The Blomidon Inn was built in the Victorian era by Rufus Burgess, a sea captain who realized he could make far more money by building his own ships in addition to sailing them. And what better way to display his wealth than by building what was then called Perth House, named in honour of his wife's hometown in Scotland. He used teak and mahogany throughout. There were marble fireplaces and gold gilt mirrors. A local German artist was invited to paint a ceiling mural of a ship wreck.
For a time, all was well. The family lived happily and ostentatiously in Nova Scotia. But soon, tragedy struck. Captain Burgess's young daughter became ill and died. Alas, poor Elizabeth. But she was clearly attached to her old home and returned, often on her birthday or on the anniversary of her untimely death, to haunt her old room on the third floor. She would appear in the window or in the third floor hallway. Sometimes holding a teddy bear or a doll. Very traditional was Elizabeth.
But that was then.
Apparently Elizabeth hasn't been spending much time at the inn lately, because when I asked the staff about her presence, I was met with some skepticism at best. I believe one of them actually scoffed. Undeterred, I explored the inn's third floor, always vigilant for a sign of Elizabeth's presence. A chill in the air. A ghostly hand on my arm. A fluttering curtain. Fleeting, unexplainable noises.
Nothing.
I stood outside the inn at night, squinting up at the windows on the third floor, where Elizabeth's ghost is rumoured to have gazed out upon the grounds of her old home. But did she appear?
No. She did not.
It seems Elizabeth has become complacent in recent years, if not downright lazy. She needs to take a little more pride in her haunting. Make more frequent appearances. Smash some dishes. Knock a few paintings off the walls. Maybe try some screaming and wailing. That would wipe the dismissive expression off the desk clerk's face.
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