It's Bill, 8/24/25: Once Upon a Ghost
- Desmond Haskell
- Aug 24
- 3 min read
A Cemetery Childhood
Even if we don’t believe, we all like ghost stories. I like to hear them and tell them. Maybe it was because I was brought up in a cemetery. In the 50’s, my bus stop and playground was in a still-active colonial cemetery. It was surrounded by an apple orchard that creaked and groaned in the winter winds, casting grotesque shadows. More to the story, maybe later.
The Station House
I bought West Quoddy Station in May, 2000. Three derelict buildings in tear-down condition. Of course, the prime candidate was The Station House, an uninhabitable two-story building in tough shape. With time and money, I fixed up The Station House, which was on the National Register of Historic Places. Certainly, no ghosts.
Ghostbusters at the Station
It started a few years later when some ghostbusters from Bangor went down to the West Quoddy Head Lighthouse to conjure up ghosts. Except no one could come up with one. It was suggested they go conjure at West Quoddy Station. And they asked Bill, who said “No!”
Not to be put off, they rented The Station House for a Saturday night near Halloween. I’m still not sure why it had to be near Halloween and a Saturday. They stayed up all night with their gadgets that actually found nothing, leaving with a promise to be back. Most left sleepless and a bit under the weather.
Guests Say Otherwise
Time passes. Now and then, a guest or two would ask about the ghost in The Station House. I asked where. “Upstairs, on the second floor.” I said, “No ghosts, it’s just the wind having fun with an old building.” They informed me that I was wrong. They heard, saw, felt a ghost. It was a woman, floating about in a translucent gown. Second floor, eastern side.
Meet Terence and His Visitor
This past year, the old farmhouse down the hill and to the east was purchased by our now good friend, Terence. Terence, retired and single, is an excellent host. Patricia and I were his guests a few weeks ago. After a fine dinner and wine, of course, Terence asked if we had seen The Ghost. You know the one—a female floating around in a translucent gown. No, I said, but I have ghost stories.
Terence then related that, while he was sound asleep, she was standing by his bed to make her presence known. Now, Terence is fascinated by his ghost that woke him up. Who is she?
The Brown Connection
Now I’m interested. Terence heard that she was a Brown. That’s interesting because the land that his farmhouse is on was the Brown farm in the 1800s. And the Browns sold their land in 1884 to build what was to become The West Quoddy Head U.S. Coast Guard Station in 1915.
Terence also mentioned that old Henry Brown was there in the 1980s, broke his leg, and crawled to the old crank telephone. He was cared for by the “girls” working at The Marine Mammal Rescue Station at West Quoddy Station during the mid-1980s.
Meet Henrietta
Last night we had friends over for grilled shrimp, salad, steak, potatoes, Key Lime pie. Wine, of course. I knew one of my guests was one of the “girls” who worked at the Rescue Center. After pie, I asked about Henry Brown. “Yes, that’s true,” she said, “we all took care of Henry.” Henry believed there was a ghost floating around on the second floor, east side. Henry asked that the furniture in that room be arranged in a certain way. When the girls went back every morning, the furniture was always moved. They thought Henry was a bit odd for believing in ghosts, so they named her Henrietta. Henry and his ghost, Henrietta.
Now, pondering all of this, I’m recalling that ghosts can be found in old, abandoned houses, a.k.a. Haunted Houses. Both The Station House and the Brown house, 200 yards from each other, were vacant at times over the years on remote, Easternmost, West Quoddy Head. Think about it—with a sip or two of wine—she’s probably a Brown. Henrietta Brown. I’m starting to believe in her. How about you?
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