Today, I bring you a spooky little anecdote from New Brunswick, so dust off your hot water bottle and grab yourself that mince pie you promised yourself – go on… You deserve it!

Deep in the heart of New Brunswick, where the dense forests stretch out endlessly and the rivers weave through the land like arteries, lies the tale of the Dungarvon Whooper. A ghost story that has chilled locals for over a century. This story is not merely one of fright, but one of mystery, sorrow, and the unsettling idea that some spirits refuse to rest in peace… sounds right up our street, does it not?

The Dungarvon Whooper begins, like all the best ghost stories, with a tragedy. It is said that long ago, during the late 19th century, a young man named Ryan worked as a cook at a lumber camp near the Dungarvon River. He was a lively and hardworking fellow, always wearing a money belt strapped around his waist – a prized possession that he had earned through tireless effort. Or maybe he won it in a card game? Who are we to judge?

Anyway…

The camp was bustling with activity during the harsh winters, as lumberjacks toiled day and night to fell trees and send them downstream.

Ryan, despite his youth, was an integral part of the camp’s operations. His cooking kept the men fed and spirits high in the frigid wilderness. He was known for his good humour, his knack for storytelling, and his unwavering dedication to his job. But the money belt he wore, heavy with coins, drew the envy of others. In a camp where life was hard and fortunes scarce, such wealth would have been a tempting prize.

One day, when most of the men were away in the forest, disaster struck. Ryan was left alone at the camp with only a few men for company. When the loggers returned that evening, they found Ryan dead, his body cold and lifeless on the ground. His money belt was gone, and the men who had remained behind claimed ignorance, saying he had suddenly fallen ill and died. But the evidence told a different story.

Ryan had been murdered, and the crime was as senseless as it was brutal. His killers, it seemed, had coveted his money and were willing to do whatever it took to take it from him. To cover up their actions, they buried his body in the forest without ceremony, hoping to silence any questions about his sudden disappearance. But it would seem that they they could not silence Ryan’s spirit.

Not long after his death, strange occurrences began to plague the lumber camp. At night, when the wind howled through the trees, a piercing, otherworldly cry could be heard echoing across the Dungarvon River. It was a sound like no other… a long, mournful wail that rose into a terrifying “whoop” before fading away into the darkness. The men who heard it described it as the scream of a soul in torment, a cry that chilled the blood and made the hairs on their necks stand on end.

The loggers were soon convinced that Ryan’s spirit had returned to haunt the camp. They believed his cries were of anger and sorrow, a restless ghost seeking justice for the wrongs done to him. The cries were relentless, growing louder and more frequent as time went on. They seemed to come from the very ground where Ryan had been buried, as if his spirit could not escape the weight of his untimely death.

Fear spread through the camp like wildfire. The men, hardened by years of working in the wilderness, were terrified by the unexplainable phenomenon. Many of them refused to stay, abandoning the camp entirely. Those who remained found it impossible to sleep, the haunting cries filling their dreams with dread.

Word of the Dungarvon Whooper spread beyond the camp, reaching nearby towns and villages. People came to investigate, but none could explain the cries or find peace for Ryan’s spirit. Some claimed to have seen shadowy figures moving through the trees or felt an icy chill in the air near the spot where Ryan was buried. The forest itself seemed to grow darker and more oppressive, as if it too was mourning the young man’s fate.

Eventually, a local priest was called to the site in a desperate attempt to bring an end to the haunting. Armed with prayers and holy water, the priest ventured into the forest and performed an exorcism over Ryan’s unmarked grave. He prayed for the young man’s soul to find rest and for the cries to cease. According to those who witnessed the ceremony, the air grew still, and the forest fell silent as the priest spoke his final words.

For a time, it seemed that the Dungarvon Whooper had been laid to rest. The cries stopped, and the camp slowly returned to normal. But even today, the story endures.

Some claim that on cold, windy nights, the mournful cry can still be heard echoing through the trees, a reminder of the injustice done to Ryan and the power of a restless spirit.

The tale of the Dungarvon Whooper has become a piece of New Brunswick’s folklore, a ghost story passed down through generations. It is a chilling reminder of how the past can linger in unexpected ways, leaving its mark on both the living and the dead.

So, as you sit by the fire this winter, perhaps you’ll think of Ryan and his haunting cries. And if you ever find yourself near the Dungarvon River on a dark night, listen carefully. You might just hear the echoes of his whooping wail, carried on the wind through the endless forest.