The Lunenburg Werewolf (9 page)

In the bustling Cumberland County town of Amherst, back in the late nineteenth century a tale of terror unfolded—a tale so terrible that it is remembered to this very day. This story has been told and retold in volumes of ghostly folklore and newspaper articles across the continent. It is so well loved and wholly feared that it has been immortalized in the streets of Amherst with a gigantic two-storey mural painted by well-known Nova Scotia artists Susan Tooke and Richard Rudnicki.

The story is known as the Great Amherst Mystery, and it pertains to the haunting of one Esther Cox.

Esther's Early Life

Esther was born in the town of Upper Stewiacke. Her mother died three weeks after her birth, due to complications from the labour. At birth Esther weighed a mere five pounds. Soon after she was born, Esther's father, Archibald T. Cox, remarried and moved to Maine with his new family, leaving Esther and her older sister, Jane, in the care of their grandmother.

By 1848, Esther's grandmother had died, and she and Jane were living in a crowded two-storey house on Princess Street in Amherst, Nova Scotia. The bills were primarily paid by the girls' uncle, Daniel Teed, a foreman in the Amherst Shoe Factory. In addition to Uncle Daniel and Esther and Jane, the house also sheltered Daniel's wife, Olive, and their two sons, five-year-old Willie and one-year-old George.

Esther was short and rather stout. Her eyes were grey with flecks of blue. Her hair was a curly dark brown and she wore it short to allow for easy maintenance. Esther was quiet and fairly helpful and prone to daydreaming. Her demeanour was pleasant and she was quite popular with the local youth.

However, at the age of eighteen Esther Cox's life became pure hell.

The Trouble Begins

The trouble first started one night in early September, when Esther awakened Jane in the bed that they shared.

“There are mice in the bed,” Esther said. “I can hear them scratching.”

Jane listened carefully, only to discover that the scratching noises weren't actually coming from the bed itself, but rather from beneath it.

“It's the box of quilt makings under the bed,” Jane said. “I bet you anything those mice are building a nest in it.”

The two of them gingerly slid the old cardboard dress box crammed full of quilting patches out from beneath their bed and into the middle of the floor.

“Open it,” Jane said.

“You first,” Esther replied.

All at once the box lid flew open and quilt patches began to flutter about the room like tiny flying carpets. The box bounced repeatedly as if someone were slamming it upon the floorboards. At the same time, the quilt flew from the bed and draped itself over Jane and Esther's heads. Every time they pulled the quilt off, it folded itself back over their heads as if someone were shaking and draping it in midair.

At this point Uncle Daniel rushed into the room. “What's wrong?” he asked.

By this time the disturbance had completely subsided. All that Uncle Daniel could see was a pair of young girls sitting on their bedroom floor with the bed quilt tented over their heads.

“Some of us need to work in the morning,” he grumbled, going back to his bedroom with a rueful chuckle. He was a good man and did his best to see the funny things in life.

Only it wasn't so funny later that evening when the sound of Esther's panic-stricken screams woke the entire household.

“I'm dying!” she shrieked. “I'm dying!”

Jane leaped from the bed as the family rushed in. They all stared at Esther in absolute terror. Esther's hair stood straight out as if she had been struck by lightning. Her skin was blotched the colour of blood. Her flesh began to bloat and swell and she could barely manage to catch her breath.

“I'm dying,” she repeated.

“It's a fever,” her uncle decided.

Only it was no mere fever. A fever wouldn't explain all the noise and commotion. Loud raps and bangs echoed through the room as if someone were beating on the walls from the inside with a massive hammer. The quilt again began to turn itself over as if some invisible hand was trying its hardest to unmake the bed.

The family watched in horror until morning, when the event culminated in what sounded like a loud clap of thunder, right in the bedroom. It left behind a stench of something like sulphur. The odd noises finally subsided, the quilt ceased its antics, and Esther regained her normal health. She caught her breath, the unwholesome bloating of her limbs and flesh seemed to pass, and her skin resumed its normal pigmentation. For a moment, all was calm.

A Message from Beyond

As the days went on, Esther's health seemed to worsen. The nightly visitations continued. The banging and thumping that tormented her grew bolder.

Finally, four days later, a doctor was summoned to Esther's room. He might have been called earlier, but ready cash was hard to come by in those days and doctors cost a lot of money. “She's clammy and sweating,” the doctor said. “But she doesn't seem to have much in the way of a fever.”

He sounded a little impatient. He had listened to the family's story and privately considered it to be nothing more than foolish ranting. Still, he was a doctor and he was honour-bound to do his best to help the poor girl.

As he continued his examination, the strange banging sound began to echo through the room. There was also a scratching noise that sounded as if someone were working a very sharp set of nails across a blackboard.

“Look,” Uncle Daniel said, pointing up at a spot on the wall just above Esther's headboard. Words were beginning to emerge on the wall, as if someone were scratching them out from beneath the plaster. The group watched in cold terror as the message began to emerge:

ESTHER COX, YOU ARE MINE TO KILL.

The Situation Worsens

Over the next four months the conditions grew worse. The hammering noises began to move throughout the household. At one point it sounded as if a 150-pound man were jumping upon the roof. Another time Uncle Daniel's wife stared in amazement and terror as a barrel of potatoes was flung around the house's basement. The potatoes rolled and chased her about the cellar.

In December of that year, Esther, worn down by her continuing nightly ordeal, was struck with a severe case of diphtheria. She was bedridden for two solid weeks and the family enjoyed two weeks of uninterrupted rest. The diphtheria seemed to ward off the paranormal activity.

Following her recovery, Esther journeyed to Sackville, New Brunswick, to stay with a married aunt. No episodes of paranormal activity were reported in the Sackville residence.

However, in January, when Esther returned to Amherst, things resumed with a vengeance. Along with the banging and the scratching and the moving furniture, lit matches began to materialize in mid-air, usually just below ceiling level. As they materialized they dropped to the floor, still lit. The matter became even more serious when Esther reported hearing voices whispering to her that the house would burn down to the ground before the month was over.

The family had to face facts. Esther had to go.

The Whites, a neighbouring couple who needed an extra set of hands around their farm, took Esther in but had to return her after tools began flying around wherever she went. Even the local Baptist church could provide no peace for poor Esther, as the mysterious pounding and scratching followed her even into those sacred walls.

Esther was losing hope. Something had to be done—and fast.