As bizarre as various illusions and confusions over what's really happening and not happening may seem, they are common, according to scientists.5 In fact, the inability to experience illusions may be a symptom of mental illness.6 Knowing this, it is clear that ghost encounters should be expected for a species with minds that operate the way ours do. This is why I'm patient and understanding with people who claim to have made contact with a ghost. Most likely they only experienced a normal human reaction to unusual thoughts, a waking dream, or real environmental conditions that were misinterpreted. It could happen to almost any of us given the right circumstances.
HAUNTED HOUSES
“I won't go in that bedroom ever again,” the friendly middle-aged woman says to me. “I'll never forget it. I was terrified.”
She is referring to an incident she claims occurred in the Whaley House in Old Town, San Diego. The historic building is a well-maintained “Greek revival mansion” built in 1857 by a successful businessman named Thomas Whaley. Today it's a historic site and minor tourist attraction. It's promoted as “America's most haunted house,” although I question how such a thing could be measured and ranked.
“All the sudden I was freezing cold,” the woman continues. “I mean, I was absolutely freezing cold. I was so scared; I remember closing my eyes and then I knew he was there. I knew there was a man in the room with me.”
The man, she explains, was the ghost of Thomas Whaley, dead since 1890. She knew it was him, she says, because she could “sense his presence.”
“I was still freezing cold and then I just knew he was going to pass right through me. I was so scared that I couldn't move, even though I knew something was about to happen. And then something went through my hair. I felt it touch my hair. You would never believe how it felt. It was pure death.”
“There is definitely a presence in that house,” she added. “The family is there. I think they are attached to the house. You feel a presence. They don't seem to ever leave.”
After hearing a story like that, I couldn't resist visiting the Whaley House myself. And when I did, I was surprised to discover that even a devout skeptic like me can “feel a presence.”
From the sidewalk, the Whaley House looks like a well-maintained nineteenth-century house, interesting enough for historic reasons. The red brick and clean, white wood trimming are beautiful; and thick, square porch columns give it the look of classical power. From the outside, there is nothing to suggest that there is anything scary or evil inside. None of the traditional haunted house stereotypes are visible. No cobwebs in the windows, no broken-down shutters, and no creepy tombstones in the front yard. As far as old buildings go, it could not look less haunted. Inside, however, is a different story.
The rooms inside the Whaley House are very well maintained and filled with artifacts appropriate to the time period. A large downstairs room once served as San Diego's courthouse. A portion of the house was once a general store, as well. As I continue to explore the first floor, I listen in on two women talking.
“I'm sure I heard something,” said one woman. “It was a like a voice. Did you hear it?”
“No,” the other replied. “What did it say?”
“I don't know. Do you think there is a vortex here?”
For some reason I don't feel the need to hear any more of their conversation and move on.
Upstairs now, I peer into one of the bedrooms. It's fascinating, filled with detail. I see a hairbrush, books, a quill pen, and so on. The current operators of the Whaley House have done a very good job of capturing and presenting the look and feel of how mid-nineteenth-century life in California was for a wealthy businessman and his family. Further along, I found a child's bedroom that was even more interesting. A painting of a young child hangs on the wall. A miniature china tea set on the dresser is supposed to be authentic to the house, once played with by the Whaley children. The room stirs my imagination and emotions. I can easily imagine the children playing on the floor. An old doll is perched on a small rocking chair. Cute at first glance, she becomes increasingly creepy the longer I hang around. Her little black doll eyes seem to stare directly at me and suddenly I realize the makings of a supernatural horror film are all around me.
Alone on the second floor of the house, I too “sense a presence.” It's not a ghost (or the doll) and I'm not scared, but I have allowed my mind to run free and it's pulled me back several decades to when the house was inhabited by an 1860s family. I don't literally see or hear them, of course, but in my imagination I do. It doesn't always happen, but I have experienced this flash of heightened imagination while visiting ancient and historic sites around the world. It's a great experience when the distant past comes alive in your mind. I highly recommend it. The more you research the particular event, place, and people, the better the high. I've had special “mental reenactment moments” in places as diverse as the Palace de Versailles in France and a jungle in Papua New Guinea where Japanese and Allied soldiers butchered one another during World War II.
Reflecting on my imaginary animation of long-dead people, I wonder how much more powerful some of such moments might have felt if I had believed in ghosts. Had I been predisposed to expect a visit from a ghost, it's not difficult to imagine my emotions getting the best of me and being swept away during my brief “moment” in the Whaley House. For example, what if I believed in ghosts, experienced that brief imaginative flashback while looking in the child's room—and then, at that very moment, something unusual happened? What if a gust of wind blew a window open? What if the old building's walls or a floorboard creaked somewhere near me? What if a flash of reflected sunlight from a passing car or plane outside briefly illuminated the dark hallway? None of these things should be interpreted as ghost encounters or paranormal events. But a believer who is in the moment might feel differently.
Some of the rooms in Whaley House are blocked off by clear plastic walls in the doorways, presumably to protect the rooms from being disturbed by visitors. I immediately recognize the potential for taking “ghost photographs.” Anytime you attempt to shoot photos through, or even near, a glass or plastic surface there is the possibility of a light flare that may be interpreted by some as a ghostly image. Using a flash in these situations increases the chances. It's completely natural, nothing more than light being reflected in unusual ways. I can't resist trying my luck, and in less than five minutes I have a few very good “ghost photos.” Some show spherical “orbs,” as ghost hunters like to call them. One photo shows a long white smoky blob “hovering” high above Thomas Whaley's bed. I wonder how many visitors per year take photos of this bedroom, only to check them later and shriek with delight/horror upon seeing the “ghost” they photographed. Apparently many do, as I discover when leaving the house. Near the exit is a photo album filled with photographs taken by visitors to the house. Photo after photo show reflected light “orbs.”
Interpretation of sights and sounds is, of course, the key to the haunted houses phenomenon. Most incidents probably are mysterious noises or brief sightings of unidentified objects. None of these should be considered evidence of a ghost haunting because “unidentified” means “unidentified.” If I'm spending the night in a cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere and hear a weird noise outside my door that I am unable to identify, I can't sensibly conclude that a ghost is making the sound. It could just as easily be aliens coming to abduct me, or a serial killer coming to carve me up, or maybe it's Playboy's Playmate of the Year sneaking in to place a mint on my pillow. The point is, if I don't know what I have seen or heard, I shouldn't pretend to know that it's a ghost.
Nonetheless, many people do translate the unknown into the known by attributing strange noises to ghosts. John, a longtime and close friend of mine who lives in England, recalls a terrifying night he spent on vacation with his family during his childhood. He says he heard “the most unusual noises, with doors opening for no reason, and the sound of footsteps outside when there was no one there.”
> “I was so wet through with sweat caused by the anxiety that my parents were convinced I had wet the bed,” he recalled. “It was a bit like after a normal Saturday night out on the beer these days.”
Belief in haunted houses is one of the most common nonreligious paranormal beliefs in both the United States and the United Kingdom. A Gallup poll found that 40 percent of Brits and 37 percent of Americans believe that houses can be haunted. In Canada, 28 percent believe it.7 According to that same Gallup study, belief in haunted houses by Americans is second only to belief in extrasensory perception, or ESP (41 percent) among nonreligious paranormal beliefs. For haunted houses to beat out belief in mediums (people who talk to the dead and claim to hear back from them), astrology, reincarnation, and witches indicates that something about scary and unusual things inside of houses is very compelling to many people. Perhaps the reason that it resonates with so many people is that it hits so close to home—after all, it's potentially in the home. For many Americans, in fact, belief in haunted houses is personal, as one-fifth say they have either lived in or visited one.8
This belief is found in people of all income and education levels. Consider Tia, a Princeton graduate with a very impressive résumé and job to match. She once lived in a house she believes was haunted. “The house was detached, at the end of a cul-de-sac,” she explained. “There was no other house on one side, and on the other side, our neighbors were many feet away. Still, we could often hear people walking up and down the steps in our home. My mom always explained it [by] saying we could hear our neighbors going up and down their stairs. As a kid, I accepted that explanation. But now, looking back, I realize that was impossible! I got so freaked out one day, I remember, hearing the sounds of walking around upstairs when I was the only one home that I ran out of the house and sat on the porch until someone else got home. It was definitely a freaky experience.”
Longtime paranormal investigator Joe Nickell has poked about in far more haunted houses than most. To date he hasn't found any ghosts, however. “Once the idea that a place is haunted takes root, almost any unknown noise, mechanical glitch, or other odd occurrence can become added ‘evidence' of ghostly shenanigans, at least to susceptible people,” Nickell writes in his book The Mystery Chronicles. “They often cite unexplainable phenomena, but they really mean unexplained, a condition that does not in any way imply or necessitate the supernatural. To suggest that it does is to engage in a logical fallacy called arguing from ignorance—the stock in trade of credulous paranormalists and outright mystery-mongering writers.”9
There are many down-to-earth, natural explanations available for what may cause mysterious and creepy noises in a house. I know from experience, however, that the simpler explanations are not always satisfying or reassuring in every case. During my college days I lived in a large, old two-story house for about six months or so. Many times I was home alone studying upstairs and would hear creaking sounds as if someone were walking around on the wooden floor downstairs or in the hallway. But when I went go to see who was there, I would find the house empty. It happened so often that I learned to ignore it. My higher functioning brain reasoned that it was nothing, just the normal sounds old, drafty houses make. My reptilian brain, however, wasn't convinced. Almost every time I heard another creak or moan, I glanced up from my studies to check the doorway, as if to prepare for a showdown with the Headless Horseman or whomever. I knew there was nothing there, but some reflex within made me react anyway. Sometimes I felt uneasy, if not a twinge of fear. Whenever I encounter people who have had frightening experiences in “haunted” houses, I remember that I too was once scared by a few unidentified silly sounds. It keeps me humble.
GO DEEPER…
Nickell, Joe. The Mystery Chronicles: More Real-Life X-Files. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2004.
The sleep of reason produces monsters.
—Title of an etching by Francisco Goya
The story we're being asked to believe is that thousands of giant, hairy, mysterious creatures are constantly eluding capture and discovery and have for a century or more. At some point, a Bigfoot's luck must run out: one out of the thousands must wander onto a freeway and get killed by a car, or get shot by a hunter, or die of natural causes and be discovered by a hiker. Each passing week and month and year and decade that go by without definite proof of the existence of Bigfoot make its existence less and less likely.
—Benjamin Radford,
Committee for Skeptical Inquiry
The pilot closes the hatch and suddenly the research submersible feels small, very small. After bobbing about on the surface for a while, we finally submerge and begin the journey. It's a three-person vehicle and only the two of us are aboard but, the space available seems to shrink with every minute of our descent. Good thing I'm not claustrophobic. I'm not apprehensive about making this one-thousand-foot plunge into the Caribbean Sea, but I can't help wondering what happens if the power fails or if a colossal squid tries to eat us. The view through the curved observation window in front of me is weird to say the least. I can't see anything but dark nothingness and now the surface is out of sight. After falling for several minutes, the pilot turns on powerful external lights. A surprising abundance of tiny but visible life is illuminated as we drop deeper. So much, in fact, that it seems like the water itself is alive. I'm reminded of the late Jacques Cousteau, one of my childhood heroes. He described seawater as the “broth of life.” Now I'm seeing precisely what he meant. I'm an experienced diver with numerous 130-foot dives, some of them at night, but this is different. While not scary, it is thrilling—definitely no typical Caribbean afternoon for me. I'm excited to think about all the tons of water over my head and all the mysteries out there in the deep somewhere. I wish we were going thirty-five thousand feet down instead of just one thousand.
Below seven hundred feet, the environment becomes significantly different from the coral ecosystems I'm used to diving in. The bottom comes into view. It's relatively barren and gray, like a submerged moonscape. This may not be beauty in the traditional sense, but it's impressive in its own way. Apart from the “snow flurries” of plankton and diatoms, there is no life that I can see.
The pilot kills the lights and slowly moves forward to another position. When he turns them back on, three magnificent creatures are illuminated right in front of the submersible. He draws in close. They are crinoids—big ones. Imagine a giant underwater sunflower that is actually an animal, that's what they look like. They are gorgeous. They take on a golden glow in our lights. Swaying back and forth in a gentle current, they feed by filtering out organisms that swim or drift by. Crinoids flourished in the oceans hundreds of millions of years ago and were once thought to be extinct. But here they are, alive and well, right in front of my face. I'm thrilled to see these creature up close. It's like looking back in time five hundred million years.
There was a time, back in the nineteenth century, when very smart people were convinced that the deep was a lifeless zone, nothing of interest. We know better than that now, of course, but we still understand relatively little as thousands of seamounts, canyons, and vast abyssal plains remain very much unexplored. Even my own experience interviewing scientists and explorers is telling: I've managed to talk with nine men who have been to the Moon but only one, Don Walsh, who has been to the bottom of our deepest ocean. Isn't it odd that twelve people have walked on the Moon and more than five hundred have traveled to space, while only two men to date have visited the deepest point in the ocean?
Whenever Bigfoot and other “cryptids” are discussed, I can't help recalling those beautiful crinoids I saw in the Caribbean Sea and the excitement I felt while thinking about the life waiting in the deep to surprise us. Strange, hard-to-find animals do turn out to be real. They exist. It is not necessarily crazy to believe in weird creatures and monsters because we have in fact found many of them over the years. While I don't believe it's likely that plesiosaurs evaded extinction and currently are roaming t
he depths of a Scottish lake or that giant primates are running around in the Pacific Northwest, I am certain that many fascinating creatures are still out there somewhere awaiting discovery. This is not even controversial. No sensible scientist believes everything has been found. There is so much unknown life right now, in fact, that the challenge of finding and naming these unknown species is immense. A 2011 article in the journal Trends in Ecology and Evolution estimated that it would cost US$263 billion to scientifically discover and describe the entire animal kingdom. If such a feat is even possible, I suspect that it would cost much more than that. Some habitats are incredibly challenging, perhaps impossible, to adequately study with current technology. Another reason for the high price tag is because there is so much work left to be done. The report states that only some 1.4 million of an estimated 6.8 million species are currently known to science.1 A 2011 life census estimated that 86 percent of all land species and 91 percent of marine species have yet to be discovered and catalogued by scientists.2 But even those figures are misleading about how little we know because they do not include viruses and bacteria. Considering all we have achieved technologically and how much we have learned about the universe, our ignorance about life right here on our own planet is stunning.
I confess to having a soft spot in my heart for cryptozoology, the “science” of hidden or undiscovered animals. The problem with cryptozoology, however, is that it's not just about “unknown animals.” Cryptozoology centers on claims of large animals that are wrapped up in myths and legend or are at least spectacular animals, such as dragons or dinosaurs, that science does not validate the existence of or has declared to be extinct long ago. Is it possible that some of these sorts of creatures are real? Yes! Of course it's possible that big flesh-and-blood animals are lurking about in a thick jungle somewhere or down in the ocean depths. That possibility, however, does not justify tossing out the tried-and-true methods of science and skepticism. Cryptozoology could have been a legitimate branch of zoology if only it hadn't pitched its tent over in the pseudoscience neighborhood where anecdotes are considered evidence and possibilities pass for certainties.
50 Popular Beliefs That People Think Are True Page 33
