by Maureen Wood
Intrigued, I stepped in for a closer look. That’s when something hit me. I grabbed my head. “What the hell was that? Something just hit me in the head.”
“What? What hit you?” Ron asked.
“I don’t know, it felt like I just got smacked in the temple.” We walked a few more feet, and bam! I grabbed my head again, half expecting to find blood. “What the hell? It hit me again!”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ron frantically looked from side to side, while Dan scanned the horizon.
Undaunted by what happened and curious, we pushed on.
We didn’t take more than a few steps before it happened again. I’d never had the butt end of a gun smashed into my temple, but if I did, I’m sure it would feel like this. The pain was excruciating, as Ron and Dan’s voices faded into the distance.
I dropped like a rock.
* * *
“Maureen, what the hell are you doing?” I’d been so consumed with the black shadow that I hadn’t even realized Maureen was on the ground. Until, that is, she began writhing and screaming. Her fingernails dug into the soft, weather-worn boards as she frantically crawled like a crab on her belly. “Maureen!”
She’d already slid her body across four feet of boards and was getting dangerously close to the drop-off I’d spied earlier in the day. Without waiting to see what she was going to do, I reached into my pocket, pulled out the little vial of holy water, and dove onto her. Turning her onto her back while holding her in place, I moistened the tip of my finger with the holy water and made the sign of the cross on her forehead. Returning the vial to my pocket, I placed the palm of my hand on her head and determinedly whispered, “I command you to leave this body. It is not your own. Leave in the name of Jesus Christ. I command you to leave.”
For what seemed like hours but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, she was eerily still. Her back rose and fell with each heavy intake of breath. “Maureen, are you back with us?” I shook her gently. “Maureen, answer me.”
She looked up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks. I’m getting my ass kicked tonight.” She shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs. “It felt like the same woman from the basement.”
“What the hell happened?” I asked.
“I don’t really know. One minute I was watching that black thing, and the next I felt something swoop down and hit me in the head. I think she was showing me how she died. I think she was hit by a blunt object, maybe the butt end of a rifle, right here,” she pointed to her left temple. “She was running for her life.” She swallowed hard. “I was running for my life.”
“Yeah, it almost looked like you were trying to crawl away from an attacker. It looked pretty scary.” I glanced at her tear-filled eyes. “Why don’t you go back to the house and take a break. The rest of us will finish up out here.”
Leo, who had been hanging back until now, said, “That sounds like a good idea. Come on Maureen, I’ll walk you back.”
* * *
As I walked with Leo back to the house, the skin beneath my fingernails was stinging so badly I wanted to scream. It felt like I had had tiny matchsticks shoved underneath them. The pain must have shown on my face, because the second I walked into the dining room, Kathleen, one of Sheri’s helpers, ran over to me. A nurse by trade, she said, “Are you okay? What happened to you out there?”
“I, um, fell.” She looked at me, disbelief evident in her eyes. That’s when I looked down at my jeans and noticed a large green stain stretching from my hip to my ankle. How the heck did that happen? I went into the bathroom with Kathleen at my heels.
“Let me see your hands,” she said.
I spread my hands out and held them up to the light. Slivers of pressure-treated wood, along with layers of dirt and moss, were wedged beneath my fingernails. No wonder I was in pain.
Kathleen grabbed her medical supply kit and within minutes she had removed all the splinters. Before bedding down, I sat and chatted with Sheri and the other ladies.
Sheri looked at me, cocking her head to the side, then leaned in toward me, staring at my left ear. “Oh no…Maureen,” she said, in a hushed tone. “You’re missing one of those lovely earrings.” Reaching up, I touched each earlobe. Darn it, she was right, my anniversary gift was now lost. I thought of what I’d just been through. If I’d lost it outside, I could kiss that earring goodbye. Surely it was gone for good.
Before I had a chance to dwell on my loss for too long, Ron and the rest of the group shuffled into the dining area. I slid closer to the ladies, making room at the picnic table.
“Ron, is now a good time to share the history of this place?” Sheri asked.
He stood for a moment and looked around the room, as if realizing the team was too exhausted to continue investigating. “Go for it,” he said.
She began, “There have been numerous reports of hauntings. However, the information I think you picked up on, Maureen,” Sheri glanced in my direction, “is the tragic events surrounding the murder-suicide. You see, a man by the name of Fred Milliken, described as a ‘giant’ of a man, lived on Wood Island with his wife and three children for several years in the 1890s. He was a game warden and a special policeman who had allowed a young lobsterman by the name of Hobbs to take up residence on Wood Island.” A hush settled over the room. Everyone was mesmerized by the story Sheri told. “According to the newspaper reports, on June 2, 1896, young Hobbs visited Old Orchard Beach. After becoming intoxicated, he headed back to the island. He told a friend he was going back to the island to visit Milliken. Only he took his rifle with him, for the purpose, he said, of shooting some birds.” She paused to take a breath. “Upon his return, Milliken, realizing Hobbs was drunk and carrying a rifle, ordered Hobbs to hand over the weapon. Hobbs refused. When Milliken approached, he was shot in the abdomen and died forty-five minutes later. Hobbs, distraught over what had happened, returned to the small rented shack located behind the keeper’s house. He then put the same rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The bullet passed through his head and lodged in the ceiling.”
The grisly tale was beginning to take shape.
“Maureen, I think you picked up on Hobbs. You know, when you said that ‘he felt guilty’ and that ‘it was an accident’ and that he hadn’t ‘meant to kill him.’ It’s just so sad. Why do you think he’s still here?”
“More than likely it’s the guilt. Evidently he’s refusing to let go of it. The information about Hobbs and Milliken makes a lot of sense. But I wonder who the woman is that I picked up on?”
“Well, that just tells me that we need to come back for another visit,” Ron said with a sheepish grin.
“We’d love to have you back,” Sheri and the volunteers chimed in.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, struggling to keep my eyes open. “But for now, I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to try and get some sleep.”
“Not at all.”
“I don’t know why, but I’d like to go down the boardwalk again,” Ron said.
“You can go if you want to, but I’m not. I’m going to bed.” I grabbed my sleeping bag and tucked myself into a corner of the room in front of the broken radiator. It looked like a good place to hide for a little while, if that was at all possible. I snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag, stuffed my jacket under my head for a pillow, and prayed for sleep. I began, however, to feel a prickling sensation dance atop my scalp, like a thousand little electrified fingers poking and prodding, searching for my attention. In my mind I begged the spirits to let me have a few hours’ sleep. Completely exhausted, I managed to push them away, and the last thing I remember was the murmur of voices and the slamming of the kitchen door as Ron led the group into the night.
* * *
I left Maureen curled up like a fat cat and led the remaining members of our expedition toward the other side of the island. As we walked through the darkness, we came upon a spot where the ground was level to the boardwalk. An eerie calm
ness filled the air, as if we were shielded from the outside world. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pendulum (yes, I have one too), and attempted to make contact. “Are there any spirits here with us now?”
The bobber of rhodonite swung counterclockwise, indicating a yes.
“Do you want to show us something?” I asked.
Another yes.
With greater intensity, the pendulum began to move to and fro, in the direction of the woods. “Oh, I think it’s trying to guide us somewhere,” I said. “That way, into the woods. Who’s game?”
With the exception of Dan, the rest of the group remained on the boardwalk.
Stepping over thorn bushes and ducking under low-hanging limbs, we followed the pendulum to a clearing void of underbrush. The hollow almost appeared to be the ruins of a homestead. Once again I began to ask questions. “Did you live here?”
Yes, the pendulum responded.
I continued to ask questions and found out that someone indeed had died, and not only died, but was murdered. The rest of my questions were unanswered as the pendulum came to a dead stop. Other than hearing a few noises, little else happened. I wondered why we had been led there. I had a sneaking suspicion that I would find out, but not that night. It was getting late, or, should I say, early, as it was heading toward the morning. We decided to return to the lighthouse.
* * *
I awoke to the murmur of Ron’s voice and coffee percolating in the kitchen. Doesn’t he ever sleep? I thought.
“Good morning,” Kathleen said, as I stirred from my sleeping bag. “How did you sleep?”
“Just ducky,” I said. “How about you?”
“I got a few hours’ sleep.” She smiled, and it seemed genuine. “I’m not sure if you remember, but you talked in your sleep. It was a little creepy. You sat up straight as a board and stared right through me. Then you said, ‘Peter, is that you?’”
“I did?”
“Well, the odd thing is, the last keepers of this lighthouse, before they moved out and realized the place was haunted, used a Ouija board. And, during the questioning, what name do you suppose came out?” Without waiting for me to respond, she said, “Peter!”
“Wow. That is weird.” Mentally exhausted I could only focus on one thing. Getting home to the warmth of my bed. But that wasn’t happening anytime soon. “Kathleen, what time is it?”
“It’s six-thirty. We have another hour and a half before the boat shows up.”
“Thanks,” I said. After freshening up, I pitched in with everyone as we packed up our gear. “Can you keep an eye out for my earring?” I asked them. I took the lone earring off and placed it gently in my shirt pocket.
“Sure,” Sheri replied. “If we don’t find it now, we won’t be returning again until the spring. But you never know.”
“Thanks.”
All thirteen of us walked outside. Although the air off the ocean was freezing, the skies were a brilliant blue. I walked down to the ledge behind the lighthouse and watched the waves crash over the rocks. I had survived the night. And now the scenery before me almost made up for losing my earring. Almost.
Although I was disappointed, I was never so happy to see captain Sean and the Light Runner. Anxious to leave, we quickly loaded our gear and boarded the boat.
Once home, I shared my experiences with my husband, finishing with an apology for losing half of his anniversary gift. I then placed the remaining earring in my jewelry box for safe keeping. Who knew, perhaps in the spring I’d be lucky and the Friends of Wood Island Lighthouse would find it. It could happen…
Two weeks later, I woke up one morning to find the silver filigree earring sitting on the top of my jewelry box. My heart thudded wildly in my chest as I held the earring, opened my jewelry box, and, to my surprise, found the other one. My mind raced with the possibilities. I found it difficult to comprehend. How could I lose an earring over two hundred miles away, and have it appear out of nowhere?
I guess that, dealing with the paranormal as long as I have, I should know that anything is possible…
* * *
Several weeks later, the Ghost Line rang. “Hello, New England Ghost Project, Ron Kolek speaking.”
The caller seemed hesitant to speak. An awkward silence hung in the air between us. “Uh, you, you’re going to think I’m crazy,” a man’s voice finally said.
“You’d be surprised, I’ve heard it all,” I chuckled, trying to relieve the tension in the air.
“Well, it’s difficult to describe. First of all, let me say that I’m from the Midwest and know nothing about the East Coast. Last night I had this dream…about an island, off the coast of Maine, called Wood Island.” He paused, then continued. “It was quite disturbing. There was a colonial family being held in a house, no, a shack, on the island. They were terrified. Each member of the family was slowly slaughtered one by one. It was horrifying.”
“That does sound disturbing. But I have to say, why are you calling me?”
“Well, there’s more. When I woke up, it disturbed me so much that I did a Google search for ‘Wood Island’ and found its site. Scanning the site, I found a link to your site, then nearly spit out my coffee when I saw your photo.”
“Thanks. I tend to have that effect on people.”
“No, seriously, you were in my dream. Which is why I was compelled to call. I don’t know why, but I think you should know about this.”
As I hung up the phone, I immediately began to think about the hollow in the woods. Had I been led there to uncover a secret? Or was there a mystery to be unearthed? Only time would tell…
RESULTS OF THE INVESTIGATION
Ron and Karen simultaneously witnessed a parade of unexplainable green lights in the attic. High levels of EMF readings were recorded in the lighthouse and throughout the keeper’s house. Maureen made contact with two spirits: a woman who has yet to be identified, and a man who, because of his guilt and remorse, appears to be the lobsterman, Hobbs. While investigating the island, Thermal Dan captured a black shadow swooping down with his thermal camera, moments before Maureen began to trance channel the spirit of a frightened girl trying to escape. And last but not least was the reappearance of Maureen’s earring two weeks after the investigation.
Although our investigation revealed many of Wood Island’s secrets, it is still shrouded in mystery. Was the caller’s dream a prelude to voices yet unheard? In order to put these unanswered questions to rest, another journey to Wood Island will be needed.
CONCLUSION
Ron, with his down-to-earth scientific approach, and Maureen, with her psychic insight, have taken you on a journey into the realm of the unknown, the unexplained, and the unbelievable. You were there alongside them while they unraveled the mysteries of each and every case.You witnessed the dangers of the unknown and the risk associated with communicating with the dead. But more importantly, you’ve learned why Maureen is known as the Queen of Pain and that Ron, well, he’s just…a pain.
These seventeen episodes are a sampling of true cases from a selection of over three hundred investigative files of the New England Ghost Project. Although team members have come and gone, the true spirit of the NEGP can be seen in each and every case we investigate. Whether it’s helping the living or dealing with the dead, we hope that this book provided you with a unique perspective into the lives of people touched by the paranormal.
From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
~Scottish Prayer
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
About Ron Kolek
Ron Kolek is the founder and lead investigator of the New England Ghost Project. With a degree in environmental science, he was the ultimate skeptic. However, a neardeath experience changed all that. No longer blinded by his skepticism, he now uses his scientific background to seek the truth about the paranormal. In addition to producing and hosting Ghost Chro
nicles on Ghostvillage Radio, iTunes, and PodCast Alley, he also produces and hosts two weekly, one-hour, live radio shows (Ghost Chronicles Live and Ghost Chronicles International) on TogiNet.com and Para-X Radio.Ghost Chronicles previously aired live for three years on WCCM, 1490 AM in Lawrence, Massachusetts. Ron was also a contributor to Jeff Belanger’s Encyclopedia of Haunted Places (2005), Thomas D’Agostino’s Haunted NH (2007), Kalyomi’s Ghosts from Coast to Coast (2007), and Chris Balzano’s Picture Yourself Ghost Hunting (2008), and has previously written a monthly paranormal newspaper column for over six years. He has been on every major New England television station and has also been the subject of a German television documentary.
About Maureen Wood
Maureen Wood is a fifth-generation psychic/trance medium. Since as far back as she can remember, she has communicated with the deceased. At the age of fifteen, she was introduced to a woman who studied with Laurie Cabot (official witch of Salem, Massachusetts).This woman took Maureen under her wing and guided her in ways to not only understand, but also control her gifts. Also at the age of fifteen, she served as a medium for adult séances. She has practiced, studied, and instructed metaphysical studies for more than twenty-five years. Maureen is currently the lead psychic/medium for the New England Ghost Project and co-host of the popular radio shows Ghost Chronicles and Ghost Chronicles Live.Maureen was a contributor to Jeff Belanger’s Communicating With the Dead (2005), Roxie Zwicker’s Haunted Portland (2007), and Chris Balzano’s Picture Yourself Ghost Hunting (2008), and has also written a monthly paranormal newspaper column. Like Ron, Maureen has also appeared on every major New England television station and has been the subject of a German television documentary.
If you would like to contact either Ron or Maureen, you can find them on their website at www.neghostproject.com. You can also listen to Ghost Chronicles live on www.TogiNet.com, www.GhostVillage.com, Para-X Radio, and iTunes.
