(Post #25) - Nothing Prepared Me For This

So there I was, enjoying what was supposed to be a peaceful, dog-filled house-sit on Pender Island. That is, until things took a turn straight out of a horror flick. Picture this: I'm minding my own business in the kitchen when the intercom—yes, they had an intercom—started making static noises. If I had been in a movie, this would be the part where the lights flickered, and a mysterious voice would whisper, "Get out..." Instead, I just stared at the crackling speaker like it had betrayed me, and fired off an email to Trish and Dan, who were now somewhere out on the open seas, enjoying their cruise.

Trish’s response, once they were back online, was the pinnacle of calm: “Oh, that happens sometimes when someone nearby installs a new system.” Right. Because apparently, intercoms get jealous when their neighbors upgrade. The solution? Unplug it. Simple. But I was already starting to feel like I was living inside a haunted house.

And then it happened again. The next day, as I was coming back from walking the dogs, I noticed the wall heater in the basement was blasting hot air. This wouldn’t be a problem except for the small detail that I hadn’t turned it on. The basement was already a little creepy with its cold cellar and dim lighting, so having the heater suddenly spring to life like a possessed toaster oven wasn’t helping my peace of mind. I called the neighbor again. Their brilliant advice? “Just use the remote and turn it off.” Oh sure, because nothing says “this house is totally not haunted” like casually remote-controlling rogue appliances.

But the pièce de résistance came when I was chatting with my friend John that same night at about 8pm—yes, the same John who rescued me after the resort fire (Post #10, if you're keeping track). I was standing in the kitchen, talking about how I wasn’t exactly settling in, describing my feelings whenever I was in the house. I then went to sit at the dining room table, with my back to the kitchen, when I heard three loud bangs from behind me. “John, did you hear that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, what the heck was that?” John replied, sounding as concerned as I felt. I turned around, walked over to the kitchen counter to find the lid of my food processor had somehow flown off and landed on the edge of the counter, like someone—or something—had picked it up and slammed it down three times to get my attention. How could this happen? The lid didn’t suddenly loosen itself or somehow tip off to the side. It was not even plugged in! No, it was placed upright at the end of the counter.

At this point, I filled John in on the intercom, the heater, and now the haunted kitchen appliances. His response? “Pack your things. Get the dogs and get out of there. You can come stay with me in Langford.” He even checked the ferry schedule for me. The next ferry was at 9 p.m., so I had to scramble to leave. No time for second thoughts. I threw my computer, chargers, and the dogs into the car, not even bothering to grab extra clothes. I was out the door faster than you could say, “Am I going crazy?”

The dogs and I made it to the ferry, and soon we were safe at John’s place. His guestroom was ready, rugs on the floor, and he had sectioned off a lovely area of the house for the dogs, complete with access to the balcony. He was a lifesaver, again.

The next morning, I emailed Trish and Dan, letting them know I had the dogs but was not staying in their house. Their response? “We don’t know how to respond to your email.” Yeah, no kidding. I told them about the intercom, the heater, the food processor incident, and their big concern was, “Who’s going to water the plants and pick up the mail?” Really? I just survived the House of Flying Appliances, and they’re worried about houseplants? I suggested they ask the neighbor—who had a key.

But I knew I’d have to go back to the house eventually to pick up the rest of my things. I wasn’t going alone, though. I called the neighbor and asked if she could meet me there. When the day came, the dogs were happy to frolic outside while I moved faster than I’ve ever moved in my life, grabbing my bins, vacuuming, and washing the floor. I didn’t even look back when I locked the door for the final time.

Back at John’s, the dogs settled into our new routine. They didn’t seem to miss the freedom of the Pender Island property, and we were doing just fine. Walks, groceries, relaxing—it was all smooth sailing from there.

I’ve been through some strange times on this journey: a resort fire, battling stubborn geese, and living off the grid. But this? This was the first time I truly felt spooked. Haunted intercoms, rogue heaters, and kitchen appliances with a vendetta are not on my list of favorite things. Whether the house was genuinely haunted or my mind was just playing tricks, I was grateful to be out of there.

For now, we were safe at John’s. That is, until one Sunday morning..

A Lot Nicer at John's Place

Very Relaxed and Happy

Next: Post #26 - A Close Call: When Peace and Quiet Turned into a Warning