Get Your Premium Membership

Scar Me Good

Poet's Notes
(Show)

Become a Premium Member and post notes and photos about your poem like Constance La France.


 

Image result for the gallows at 75 Nicholas Street Ottawa

75 Nicholas Street, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada

The building is imposing, massive and fearful, built in 1862 as a jail and gallows for criminals; conditions for the inmates were inhumane and appalling, the top floor was death row with only one way out. It closed in 1972 and was deemed to be heritage, renovating was done but the creepiness remains; one hundred and fifty unmarked graves were found there, it was a hostel for awhile but was closed soon after. Said to be haunted by the dead inmates hanged, rooms can be rented on that top death row floor; small cells and narrow corridors, a window the only light, some have seen ghosts standing at the end of beds. There are creaking cell doors and heavy footsteps, wailing and weeping and praying all the night long; one night- I rented a top floor room with black cell bars, I was told the daunting gallows remain not far away. I went to my bunk, not really believing the stories, but in a dream I was being caressed by many hands; "STOP!" I screamed. In the dim light no one was with me, I was restless and started walking the dark narrow halls. There was a man walking also and I wanted to talk, "hello, sir!" I called. He did not stop so I followed; he opened a door and went through, I hesitated a moment, then I opened the door to the gallows- he was hanging. His neck was broken- and his eyes bulged out, I tried to scream but no sound came, hands touched me; decomposed dead reached out for me and all had broken necks, I was screaming when the noose was put on my own neck, and my body dropped into an empty void . . . I was found in the morning, crumpled, weeping, talking hysterically about being hanged by ghosts; the mental hospital is not much better than that jail was, I am a raving lunatic seeing those dead men coming, to hang me every single night in the gallows . . . That whole building seeps of tales of haunting, quite sure many innocent people were hanged; and buried there and now they walk the skinny corridors, to hang at night anyone unaware who sleeps there. ______________________________ September 19, 2016 Poetry/Narrative/Draft/Scar Me Good Copyright Protected, ID 16- 831-124-0 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 11/10/2016 5:08:00 PM
In my opinion, the other wordy version should be the draft and this finely honed and scarier version should be the final. This is much better, not only the writing, but the content and I frown that it was ever touched. Its like trading in a diamond for Zirconium - revising this makes no sense. It's a great, chew your nails, story ... CayCay
Login to Reply
Date: 9/19/2016 9:29:00 PM
I so love history, Constance. You have combined two of my favorite things with this write, History and poetry. I would not want to spend the night in this place. I've spent a few nights at the tax payers expense. No thanks! Great write!!! Good luck!
Login to Reply

Book: Shattered Sighs