The Big Book of Canadian Hauntings. John Robert Colombo
exactly how I was going to explain what was happening to me. You see my mom is a huge skeptic when it comes to stuff like this. So I was trying my best to come up with the words that would be the most convincing: (a) so that we both didn’t think I was crazy and (b) to let her know that we might not be able to do our usual grocery shop on the upcoming Saturday.
Mother to daughter and wide-eyed, I quickly spilled my story to her. Then I offered her the opportunity to come with me to Cape Croker, or she could stay put Saturday and I would go on my own. Maw’s no dummy, and she clearly got the message I was going to be going, with or without her. She looked me in the eye and said, “Well, I guess it looks like we’ll be going then.”
“From the way you are speaking, there wouldn’t be much point in trying to talk you out of it.”
“You’re right,” I answered her, “there isn’t!”
Little did I know that this mystery was only just beginning to unfold.
After I left Mom’s, I went home to research the magazines. I practically ran to turn on my laptop to see what I could learn. The only thing I could find under Cape Croker through my magazine tips turned out to be about Wiarton and Wiarton Willie. This made no sense to me! I was clearly past the point of focus.
By now, my body and mind were completely exhausted.
All of my energy had been spent! I don’t think I even ate supper on this night. My body was on empty so I took the hint and simply crawled into bed. I immediately fell asleep.
Friday morning, I was back at work and sitting in the staff room. Was I spun for fun! I was well rested and strongly charged up and driven to follow up on my mysterious Cape Croker journey. A few of us were sitting around the staff room table talking about the afternoon before enjoying those first few minutes of bliss before starting your morning routine.
While engaged in random conversation, the Assistant Manager appeared in the doorway to ask me if I was expecting a fax from an Indian man.
“What do you mean, Indian man?” I asked her.
I immediately rose to my feet and went over to read what she was holding in her hand. I was stunned! Across the top of the fax I read Cha Mao Zah. It then went on to mention the Indian Carver.
“Where did this come from?” I asked her.
“I just picked it up off the fax machine now,” she stared and replied.
Immediately, I began to interrogate everyone in the room, asking if they had requested this information. I knew full well in the back of my mind that there were only two other people, not counting my mother, who knew I was looking for information on the Indian Carver. One of them was home on her day off, when I called to question her. The other one was working for another company and I wouldn’t be able to interrupt her until noon hour. We all knew that no one had intervened on my behalf, but I still had to make the rounds anyway. This was just too bizarre and uncanny.
Well, I wasn’t for sitting still and doing nothing. And, I certainly wasn’t about to wait until lunch-time for answers. They knew it, and so did I. So I took the fax and scurried off into the back office to make a phone call.
There I sat looking at the telephone in front of me, trying to collect myself. Then, I dialed.
“Hello, Cha Mao Zah,” came a woman’s voice.
I was searching every nook and cranny of my mind for the best words to respond with. Finally, out came, “Good morning, I’m calling from a private resort. I have a strange question to ask, so please bear with me! Do you know who might have been trying to send us a fax today? You see, we seemed to have mysteriously received a two page fax from you folks here this morning. However, we have over forty rooms here, and I can’t seem to find a name as to whom it should be directed!”
“Yes, and no,” came back the woman’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Now I am confused!”
She then went on to explain, “When we came into the office this morning, there was a strange kind of phone message left on our answering machine. It was very garbled and all that we could really make out was a number.
We tried dialing it, only to find out that it was a fax number and not a telephone number. We took a chance that someone must be trying to reach us regarding information on Cha Mao Zah or the Indian Carver. Therefore, I took one of our brochures and faxed both sides of it to the number that had been left! We didn’t have a clue where it would end up. I do hope that it was okay to send it there!”
“I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“My name is —!”
“Well — I think we are suppose to meet,” I said. Then I explained what had happened previously at my end and then I sputtered out, “Can I ask you this? Is there really an Indian Carver?”
“Oh, yes,” she enthusiastically replied.
“Is he still living?” I almost held my breath at this point, waiting for her reply and hoping that she would say yes.
“Oh, yes,” she replied again. “He is still living and he is eighty-three years old.”
“Forgive me, but do you work for the Indian Carver, or how may I ask are you connected to him?”
“I am the other half of the Indian Carver!”
“I understand,” I answered back.
My heart filled to the top! I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear he was still living. “Well then,” I jumped in, “please don’t be surprised if I land on your doorstep some day soon. I truly believe that he and I are supposed to meet in person.”
“Before you go,” she piped up, “there is one thing that you should know! The Indian Carver is not in Cape Croker. We are located just south of Tobermory.”
“Tobermory,” I exclaimed! “How far is that from Thornbury, would you say?”
“About two hours. I can’t be sure.”
“Thank you, and please know that you and I will definitely be in touch again.”
After I got off the phone, I did feel pretty foolish. You see, in my haste, I hadn’t taken the time to read their location information, which I was holding in my hand! I can’t explain exactly what happens when you go through something like this. You just seem to throw logic and caution out the window, and fly by the seat of your pants!
Friday evening I sent an email to Cha Mao Zah. I told them I couldn’t wait; I had to meet these folks!
Saturday morning finally came, and the anticipation was killing me! I immediately checked my email. Still, no response was received. It didn’t matter. Not to me, not on this day. I was up for going, and nothing short of dying was going to prevent the inevitable from playing out. Believe me, I was up, showered, and over at my mom’s in record time! I couldn’t have loaded her any quicker into the car unless I had of carried her in my arms.
With a road map stuck in my visor, I was headed north. Along the way, I was only half-listening to the small talk that my mom was making. In my mind, I had bigger fish to fry. I was being strongly pulled toward a man I had never met. More mysteriously, not understanding why, and why with such urgency!
After passing the exit to Cape Croker, my mom spoke up. “We’ll, I guess if we were going to Cape Croker, we just missed our cut off back there.
“Ah, Mom, we aren’t going to Cape Croker just yet. I haven’t told you what happened since Thursday night. So, I hope you had no other plans for today, because we are now headed to Tobermory!”
“Tobermory! What’s in Tobermory?”
“We are! Turns out that the Indian Carver lives in Tobermory, not Cape Croker.”
“Oh!” was all she replied.
I could tell that Mom was becoming agitated