Stalking Shadows (13 page)

That’s how it works, though: a person’s personality doesn’t really change after death, most times. It they’re a mean person in life, generally they’re going to be a nasty spirit in death. Likewise, if a person was nice in life, so they will be in death.

We told the clients we’d be back the next Saturday, packed up all the gear, and left.

The following weekend Randy and I returned with a baggie filled with loose tobacco and Indian corn kernels, a bottle of holy water, a smudge stick, and an extremely powerful spiritual warfare prayer which hopefully would drive Phillip from our clients’ home.

The first thing we did was walk out to the edge of the woods at the back of the lot with the baggie, to make an offering to the Native American spirits that roamed the land. I’ve found that loose tobacco and corn kernels are two of the most respectful and prized gifts to Native American spirits.

While Randy filmed, I took a handful of the tobacco and corn mixture, and as I scattered it along the ground I said, “This offering is made to the spirits of the north and their wise grandfathers. It is my wish that you accept this gift as a token of respect and friendship.” I repeated this process for each of the other three directions.

Now it was time to deal with Phillip. It’s been my experience that, when dealing with the paranormal, it generally boils down to the age-old battle of light versus dark, good versus evil. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you have to settle for an uneasy balance between the two. The battle with Phillip was one I planned on being able to chalk up in the win column.

I knew from previous experiences with malevolent spirits that they wouldn’t leave by their own accord—they had to be forced out. While there are many ways to do this, I use holy water, a powerful prayer that banishes negative spirits and/or energy, and then finish with a good smudging of the location. I prefer to use smudge sticks that are a combination of white sage and sweet grass. The white sage dispels negative energy, while the sweet grass fills a space with positive energy.

Before starting, I made sure all the windows and doors were tightly shut, with the exception of the farthest east exit of the house, which in this case turned out to be a sliding glass door. I do this because I want the spirit to have only one way out.

Starting at the far west corner of the house, I began by wetting my finger with holy water and making the sign of the cross on every window, door, and jamb, as I recited the spiritual warfare prayer.

I kept repeating this procedure throughout the house, making my way from room to room. I also went back up in the attic and performed this ritual here, as well. I didn’t want to give Phillip any place to hide. I finished up at the sliding glass door in the kitchen. I then repeated this process, fanning the smoke from the smudge stick into every nook and cranny with a feather, and reciting the same prayer I’d used with the holy water. Once both rituals were complete, I shut the sliding glass door, marked it with the sign of the cross, and smudged it completely.

During these rituals, an old clock the homeowners had hanging on the wall in the living room struck twelve. Randy and I both found this fascinating, because the actual time was 1:15 p.m. and the clock that chimed twelve was reading 1:15, not twelve o’clock.

Also during this process, Randy got a text on his cell phone that read, “Leaving now, but don’t want to go.” The text was from one of his friends, but when he called her back after we were finished, she said she was out of town with friends, and hadn’t texted him in over a week. Randy had her check her cell phone, and it showed no record of any text being sent to Randy that day. His friend was just as mystified by this event as Randy and I were.

Once Phillip left, you could feel the energy of the whole house change. It became lighter and fresher. I walked through the house one more time just to make sure, and then, knowing my work was done, we left.

Last time Randy checked with the client, an electrical fire had burned down the house—how ironic. But before that, they hadn’t experienced any additional paranormal activity. They were planning to rebuild on the property.

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Chapter 10

The Cemetery of Restless Souls

Contrary to what many people believe, it’s actually very rare for a cemetery to be haunted. This is because after they die, many people come back in phantom form, to visit people they loved when they were alive or a place that holds fond memories. Since most living people have no emotional tie to a cemetery, there is no reason to haunt it when they die. But, as with everything else, there are exceptions. The following stories are just two examples of cemeteries that are haunted.

As I drove through the front gates of the cemetery I was visiting, I became excited to see where my ancestors were buried and the secrets to my family’s past I may discover. My first thought was that Alfred Hitchcock would have loved this place so much, he would have filmed a movie here.

Allowing my eyes to take in the landscape, I couldn’t help but notice that this graveyard hungrily devours acres of land, creeps over tiered hills, and shrouds itself among a forest of tall shade trees. Regal but small mausoleums with elaborate stained-glass windows dot the landscape and stand as grim reminders of a more elegant and sophisticated era.

An eerie fog rolled in off the neighboring lake, illuminated by the sun rays filtering through tentacle-like tree branches, as it slipped its way through the cemetery, giving it a foreboding and mysterious appearance.

After stopping at the office to get a map and the location of my ancestors’ graves, I slowly maneuvered my Jeep along the twisting roads toward the back of the cemetery. A carpet of colorful fall leaves guided me as I drove by various sections, such as the Garden of Serenity and the Sanctuary of Eternal Peace, finally bringing the car to a stop in front of the Gates of Salvation, the section my relatives are buried in— which would make perfect sense if you knew my family.

I was delighted to discover that three generations of my ancestors occupy a large family plot, and I began taking pictures and making notes of names, dates, and any other information I could obtain by reading the headstones.

Even though the cemetery office was making copies for me, of all the information they have on my relatives, I wanted to take my own notes as well, for comparison.

While cemeteries normally don’t creep me out, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched closely by someone or something. I kept looking around to see if there was anyone else close by, but I saw no one.

Not being able to concentrate on the task at hand, I decided to explore a little bit more of the cemetery. I meandered over to one of the mausoleums and peeked through the stained-glass window; weird I know, but such things are sometimes irresistible. I saw a small altar at the back of the mausoleum and six caskets, three on each side, neatly stacked on shelves, as if the bodies had been filed away in a cabinet for future reference.

About ten yards away, I spotted a large statue of a winged angel and began to wander in that direction; the leaves crunched under my feet as I walked past a high row of hedges that separated one section of the cemetery from another.

It was then I realized that mine were not the only footsteps in the dry leaves; there was someone walking behind the hedges. To make sure, I stopped walking and heard the distinct sound of two footsteps in the leaves, but whoever it was remained hidden behind the bushes.

Cautiously, I made my way to the end of the run of hedges and peered around the corner. No one was in sight and the footsteps stopped. I quickly ran out to an open area to look around, but there wasn’t anyone there, and I didn’t see the cars of any other mourners parked in the vicinity.

I put out my psychic feelers and picked up on the residual energy of a spirit, but I couldn’t detect any type of ghost around me. Whatever ghost walked along with me was long gone.

Frustrated, I continued to explore, and stopped only to read inscriptions on old tombstones, and to admire the period architecture of some of the mausoleums. It wasn’t long before I felt spirits gathering around me in the cemetery, yet they stayed a respectful distance away until I returned to the grave plot of my ancestors. I kept trying to communicate with them, but they wouldn’t engage in conversation.

The longer I stayed in the cemetery, the more unnerved I became, and soon it became almost impossible to concentrate on my task. It felt as if a lot of people were closing in on me and I began to feel claustrophobic, even though I was in a relatively open area.

I sat down on the ground and closed my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I allowed my energy to open up and spread out away from me in all directions, in an attempt to figure out who or what was around me.

Much like a radio frequency, I adjusted my energy lower and lower, until I picked up three distinct spirits around me. Opening my eyes, I slowly scanned the area and saw a dark shadow in the rough shape of a person dart from behind a tree and disappear behind one of the mausoleums.

I stood up and began to walk toward the mausoleum. Within a few minutes, I realized that I was almost completely surrounded by dark shadows, and the rest of the ghosts scattered when these shadows showed up. Although the shadows stayed far enough away that I could barely detect them, I could still see them.

“Hello,” I said, sounding a lot braver than I felt. There was something about their energy that put me on edge. “Did you need something?”

My question was met with stoic silence, and I noticed that the entire area around us had fallen completely silent—no leaves rustling, no birds singing, and no squirrels scurrying along the ground or through the trees.

“I can see you, you know,” I said, turning slowly around, trying to keep track of how many dark shadows were around me. I counted three.

Because they stayed a couple hundred feet away from me and were partially concealed by trees and tombstones, I couldn’t distinguish whether they were spirits or shadow people, but one thing I knew for sure: they were starting to make me really uncomfortable.

Their energy didn’t feel threatening, but then again, I could only sense the energy from that distance, and not well enough to get a good read on their intentions, unless I could lure them closer—something I wasn’t sure I wanted to do. Yet I couldn’t stand here all day waiting for their next move, either.

“Okay,” I thought, “if they’re shadow people, they should scurry away if I approach them. Let’s see what happens.”

Squaring my shoulders, I purposely started to walk toward one of the dark shadows. As soon as I got a little closer, I could sense that they were spirits, not shadow people.

Judging by their energy, I could sense they were male. However, their vague outlines made it impossible to distinguish any other identifying characteristics.

“Do you need help?” I asked. In response, one of the spirits simply disappeared and the rest of his companions quickly followed.

“Interesting,” I said. As I trudged back over to the family plot, I thought,
I wonder if they’re some of my relatives. Why wouldn’t they communicate with me?

After gathering my things, I drove back up to the cemetery office to pick up the copies the clerk made for me.

The clerk, a middle-aged woman with short blond hair, a friendly face, and clear blue eyes, greeted me enthusiastically when I walked into the office.

“How’d your research go?” she asked, carefully sliding my copies into a large manila envelope.

“Great, thanks.”

“I’m Sherry, by the way.”

“Debi. It’s nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand across the counter.

“You from around here? I haven’t seen you before,” Sherry said, casting an openly curious glance my way.

“No. Michigan. I’m just out here doing some family research,” I said.

“Where you staying?”

“Don’t know yet. Probably one of the hotels close to town,” I shrugged.

“I’d recommend one of the big chain hotels,” Sherry said quietly, giving me a knowing look. “My husband Rob and I just moved here about six months ago. We got hired on as caretakers for the cemetery. We live in the house next door.” She tilted her head to the right.

“How nice. It’s really pretty here,” I responded politely.

“It is,” Sherry admitted, as she started to re-file the burial cards and other information she’d copied for me. “But it takes a while to get accepted by the townsfolk around here, I guess.”

I got the feeling Sherry was kind of lonely and needed a friend. I saw my opportunity.

“Listen, this may sound strange, but have there been any reports of ghosts in the cemetery since you’ve been here?” I asked.

Sherry stopped what she was doing and froze in place. I saw a trace of fear flash over her face and quickly disappear.

“Why? What happened?” she asked warily, not meeting my eyes.

“Look, Sherry, it’s okay, you can tell me. I’m a ghost hunter. I’m used to dealing with these things,” I assured her.

She visibly relaxed, and tucked a piece of stray blond hair behind her ear before speaking.

“Listen, let’s go get you checked into a hotel and we’ll go get something to eat. Rob’s on a fishing trip this weekend. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. It’s just about closing time anyway,” Sherry said.