Chasing Spirits: The Building of the "Ghost Adventures" Crew (4 page)

The Pelham kids wanted to fight me because they had heard I was the tough kid from some sissy private school. So the first thing I’m thinking about as I’m getting ready to go to Pelham is who I’m going to punch first when I walk onto the school yard.

When I arrive on the first day, I walk into the school yard holding my head up. I’m not smiling, just looking straight ahead and walking in ready for anything. Other kids are staring at me, and I’m alone. This must be what a new prisoner feels like walking into jail for the first time. It may sound like an exaggeration, but no joke—I’m thinking I’m going to get jumped. Pelham wasn’t the inner city, but it wasn’t far from rough towns in northern Massachusetts.

There are cliques of gangs standing around the school yard looking at me, staring me down. I’ve been on the school grounds for only a few seconds, and already it’s a showdown.
It’s moments like these when you know you can’t back down. If I cower here in these few seconds, I will be cowering for as long as I’m at this school. And some people don’t stop there—they spend their whole lives afraid. As for me, I’d rather get beat up and stand my ground. I knew this in that moment on the school yard.

I knew fear walking up to the school building. It hung in the air like a fog. I was young but knew I was in danger. Yet this was danger I could see—people you can fight or run away from. Now, I don’t always have the fight-or-flight option. But fear is also an adrenaline rush, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like that part of it too.

So far, no one is making a move in the school yard. It turns out I have a guardian angel here.

The guy my girlfriend had told me about was Mike Anderson. When my family had moved from Salem to Pelham, Mike’s house was directly behind ours. The first day he came to my door and was like, “Hey, man. I’m Mike. They told me about what’s going to happen to you when you come to school. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.” He opened up his jacket to reveal two BB guns stuffed in there. He was acting like a gangster and shit—it was so funny. Mike and I became best friends that day and have been ever since.

So that first day on the school yard, people stared at me, but no one jumped. Mike was pretty respected in that school and he’d told everyone before I got there to just chill out. A few days later, when I started acting like a dumbass again, people started to like me and I made friends. I was getting in trouble in class, making everyone laugh, and earning some respect.

In science class I sat near a girl named Veronique. This girl stood out. She was blond and more mature than the other girls her age—she just seemed to know herself better than the rest of us. I loved making people laugh, but especially her. Making her laugh was always an objective. Though it may not sound like high comedy now, back then the shit I pulled was comedic genius worthy of
Saturday Night Live
.

The teacher would be in front of the class and I’d raise my hand and say, “Excuse me!” Mrs. LaBranche would roll her eyes because she knew I was going to do something stupid. I’d have my book open and I’d say, “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what this one word means in here…” I’d point to my book. She’d finally walk over to my desk and look at the word I’m pointing to. “That’s
A
, Nick,” she’d say, then stomp back to the front of the classroom. I did this to the teacher
a lot
. Veronique thought it was hilarious. I thought she was really cool… I still do.

Once I got to high school, I was introduced to something St. Pat’s never had: a school TV station that ran on local public access. I was intrigued.

I know you’re thinking that’s a place for A/V nerds, but I loved it. I quickly started running the channel with my buddy Danny Bedrosian, who now makes a living as a musician with George Clinton and the P-Funk All-Stars. In fact, in high school we were in a band together called Dysfunctional Family. I was the producer and wrote lyrics, while Danny was the musician. He’s just amazing. He can do it all—keyboards, drums, everything—and he’s a great singer too. We would bring people to my basement and put them on tape—we made a ton of those tapes, and some of them were really good!

You should have seen the videos Danny and I made for our school’s TV station. I made a Mafia commercial in which I dressed up to look like the Godfather. We did that for a commercial for a new Italian restaurant that was opening up. On another video I’d follow Danny and Mike outside with the camera. We called it “’Fro Weather” because Danny kind of had a ’fro. We’d follow him around as he looked up at the sky, then back at the camera, and say something like, “It doesn’t look like anything’s happening today!” Okay—maybe you had to be there, but we were constantly goofing off on camera. If it made us laugh, we did it.

Everything we did was an attempt at being as different as possible. Sometimes it was just dorky friends being stupid, but sometimes it was hilarious. We would make short videos too. Mike Anderson had a VHS camera that we’d use to make videos to House of Pain music. We’d start cutting videos like that together where it was straight-up cutting from the camera—meaning no editing afterward. We would stop the camera and set up for whatever scene was to come next, so when you watched it the whole thing would flow from beginning to end. In high school
I took a telecommunications class with a really good guy, Ron, the faculty member in charge of the TV channel at the time. I learned a lot from him, like how to do deck-to-deck editing, how to run the switchboard that switches studio cameras, and how to do all the basics of television production. I got really good at it. Soon I was looking for what else I could capture on camera.

I went out and made my first short film for a psychology class project. The movie was a series of nightmares about the Robaldo family. I was drawn to dark subjects even back then.

The thing is, the Robaldo family was made up—invented by me and my friends. The film was about a guy named Antonio who owes the Robaldos a hundred thousand dollars and has to pay by tomorrow. I played the Godfather in the video. The film went into Antonio’s nightmare state about what he would encounter the next day. I never forgot this idea or those characters, and I would come back to them later on.

Creating videos for the high school TV station allowed me to express myself creatively, but I guess I was pushing too many limits.

After a few too many obnoxious videos, Danny and I were banned from producing anything else. I guess some of the school administrators felt the limits we pushed were in bad taste. It didn’t matter, because the fire had been lit. I loved watching movies and film, and now I had a taste for making them. I knew I’d be around video production in some way for a long time. I had to be. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else—other than being a professional athlete.

D
uring my sophomore year of high school, I had a party at my house for all of my friends. During the party I got a phone call from an ex-girlfriend, Janessa. We were good friends even after our breakup.

“I’ve got the perfect girl for you,” Janessa told me. “You know Veronique?” I told her I did, as my memory shot back to sixth grade when I’d sat by her in science class and she laughed at my jokes. Then Janessa put Veronique on the phone and I said, “Hey, what’s up?” Yup, I was smooth even back then.

Veronique and I had dated each other’s friends before that, but now we found each other. I liked her right away. She was also into movies—we saw a bunch throughout high school.

One of the early movies we saw together was
Titanic
. I won’t hate on the movie here, but clearly this one was for the girls—Veronique loved it. (I promise I didn’t cry at the end.) But sometimes I got to pick the film. I rented Stephen King’s
The Night Flier
because I wanted to see a scary movie with Veronique, the kind where you cuddle close. That movie freaked her out so
much that she was seriously pissed at me for showing it to her. It took years before she’d stop talking about it.

Later we saw movies like
Memento
and
Pulp Fiction
, which blew me away by how clever the story lines were. I told Veronique I was going to make films like that one day. I was determined to see my own work on the big screen.

I didn’t study much toward the end of high school. If I could wing it, I would wing it. My SATs weren’t that great, but I still managed to graduate high school and get accepted to the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, to study film. I was psyched to be going into the film program, but I also wanted to play basketball and soccer for the school. Considering UNLV is a Division I school, the odds were stacked against me, but I didn’t care.

My bigger concern was being so far from home. Leaving New England was going to be tough. My family was on the East Coast, along with my friends and of course Veronique, but I had to make my own way.

After high school it was a rough time for me and Veronique. I was leaving; she was staying. We didn’t know what would happen between us. We agreed we’d try to do a long-distance relationship.

During the summer before my freshman year at UNLV, I qualified for a traveling soccer team. Only a few people were accepted from the United States to go to Europe to play soccer. We went from country to country and I loved the travel aspect of it. Seeing new places, meeting new people—the entire experience was thrilling for me. You think about all the people who came before you right where you’re standing: the explorers, the armies, the settlers—all right there. It’s no wonder there are so many haunted places in Europe.

We played games all over England, Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, and other European countries. The games were very competitive, and I loved it. I was in the best shape of my life back then. I was gone for only a few weeks, but it was enough time to show Veronique and me what it would be like with distance between us. Veronique had already been accepted to a school in New England for business, but while I was in Europe, she reached out to UNLV.

When I came back to the U.S., I got off the plane and Veronique said, “I’m going to UNLV instead. I’m coming with you to Vegas!” Veronique had lived her whole life in New England and had been on only a few trips to places like Canada and Florida. So it was a big move. I was thrilled I would have her close by.

Since I was a kid, I had traveled to California to see my grandpa and competed in traveling sports teams all over the country. I was also used to going away to camp for weeks at a time. Travel is all I’ve ever known. But for Veronique, clearly this was a bigger deal.

I was so stoked. I felt like now I’d have everything in one place. I’d be playing sports and learning film, and Veronique would be there by my side.

There’s a fear people have when it comes to Las Vegas. They think of gambling, prostitutes, the Mafia, the red-light district, but it’s not really like that. Veronique’s dad had died in a construction accident when she was one year old, so her aunts and uncles had a big influence on her growing up. Her uncles thought she was going to become a Vegas showgirl, and her aunts thought we were too young to be running away like this, but of course that wasn’t what we were doing.

It did take some getting used to for Veronique. I remember
walking with her down the Vegas Strip when a homeless guy walked by carrying a bag. I thought nothing of it, but Veronique grabbed my arm like we were about to be attacked. “Are you okay?” I asked. “What’s going on?” Big-city life was new to her.

Life is full of little defining moments, events that can change your course completely. Even disappointments can turn into opportunities once you look back on them.

I had everything, and I was ready to try out for the UNLV soccer team. I felt good about my chances, even though it was Division I. I was told that if I made the team I’d be redshirted as a freshman because of my less than stellar SAT scores, but I was still eligible to try.

At tryouts I ran my heart out. We had to sprint around the entire campus in 120-degree desert heat. If you didn’t finish at the front of the pack, you’d be cut. I wasn’t used to the temperature or the altitude—I’m used to the East Coast at sea level. These guys I was competing against were older and bigger than me. I was nineteen and could keep up with most of them, but not all. As we ran around the UNLV campus—let me just say, it’s freaking huge!—I was mostly keeping up with the top four guys.

As we ran back up the last street and down to the field, it was an all-out sprint. I was in the top five and I was dying. People were almost passing out. I was about to puke from exhaustion. I’ve been an athlete since I was a small child and I’ve never gotten to the point of throwing up. But here I was dripping with sweat, pushing myself past the breaking point.
I can’t do this,
I thought, but I didn’t stop. My competitive nature wouldn’t let me. Those four dudes at the front were insanely fast.

I did everything properly. I was good—damn good. We gathered around the coach and he said, “I’m going to say who is staying and the rest of you—you’re gone.” He rattled off a few names, then silence.