Cootes Paradise: A Hamilton story of mystery and murder
Danny Heath spent hours paddling every square inch, sometimes sketching or taking photographs. Mostly, he paddled, and drifted, silent. Listening. Observing. Watching nature in her glory. Watching seasons being born, and seasons die.
Prologue
WILLIE RANKIN
grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Once outside, he grabbed a crappy broken paddle leaning against his makeshift home, and made his way to the water’s edge. He had a canoe, if you could call it that; like everything he owned, it had seen better days. But it floated, more or less, unless you stayed out too long. Right now, he didn’t care.
He pushed the boat free, dipped his paddle, pulled hard, and left his world behind.
He turned and looked back. Back at the ramshackle houses and buildings that dotted the shore of Cootes Paradise. His home. His friends. And now, the city had come along, and told them all they had to get out. Who the hell were they, to tell them to leave? Rich bastards, in their fancy houses and fancy cars and soft jobs in banks and the like.
He paddled faster, heading nowhere in particular. He just needed to clear his head. He didn’t know what his family would do, what he would do. He had no plan because despite the ultimatum, the threats had come before. Most folks figured it was just a lot of hot air, like always. He didn’t share their opinion.
Willie knew, this time, they were serious. The stakes had gotten higher.
He paddled on, seething. And despite his lack of education, he knew something else, too.
Someone was gonna pay for this.
Getaway
DANNY HEATH slipped his paddle into the water and dug the blade into the soft muck below. It’s always so damn shallow here, he thought.
It was a constant battle, canoeing in Cootes Paradise late in the summer when the merciless sun claimed back the water brought by spring rains. But Danny was used to it. He loved this place, had since he was a kid. He’d spent hours paddling every square inch, sometimes sketching or taking photographs. Mostly, he paddled, and drifted, silent. Listening. Observing. Watching nature in her glory. Watching seasons being born, and seasons die.
Cootes Paradise. Indeed. Danny pushed, and pushed, and felt his canoe inch forward. Man, was he weak today, or what? He spun his head from back to front, and swooned. What the hell was going on? “I’ve really got to start taking better care of myself,” he said to no one in particular. But the sentiment lacked conviction and, worse, to his own ears, his speech sounded slurred.
Slowly, Danny wriggled his craft free and found a decent draw of water for his paddle. Which was good, because man, did he feel like shit suddenly. He had been burning the candle at both ends lately, which was not unusual, but his latest project had consumed him. So much potential. A stroke of luck, really; but hey, who’s complaining? He deserved it. And his research now would give him a leg up at McMaster when his sociology classes resumed in a few weeks.
Sitting low in the centre, Danny hugged the side of the canoe and dipped his paddle. Drew it back, and scraped the bottom. As he raised it, it slammed into the gunwale, the sound echoing across the water and scaring the red-winged blackbirds sitting on the cattails nearby. He smacked it again as he rammed it into the water to take another stroke.
Jesus, was he having one? A stroke? Just get home. Get home, get
some sleep and it’ll be better. Christ, it couldn’t get much worse. Could it?
He focused, summoning the thousands of J-strokes stored in his brain and executed perfectly by his muscles. C’mon Danny, you’re better than
this. He looked up. It looked bright, way brighter than it should for this time of day. He read once that it gets bright before you get to heaven. F**k,
I’m dying, he thought.
Sweat began to bead on his forehead; tiny droplets quickly became rivers that cascaded down his face and soaked his shirt. Was it bright? Or was it suddenly foggy? Either way, he couldn’t figure out where to go. This was nuts. He knew every turn, every cattail. He kept paddling. Maybe this’ll pass, he reasoned.
Or maybe not.
Fright Night
“POPCORN, BABE?”
Sophie Belanger reached into the bucket and scooped a handful. “Thanks, Max,” she replied. Sophie loved popcorn, and movies. Max Campbell, raging ball of teen testosterone, loved Sophie, and movies. Especially drive-in movies, with large screens and larger-than-life heroes and heroines, and action, and guns, and probably sex. Sex was always a bonus on screen and, if he was lucky, maybe, just maybe, in the back of his dad’s car. Hey, a kid could dream, couldn’t he?
Max was a good kid, a straight-A student with a part-time job and a girlfriend his parents actually liked. Which was how Max came to be at the Starlight Drive-In with Sophie in his
Focused, summoning the thousands of J-strokes stored in his brain and executed perfectly by his muscles. C’mon Danny, you’re better than this. He looked up. It looked bright. PHOTOGRAPHY BY BARRY GRAY, THE HAMILTON SPECTATOR
father’s Tesla, parked beside an assortment of minivans and pickup trucks and junkers that were obviously hidden in garages when safety checks were required.
Tonight’s show was a double feature. The first, a screwball comedy that they’d arrived fashionably late for, starring that guy who tried too hard to be funny and was only funny when he was trying to be serious. The second, the one they really wanted to see, was called Hatchet Job and featured, in no particular order: zombies, teenagers being terrified by zombies, and teenagers having sex before they got killed by zombies.
The first movie lurched to a painful conclusion as the kids gorged on junk food and sodas. As the last light faded behind the giant old screen and total darkness enveloped them, they snuggled together and waited to have the bejeebers scared out of them.
Thirty minutes in, as the teen bodies piled up, Max made his move. Slid his arm over Sophie’s shoulder, pulled her close. Let his right hand drop down, hover over her breast. Reach in, just like in the movies, and —
“Ow! What the heck are you doing?” yelled Sophie, as Max grabbed hold of his intended target a little too hard.
“Ow! I can’t breathe!” said Max, as Sophie planted a perfectly aimed elbow squarely into his ribs. “Sorry, Soph. I just thought ...” “Smooth you are not, Max Campbell. And I’m sorry for the reflex elbow. Too many years playing hockey, I guess.”
“As soon as I can breathe again, I’ll forgive you.”
“Uh, you started it, Hammy Hands. And besides, if you had gotten some booze like I asked, maybe it would’ve turned out differently,” she said with a sly smile.
Yeah, fat chance, thought Max. Even though he was 17, he looked about 12. He had a whisker, once, and shaved it off, and he obviously scared it away since it never grew back. And besides, if his dad found out he had alcohol in his brand new car, his next visit to the drive-in would be by bicycle.
“I’m working on it,” he suggested, which they both knew was a lie. “But it’s too late for tonight.”
“Fine,” Sophie said, letting out a long sigh for full effect. Her act was almost as pathetic as Max’s. She, like Max, was a good student, volunteered at the nursing home down the street, and had never shoplifted so much as a bubble gum. She had tried a beer once at a party, thought it was disgusting, and it made her burp. A LOT. But they were 17, for gosh sakes, and that’s what her friends were doing, so she was willing to push the envelope even if it gave her a stomach ache.
Having recovered, Max decided to switch gears. “Listen, this movie is getting boring. Another 20 minutes, we’ll have to star in it, because there won’t be any teenagers left. Whaddya say we get outta here, and go someplace where the thrills are real?”
“As long as you keep your hands in your pockets, I’m game,” Sophie said with a laugh. “You have someplace special in mind, I take it?”
“Listen, this movie is getting boring. Another 20 minutes, we’ll have to star in it, because there won’t be any teenagers left. Whaddya say we get outta here, and go someplace where the thrills are real?” “CENTURY MANOR,” REPLIED MAX. “IT USED TO BE A PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL. IT’S BEEN CLOSED FOR YEARS. PEOPLE SAY IT’S HAUNTED.” “C’MON, SOPHIE. LET’S JUST SCOPE IT OUT, SEE IF THERE’S AN OPENING OR SOMETHING, AND MAYBE TAKE A QUICK PEEK AROUND. WE NEVER DO STUFF LIKE THIS. YOU GOTTA ADMIT, IT’S KINDA EXCITING.”
“Oh yeah. You’re gonna go crazy for this place.”
Psyched Out
MAX
STEERED the car down Fennell. Ahead, Mohawk College loomed to his left, St. Joe’s Hospital on his right. As he passed the hospital, he slowed, and turned into the driveway.
“This is your scary place?” asked Sophie. “It looks like it was just built. I think the zombies at the Starlight win the prize tonight.”
“We’ll see,” said Max.
He slowed, and killed the lights on the car. Being electric, it moved silently through the darkness. A couple hundred feet ahead, he turned down a small driveway. Out Sophie’s window, a building came into view. Big, dark, and ominous. A chill ran down her spine, and for a moment she wished they were still at the drive-in.
Max parked close, out of sight, and cut the engine. They sat for a moment, dissolved in the blackness. Finally, Sophie spoke. “What is this place?”
“Century Manor,” replied Max. “It used to be a psychiatric hospital. It’s been closed for years. People say it’s haunted.”
The Hamilton Asylum for the Insane was built in 1886 on the edge of the escarpment to house mentally ill
patients. It encompassed several buildings, one of which, the East House (later known as Century Manor), became home for the ‘criminally insane.’ Hundreds of patients were housed here and dealt with according to the prescribed treatments of the day, which included electroshock therapy and lobotomies. On weekends, folks from the lower city used to travel up the Mountain to gawk at or taunt the patients on the grounds, on display like a twisted human zoo. It closed in 1995; all that remain are a few buildings scattered around the property, and Century Manor itself, a building with a past awaiting a future.
Sophie, her eyes adjusted to the small ambient light of the city, took it in from the safety of the car. The windows and doors were boarded up, tagged with the witty sayings of the bored. Hydro lines crept to the roof, but didn’t seem to offer any juice to a place that appeared to swallow light.
“Yup, it’s creepy, for sure. You win,” said Sophie.
“If you think it’s creepy now, just wait till we’re inside,” said Max.
“I’m not going in there, especially at night, mister. Besides, it’s all boarded up. And I’m sure the doors are locked. So I guess that’s that,” Sophie concluded.
“I heard my mom and dad talking about this place last week,” said Max. “Apparently the city has big plans for it, wants to restore it or turn it into student residences or something. They were looking at pictures on Google. People find their way into places like this all the time. I bet we can, too.”
Sophie felt queasiness in her stomach, the kind that tells her when she’s about to do something she shouldn’t. Her parents always told her to follow her gut. Not sure if they meant it like that, but it had never failed her before.
“I don’t think we should, Max.
What if we get caught?”
“No one even knows we’re here. There’s no one around to catch us. And besides, what would they do if they caught us? Make us spend the night?”
“Shut up,” warned Sophie. “What if there’s someone inside?”
“There’s no one here,” offered Max in the most sincere, calm voice he could muster. Even so, his palms were sweaty, having never done anything as bold as trespassing.
“C’mon, Sophie. Let’s just scope it out, see if there’s an opening or something, and maybe take a quick peek around. We never do stuff like this. You gotta admit, it’s kinda exciting.”
And yes, Sophie had to admit, her heart was racing at the thought of, just once, being a bit bad. “OK,” she said reluctantly, “We’ll go. But we’re NOT staying.”
Max laughed. “We’ll be out by Labour Day, I promise.” “You’re such a jerk.”
Max and Sophie got out of the car, and began checking the doors. All locked. They made their way around the back of the building, going window to window, checking the plywood. Every piece was screwed firmly into place. Maybe this adventure was dead itself. But then Max spied a lower window that had been covered with a piece of particle board. The board was loose, having been pulled back at some point, revealing a sizable opening. Large enough to get through, that’s for sure.
Could it really be? Max crept over, surveying the gaping blackness. A hole roughly two feet by three feet. Beckoning. An invitation that was simultaneously intriguing and terrifying.
“I dunno, Max. You said no one was here. It sure looks like someone wanted in,” said Sophie.
“I bet no one checks on this place. This could’ve been open for weeks,” replied Max. “How are we supposed to see once we get in there? Just flick on the lights?” asked Sophie.
“You’re too scared to think straight,” said Max, pulling out his phone and turning on the flashlight. “And I’ve still got 75 per cent battery, too. I’ll go first.”
Damn, thought Sophie.
Max wriggled through the opening and dropped to the floor. “Hang on, Sophie,” he said. He shone his light around the empty room, and saw a battered table nearby. Skid marks on the floor indicated that this had been used before, as a way to reach the window from the inside. Convinced they could get back out once they got in, Max shone his light up at the window.
“OK, c’mon through,” he said. Sophie slithered through. Once inside, she took out her phone, flicked on the flashlight, and immediately took stock of her clothes. “My shirt is ripped, and my pants are filthy,” she said. “How am I gonna explain this to Mom?” “Blame me,” offered Max.
“I don’t think blaming my ripped shirt on you is gonna go over very good with my parents.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, we’ll figure something out later. Let’s have a look around.”
They made their way down the hall, peering into rooms as they
On weekends, folks from the lower city used to travel up the Mountain to gawk at or taunt the patients on the grounds, on display like a twisted human zoo. It closed in 1995.
“Gotta get our money’s worth.” said Max, who flew up the stairs. When he got to the top, he stopped cold.
passed. There wasn’t much to see. The rooms were largely empty, save for some curtains or the odd chair. A layer of dust blanketed everything. At the end of the hall, a staircase led up.
“You first, this time,” said Max. As Sophie passed, Max leaned in and blew on the back of her neck. She froze. “Oh God,” she whimpered.
Max tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn’t help himself.
“You are SUCH a jerk!” Sophie yelled. “The only melons you’re ever gonna grab are gonna be at the supermarket if you don’t stop!”
“Shhhh! You’ll wake the dead,” replied Max, cracking himself up in the process.
They made their way up to the main level, finding it to be much like the basement. They did find a candy bar wrapper that looked decidedly new. Max picked it up. “Hmmm, a Mars bar. These ghosts have good taste.”
At the end of the main hall they were greeted by another set of stairs. “Really?” asked Sophie. “I think I get the point. It’s old, and creepy, but there’s nothing to see here. Let’s go home.”
“Soon. You’ll probably never be back here. Gotta get our money’s worth,” said Max, who flew up the stairs. When he got to the top, he stopped cold.
“Hey Sophie, can you, like, come up here, like right now?”
Sophie arrived at the top of the stairs, where Max was looking down at muddy footprints. Fresh muddy footprints, that came from the other end of the hall, then turned, then seemed to go in every direction at once.
The chill that ran across Sophie’s neck didn’t come from her boyfriend this time. She was about to suggest that they leave, now, but Max had already started down the hall.
“It stinks up here,” said Max. Unlike the other levels, this one had a smell, musty and dank, like a wet basement. Why here?
“I bet the roof leaks,” offered Sophie, trying to restore calm to her frayed nerves. She turned her phone light toward the ceiling. As she did, she caught sight of something. Slowly, she brought the light down and illuminated a section of wall beside her.
Her scream froze Max in his place.
Blood. Blood, and mud, and wetness, and chaos. “Max, let’s get out of here, please,” she pleaded.
“We can’t,” he answered from down the hall.
“Why?”
“Because we’re not the only ones here.”