Blessed Are the Wicked

by Steven A. LaChance

  One night, after a huge blow-up with her, I went to stand up and I could hardly walk. My abdomen was swollen, and it hurt like hell. I drove to the emergency room with Matthew in tow. All I knew was that I was hurting. I was not completely sure why. They ran tests and x-rays, the whole routine. The end result was that the Crohn’s disease I had when I was younger had come out of remission—due to severe stress. There was so much swelling in my abdomen that it was pressing on my spinal column; I was barely able to walk. I was immediately given pain medication and a strong round of steroids, as well as another medication to force the disease back into remission. I was completely out of service for the next four days. We were only a week away from filming Children of the Grave.

  The medications worked quickly, and within four days I was up and walking with no problem. The steroids had reduced the swelling, and it was no longer pushing onto my spinal column. I wanted to hide. I did not want to see anyone or talk to anyone. However, I needed to be there for the filming. I had given my word and, in this business, sometimes your word is the only thing that matters. I was very ill. It amazes me how stress will attack the body and shut it down. I had just been through too much, too quickly—and it took its toll on me.

  The Saturday before filming started, Matthew and I went out to get our clothes for the film. We had all decided to dress in black fatigues and combat boots. Bill and I were going to wear black berets. The fatigues were a great idea, because they would help us carry everything we needed. Zombie Road was going to be a very long walk into the middle of nowhere, and we needed to be able to have everything with us for the hike.

  In the years that followed, I have often been asked about our clothing choice and I would always reply, “I don’t know what you wear in the woods, but we Missouri boys know how to do it right.” It amazes me still today what an influence we had on people with our clothing choice. You still see forms of it all of the time with different groups. It was the inspiration for the name change, from Missouri Paranormal Research to the Paranormal Task Force. Even before filming, we had already discussed how and when to change the name. Our target was going to be May for the change, and the opening of new departments in our group. There was actually a lot to do to make this change possible, and we worked very hard to make it a reality. We were the Paranormal Task Force now, and we dressed the part. I had mixed feelings, at first, about the name change. It felt strange to give up the name we had already been working under for three years. Now, when I look back, it was one of the best moves we ever made. And in the end, it would turn out to be my last move with the group before I left.

  [contents]

  Chapter 20

  March 2007

  We started the trek down Zombie Road late in the evening of March 11, 2007, with cameras in tow. There is a psychological impact the road has on you when you start at the top and work your way down, farther and farther into the darkness below. You descend away from civilization, away from anyone who could hear you scream. You are completely on your own, isolated. The bluffs from the Meramec River rise up around you like castle walls. The road breaks apart in spots, and you have to jump across high ravines to make it to the other side. You can’t run, because if you do, you are likely to lose the road in front of you or find yourself falling 20 feet down a dark ravine. Help will not come, and the coyotes will be more likely to find you before anyone knows that you are missing.

  It had already been a very long day of shooting at the bottom of the road. With more than a few Red Bulls in our systems, we stood at the top of the road and gathered our team to make our way down. We were making sure all of our equipment was working. All of the batteries were charged and everyone had a flashlight of some sort. You could feel the excitement in the group. Our goal was to film the shadow people. There was this feeling of not knowing if we were actually going to meet that goal or not.

  Keith Age and the Booth Brothers had selected us because of the photos of things we had captured on the road in the past. Tom Halstead had more riding on this than anyone because it was his photo of the shadow people that had brought all of us to the road that night. His reputation was riding on this journey. There were months of planning for this one night at this location. It was all riding on capturing film evidence of the shadow people of Zombie Road.

  We began our journey from the top of the road and we were not very far in when we heard people screaming at us through the woods. The locals had heard we were there and what we were doing. On the road in front of us was written: DEAD PEOPLE THIS WAY.

  There was a large arrow at the end of the phrase, pointing straight down into the darkness. We all were a little nervous. I have heard Christopher Booth talk about this moment on more than one occasion. He always describes this moment as a The Hills Have Eyes moment, and he was exactly right. We knew of the horrible things that had happened on the road in the past. We knew of the satanic worship and sacrifices that had been made on the road before. And here we were, with these faceless voices screaming at us in the darkness, knowing full well we could be in serious danger.

  “Bring lots of guns,” a police officer had told us earlier in the day. Most people would have stopped at that point, but we didn’t. We were not going to let some vigilante group of locals stop us from filming what could be the best evidence of shadow people ever caught on film.

  Bill took the lead, and I backed up the group at the rear. My feeling was that if we were going to be attacked, they would come from behind and they would have to get through me. Also, I had always been afraid we would lose someone in the darkness of the road. I could not imagine what would happen to the person who simply walked away from the group and got lost on the road at night, by themselves. We were armed with every type of camera you could think of, along with a thermal camera as well. Keith Age was following Bill, and behind him was Phillip Booth with a camera, filming the whole scene. Christopher Booth was in the back of the group with me. We were both filming with handheld cameras. We were two miles down the road when the voices we heard became way off in the distance and eventually disappeared. The bluffs were beginning to rise around us, making it impossible for anyone to attack us from any angle except the rear. But there was no one there. Not a sound.

  Keith, who was filming with the thermal camera, instantly halted the group. He saw, in the thermal camera’s view panel, the eyes of a pack of coyotes. We were surrounded. You could hear them surrounding us in the woods and above the bluffs. Worst of all, you could see their eyes. “Now, I want everyone to stay tight. We have a group of coyotes surrounding us,” Keith warned.

  “Coyotes, mate? Is that something we need to be concerned with?” Christopher began quizzing Keith on the coyote situation, immediately.

  “Hell yes, we need to be concerned. They usually go for the weakest in the group, and I think the weakest in this group would be the Englishman from LA, so you better stay with the group, Chris,” Keith said, half joking and half serious.

  Christopher looked at me, and I could not tell if he was frightened or excited. He finally spoke up, nervously, “I would like to see the fucking Ghost Hunters bunch do this one.” Then we started to laugh.

  Farther down the road we went. The road in front of us would break apart, and in the space where the road had broken apart was a 20-foot drop—straight down into the ravine below. The first person had to jump across the break, and then we would hold the hands of the others, one by one, and pull them to the other side. I remember one moment when Philip lost his footing and I thought for sure he was headed down the ravine, into the darkness below. But at the last moment, Keith grabbed him and pulled him to the other side. The road began to level off as we worked our way down.

  We finally made it to the area where the shadow people had been spotted time and time again. The group was moving very slowly, pausing at moments to see what they were getting on thermal. During one of these pauses, I looked at Christopher and all of a sudden it became very
cold. I could see his breath and I could see mine as well.

  “Steven, it is getting fucking cold,” he said, while filming. We turned around behind us, and there, in both of our cameras, was a huge, rolling, black mass that covered the road. “Do you see it?” Christopher asked. “Yes,” I answered. I could see it and it was moving very slowly. We could not have been more than six feet away from it. We both stood there, filming. We were both amazed at what we were capturing. Once it had moved on, we moved to catch up with the group again. Suddenly Keith motioned for us to stop, and that is when it happened.

  I have been asked about this moment over and over again through the years. It was very cold and the air around us had a strange feeling to it, almost like something was sucking the air right out of the atmosphere. Then, they started to step out from behind the trees. We had found the shadow people of Zombie Road. There must have been 15 to 20 of them. They made no move toward us. They just stood there and observed us, as we observed them. Some of us spoke things, in exclamation. Some were just quiet, and watched as they slowly faded into nothingness. We had met our objective. We were thrilled, and there were other things to come our way that night, but after that moment, nothing would compare. I can remember walking out of the woods that night, thinking we were all changed by the event. How could you not be? We got a glimpse of the “other side.” Not only that, but we had captured it on film.

  The group was quiet as we walked out of the woods in the early morning. Each and every one of us knew we had seen and filmed something that had never been captured before. We felt accomplished, but at the same time, changed and humbled. No words can describe the feelings we felt that early morning in 2007. We went back to the hotel where Keith and the twins were staying and had a good hard shot of Jack to celebrate our accomplishment.

  I look back at the moment years before, when I challenged Bill to disprove the legend of Zombie Road. Had I not made that suggestion, we would have never filmed the shadows we caught that night. It is funny how one simple decision can lead you into something great. My theory is that the shadow children cooperated with us to show the world they existed. And Tom Halstead was on cloud nine, because he had proven to the world the validity of his photo.

  I have not been back to investigate Zombie Road since that night. There is no need for me to return there. Why go back? It was time to move forward and leave Zombie Road and the shadows in the woods behind. We had proven our theories.

  [contents]

  Chapter 21

  April 2007

  I am standing in a crowd of people. I cannot make out what is going on in front of me because the crowd is so large. Everyone is trying to watch something, but I cannot make out what it is. There is loud music playing—something from the Misfits. I feel the crowd push forward and my feet lift off the ground as it surges forward. I can feel the bodies pushing in on me from all sides. It is crushing and I find myself not being able to breathe. I want to just take a big breath of air but the crowd around me keeps pushing. I want to scream, but I have no air to scream and besides, the loud music would just drown me out anyway.

  I feel a sharp pain suddenly in my back and I can feel something warm begin to run down it. What was I feeling? I try to raise my arm, but my hand cannot lift due to the surging crowd. I hear someone behind me. A girl begins to scream and I can feel the crowd separate from me, creating an opening as I fall to the ground. I put my hand to my back and I bring my hand forward to my face. I am bleeding. I am bleeding badly. I try to make it to my feet, but the world seems as if it is closing around me and I fall to my knees. I can hear the screaming of the crowd around me as I collapse. Why am I bleeding? I reach behind me again and I can feel something sticking out from my back. I pull and it comes out into my hand. I bring it forward and I see I am holding a bloody knife. I have been stabbed in the back. I collapse all the way to the floor. I roll over to my back and I can see the faceless figures of the crowd. I know I am dying. I know there is no help for me. I lay there watching the screaming crowd as I start to black out.

  It was the Saturday afternoon before Easter, and I was lying on the couch taking a nap. I sat up and I looked around the room. The boys had made plans with some friends for the night and it was just me there, alone. I could still feel a sharp pain in my back. I hurriedly reached around and felt where the pain was coming from and there was nothing there, nothing more than a muscle spasm. It was just a remnant of the dream. My phone rang and I jumped at the sound. It was Bill.

  “You ready for tonight?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I will be there,” I said in return.

  “Okay then. See you in a little bit.” Then he was gone. We were doing another benefit at the bar for the no-kill animal shelter, same deal with the same crowd.

  I dialed the phone and my friend the ex-cop picked up on the other end. “Are we still on for tonight?” I asked.

  “We sure are,” he responded.

  “Okay then, I will see you soon,” I said.

  Before I could hang up, he added, “Steven, it’s going to be okay. If he shows up, I’m going to get him. I promise.” I was speechless for a moment. Had it seemed that apparent to him?

  “I sure hope so,” I replied, and then I hung up the phone.

  Bill and I had decided to wear our Children of the Grave fatigues and berets to the event. It was a great way, we felt, to begin the process of the name change to the Paranormal Task Force, instead of Missouri Paranormal Research. I can remember having trouble buttoning up the shirt and when I looked down, I saw my hands were shaking. I told myself to pull myself together. I was going with a bodyguard. Not just any bodyguard, but a good one. I knew he would handle any situation that could arise.

  The bar was crowded that night. My bodyguard was near me, surveying the crowd as I spoke. He did not seem alarmed and showed no signal that I should be alarmed, either. Things went great. The crowd loved the information and loved the ghost footage we had to show them. There was not enough time to take all of their questions during the presentation. There were simply too many of them. So afterward, I was working the crowd, talking to people and answering the questions I could. Then a loud sound of music drew all of our attention to the stage as the pole dancer came out to dance. The crowd pushed forward as the music grew louder and the show became more intense.

  I could see my bodyguard point at me, making a gesture to look behind. He was desperately trying to make his way through the crowd to get to me. I can remember thinking, “Oh my God, the stalker is here.” It all went into slow motion, almost like a car wreck. I turned around and saw the faces behind me. “Where is he?” I whispered to myself. And then my gaze fell onto one guy in the crowd, a blond guy. He was smiling at me, and it wasn’t a friendly smile. His smile was menacing. It seemed as if the world stopped when I made eye contact with him. I knew the moment I saw him that he was my stalker, and so did my bodyguard, who was forcing his way through the crowd. The stalker immediately tried to leave, but the crowd would not let him get to the door. So he moved forward past me and headed into the bathroom.

  “You stay right here,” my bodyguard told me, as he headed into the bathroom. It seemed like hours passed with no one appearing at the bathroom door. I was beginning to worry, and then I saw the blond guy shoot out of the bathroom. He started pushing and shoving people in the crowd to make his way out the door. He looked scared as he pushed, and then I saw my bodyguard walk out of the bathroom door with a smile on his face. He started heading behind the stalker, right out the front door. Later, I found out that he had pinned the stalker to the wall in the bathroom and had a little chat. His words, not mine.

  There was another visit made to the stalker’s house, and I never knew what took place from there. I knew they had him on the run, judging from his reaction that night in the bar. I never heard from him again. No more little packages and no more threats. He was gone out of my life for good, and in the end that is all th
at mattered. It was over. When I look back at the whole thing now, I still cannot believe that I could not get any help from the Union police; had I waited for something to happen, I either could be dead or one of my children could have been hurt. It was a huge relief when it was finally over, but it took a long time until I would no longer find myself looking behind my back, looking for him to be there. It changed the person I am today. Sometimes when I am in a crowd of people, I find myself being extremely nervous and more than a little guarded. I have been told before that I seem like a snob or stuck on myself. This is not the case at all. The truth is, I am never quite sure if I can trust the strangers I meet out on the road. It takes a lot for me to go out there to talk and to do the things necessary for an author. I have had some tense moments since then as well. I had this one guy come up to me during a signing and start talking about the executions he did when he was in Vietnam. He got very graphic. Marie was sitting next to me when this happened and then he began to tell me how much he enjoyed it. I thought for sure we were in trouble that day. Eventually he left, and when the signing was over, I made sure we were not being followed. Since then, I have looked at pictures of me in crowds, signing copies of a book. I always look like a deer in the headlights. I am not sure I will ever be comfortable in a crowd setting. When I open a door, I half expect to see a package, or when I am walking through a crowd, I anticipate those steely eyes stalking me from a distance, once more ready to pounce. But if it happens, I will be ready. I am no longer innocent where that is concerned.