Time Honoured Ghosts

This is a true story, although admittedly hard to believe.I have never written this down before so I will attempt to bring this back to life, as best I can . I haven't changed the names, places or events, there's no reason too.

Early July 1984

Our Band used to practice on the second floor of an old townhouse on the north side of King street, just east of Jarvis. Our practice space was huge, and old and creaky and full of the kind of character, which is felt, rather than seen.
We didn't have the full band that night, just the three of us; Andrew H on guitar, Andrew C on drums and myself doubling up Bass and keyboards. The evening was hot, really hot, almost to the point where you didn't want to play at all, but after a few joints we cranked up the amps and went into a sort of Bob Marley meets The Who type of jam, the type that's only interesting to those playing it.
At some point in the song, Andrew H and I slowed down the tempo and eventually stopped playing. Andrew C, however just kept right on drumming (by virtue of his choice in instruments he was completely oblivious to anything other than the sound of his own drums, all drummers are).

The air in the room became thick, with something, I use the word something, because there isn't a word that comes close to describing what i mean. The air became heavy to the point that it almost aquired shape, and then, it started to smell. A smell that I had never experienced before or since. The only way to describe is that it was an old smell, almost rotten, but alive all at once. At the same time, the room felt sad, We often say that a place is "happy and alive", this room was now the opposite, sad and very much dead.
Andrew and I, both looked at one another in an almost, "what the fuck is going on", kind of look and there was a palbable sense of deep apprehension about being there.

Whatever was happening was coming from behind a grey door at the opposite end of the room. It was a large storage room, with no other exit and windowless.
Andrew and I went back and forth between leaving and investigating, safety versus curiousity, it's a syndrome which has been the demise of many cats and a few people.
Andrew and I opted for curiousity and decided we were finding out what was going on in that room.
We heard a noise from the closet, it repeated itself and then stopped. The sound was similiar to someone walking back and forth, but quitely and carefully, as if they were trying not to be heard. The closer we got to the door, the more anxious we became. More than once we almost left, on our own we never would have stayed, but together we become more courageous than either one of us could have been alone.

I turned the knob on the door, my intent was to slowly open the door, inch by inch. I had seen this scene played out in the movies and wanted to stay true to script. Suddenly, I changed my mind and pushed the door open, slamming into against the wall. Andrew and I recoiled back, almost anticpating a gunshot. A man stood before us, tall and wearing old, old tattered clothes. He was bleeding profusely from the forehead and holding an antique rifle, held across his chest, he was looking right at us, but didnt see us, he was there, but at the same time he wasn't there. He had a presence but it wasn't a presence I can relate to.

Andrew and I ran, actually bolted would probably be a better word. We were down the stairs and out on the street faster than I have ever moved in my life. We locked the door and left, trying to make sense out of something that simply didn't make any sense.


The next evening:

I was at my Moms having dinner with a few of her friends. One of them, Sandy Cline, was a learned, veritable walking library of information. There was nothing she didn't know or couldn't find the answer for.
After dinner and a few bottles of wine, I told the story but didn't mention that it happened last night.
Sandy, in her informed and cool demeanor, told me that one hundred years ago last night, from the second floor of a house on King street, a man attempted to assassinate the mayor of Toronto, but was overwhelmed by his guards and shot to death, with a single gunshot to the head.