie beneath them.

One of the many occupants of this quiet necropolis is named Minnie Quay. When Minnie was only fifteen years old, she fell in love with a sailor. She loved this sailor with a poignancy that only first love can offer. Her parents, however, did not share her passion. They forbade Minnie from ever seeing her beloved and told her that she could never expect to see her young beau again. Minnie was heartbroken. Her young man sailed away and died at sea. Minnie was so overwhelmed by grief she couldn’t bare it. She dressed herself in white and walked down to the shore of Lake Huron. She cast herself into the icy waters and died beneath its frigid surface. Her body washed up on shore and she was buried at Forester Cemetery. Since that time, people have claimed to see Minnie wandering the shores by Forester Cemetery. They’ve seen a tragic figure in white wandering the beaches looking out in hopes of catching on last fading glimpse of her lost love. Some even claim to have seen Minnie walking from the beach and through the grounds of the small cemetery by the lake, her cheeks stained with tears and her eyes desperate with grief.