The Ghost Chronicles

by Maureen Wood

  I hadn’t finished my last bite before the EMF meter in my pocket began blaring. I took one look at Maureen’s vacant stare and knew something was up. Standing by the doorway to the room with the fireplace, I called for the rest of the group. We had to act fast, or we’d miss the connection.

  “Nick, we’re gonna do it. I don’t want to lose it.” I sent my wife, Jan, to retrieve the rest of the team.

  Over the incessant beeping of the EMF meter, Jan’s voice could be heard. “My husband bellows.” Only she would say that, I thought, as the room quickly filled with people.

  * * *

  By the time Ron and the rest of the team entered the room, I already had my pendulum in my hand and had begun to feel the first surge of familiar energy. Realizing that Ron understood my plan, I maneuvered myself beneath the entranceway. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on my intent, and reached out with my mind. This is a silent, internal conversation I sometimes have with entities, a way for me to open up, by mentally asking who they are and if they wish to communicate. I placed a karmic phone call, and as I did, I struggled for a moment to push back the awkwardness of having what felt like a million eyes focused on me.

  I can’t help it. I still feel self-conscious under the watchful eye of new clients.

  I turned to Ron. “Can you feel it?” I asked, inhaling deeply, my body adjusting to the sudden onslaught of energy. I looked up into the eyes of Nick and his family, along with the reporter from the local newspaper, who had decided to join us at the last minute.

  Is anyone else picking this up?

  I sighed, as I gazed into the blank stares of the onlookers. Apparently not, but I knew we were not alone.

  With that, it began. My third eye pulsated, the swirling energy so strong it encompassed my whole face. Even as my arms began to throb in pain from the sudden onslaught of energy, my consciousness ebbed and flowed. I felt distant, detached. The sound of disembodied voices rumbled in my brain. The air was charged, sizzling with electricity. There was no disguising it. A spirit had arrived. “Is someone with us right now?” I asked, already knowing the answer. My pendulum responded with a spinning yes.

  “Do you want to talk to us?” Ron asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Is this a male or a female?”

  A voice echoed out of the background; Ron Jr. piped in sarcastically, “Yes-or-no questions.”

  I didn’t need the pendulum because instinctively I knew, “Male.”

  “That works…” Ron responded, ignoring his faux pas.

  “Not my…” I stumbled through gasps of breath. It was becoming increasingly difficult to speak. “Not my…” Suddenly I was struck with the overwhelming feeling of grief. But it wasn’t mine; it was Mr. Houghton’s. His feeling of loss became almost unbearable. “Not my Mary,” I spat out, fighting the tears that caused my mascara to run. “It’s not my fault. I’m sorry.”

  “Who was Mary again?” Ron asked, looking for help.

  “Mary was Houghton’s daughter,” Paul said.

  “Is this A. C. Houghton?” Ron asked.

  The energy became crippling, preventing me from communicating verbally. All the while the pendulum continued to swing to and fro, supplying Ron and the remainder of the group with yes and no answers that I myself was unable to give.

  “Hey Ron, something’s going on with the camera,” Marc stammered. “It’s going in and out of focus.”

  Turning to Marc, Ron said, “That’s typical, just keep shooting.” Sometimes when a spirit passes in front of a lens it interferes with auto focus. Without missing a beat, Ron turned his attention back to me and asked again, “Who are we speaking with? Is it Mr. Houghton?” The pendulum swung a resounding yes.

  “Do you want to leave this place?”

  The pendulum swung wildly, indicating no.

  Ron turned to the group, as if to explain my silence and the change of my demeanor. “Maureen’s also an empath. She can pick up on how somebody died.”

  I found my voice. “I can’t feel my arms. They’re so heavy,” I said, tears running down my face, nearly dropping my grandmother’s rosary beads I had clutched in my hand. “The grief, it’s so horrible. The pain,” I said, grabbing my left arm. “I think he died of a heart attack. I can’t feel my arm, it’s numb. I have to break the connection.”

  “Do you want to go outside?”

  Mimicking Ron’s words, I begged, “I have to go outside.” Ron closed the gap between us and grabbed my arm.

  Invisible electrified hands pushed up and under my ribcage and shoved me back. In an unnatural motion I doubled over slightly in pain, recoiling from Ron’s touch. “Oy, it hurts!” I said, my hand covering my abdomen.

  “What the hell was that? You’re not going to get outside that way.”

  “He’s trying to keep me here,” I said, shoving the pendulum into Ron’s hand. Regaining strength I shook off Houghton’s advances. With Ron’s hand on my arm, we headed for the door.

  Stepping into the night, a cool breeze touched my face. With it came a welcome sense of relief that the spirit was no longer with me. Bent over, my hands on my knees, I took several deep breaths to clear what felt like cobwebs in my brain. The last remnants of residual energy finally dissipating, I turned to look up at Ron for his reaction to what he’d just witnessed.

  Through furrowed brows, Ron asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I lied. Not wanting to look as weak as I felt, I pushed my raw emotions to the recesses of my mind and stood straight and tall. But I really wasn’t ready.

  “Let’s go back in?”

  “I’m right behind you.” Great.

  Drying my eyes and freshening up, I reentered the meeting room, which was alive with chatter, where we wolfed down the last remnants of the pizza and endured interviews with the reporter.

  “Ron, now what?” I asked.

  “Okay, let’s do a sweep of the building.”

  Nick, all too anxious to start, bolted down the hallway. Both Ron and I had to hustle to keep up with him, the rest of the entourage close on our heels. We followed him down the old creaking stairs to the bowels of the building. The basement was a maze of brick rooms in various states of decay. I coughed as I took in the thick musty smell of damp dirt. Passing from room to room, we searched for any indication of paranormal activity. Our search was interrupted by the squelch of the two-way radio. It was Jan from base camp.

  “Ron, we lost radio signal from the infrared camera to the base camp.”

  * * *

  “Maureen, wait up,” I said, as I responded to my wife’s update over the walkie-talkie. “Crap. Well, there’s no point in staying there. Why don’t you join us?” That’s typical, I thought. “It looks like they’re screwing with us again.” More often than not, paranormal investigation and electrical interference problems go hand in hand because it is believed that the spirits use the energy to manifest.

  With that we continued our sweep. Walking down a long, dark corridor, we entered the farthest room on the right, the boiler room. We stopped abruptly in front of the massive cast-iron furnace, where we attempted to make contact.

  “I can feel something,” Maureen blurted out.

  “I’m not picking up anything,” I said, with an arcing motion of my EMF meter.

  “I’m telling you, someone’s here,” she said, more insistently. “They’re hesitant, not sure whether we can be trusted. It’s almost as if they’re skirting us.”

  I began haphazardly scanning the area in an attempt to catch the spirit. Reaching below waist level the meter came to life.

  “I told you,” Maureen interjected. “It’s a little girl.” She closed her eyes as if to concentrate. “She’s playful. I think she has blonde hair.”

  Nick chimed in. “I don’t know of any little girl that would have died here.”

  “That’s okay. It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you, she’s here.”

  Agreeing with Maureen, I said, “Nick, we are the first team to reall
y investigate the mansion. There may be spirits here that you don’t even know about.”

  Maureen did say she was playful, so I attempted to provoke the child spirit. “If you’re here, can you show us? Give us a sign.” I thought for a moment. “Can you knock my cap off my head?”

  We paused, giving her a chance to respond.

  Nothing happened.

  As if rushing to the spirit’s defense, Maureen said, “I think she’s scared. After all, she’s not used to anyone knowing she’s here.”

  Unable to get any more information from our reluctant visitor, I turned to the team. “I guess we’re done here. Let’s go upstairs.”

  We left the basement and continued our sweep of the house. With Nick still in the lead, we climbed the regal stairs to the second level, passing through endless rooms with little result, until we came upon Mary’s room. Although my EMF meter remained silent, Maureen felt an energy swirling about her. Unable to make contact, we ventured on until we reached a set of massive doors. “What’s this, Nick?”

  “It’s our Masonic Lodge. Want to see something cool?” Nick asked, his lips twitching up in a smile. “Check this out.” Raising his arm, he gestured us to follow him.

  We stood in front of a wall full of large wooden levers and watched as Nick, grabbing a fistful of wood, flipped each switch. Motioning us aside he threw open the door of the lodge, then summoned us into the darkness.

  “Wait for it,” Nick said, giddy as a schoolboy.

  As if by magic the parade of lights began. From right to left, the old bulbs came to life, jumping from one bulb to the next, causing a domino effect of illumination around the room. We stood transfixed for a moment as the room swelled with light. The feeling of serenity passed over us as if we’d entered another realm. It was simply amazing. At each end of the hundred-footlong hall stood three velvet thrones on platforms, and burgundy benches lined the sides of the walls. As we walked past the Italian tile portraying the image of Galileo, we approached the kneeling altar in the center of the room. “Wow. This is awesome.” I said.

  “Oh my God, the energy is so peaceful,” Maureen added.

  “You feeling anything here?” I asked.

  “Yes. Safe.” Maureen smiled. “They can’t touch me here.”

  The feeling of euphoria resonated with the team; we all seemed at ease here. As if not wanting to leave, we lingered for quite a while. Never having had the opportunity to be inside a Masonic Lodge before, we were like kids in a toy store, eager to explore. The time flew by as we asked endless questions of our hosts. Soon, though, I realized it was time to move on. There was still so much to do.

  Most of the group headed back to base camp while Greg, Nick’s son-in-law, led me up a metal ladder to a door in the roof. Stepping over puddles of water we made our way to its edge. The view was breathtaking. The lights of the town illuminated the spires of the churches and the fog-covered mountains in the distance. Awesome, I thought. It was a picture-perfect view. We chatted for a moment, then turned to head back. As we walked across the tarred roof, we heard what sounded like footsteps sloshing in the water behind us. We quickly turned, only to be greeted by a rush of cold air and the beep, beep, beep of my EMF meter.

  There was no one there.

  We were alone.

  Greg and I looked at each other, momentarily stunned.

  We stood transfixed to the spot. Waiting for something, anything, to happen.

  Silence.

  Excited with what had transpired, but unwilling to wait any longer, we shrugged our shoulders and climbed down the ladder and headed back to base camp.

  It was now nearing the “witching hour,” two o’clock in the morning, the time, according to folklore, when the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest, and creatures of the night are at their strongest.

  “Team, let’s finish this investigation,” I said, as I reached under the table where I’d hidden the tarnished, silver candelabra. For the last few days, I’d been thinking of how I’d like to wrap up the investigation. But, knowing how strong Maureen felt about this little subject, I thought I’d spring it on her at the last moment. “What do you guys think about doing a seated communication by candlelight?” I said, barely able to contain the excitement in my voice.

  Maureen spoke through a muffled yawn. “What, you’re kidding, right?” She frowned at the white, half-melted-down candles and the pack of matches I’d just laid down on the table.

  Ignoring Maureen, I turned to Nick. “Hey, wouldn’t it be awesome to do a seated communication by candlelight, in the study?”

  “Call it what you like, Ron, but it’s still a séance.” Maureen slowly studied the faces, scanning the room for a reaction. Although she didn’t say it, I could tell by the look on her face that she was thinking about the many years she’d spent as a medium for séances. She’d warned me about her concerns weeks ago, when I’d mentioned my growing interest in having one. “Séances in the wrong hands can be extremely dangerous. Sometimes doors opened are not so easily closed. Not to mention what may slip through,” she’d said. But not one to be easily dissuaded, and wanting to experience it all myself, I didn’t let up.

  “Come on. It’ll be great.” I did my best to guile Maureen, but so far, she wasn’t budging. “Look, what could it hurt?”

  “I’d be interested in trying it. I’ve never had the opportunity to be involved in one,” Nick said. “I’ve only been able to see them on television.”

  “Me too.” Sarah, Nick’s daughter, joined in. “Oh my God, that would be incredible!”

  “Fine,” Maureen grumbled under her breath. “We’ll have a séance, but only if you take it seriously, Ron. It’s not something to be taken lightly.”

  “You will? Great!” On some level, I was disappointed; I’d half expected to have to fight a little harder for it. Man, she must be tired. Now I felt bad. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

  “Whatever.”

  Grabbing the candelabra, I made a beeline for the door. You have to strike when the iron’s hot. The dining room was a large room off the foyer, with rich mahogany wainscoting. The temperature sensor in the room had read 66.6 degrees all night long. So it only seemed natural that, if we were going to perform a séance, this room should be the place.

  Nick and I grabbed a round banquet table and placed it in the center of the room in front of the green marble fireplace. Positioning the infrared camera on the mantle, we adjusted the focus. While Nick and I organized the chairs around the table, Marc, our cameraman, set up the camcorder on the tripod in the corner of the room. Since everyone was partaking in the séance, we left base camp unmanned.

  Maureen, after placing a variety of crystals and other items for protection on the center of the table, beckoned to the team to take their seats. “You guys are sure you want to do this, right?”

  “What are you, crazy? Of course we do,” I said, speaking for everyone present. I closed the pocket doors and turned off the lights, setting the stage for what was to come.

  Taking a seat to the left of Maureen, I positioned the EMF meter, along with my 35mm and temperature sensor, directly in front of me, and then turned toward her, silently signaling for her to take over.

  “Here’s the deal,” Maureen said. “Everyone please hold hands. But I want to make sure you are aware of a couple things before we start. First and most importantly, never, and I mean never, break the circle until I say so. Think of our hands like a continuous chain of energy. If the chain is broken, even if you clasp hands again, you risk allowing unwanted spiritual energy to enter.”

  “So, if someone pulls their hand away, and even if they clasp them again, it’s similar to a repaired part of a chain-link fence being the weakest link, right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Maureen answered. She looked from me to those seated at the table. “This is why I don’t want you to be caught unaware. It’s pretty common that your body, because of the strong bond of holding hands, begins to feel odd. In fact, d
on’t be surprised if you start feeling what I do. But please don’t panic.” Maureen picked up the salt that Nick had retrieved from the kitchen earlier and made a full circle around the table and all those who were seated. “The salt will help protect us from unwanted energies,” she said, capturing the curious stares of all present. She took her seat once again. “Okay. Is everyone ready?”

  With an air of uncertainty, the group collectively agreed.

  We all joined hands.

  “I hope you don’t get offended, but we’ll be saying the Lord’s Prayer.” Not waiting for a response she continued, “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

  “We invite only spirits that do not wish us harm to enter this circle,” Maureen finished.

  The protection seemed to be working, maybe too well, for nothing was getting through. But it wasn’t long before a banging shattered the silence. Startled, the group turned toward the pocket doors. “Did everyone hear that?”

  “Yes,” Nick replied, a quiver in his voice.

  My EMF meter went off, and a familiar look of pain passed over Maureen’s face.

  The atmosphere in the room had changed. A cold air began to dance at our feet.

  “Do you guys feel this too? My feet are freezing,” Sarah said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

  Maureen’s words echoed in my brain. “Don’t break the link.” Lifting my left hand, I grabbed Janet’s right hand and placed it over my own right hand, freeing me to grab the camera. I shoved it under the table and pressed the shutter. The light from the flash frightened the group. “My bad,” I exclaimed, meeting nervous laughter.

  I began asking questions with no reply. “Damn, looks like the protection is too good.”

  “Fine.” Maureen called out as if to remedy the situation, “Okay, we will allow whoever is here to join us, as long as you mean us no harm.”

  Words we would later regret.

  Anxious to continue, I began my questioning again. “Are there any spirits who would like to talk?”

  Maureen slowly raised her head. Through a voice not her own, she replied, “Yes, why are you here?”

  My heart began to thud wildly in my chest. I stared into her vacant eyes for the space of a heartbeat. “Who are you?”