by Joe Nickell
The phenomena allegedly continued for two years. A seventeen-year-old niece claimed an unseen hand fondled her on occasion as she lay in bed, and there were many other reported occurrences, including more apparitions, noises, and physical attacks—especially alleged demonic sexual attacks on Carmen Snedeker (Carpenter 1988; Corica and Smith 1988a).
Then the Snedekers brought in notorious “demonologist” Ed Warren and his “clairvoyant” wife Lorraine. The couple made a business—some would say a racket—of spirits. They came to be called many things, ranging from “passionate and religious people” to “scaremongers” and “charlatans” (Duckett 1991). Already having helped promote the Amityville “horror” and a similar West Pittston, Pennsylvania, “nightmare” (Curran 1988), they continued their modus operandi of arriving at a “haunted” house and transforming the case into a “demonic” one, in keeping with their own medieval-style Catholic beliefs. (Like the Lutzes at Amityville and the Smurls at West Pittston, the Snedekers were self-described devout Catholics.)
Bringing with them two “psychic researchers” (the Warrens’ grandson and nephew), Ed and Lorraine Warren moved into the house for nine weeks. While denying there was any book deal in progress, the researchers had in fact made just such an arrangement. Mrs. Snedeker had already told her upstairs neighbor about the deal, saying she and her husband were to receive one-third of the profits (Carpenter 1988; Corica and Smith 1988a, 1988b).
Soon both Al and Carmen Snedeker were publicly claiming to have been raped and sodomized by demons—the same claim made in a previous case involving the Warrens (Nickell 1995, 131). They would repeat these claims on national television shows—notably on Sally Jessy Raphael—to promote their book with the Warrens, In a Dark Place: The Story of a True Haunting (Warren et al. 1992). It was written with professional horror-tale writer Ray Garton and timed—like the Sally show—for Halloween promotion, 1992.
INVESTIGATION
Although I had earlier appeared with Carmen Snedeker on The Maury Povich Show (taped March 2, 1992), my investigation intensified when Sally Jessy Raphael producers sent me an advance copy of the Warrens and Snedekers’ book and invited me on the show. I later visited Southington as a guest of one of the Snedekers’ neighbors.
On the Sally show (taped October 19, aired October 30), I appeared with the Warrens and Snedekers as well as several of the latter's skeptical Southington neighbors. Ed made veiled threatening asides to me (not aired) and, offstage, swore like a sailor. During the taping, the Snedekers sat on a brass bed while telling their story of demonic sexual attack.
Among their most effective critics was Mrs. Kathy Altemus, who lived across the street from the Snedekers during their entire residence in the Hallahan House. Beginning in mid-July 1988, Mrs. Altemus kept a journal of events relating to 208 Meriden Avenue. As she told Sally, “I discovered that there were usually things going on in the neighborhood that explained the things they put in the newspaper.” The journal—which she generously shared with me to help “expose the truth” (Altemus 1993)—juxtaposes her written records with news clippings arranged chronologically. The result is revealing. For instance, the television program A Current Affair mentioned the sound of clanking chains in the house, presumably from the coffin lift in the basement. But Mrs. Altemus's journal shows that the noise most likely was from a truck that passed by, making a sound like it was “dragging a chain.” Other events also had credible explanations, some attributable to various passersby mentioned in the journal as “pulling pranks on the ‘haunted house’” (Nickell 1995, 137, 147n98).
The journal also sheds light on another event. As sensationalized in the New Britain Herald, either a “bizarre coincience or ghost” was indicated by a power outage—caused by a tree limb that fell onto an electrical line outside the Hallahan House just after A Current Affair broadcast “a segment on the Snedeker family of that address.” According to the paper, a utility spokesman “was at a loss to explain just why the limb chose that particular time to knock out the power.” In fact, however, the incident did not occur at the time of the television program but approximately two hours later. Besides, as the journal makes clear, such outages have occurred several times on tree-lined Meriden Avenue, when limbs have fallen on the uninsulated line. Such an event, in fact, actually occurred when I was in Southington at the Altemus home in June 1993. It seems unlikely that demonic forces were heralding my arrival or had no better means of attempting to scare me away.
Long before the Sally show, in re sponse to the Warrens’ shameless media exploitation, the Snedekers’ landlady—who had served them with an eviction notice for failing to pay their rent—had responded to the supernatural claims. She and her husband, she said, had owned the property for two and a half years and had experienced no problems with it.
“Personally, my husband and I do not believe in ghosts and to us, the whole issue seems ridiculous. I find it ironic that after more than two years as tenants, suddenly we are told about these alleged ghosts and then read in the paper that the Warrens will be conducting a seminar and will be charging the public for it.
“If the ghosts really are there, then why did the Snedekers stay there over two years and why are they staying there now? Are they looking for publicity or profit, or what?” the landlady said (quoted in DiMauro and Starmack 1989).
The Snedekers’ upstairs neighbor had similar views. Calling the Warrens “con artists,” she said: “I haven't experienced anything. I definitely know that no one has been raped up here.” She told reporters that the Warrens, who she was convinced were exploiting the situation for personal gain, “have caused a lot of problems here and they are not ghost problems” (Corica and Smith 1988b).
Other revealing information came to light in Southington—about Philip Snedeker's drug use, vandalism, and other misbehavior. There was even an explanation for the sexual touching that Carmen's niece had felt “from an unseen hand.” The boy was actually caught fondling his nieces while they slept. “Steven” (as he is called in the book) “was taken away by the police that afternoon. He was questioned, at which time he confessed that he'd been fondling the girls while they slept at night, and that he'd attempted unsuccessfully to have sex with his twelve-year-old cousin.” He was later taken to the juvenile detention center, where a psychiatrist diagnosed him as schizophrenic (Warren et al. 1992, 145–47).
CONCLUSIONS
Many people branded the Warren-Snedeker-Garton book fiction. Said the husband of the Snedekers’ landlady: “It's a fraud. It's a joke. It's a hoax. It's Halloween.” He added, “It's a scheme to make money.” Those comments appeared in a brilliantly titled newspaper article (Schmidt 1992), “Couple Sees Ghost; Skeptics See through It.” As indicated by the evidence—the publicity-seeking actions in the case and the timing of the book for Halloween promotion—there is reason to doubt the motives of those involved. If the case did not originate as a hoax, I concluded from my original investigation (Nickell 1995, 139), people could scarcely be blamed for thinking it has been transformed into one.
Subsequent developments have only supported that conclusion. Some of the coauthors of the Warrens’ books have reportedly since admitted that Ed Warren (who died in 2006) told them to make up incidents and details to create “scary” stories (Nickell 2006). Ray Garton, the award-winning horror writer who wrote the book about the Southington case—on which the movie The Haunting in Connecticut is based—has now effectively repudiated that book. He says he is glad that it went out of print, adding: “The family involved, which was going through some serious problems like alcoholism and drug addiction, could not keep their story straight, and I became very frustrated; it's hard writing a non-fiction book when all the people involved are telling you different stories” (“Ray Garton” 2009). So much for the movie being “based on true events.”
We have come a long way since the time of the first real-life “scientific detective,” an Austrian attorney named Hans Gross (1847–1915). Gross seemed to embody, in real li
fe, Sherlock Holmes's fictional ability to glean much information from a bit of evidence others had overlooked. His “manual for examining magistrates,” published in 1893 (and eventually republished in English as Criminal Investigation) advocated the use of forensic medicine, ballistics, toxicology, and other sciences. He coined the term criminalistics (Nickell and Fischer 1999, 8–10).
Since the early 1970s I have endeavored to apply forensic techniques to the paranormal—including spirit phenomena and hauntings. Incidentally, today's popular acronym “CSI” stands not only for crime-scene investigation (or investigator) but also for Committee for Skeptical Inquiry—my employer and the publisher of Skeptical Inquirer science magazine. I am, indeed, a CSI for CSI.
The following are abstracts of several of my important early cases, illustrating how particular applications of forensic science have helped solve purportedly otherworldly mysteries.
LASER-LIGHT EXAMINATION
A case I investigated in 1985 began when some forty persons each paid twenty dollars to attend a séance in Lexington, Kentucky. There, alleged spirit productions called “precipitations on silk” were manifested (figure 37.1). The “medium” placed an open bottle of ink on a table and, as the attendees sat in the darkened room, each had a small square cloth placed in his or her lap. After suitably invoking the spirits, who then purportedly spoke through the entranced channeler, he went about the room carrying a lamp with a dim red bulb. This created an eerie effect. As each person turned over his or her square cloth, three or four thumbprint-sized “spirit” faces were seen to have apparently materialized onto the fabric.
I was made aware of the case of a young woman who had attended the séance. She felt she had been scammed. I submitted her cloth swatch to examination by forensic analyst John F. Fischer. While infrared and ultraviolet light showed nothing, argon laser light revealed a circular stain around each face: this was evidence of a different type of spirits—a solvent such as ammonia or alcohol—used to transfer a newspaper or magazine photograph onto fabric, using a hot iron (figures 37.2–37.3).
Obviously the swatches shown the sitters were blank, but after the lights were extinguished, those were switched for prepared ones. The book The Psychic Mafia (Keene and Spraggett 1976, 64–66) tells how such fakes were made at the spiritualist Camp Chesterfield in Indiana—the very place the medium in question resided (see figure 37.4). Although I obtained police warrants against him, the small fee he had charged each victim kept the offense within the misdemeanor range, and so he could not be extradited. However, until his death he did not again ply his fraud in Kentucky. (See Nickell 1988, 47–60.)
FORENSIC SEROLOGY
My first direct encounter with a claimed paranormal origin of blood occurred in 1978. It involved an eastern Kentucky farmhouse located, curiously, on “Deadening Branch.” The deserted house had a front door that reportedly bled—indeed bore mysterious streaks that supposedly correlated with a century-old tragedy: a boy crushed to death in a cane-mill mishap was reportedly “laid out” on the door before being buried in the cemetery overlooking the site. Here was a popular folklore motif, the “ineradicable bloodstain after bloody tragedy.”
Actually, the grayish streaks visible on the door were consistent with water-borne substances such as dirt, tar, decaying leaves, and so forth, that had washed down from the roof. I lightly scraped off some of the deposit, carefully wrapping it in paper for future testing. This was carried out by forensic analyst John F. Fischer, who conducted several preliminary tests for various hemoglobin-related compounds, using reagents that yield color reactions in the presence of those compounds. The various tests were negative, indicating no blood was present, even in trace amounts. When mysterious noises and other phenomena that made up the “haunting” were explained, the case gave up the ghost. (See Nickell 1988, 119–28.)
BLOOD-PATTERN ANALYSIS
Atlanta's “House of Blood” mystery began on September 8, 1987, at the home of an elderly African American couple. Blood began to flow from the walls and spring up from the floor “like a sprinkler.” Police were called and, although they took color crime-scene photos (figure 37.5), they abandoned the case after concluding no crime had occurred. Soon, however, exaggerated accounts of the “unexplained” case began to be circulated, and the bizarre phenomenon was attributed to poltergeist activity.
I began an investigation of the occurrence in 1991. I obtained special access to the police file and discussed the case—both on and off the record—with the homicide commander. From the photographs it did not appear to me that the blood had manifested in the manner described, so I submitted copies of the photos to forensic blood-pattern analyst Judith Bunker. Her subsequent report detailed how the blood had been applied in “spurt” patterns onto the floor and walls, discrediting the witnesses’ statements and supporting additional evidence that suggested a hoax. As one police investigator said somewhat cryptically, “Some adults will act like children just to get attention.” (See the section titled “House of Blood” in chapter 3 of Nickell 1995, 92–97.)
ACOUSTICS
Among my early paranormal investigations—and my first “haunting”—was that of Canada's famous ghost residence, Mackenzie House in downtown Toronto. Prior to my visits in 1972–1973, strange occurrences there were attributed to the spirit of William Lyon Mackenzie. Among the most interesting of the varied phenomena were sounds of heavy footsteps on the old stairs. These occurred when caretakers were lying abed in a rear bedroom on the other side of the house. During these occasions the couple were alone in the locked house. On occasion they heard other sounds, such as piano music, even though the piano sat unused in the parlor.
The sounds were puzzling until, on a tip from one earwitness, I visited the adjacent building. There, against the proximate wall, separated by just forty inches, was a parallel iron staircase. On those stairs the noisy footfalls of real people—members of the building superintendent's family or the nighttime cleanup crew—created the illusion that someone was treading the staircase in Mackenzie House, especially to those lying quietly and thinking of ghosts. As to the piano music, the super's apartment jutted above the flat expanse of the rest of the Macmillan building. He explained how his son's piano music wafted across the flat roof, struck the taller brick house, and was consequently amplified by a sort of echo-chamber effect caused by the hollow space between the two buildings. Privately, the custodian had determined that the sounds actually seemed louder inside the house due to the effect of the amplification. Over time, unexplained sounds and other occurrences had developed into a full-blown case of what psychologists call contagion (see appendix)—a sort of bandwagon effect in which people's ghostly experiences prompt others to have experiences of their own (Nickell 1988, 17–27).
MACROSCOPY
Macroscopy (distinguished from microscopy) is the scrutiny of things that are visible to the naked eye or with a simple magnifying glass. Sometimes even a lay person may be able to make a close inspection and see the obvious. Take the case of America's most infamous haunted house. As told in Jay Anson's The Amityville Horror—falsely subtitled A True Story (1977)—in 1975 the Lutz family moved into a six-bedroom Dutch colonial home on Long Island, New York, in the community of Amityville, where, the previous year, young Ronald DeFeo had murdered his parents and siblings in cold blood. Just weeks after moving in, the Lutzes were telling a fantastic tale of being driven out by demonic spirits. They said a door was ripped off its hinges, among other damage, and that one entity had left clover-hoofed tracks in the snow outside! Now there are actually forensic techniques for recording footprints in snow (Nickell and Fischer 1999, 151), but in this case there was a bigger problem: The whole story began to fall apart.
I contacted the later owners, talking with Barbara Cromarty on three occasions, including when I visited Amityville as a consultant to the In Search Of… television series. She told me the damage to doors and windows never occurred. Not only was the old hardware obviously still in place but, upon
close inspection, one could see that there were no disturbances to the original paint and varnish. When the TV show That's Incredible featured the case in its premier episode, the producers took my advice and had Mrs. Cromarty guide them through the house, the camera taking a close look at the features she pointed out. As to the cloven footprints in the snow, researchers discovered that, on the date given, there had been no snowfall on the ground. Other claims were similarly disproved, and eventually William Weber, attorney for Ronald DeFeo, admitted colluding with the Lutzes on a book deal: “We created this horror story over many bottles of wine that George Lutz was drinking” (Nickell 1995, 122–29).
OBLIQUE-LIGHT EXAMINATION
Among the “physical phenomena” commonly manifested during the heyday of spiritualism were paintings produced in various media and under a variety of conditions but attributed to spirit entities. Frequently the pictures were ordinary pastels like those produced by the notorious Bangs Sisters (whose methods I have discussed elsewhere at length [Nickell 2001, 267–75]). However, a rather unusual spirit painting—exhibited at the spiritualist village Lily Dale, in Western New York—is of particular interest. It was produced by the Campbell “Brothers” (actually a gay couple, Allan B. Campbell [1853–1919], and Charles “Campbell” Shrouds [d. 1926]). Supposedly portraying Allan Campbell's spirit guide, Azur, the picture is a striking forty-by-sixty-inch oil painting that reportedly materialized—from a blank canvas, through several stages of development—over an hour and a half's time. The “spirits,” accompanied by an allegedly entranced Campbell, worked behind a curtain; each time it was drawn back, séance attendees saw a new stage of the painting.
