The Ghost Chronicles (21 page)

“In the basement,” Paula answered.

I heard a slight ting of metal scraping, as Paula pulled the chain to the naked light bulb. “I want to show you the hidden room that David and I found.” She gestured with her hand for us to follow. “It’s over here. But be careful, there’s not much
light. David and I believe it might be part of the Underground Railroad.”

We gathered in an area just in front of the door.

“It’s right here, behind these pieces of wood.” Paula pointed to a stack of wooden panels leaning against the wall.

Like peeling an onion, Ron and Ron Jr. removed one board after another. Layer by layer, they struggled with the weight of old beams and planks of rotted wood, until nothing was left except for a small wooden door, its edges masked by globs of mortar and stone. Together they pulled on the handle. It was stuck. Refusing to be thwarted, they yanked even harder. The door finally gave way. The sound of wood scraping on cement was like fingernails drawn across a chalkboard, causing my teeth to ache. I hung back and waited as Ron peered into the secret room. Realizing he needed light, he retrieved the flashlight from his rear pocket. Taking a moment to juggle the items in his hands to make room for the light, he aimed the beam in front of him, ducked his head ever so slightly, and headed into the dark abyss.

“Hey, Maureen, come take a look at this,” Ron’s voice echoed.

As I stepped into the secret chamber, I felt the first chilled breeze brush over my skin. After the rest of the group filed in, Ron reached his left hand out and yanked on the wooden door, sealing us inside and preventing any outside interference. I stood there, holding my breath in anticipation, as I watched the low light of the cellar fade into blackness. And I couldn’t help but wonder about the door. Once inside, the door had closed behind us as easily as a hot knife cut through butter, like someone or something wanted us inside. How odd?

Now standing in utter darkness, I closed my eyes to focus my senses. Although I knew there were no more than five of us
huddled within the secret chamber, it began to feel crowded. Almost too crowded.

I opened my eyes, struggling to see the silhouettes of our team in the darkness, but my mind looked past them, through them, until all I could see was the images of women and children, huddled in the corner of the room, gasping for breath. I stood there watching as streams of tears washed down their filthy, soot-soiled faces. My mind was transported to a different time.

Suddenly, my breathing turned heavy, raspy.

The air around me grew thick with smoke.

My chest tightened, constricted. I held my hand over my mouth to stifle the spasmodic cough. I took a sharp intake of air. It burned. I coughed again. The image slowly receding, I said, “Ron, I…I…I need to leave.”

“Did you see something? Are you all right?” His voice sounded as thick as the air felt.

“The room is filled with smoke,” I coughed, “and death.” Ron Jr. pushed the door open. I left and all but ran up the cellar stairs, making my way to the front of the house and out the door into the night. Pacing back and forth, I inhaled and then exhaled slowly, struggling to clear the irritation in my lungs. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d say I’d just exited a burning building. But that was impossible. I turned to stare at the house that from this vantage point looked fine.
Hmmm, looks are definitely deceiving
, I thought.

Not pain-free, but feeling somewhat myself, I went back into the house. Being empathic can be a challenge. Especially when I open up to communicate with spirits and end up wearing their pain and their suffering like a glove.

Karen’s screech caught everyone’s attention.

Ron, Leo, Ron Jr., and I ran toward Karen, who had been standing in the hallway, near a very large mirror, recording EVPs. Ron asked, “What’s the problem?”

“All my recorders are empty!”

“You’re kidding,” Ron replied.

“No, I’m not. I’ve been recording all night. Oh my God, would you look at this one…” Karen held up one of her digital recorders, and angled it for us to see the screen. The numbers on the recorder were running backward, in reverse. “I didn’t even push the button,” she said, distraught. “They’re erasing themselves!”

“Well, looks like we can forget capturing any EVP evidence,” Ron muttered.

Ron’s remark pushed Karen over the edge. She turned off her recorders. One by one she dropped them into her kit.

As a group we walked into the kitchen and took a seat.

David, his hand flat on the table, leaned over and said in a low voice, “I’ve had a few accidents here myself. I was on the stepladder fixing the trim against the ceiling, when out of nowhere someone unseen lifted the ladder and yanked it out from under me. I ended up with bruises and a fractured rib. Then, there are times I’ve woken up drenched, as if someone has poured a bucket of water on me.” Still standing, he pushed away from the table, did an about-face and walked over to a well-lit room adjacent to the kitchen. The only room that we had yet to investigate. “There’s more.” He gestured with his hand for us to follow him. “Come here,” he said. “I want to show you guys something.”

Our morbid curiosity piqued, we followed him.

“One weekend I came to the house alone. I had way too much work to do, and Paula wasn’t able to make it. So, after a long day of laboring, just before bed, I came down to the kitchen to get
myself a drink and decided to use this bathroom, instead of the upstairs one.”

I watched David’s eyes glaze over as if he was looking at the bathroom, but not truly seeing it. As he began to retell the events of that night, his previously relaxed stance became rigid, guarded. “Well, I was sitting on the toilet, when the door began to open by itself.” His smile turned into a grimace. “At first I was stunned, and then I got mad. I probably said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“Like what?” I asked.

Attempting to hide his embarrassment, he looked away momentarily. He gathered his thoughts and said, “I called them perverts!”

“Then what?”

“Then this.” He stepped aside and let us take a look. There on the floor was a toilet bowl sheared in half. Well, not really in half. As I looked more closely I noticed that not a drop of water from the bowl had spilled. The only thing that kept the water from pouring forth and onto the floor was a sliver of porcelain, no thicker than that of a dollar bill standing on edge.

“Wow, that would be tough to pull off,” Ron said.

“You didn’t get hurt, did you?” I asked.

“No. It happened after I went upstairs to bed. I heard a loud bang, and when I went to investigate the source, that’s when I found it.”

Even though David’s emotions were hard to read, I felt a swift, sudden onset of fear, and it triggered something in me. Just then an image of David being tipped over on excavating equipment popped into the forefront of my mind. “David, you also had an accident in the backyard, didn’t you?”

“Yes. But how do you know?” He paused. “It scared the hell out of me, so I had some of my guys pack up the machines and drive them away.”

“Was it a Kubota?”

“Yeah,” he rubbed his chin as in deep thought, “how did you know that?”

I had no good answer for him, so I told him the truth. “I have no idea. It just popped into my head.”

“Interesting,” he said. “One minute I’m on the Kubota, the next, I’m tipped sideways.” He said in excitement, “I had to jump out of the way or risk being crushed.”

“David, that’s sounds so terrifying. Thank God you’re all right,” I said.

“Maureen, Ron told Paula about a blessing she could do on the house. Do you know of a protection that I can use for traveling? These incidents have me a little on edge.”

As coincidence would have it, prior to leaving for the day, I’d jotted down a few prayers of protection. One of them was for traveling. I dug into my pocketbook and handed him the prayer:

In the name of God I go on this journey.

May God the Father be with me,

God the Son protect me, and

God the Holy Ghost be by my side.

Whoever is stronger than these three persons

May approach my body and my life; yet

Whoso is not stronger than these three

Would much better let me be!

The grandfather clock chimed three times. With a two-hour ride back, it was time to go. As we left, we gave David and Paula the tools to protect themselves. We hoped that our investigation had answered some of their questions as to why their dream house had become a nightmare. And for now, our job was done.

R
on and I pulled out of the parking lot of America’s Stonehenge.

“Well, that was pretty mundane, ghost hunting in the afternoon. But at least we got the podcast done,” Ron said, referring to our latest iTunes adventure. “Other than that one spirit who dogged us all afternoon, there really wasn’t that much happening.”

“Yeah, but he was pretty strong. Remember when we were standing around the sacrificial table? It was all I could do to not channel him.”

“Well, why didn’t you? Isn’t that what we were here for?” Ron asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Easy for you to say. I have free will like everyone else. The last thing I want to do is channel someone as nasty as that spirit. A Native American that sacrificed people by cutting their hearts out.”

“And you know this how?”

I knew, like always, Ron was just trying to rile me up. “I know, because when we were standing by that big flat rock, the one with the groove carved around the edge to drain the blood, I had a quick glimpse of the spirit as he tore someone’s heart out. It made me sick. I could feel his pleasure in the task.”

A photo of the sacrificial altar at America’s Stonehenge. Notice the groove in the stone used to drain the blood of the victims.

Suddenly, a tingle in my third eye caught me off guard. I pressed my finger to my forehead. “Hey, Ron, I’m feeling strange.”

“Yeah, but when don’t you?”

“No, I really mean it.” I turned to look around, having the odd sensation that we were not alone. “Maybe I should have blessed the car. I think the spirit followed us.”

“I don’t think so. Come on,” Ron said, denying the possibilities.

I heard the vague, familiar sound of rhythmic beeping over the music and Ron grumbling. “Shhh,” I said, as I turned the radio down. The EMF meter in Ron’s pocket had sprung to life.

“Oh, that’s just the wires,” Ron said, pointing to the telephone poles above our heads as we waited to turn onto Route 28.

But the energy pulsated in my third eye, making it challenging to concentrate on the road. And as we drove away from the wires and the EMF meter kept beeping, I said, “Wires, huh, Ron?”

“Well. Okay. Maybe not.”

“Are you recording this?”

“I am now,” Ron said, as he pressed the button on the digital recorder. “We’re on our way home in Maureen’s car. Who, by the way, didn’t put any protection on it. And guess what’s going on in my pocket?” Ron said as he held the microphone closer to his pocket, catching the incessant beeping of the EMF meter.

“Right now the energy is so strong, it feels like my head is going to blow off my shoulders as I’m trying to drive down Route 28 in Salem, New Hampshire,” I said, my voice raised a couple of octaves above the norm. “This is not good!”

Over the continuous beeping of the EMF meter, Ron said, “Maybe this is his way of getting back at us for not allowing him to channel.” He hesitated. “He’s going to kill us both.”

An involuntary sigh escaped my lips. “Ohhhhhhh, now’s not a good time to channel.” I mentally shoved back with greater force than I did at Stonehenge.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No, I can handle it,” I said, more determined than ever to remain in control.