Explore Campfire Stories For Youth
Explore Ghostly Encounters Along the Veterans Memorial Highway
Step into the eerie side of Eastern Alberta, where ghostly whispers, phantom footsteps, and lingering spirits await. From haunted railway stations to spectral sightings in historic hotels, the Veterans Route is home to chilling tales and unexplained mysteries. Whether you're a believer or a skeptic, these haunted locations will leave you wondering—who, or what, still walks these roads? Explore the legends, visit the sites, and uncover the haunted history that makes this journey unforgettable. 👻🚗
The Phantom Traveller of Highway 36
It was a cold autumn evening when Ethan, Mia, and Jake piled into the back of Mia’s dad’s truck for a late-night drive down Highway 36. They were headed home from a family event, the road stretching dark and endless ahead of them. The truck’s headlights cut through the thick fog rolling across the pavement, making everything outside feel just a little too quiet.
Ethan pressed his face against the window, staring out at the empty fields. “This highway is kinda creepy at night,” he muttered.
Mia grinned. “Haven’t you heard the story of the Phantom Traveler?” she asked, lowering her voice for effect. “People say a ghostly hitchhiker appears along the road—only, if you stop, he disappears.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
Just then, the truck’s headlights caught something just ahead—a figure standing by the roadside. He was dressed in old-fashioned clothes, his face hidden by the shadows of his wide-brimmed hat. He raised one hand, as if asking for a ride.
The truck passed him in an instant, but when they turned to look—he was gone.
Mia’s dad slowed down, checking the mirrors. “Did you kids see that?” he asked.
Ethan felt his stomach drop. “Where did he go?”
Then, a heavy knock hit the back of the truck.
Jake yelped. Mia spun around, but all they could see was the dark highway stretching behind them. “Let’s just get home,” she whispered.
When they finally pulled into the driveway, they scrambled out of the truck, their hearts racing. But as Ethan glanced back one last time, his breath caught in his throat.
There, on the truck’s dust-covered back window, was the imprint of a hand.
They hadn’t stopped. No one had gotten in.
But something had been with them on that drive.
Rhyme:
Down Highway 36 so late at night,
A traveler waits in the pale moonlight.
You drive on by, but don’t look back,
For you might just hear a phantom’s knock— A whisper near, a hand so cold,
A ghostly tale forever told.
The Watchman’s Lantern
Jake and his friends had always been warned to stay away from the old roundhouse on the edge of town. It was a crumbling relic of Hanna’s railway days, and people whispered that it was haunted. But on a cool fall evening, with nothing better to do, the group dared each other to sneak inside and explore. With only their flashlights and a sense of adventure, they slipped through a broken door and stepped into the darkness.
Dust floated in the dim beams of their lights as they walked between rusted train cars, their footsteps echoing off the walls. "This place is kinda creepy," muttered Ben, brushing cobwebs from his hair. Just then, a soft creak echoed through the vast space. The group froze. "Did you hear that?" whispered Emily. They all nodded. Then came another sound—footsteps, slow and heavy, like someone walking with purpose.
Jake swung his flashlight toward the noise, but the beam flickered. The footsteps grew closer. “Who’s there?” he called, his voice shaking. No answer. Suddenly, the air turned icy, and a faint glow appeared near an old wooden door at the end of the room. It was a lantern, its flame steady and bright—yet no one was holding it. Then, a low whisper drifted through the air: "You shouldn't be here."
That was all it took. The group bolted for the exit, their hearts pounding. As they scrambled out, Jake risked one last glance over his shoulder. The lantern was still there, floating in the air—until, in the blink of an eye, it went out. They ran all the way home, swearing never to go back.
The next day, curious but still nervous, they asked Jake’s grandfather about the roundhouse. He nodded solemnly. “That must have been the old watchman,” he said. “Legend has it, he never left his post—not even after he passed. If you saw his lantern, that means he was keeping an eye on you.” Jake and his friends never went back, but sometimes, on quiet nights, they swore they could see a faint glow from the roundhouse, flickering in the dark.
Rhyme:
Old roundhouse, dark and tall,
Old roundhouse, footsteps fall.
Old roundhouse, lantern bright,
Old roundhouse, glows at night.
Old roundhouse, whispers low,
Old roundhouse, time moves slow.
Old roundhouse, Hanna’s past,
Old roundhouse—don’t look back.
The Mysterious Lights of Writing-on-Stone
Tom and his friends had been looking forward to their weekend camping trip for months. They set up their tents near the towering hoodoos of Writing-on-Stone Provincial Park, their campfire crackling as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sky stretched wide above them, a blanket of stars winking to life. As the flames danced, they took turns telling ghost stories, their voices occasionally drowned out by the rustling wind that whistled through the rocks.
Just as they were about to call it a night, a strange glow flickered in the distance, weaving between the hoodoos. It was an eerie, golden light, too bright to be a firefly and too smooth to be a flashlight. Curious, Tom and his friends grabbed their flashlights and followed the glow, their breath coming out in small, nervous puffs. Every time they thought they were getting closer, the light would move just out of reach, luring them deeper into the rock formations.
Then, without warning, the light vanished. In the sudden darkness, the air around them seemed to hum, filled with distant whispers. The voices were soft but urgent, speaking in a language none of them understood. Goosebumps prickled Tom’s arms as his heart pounded. "Did you hear that?" whispered Jenna, clutching his sleeve. They all nodded, eyes wide with fear. A gust of wind howled through the rocks, sending their flashlights flickering.
Panic set in. They turned and ran, stumbling over loose stones and tangled roots as they raced back to their campsite. The whispers followed them, growing fainter the closer they got to their tents, until finally, they were left with only the sound of their ragged breathing and the crackling of their dying fire. No one spoke as they huddled together in silence, listening, waiting.
The next morning, when they woke to the golden light of dawn, they found something that sent chills down their spines. All around their campsite were strange footprints—too large to be theirs, yet human in shape. Some led to the hoodoos, others stopped abruptly in the middle of nowhere, as if whatever had made them had simply vanished into thin air. No one could explain the footprints, and none of them were brave enough to follow them. Instead, they packed up quickly, leaving behind the hoodoos and the strange lights—never to return at night again.
Rhyme:
Who walks the hoodoos late at night?
(Spirits do, spirits do!)
Who makes the glowing lights so bright?
(Spirits do, spirits do!)
They whisper and dance, they hide and play,
Watch your step, don’t go away!
Time-Slip at St. Paul UFO Landing Pad
Lena and her friends had always wanted to visit the St. Paul UFO Landing Pad. Built in 1967, it was supposed to welcome visitors from other planets, but over the years, strange stories had grown around it. People whispered about flashing lights in the sky, weird shadows moving in the dark, and even time slipping away. But none of that scared Lena. She was excited for an adventure.
One summer evening, she and her friends, Danny and Maya, rode their bikes to the landing pad just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The giant, circular platform gleamed under the twilight sky. “Let’s take some pictures before it gets too dark,” Maya suggested. They posed, laughed, and snapped photos, their voices echoing in the still night.
Then, the lights appeared.
A soft, pulsing glow shimmered above them—green, then blue, then white. At first, they thought it was a plane, but it didn’t move like one. It hovered, silent and watchful. Lena’s heart raced. “Did you see that?” she whispered.
Suddenly, everything slowed down. The wind, their breathing, even the tiny blinking light on Danny’s camera seemed to lag. Lena tried to move, but it was like wading through thick syrup. Then—darkness.
The next thing they knew, the lights were gone. The world snapped back to normal. Their breaths came fast and panicked. Maya looked down at her watch. "That’s weird… It says three minutes passed, but I don’t remember anything." Danny checked his phone—it had frozen, stuck at the exact moment the lights had appeared.
A shiver ran down Lena’s spine. Had they been taken somewhere? Had something been watching them?
They didn’t wait to find out. Jumping on their bikes, they raced back to town, not stopping until they were home. Later that night, Lena looked at the photos they had taken. Most were normal—except one. In the last picture before everything went dark, a shadowy figure stood at the edge of the landing pad, watching them.
They had been alone. Hadn’t they?
Rhyme;
Lights flash, time will crash,
Moving slow, moving fast.
St. Paul Landing Pad—don’t step near,
Tick-tock—you’ll disappear!
Watch the sky, hear the sound,
Blink once—time spins around!
Three minutes gone, don’t ask how,
Gone too fast, but where are you now?
Ghosts of Bruce Hotel
The Bruce Hotel had stood in the tiny town of Bruce for over a hundred years, its old wooden floors creaking beneath the boots of travelers and ranchers. Sam, Ava, and Ryan had heard stories about the place—whispers in empty hallways, flickering lights, and ghostly footsteps—but none of them truly believed it. That is, until the night they stayed over.
Ava’s parents had rented a room for the night after a long road trip, and the three kids were sharing a room next door. The hallway outside was narrow and dimly lit, the air smelling of old wood and something they couldn’t quite place—like a distant campfire. “I bet this place is haunted,” Ryan said with a grin, plopping onto the old bed.
Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s just an old hotel.”
Then, the door handle rattled.
They froze.
Ava jumped up and opened the door—no one was there. The hallway stretched out empty, the soft hum of the old ceiling light buzzing above.
Ryan frowned. “Maybe it was the wind?”
Then, from the far end of the hallway, a soft knock echoed. Slow. Deliberate.
The kids crept forward, their bare feet silent against the wooden floor. As they reached the corner, a cold breeze swept past them, making the hair on their arms stand up. The hallway light flickered—and then went out.
“RUN!” Sam yelped, and they bolted back to their room, slamming the door shut behind them. They huddled under the blankets, listening.
A soft footstep.
Then another.
Right outside their door.
But when Ava’s parents opened the door minutes later, the hallway was empty.
The next morning, the hotel owner just smiled when they told him what happened. “You must’ve met our old guest,” he said with a chuckle. “Never checked out. But don’t worry—he’s harmless.”
Rhyme:
The Bruce Hotel, so old, so tall,
With creaky floors and ghostly halls.
They stayed the night, they heard the sound—
A knock… a step… no one around.
The lights went dark, the air grew cold,
A whisper danced, a story told.
They ran, they hid, they held their breath,
Outside the door… soft steps of death.
By morning’s light, the owner said,
“A guest remains—but don’t lose your head.”
The Shadow’s Of Devil’s Coulee
The sun had set over Warner, leaving the sky painted in deep purples and blues. Jake, Ella, and Lucas huddled around their campfire just outside the Devil’s Coulee Dinosaur Museum, roasting marshmallows and swapping ghost stories. The museum behind them sat dark and quiet, but the coulees stretched beyond, a maze of deep valleys and rolling hills.
“This place is famous for fossils,” Jake said, biting into his marshmallow. “But did you know it’s also haunted?”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Not everything is haunted, Jake.”
Lucas shivered. “My grandpa says people have seen strange lights moving through the coulees at night—like glowing orbs, drifting between the hills. And sometimes, if you listen close, you can hear whispers on the wind.”
A sudden rustling in the tall grass made them freeze. The fire crackled as they turned toward the coulee. There was nothing there—just darkness stretching beyond their camp.
Then, a light flickered in the distance.
It hovered just above the valley floor, swaying as if carried by an invisible hand. The kids stared in stunned silence. “It’s just someone with a flashlight,” Ella whispered, but her voice shook.
Lucas grabbed his own flashlight and flicked it on, shining it toward the coulee. The second the beam hit the glowing light, it vanished.
The whispering started next. Faint at first, like wind through leaves, but then—words. Soft, unintelligible voices. Calling.
Jake’s breath hitched. “We should go.”
They didn’t wait. Grabbing their things, they doused the fire and ran for the museum’s entrance, locking the door behind them. As they caught their breath, Lucas turned toward the window.
There, in the moonlit coulee, two glowing lights hovered where the first had disappeared. Watching. Waiting.
And just before they flickered out, the whispers came again—closer this time.
Rhyme:
The fire burned, the night grew cold,
A story shared, a tale retold.
Lights appeared—a ghostly glow,
Swaying softly, dim and low.
A whisper rose, a chilling sound,
Voices murmured all around.
The kids ran fast, their breath held tight,
But shadows watched them through the night.
Some say the lights still drift and call,
Through Devil’s Coulee, past the fall…
The Sasquatch of Wood Buffalo
Rhyme:
Footsteps thumped, the forest hushed,
Through the trees, the branches brushed.
A musky scent, a towering glow,
The Sasquatch of Wood Buffalo.
They ran in fear, hearts beating fast,
But something watched them 'til the last.
Back at the lot, a footprint showed,
A sign of what still calls this road home.
Deep in the forests of Wood Buffalo, where towering trees whispered in the wind and the trails twisted into the unknown, people had whispered for years about something big lurking in the woods. Some said it was just a story to keep kids from wandering too far. Others claimed they had seen footprints—huge ones—pressed deep into the mud.
Liam, Zoe, and Carter loved exploring, and one crisp autumn afternoon, they decided to hike the old trail near the Birch Mountains. The sun hung low, filtering through the branches in golden streaks. “Bet I can get to the clearing first!” Carter shouted, dashing ahead.
“Wait up!” Zoe called.
As they ran, a low snapping sound echoed through the trees—like a branch breaking.
They skidded to a stop.
“That… wasn’t us,” Liam whispered.
The woods had gone silent. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of their breathing. Then—a heavy thud.
Zoe’s eyes widened. “Something’s out there.”
Carter grinned. “Maybe it’s Bigfoot.”
Then, the smell hit them. A musky, earthy scent, like wet fur and damp wood. Liam covered his nose. “Ugh! What is that?”
The bushes rustled. A shape—tall, massive, too big to be a bear—moved between the trees. A shadow, covered in thick, matted fur, walking upright. It paused… and turned its head toward them.
They didn’t wait. They ran.
When they finally burst out of the trees and into the clearing, their hearts pounding, they looked back. Nothing was there. Just the forest, still and quiet.
But when they reached the parking lot, Carter gasped.
A massive footprint—twice the size of his own—pressed into the dirt.
The Moving T-Rex and the Spirits of Writing on Stone
Milk River was a quiet town, but everyone knew about the T-Rex. The big green dinosaur stood near the highway, watching over the town with its wide toothy grin. Liam, Ava, and Noah had seen it a hundred times, waving at it when they passed by.
But one summer night, as they rode their bikes home, something was different.
“Wait…” Ava skidded to a stop. “Wasn’t the T-Rex facing the other way?”
Liam frowned. The dinosaur had always looked toward the road—but now, it was slightly turned, as if it had been watching them.
“That’s… weird,” Noah muttered.
They laughed it off, but when they passed by the next morning, the dinosaur was back in its usual spot.
Determined to figure it out, they brought flashlights that night and hid near the playground, watching the statue. The wind howled softly, and the stars twinkled above. For a long time, nothing happened.
Then—a creak.
Noah gasped. “Did it just… move?”
The T-Rex shifted—just slightly. The three friends froze. No footsteps, no machines, nothing. Just the deep, unnatural creak of something impossibly heavy shifting on its own.
Ava’s flashlight flickered. Then, from behind them, a whisper drifted through the air.
Not from the dinosaur. From the hills beyond.
They turned toward the distant Writing-on-Stone Park. The hoodoos stood tall in the moonlight, casting eerie shadows across the valley. The whisper came again, soft but unmistakable.
It wasn’t the wind.
The kids ran all the way home, hearts pounding. The next day, the T-Rex was right where it had always been.
But none of them ever looked at it the same way again.
Rhyme:
The T-Rex of Milk River stood so tall,
Watching the highway, watching it all.
But one dark night, beneath the sky,
It moved—just slightly—why? Oh why?
No steps, no sound, no truck, no track,
Yet in the morning, it was back.
The kids returned, they hid, they spied,
Then heard a whisper, deep and wide.
Not from the Rex, but past the stone,
Where spirits whispered, not alone.
They ran, they swore they’d never go,
But the T-Rex grinned… as if it knew.
The Helpful Nun of Our Lady of the Rosary Hospital
The Rhyme:
Through quiet halls, so soft, so slow,
A nun still walks where healers go.
Her habit blue, her touch so light,
A whisper drifting through the night.
No one sees her, yet she's near,
Bringing comfort, calm, and cheer.
A fever fades, a child rests tight,
Was it care… or ghostly light?
So listen close, and you may find,
The Nun of Castor still stays kind.
The Our Lady of the Rosary Hospital in Castor had been around for a really long time. Since 1911, doctors, nurses, and even nuns had worked there, helping people feel better. Some say one of them never left.
Ella, Jake, and Mason had heard the stories from their grandparents. “The hospital is haunted,” Mason said one day as they rode their bikes past it. “They say a kind ghost still helps people!”
Jake smirked. “Ghosts aren’t real.”
But that night, something strange happened.
Ella’s little brother Leo had a fever, so her mom took him to the hospital. While they waited, Ella got up to grab a juice from the vending machine. The hallways were quiet, except for the soft hum of machines. She passed by the old wing, where the hospital had first started, and a cool breeze brushed her arm.
Then, she heard it—soft footsteps.
She turned. No one was there.
A little nervous, she grabbed her juice and hurried back to the waiting room. That’s when her mom said, “A really nice nurse just checked on Leo. She had an old-fashioned uniform, not like the other nurses.”
Ella blinked. “Mom… what did she look like?”
“She was wearing a blue habit, like the nuns used to wear.”
Ella’s stomach flipped. There weren’t any nuns working at the hospital anymore.
The next morning, Leo felt completely fine. The doctor called it a miracle. But Ella had a feeling she knew what really happened.
Some say that the Daughters of Wisdom, the nuns who first built the hospital, still watch over it, making sure people get the care they need.
And if you ever visit, listen closely. You might just hear gentle footsteps in the old hallway… and know that someone is still looking out for you.
The Silent Passenger
Liam’s dad was a truck driver, and Liam loved tagging along on long trips. One evening, as they passed through Vauxhall, the sky was dark, and fog rolled over the road like a ghostly blanket.
Then, up ahead, a man stood by the road.
He wore old work clothes, a jacket, and a dusty cap. He didn’t wave, didn’t move—just stood there, staring ahead.
“Poor guy must need a ride,” Liam’s dad said, pulling over. The man nodded without speaking and climbed in.
Liam peeked at him from the back seat. The hitchhiker sat stiffly, looking straight ahead, never saying a word.
For a while, the truck rumbled on in silence. Then, as they neared town, Liam’s dad glanced over. “Where can we drop you off?”
The man didn’t answer.
Liam’s dad frowned and turned his head—but the seat was empty.
Liam gasped. The door had never opened! The seatbelt was still buckled, but the passenger was gone.
Liam’s dad swallowed hard. “That’s… not possible.”
They pulled into a gas station, and when they told the clerk what happened, he nodded. “That’s the Lost Drifter.”
Years ago, a farmhand had been hit by a car trying to get home—and some say he still waits for a ride.
Liam shivered. He looked back toward the highway, where the fog curled over the road.
But the hitchhiker was nowhere to be seen.
The rhyme:
One, two—fog rolls through,
Three, four—a man by the door.
Five, six—he climbs inside,
Seven, eight—he doesn’t ride.
Nine, ten—he’s gone again!
Did he leave? Where? And when?
Eleven, twelve—the road is bare,
But look too long… he might be there.
The Mystery Rider of the Prairies
On the quiet roads of Special Area No. 3, people sometimes talk about a cowboy who never stops riding.
Emma and her brother Jake were in the backseat as their parents drove down a gravel road late one summer evening. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the sky was turning a deep blue. They were almost home when Jake gasped, pressing his face against the window.
“Look! A cowboy!”
Sure enough, a man on a horse was trotting alongside the road. He wore an old hat and a long coat, and his horse moved smooth and steady.
Emma waved. “Hi!”
The cowboy didn’t wave back.
Their dad slowed the car a little. “Strange, I don’t see a truck or a barn around here. Where’d he come from?”
Emma’s mom frowned. “Maybe he’s heading home.”
But then, Jake whispered, “Mom… the horse isn’t leaving hoofprints.”
The family stared. The dusty road was undisturbed. The horse should have been kicking up dirt—but it wasn’t.
Then, without warning, the cowboy and his horse veered off toward the field.
But there was no gate, no break in the fence.
Yet, somehow, they passed right through it.
Emma turned around in her seat, but when she looked back—they were gone.
That night, their grandma just smiled when they told her.
“You saw the mystery rider,” she said. “He’s been out there for a long, long time.”
Jake gulped. “Will he ever find his way home?”
Grandma just tucked them in. “Maybe someday.”
But every time Emma passed that road, she checked the fields.
And sometimes, just for a second, she thought she saw a horse in the distance.
The Rhyme:
One, two—riding through,
Three, four—hooves don’t score.
Five, six—no gate, no track,
Seven, eight—he won’t look back.
Nine, ten—he fades from sight,
Lost in Special Areas’ night.
Eleven, twelve—he rides alone,
Will he ever find his home?
The Flickering Flames of Two Hills
Emma and Noah loved ghost stories—but they never thought they’d be in one.
They had lived in Two Hills their whole lives, and everyone knew about the fires. Long ago, flames had destroyed parts of the town—not once, but four times!
One evening, they walked past the old post office, where the town had started. The sky was turning pink, and the wind was strangely quiet.
“Do you think the fires ever come back?” Noah asked.
Emma laughed. “Ghost fires? That’s not a thing.”
But just then—a flicker of orange.
They turned.
Down the street, a glow danced behind the buildings. Like a fire was burning.
Noah grabbed Emma’s sleeve. “Look!”
They ran toward it, expecting to hear sirens or people shouting—but when they turned the corner…
Nothing was there.
No flames. No smoke. Just the empty street.
Noah’s voice was small. “Did you see it?”
Emma nodded. The fire was there.
Later, they told their grandma what happened. She just smiled.
“Ah, you saw the fire, then.”
Emma blinked. “What do you mean?”
Grandma stirred her tea. “Some people say the fires of Two Hills never fully went out. Sometimes, on quiet nights, they come back—just for a little while.”
Emma and Noah looked at each other.
The next time they passed the old post office, they walked a little faster.
Just in case.
The Rhyme
The fires burned, the town stood tall,
Yet flames returned, beyond recall.
Emma saw a glow so bright,
But turned the corner—no fire in sight.
No smoke, no heat, yet legends say,
The flames of Two Hills never fade away.
The Whispering Chapel
The old mission had always been a quiet place. But some said if you listened carefully, you could still hear whispers from long ago.
One summer evening, Liam and his sister Sophie visited the site with their parents. The sun had set, leaving only the glow of the stars above. The new chapel stood where the old one had burned, its wooden beams gleaming in the moonlight.
“People say this place is haunted,” Liam whispered.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Ghosts aren’t real.”
But just as she said it—the wind picked up.
A faint creak echoed from the chapel.
Liam turned. “Did you hear that?”
Sophie swallowed. “Probably just the wind.”
Then, the doors shifted—just slightly.
A soft whisper floated through the air. Not in English. Not in any language they recognized.
Liam grabbed Sophie’s arm. “Who’s in there?”
No one answered.
Their dad called from the car, breaking the silence. “Time to go!”
The moment they turned away, the whispering stopped.
That night, Sophie couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been listening.
And when they looked back at the mission one last time, they both thought they saw a shadow moving near the chapel doors.
But when they blinked—it was gone.
Rhyme:
Whispering chapel, doors swing wide,
Whispering chapel, step inside.
Whispering chapel, winds blow near,
Whispering chapel, can you hear?
Whispering chapel, shadows tall,
Whispering chapel, voices call.
Whispering chapel, turn around,
Whispering chapel—don’t make a sound.