A Haunting at Bridal Veil Falls

by Susan Thomas

It was a warm and sunny Saturday in July 1975, when Sarah and Michael Blackwell set off from Toronto to Niagara Falls on what should have been their wonderful honeymoon. They had been married just that morning and were looking eagerly forward to three days of excitement and happiness as they started a new life together.

Sarah was Canadian, a primary school teacher from Toronto. She was what you might call pretty, with middle-class ambitions and a trusting and friendly nature. Michael was American, a bank teller from Buffalo. He was certainly handsome, older than Sarah, well educated, charming, a widower.

They had met six months ago at a children’s charity function in the small Ontario town of Stratford and, after a whirlwind romance, marriage was on the cards. Everyone, friends and family alike, were thrilled for the lovely couple and celebrated the nuptials, waving them off in Michael’s fiery red Camaro in a storm of confetti.

That afternoon Michael and Sarah rolled up to The Skyline Hotel, well known for its romantic ambiance and hearty breakfasts. Sarah could hardly contain her joy and enthusiasm. Sometimes she wondered if this was all a dream and whether she would wake to find herself back in her gloomy apartment with those long, dull evenings ahead. Michael was jubilant, too. He scarcely believed he could find happiness again after losing his first wife in a tragic accident just two years ago.

Michael checked in as Mr and Mrs Blackwell; a honeymoon suite with a heart-shaped bed, satin sheets and lace-trimmed pillows. Sarah delighted in the details and in what was to come. “Oh, Michael, it’s so romantic. Don’t you just love the modern décor? Let’s savour these moments and never forget them.”

Michael was experienced in these intimate affairs, while she was still naïve. She felt relieved that she could leave these matters in his hands, so to speak, and that he would guide her through the ins and outs of it all. As they lay in each other’s arms, they shared their hopes and dreams for the future. Sarah reflected, “Isn’t it incredible that we met the way we did. A stroke of luck really. Or was it fate?”

Smiling, Michael stroked her hair: “I can’t imagine life without you now, my little Sasha.” They giggled at how nervous they had both been during the wedding ceremony.

In the morning, they explored Horseshoe Falls with its exhilarating power and majesty. A fresh, cool mist sailed from the pools below and bathed them with a sense of optimism. They embarked on the Maid of the Mist, a tour boat which took them closer and closer to the tumultuous base of the falls.

Wrapped in blue plastic raincoats to protect them from the drenching spray, they laughed and took photos and chattered with the other passengers. Amidst the gaiety, Sarah felt a sudden jolt as a wave hit the side of the boat. She looked over and was surprised to see what looked like soft white gauze or linen floating like a cloud towards her, then creeping up and over the railing. Strands of very fine, white lacy material stuck to her hands and wrists. She was enveloped in cold air, and her feet seemed stuck to the deck of the boat. Just as suddenly, the strange haze dispersed. The sun was shining again, and a rainbow arced across the falls.

Michael, who had been talking finance with other newlywed husbands, noticed Sarah’s unease and returned to her side: “What’s the matter darling? You look rather queasy.”

Sarah forced a smile. “I probably haven’t found my sea legs, that’s all.” She proceeded to dismiss the event as a figment of her imagination and enjoyed the rest of the voyage.

After lunch at their hotel, they ventured back out to the main street of Niagara Falls with its beckoning souvenir stores and varied amusements. They played a round of minigolf at Clifton Greens. Sarah applied her knowledge of elementary geometry to successfully navigate the ball over a bridge, around a corner and through the windmill’s tunnel, taking care to avoid its rotating sails, before landing it in the hole.

Michael seemed surprised and exclaimed, “How’s that for beginner’s luck!”

They went on to the House of Mirrors, laughing at their distorted images, and to the Wax Museum paying homage to those who had challenged Niagara Falls either in a barrel, across a tightrope or by leaping from the edge. Some had survived; most hadn’t. On the souvenir strip, Sarah bought Michael a beer mug embedded with an image of Niagara Falls at night, lit with lurid colours that cast an eerie glow through the beer. He bought her a snow globe with the Maid of the Mist, moving relentlessly forward under a flurry of snowflakes, trapped in time and place.

As the afternoon drew to a close, they climbed on board the little train that journeyed through The Chamber of Horrors. By now, they were both a bit tired, and Sarah had secretly hoped they could bypass this last experience and head back to the hotel.

The carriages bumped and jolted along through the dark with sounds of creaking doors, rattling chains and muffled screams from a dungeon, flashing lights and the occasional plastic skeleton. Sarah felt something brush against her forehead. All part of the tricks. she thought. But this thick and moist film clung stubbornly to her. She felt a deep, cold air, like that just before dawn on a winter’s night.

Alarmed, she called out, “Michael, there’s something sticky and awful in here. Help me get it off!” But he didn’t hear her. He was laughing at some vampire bats flapping across a full moon to the left. She struggled to pull the slimy material from her cheek and the side of her neck, but it stuck to her fingers and hands like glue. Sarah prayed this ride would end soon and she would be back out in the warm afternoon sun.

Soon the train burst through the doors and there they were, outside in the safety and familiarity of the natural world. Sarah looked down at her hands and shoulder. There was nothing there except a few soft strands of what looked like white fabric. She looked around at the other passengers, expecting to see more of the strange material on them, but there was no sign they had shared her experience in the Chamber of Horrors.

“Darling, didn’t you hear me calling out in there? There was some sticky stuff on my face, and I couldn’t get it off.”

Michael shrugged his shoulders when she described her ordeal. “It must have been just one of those things, dear. Perhaps you’re a bit tired.” Sarah had to admit she felt quite drained, and they headed back to the hotel.

After dinner, they strolled across Rainbow Bridge which separated Canada from the United States. They chatted about their plans to settle in Buffalo, near Michael’s family with an opportunity for a promotion. Michael was angling for a position as a financial advisor. “Providing expert financial advice to ordinary families is the future of banking,” he told Sarah.

Sarah nodded. She would look for work as a teacher before they started their own family. She tentatively inquired about his first wife, “Would you like to tell me about Adel and the accident? I’m sure it’s difficult for you at this time. but I think it’s important.” They hadn’t spoken much about it, as their courtship had passed so quickly. It seemed like only yesterday they had met and now, here they were, husband and wife.

Michael cleared his throat and slowly began to recount that fateful event, “The accident happened not far from here, at a large family gathering at Beaver Tail Cove. We were picnicking and water-skiing. I was driving our speed boat and Adel was skiing wildly. She was a very experienced skier. That day she was practicing her toe-hold swivels.”

After a long pause, Sarah encouraged Michael to continue. “She must have been a beautiful and talented woman.”

Michael gazed into the distance, “We were passing through a rocky outcrop when the ski rope suddenly snapped. Adel struck her head on a submerged boulder. She died instantly.” He dabbed one eye with a tissue. “I was shocked and devastated of course. I’d only just serviced the boat and inspected the rope the day before. After an extensive police enquiry, it was deemed a tragic accident. The police questioned me thoroughly before I was able to collect our life insurance. My family never speak of it, Sarah, so it’s best not to bring it up when you’re with them.”

Sarah remained quiet but felt her feet drag slightly as they left Canada and stepped into the United States.

They headed for the quiet and romantic Bridal Veil Falls, smallest of the three falls at Niagara. What it lacked in size it made up for in sheer power as volumes of turbulent water cascaded down what looked like an elegant veil worn by so many brides visiting the honeymoon capital. The moon was softly waning, and the stars twinkled in harmony. The night air was still and all was quiet, except for the rumble of the falls. Holding hands, it was as if they were alone in the world. They approached the edge of the waterfall, silent before its splendour.

Just then, a dog began to howl in the distance. Michael let go of Sarah’s hand and edged a few steps closer to view the rocks below and marvel at how the water hit them with such force. Sarah warned him to move back, but he did not seem to hear her. At that moment Sarah felt an unnatural force creeping close around her. A cold air circulated, bringing with it a foul smell of decay. Thick black clouds stifled the crescent moon and snuffed out the stars.

“Michael! Get away from the edge!” Sarah screamed, but it was as if he were in a trance, drawn further to the brink of the falls. Her urgent warning could not reach him. Her own feet were mired in the sticky white film that she had encountered on the Maid of the Mist and again in the Chamber of Horrors. Terrified, Sarah panicked and struggled with all her might against the vise-like force that held her.

Michael turned to her, seeing the urgency of his predicament. “Sasha!’ He reached out to her and was just able to grasp her hand. As he did, a malevolent vision rose up from Bridal Veil Falls, an inhuman spectre, and yet Sarah knew it was a woman, with flowing white linen and gauze shrouding her features.

The atmosphere was pierced by the sounds of moaning and crying. Sarah was paralysed by fear as Michael struggled to keep hold of her hand. Something deliberately dislodged his hand from hers. His fingers clawed frantically along the pathway as he was dragged violently towards the precipice. In the swirling mist, Sarah lost sight of him. She heard only a fading scream, followed by silence.

Moments later quiet tranquillity was restored. The moon and stars shone in the midnight sky. Sarah was bathed in a warm, almost reassuring breeze that seemed to wash away the mire that had restricted her just seconds ago. Only a few strands of lacy material clung to her now. Sarah looked for Michael and called his name. Her heart was racing as she stepped cautiously to the edge of the falls, in fear of what she would see.

She looked down but saw only the waterfall as it had been. Overcome with emotion, she collapsed in a soft garden bed of petunias that skirted the falls. She lay unconscious for what must have been hours, for when she woke, dawn was breaking, and a bluebird was singing nearby.

Sarah was found by a group of honeymooners who were up early and strolling on Rainbow Bridge. She was dishevelled in appearance and distraught, with only one shoe. Her blouse was torn and her hands were badly scratched. The honeymooners quickly called for help and Sarah was taken to the hospital in Niagara Falls where she sobbed as she blurted out the events of the previous night.

Of course, there was a police investigation, and Michael’s parents came up from Buffalo. His body was never found, but his bloodied and tattered jacket had washed ashore near Beaver Tail Cove. There were several raised eyebrows at Sarah’s account of that night at Bridal Veil Falls, but the event was put down to a tragic accident.

Sarah lived out her remaining years quietly in the suburban Toronto house where she was born. She never remarried but spent her days looking after her daughter Joanne and then caring for her elderly parents.

After Sarah’s death, Joanne returned to the old house in Toronto to sort through her mother’s belongings. Sitting on the floor while sifting through papers, she found a few Polaroid photos of her parents on their honeymoon at Niagara Falls, having a wonderful time, smiling and enjoying ice cream with the falls behind them. She put them aside to take with her.

Rummaging through some boxes at the back of the wardrobe, Joanne came across the old snow globe of the Maid of the Mist. The colours had faded and the plastic was weathered with fine cracks forming along the sides. There were still a few drops of water that kept the vessel afloat. As she looked more closely, a soft, white film floated alongside the boat. Joanne gently shook the snow globe and suddenly shivered as a cold draught blew in from the warm July afternoon.