Hearing the old Flodin House was haunted, I lunged at the opportunity to research the rumors. Carrie Flodin, for whom the house was built, and who graced this cozy East Burnaby community with her overwealming kindness and hospitality during the depression, had died suddenly within the walls of her home...Young victim to any number of pioneer maladies. Second owners, The Stobarts, were forever divided when the husband suffered a fatal heart attack.

Believing rumors that Mr. Stobart had died in the same bedroom as Mrs. Flodin, and myself feeling a certain presence in said room while photographing the vacant old home, it would be decided days later that myself and friend "Jesus" would follow through with the month old dare to sleep in the haunted room.

With our cameras, pillows and a few beers, we waited till dark to make our way around to a side door, come up from the basement, and set ourselves up in the master bedroom overlooking the shadows of her overgrown garden.

And we passed out.

About 6:45am the next morning, a tremendous rush of freezing cold air woke us both in a hurry. The bedroom door blew open and hit the wall. We shat. Fierce wind swirled through the entire house, wistling and moaning the whole time. Then, the loudest crash from the attic above us that either of us had ever heard before. Quickly scanning our surroundings, but almost not even caring what we saw, we picked up and bolted down the two flights of stairs, barely keeping our footing on the slippery hardwood flooring, and launched out into the yard and down to where we had parked.

Ghosts? More like a nasty windstorm that had snuck in through an open window, and an attic half-moon window that was blown out of its gable, smashing on the floor above us. Do I still believe in hauntings, ya.