Ghost Story O'Deary Library

Published on November 11th, 2012 | by Chaz

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The Ghosts in the O’Deary Family Closet, Part 6

The O’Deary Family history is filled with ghosts.

Hello there, fellow conspiracy nuts and surveyors of the supernatural!

I am Chaz, and if you’ve stumbled upon my little corner of the Internet, you’ve likely had at least a passing interest in that mysterious building we call the O’Deary Library.

Not all is right within the walls of this house of literature, as many of you have already guessed. What you may not realize, however, is just how deep the mystery of the library runs – and how deeply linked it is to the family who established it. Join me as I take you through the mountains of evidence I’ve uncovered which all leads back to the unnatural behavior of this curious family, spanning generations and generations.

Let’s dive in.

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When Devin and Mary landed in Toronto in the mid-1800s, the city was in a huge state of growth. Everywhere the two Scottish immigrants went, they found brand new buildings and stores. It was a wonderful time to have arrived, and for the first few months, Devin and Mary would roam far and wide around town, taking in the sights.

After a while, however, their wonder began to wear off. The adventure, it seemed, was over – and much too quickly for Devin’s liking! After their exciting sea voyage across the Atlantic ocean, settling down in a new home was just too normal for these two eccentric people.

So, the O’Dearys retreated back to their home and each other’s company. Devin knew very little of anything outside of his books and – once he’d gotten over the excitement of his adventure – had trouble adjusting to the busy new surroundings. After all, he had come from the wide open grounds of Scotland! The city was stuffy by comparison, and much too loud.

Instead, Devin and Mary would spend long hours indoors reading their books. As Devin made his way through his mother’s gigantic trunk of books, he discovered more and more about what Augusta had been studying. There were, of course, plenty of early manuscripts, mostly by obscure, Gothic authors from the furthest reaches of Scotland. But there were also a wide variety of rare books from across the globe.

And while Devin was content to make his way through his mother’s trunk, Mary would often wander about town looking for shops where she could buy new books to add to her own collection. This, of course, didn’t go over too well with Devin, as they were quickly running out of room again. Mary’s stacks of books often reached the ceiling of the house, and these were not low ceilings!

Land wasn’t as easily available in Toronto as it was in Scotland – Devin couldn’t just buy her another house nearby to store them in, rich as he was. So what were they to do with all of these books? The last O’Deary descendent pondered this question long and hard. Then one day, after tripping over a big pile of books and winding up with some nasty bruises, he came to a decision.

With Augusta and Mary’s collections now in his hands, Devin searched throughout Toronto looking for places where he might be able to share these incredible finds. Finding nothing, the idea dawned on him that he might be able to put his family’s literary legacy to good use by using them to start a library – the first privately owned one in the entire city.

With the O’Deary fortune at their disposal Devin and Mary scoured Toronto together, trying to find a suitable location to open the library. It wasn’t long before they found the perfect place: an abandoned, Victorian building that was, to their surprise, not very expensive after all! “How could this be so cheap?” Mary asked the seller, confused.

Distressed, the seller explain that he was desperate to get the property off of his hands. It had brought him nothing but bad luck, he said. Horrible luck, in fact – he believed that the building was cursed. The seller assured them that they shouldn’t worry, though; he was simply an old, superstitious man, and that there would be no problems. They would almost certainly do better than him – he was sure of it.

Oh, how wrong he was!

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