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This story happened back in the late spring of 1964 when I was nine years of age, on the yearly family excursion. We pressed up the station wagon traveled north to the Island from Windsor, Ontario. Following a three hour vehicle ship ride from Tobermory on the Bruce Peninsula, we touched base at South Baymouth. My father leased an enormous bungalow on Lake Manitou for a week and for a child from the huge city, it was seven days of experience.
There was a community adjacent we would take day by day treks to look for provisions. Headed for town on the subsequent day, we passed a little burial ground close to 20 feet the street. What grabbed my attention was all the grave markers were wood. What likewise grabbed my attention as a more seasoned Indian man in local dress. Our eyes secured and a chill ran my spine. I didn’t consider anything it in light of the fact that having experienced childhood with cattle rustlers and Indian motion pictures, I generally took a gander at Indians as the miscreants. I discovered that numerous Indians did live on the island who returned a great many years. On the voyage back to cabin from town, we passed the burial ground once more, and the man was all the while remaining at the entryway. I didn’t think anything further of it, supposing he was some sort of overseer.
Our day by day treks to town proceeded and the Indian was continually remaining at the door. By about the fourth day as we passed the graveyard, I advised my sibling to take a gander at him. He asserted he didn’t see anything and as common stated, “No doubt about it”. Presently, in my more youthful life, I had a few paranormal encounters, including seeing spirits. Being the most youthful in the family, I quit any pretense of telling my folks and kin of my encounters since they generally thought I was lying or simply had a striking creative mind.
The sightings proceeded with consistently. On the last night of our remain, we went into town and ate at the main eatery there. While heading back, or was nightfall and dimness fell rather rapidly. As we moved toward the graveyard, I thought no chance the Indian would be at the door. All things considered, I saw an outline at entryway. I was not hoping to what came straightaway. His face had a strange gleam with a wicked grin, while he began straightforwardly at me once more. I didn’t encounter only a chill this time however my blood ran cold as my entire body shook. I at that point felt sick and before I could tell my father, I heaved my entire supper into the floor well of rearward sitting arrangement. I spent a restless night before leaving the Island the following day. Fortunately we took the north course from the Island and not passing the graveyard once more.
It was not until I was more seasoned and talked with mediums and mystics did I understand every one of my encounters were certifiable and not an overactive creative mind. I trust I was the just one in my group of six who could see the Indian that week. I accept he was some sort of centennial for that graveyard and maybe had an issue with the white race. I am resigned now and just may make an arrival visit some time or another to Manitoulin Island. Possibly leave blossoms at the entryway of that little burial ground.