The Mammoth Book of True Hauntings

by Haining, Peter

  This type of explanation appealed to both my husband and me, not so much because it came from Jung, for whom we had the greatest respect, but because it was reasonable, and certainly fit the facts – the strange noise had occurred in the presence (whether sleeping or awake) of adolescent children.

  NANDOR FODOR was born in Hungary, studied law, but on a visit to America in 1926 became intrigued by all the research going on into the supernatural – in particular cases of poltergeists and the theories of Freud and the poltergeist powers of Jung. In his pursuit of information, Fodor travelled extensively and for time worked as a journalist in Britain where he compiled an Encyclopaedia of Psychic Science (1934). His investigations led to him being appointed Research Officer of the International Institute for Psychical Research and resulted in several classic works, in particular On The Trail of the Poltergeist (1958) about the famous Thornton Heath poltergeist in England. Another not dissimilar case two years later in America excited his interest and resulted in this report published in Fate in 1964.

  THE BALTIMORE POLTERGEIST

  Location and date:

  Meridan Drive, Baltimore, USA, January I960

  On January 14, 1960, at the house of Mr Edgar J. Jones at 1448 Meridan Drive in Baltimore, Md., a typical poltergeist outbreak was reported in the local press the mental background of which promised to be rewarding for psychoanalytical inquiry.

  I left for Baltimore on Wednesday January 20, and arrived shortly after midnight. On the train, from the meagre information in my possession, I tried to form a picture of the motives that could have activated this poltergeist. I was told of a young boy of 17 who was not a Jones but went under the name of Ted Pauls. It was not clear to me that he was a grandson and, pardonably, I derived the wrong impression that he had given up his family name.

  The assumption that he was trying to escape from his family by a change of name was erroneous. But I was informed that he was an ardent science fiction fan and devoted all his time to this particular interest. It seemed to conform to my first impression of escapism. Basically, science fiction serves well for an escape from mundane limitations. In the case of a writer of science fiction there would be a sublimation of the need of escape by turning it into creative channels through story-telling of the magnificence of far-off worlds whirling in the depth of space. In the reader, however, the relaxation and entertainment found in such fantasies may well be a screen for the archaic yearning of returning into the prenatal state. A distinct planet, in the womb of space, is an excellent substitute for the “fetal island” (the child being in its own universe) where earthly (postnatal) ties had not yet existed. One would be hard put to find a better escape from reality than a journey into space.

  Ted Pauls did not write science fiction. He was satisfied with editing a multigraphed discussion sheet called Fanjack. I thought that this might bear on the escape motive. Then it occurred to me that interstellar space and the worlds scattered in it are also the habitat, in science fiction stories, of nonhuman life. There is a corresponding facet to that in embryonic evolution antecedent to the fetal stage. The thought intrigued me because the linguistic equation of Ted Pauls with tadpole does take back to the nonhuman stage. What is in a name? Shakespeare had asked the question but did not answer it, at least not to the satisfaction of psychoanalysis. I have dealt with the problem in a comprehensive manner in an essay entitled Nomen est Omen. Could Ted Pauls have fallen under the spell of his name? (I found out afterwards that his father did pronounce his name as Poles instead of Pauls.) An impish thought followed and I began to chuckle: it would be funny if he had long legs like a frog to leap off into space. As a science fiction fan he would be acquainted with Abraham Merritt’s The Moon Pool, an outstanding classic in which giant frogmen from Lemurian times stalk the earth in underground caverns.

  On my arrival, this fantasy was nurtured by local information. Ted Pauls had long legs; moreover, he walked like a frog with widespread feet and when sitting in his favourite rocking chair, the chandelier, set swinging by the poltergeist, always moved from North to South. This seemed to be a secret signature as North and South are determined by the poles. Ted Pauls? The rocking, of course, hinted at cradle days or at the undulating movements of the maternal body during the period of gestation. I was told he assumed the rocking position automatically and seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from it.

  There it was then, a wonderful fantasy of escapism, which turned out to be entirely my own fancy. Observations in the haunted house quickly pushed it into the background. The chandelier could well act in unison with his rocking as the living room, where the rocking chair was, was longitudinal to the dining room in which the chandelier was hung. Hence, North and South was a natural direction. The kitchen was latitudinal, but it was not a place for continued stay. It was therefore unnecessary to connect the swinging chandelier with rocking memories. The topographical situation was sufficient to account for the preferred movement.

  Moreover, Ted Pauls’ interest in science fiction was not devoid of a creative and sublimatory element (to which I shall presently return). I brought up the question of Merritt’s The Moon Pool in a discussion of science fiction books. He could not have had any idea that the question was baited. He answered that he had never read the book. (I inspected his library later. There was one book by Merritt in it, but it was definitely not The Moon Pool. The reality situation soon disposed of the fancy that Ted Pauls was a frog. The natural narcissism we have for our names must have completely blinded him to the tadpole interpretation.

  So my fancy did not expose him. It only exposed myself as a fantasy fan of strong mystical inclinations. And that was precisely the approach I used with Ted Pauls.

  I took with me to Baltimore a science fiction book: Asimov’s Nine Tomorrows, and inscribed it to him “as from one science fiction fan to another.” It was a first and fortunate meeting point between us. For, as I found out, by this time Ted Pauls was getting bitter and hostile to publicity, to the presence of a crowd of journalists and to the nuisance he and his family were exposed to. One frustrated journalist demanded that he should confess to a conscious responsibility for the flight of objects and for the explosive manifestations that accompanied it. He was roused and wrote a letter of angry protest to his editor, a protest very well composed and completely ignored. There was a distinct possibility that the situation would become further aggravated unless a face-saving was presented to the baffled journalists.

  My appearance on the scene as a “poltergeist expert” fulfilled this need. They did not have to have an opinion of their own. They could quote me and hang everything on my statements.

  So I had an ideal opportunity to release the pressure in both camps. The journalists were easy. They were courteous and respectful. The problem was Ted Pauls. Could I win his full confidence?

  Frankly, I did not know. I was floundering in a sea of uncertainties. While I had not witnessed any disturbance, I accepted the record. It was carefully compiled by a fellow researcher, Douglas Dean. He examined every witness and arranged for a number of scientific tests to rule out the recondite physical factors that people like to fall back on. A prima facie case was established for poltergeist activity. Hence, the key to the mystery had to lie in the psyche of Ted Pauls. He was above the pubertal age but things had been happening in the house before, at Christmas time, for instance. Twice in the preceding years the decorative blue balls on the Christmas tree exploded with no known reason. I thought he must have had a strong grievance against Christmas. His birthday was on December 16th, but his grandfather assured me that they never pooled his birthday and Christmas gifts. Christmas is a universal birthday symbol. His own birth preceded it by nine days (the term of gestation in months), but I was assured that his birth was normal, and that he had suffered no injuries during delivery, hence the existence of a trauma of birth could only have been proven from Ted Pauls’ dreams. He did not have any to tell me.

  Nevertheless, the Christmas mystery cannot
be dismissed too easily. Birth can be a crippling experience. It survives in the unconscious as such. It may strongly reinforce other feelings of imperfection and provide, through a rebellion against Fate, an unconscious motive for poltergeist activity. As far as I was able to find out, Ted Pauls had no physical defect, just little peculiarities like his walk, his pixie looks and the odd slant of one of his eyes, making him appear slightly Chinese. I had no time to consult his family doctor or his school psychiatrist (a job with which Douglas Dean had charged himself), but I did find out, from a careful conversation, that he was not crippled in his sexual development. While he had no girlfriend, he did have fantasies about girls and only his shyness kept him away from their company. His sexual development was apparently quite normal, hence the cripple motive could be disregarded.

  But before more is said of his motivation, let us place emphasis on the fact that the pubertal disturbance might have been responsible for the poltergeist activity, restrained as it was, at Christmas time. It is an important stage of transition, that well may have mobilized the unconscious imprint of the greatest transition we ever make until death; the entrance into postnatal life. No doubt an explanation could be found for the dormancy period, but I did not have the time to pursue this line of investigation.

  The question is often raised why such disturbances should be confined to one person in the household only. Could not there be a contribution from other sources; a kind of pooling of paranormal talent?

  We can safely rule out the grandparents because of their age. (At seventy or more one has no vitality to waste.) We can also rule out the parents because they are away during the day. Could we consider the dog?

  Hardly. There are no polterdogs. Kristy, the three-year-old female Schnauzer was not an agent but a victim of the poltergeist. She cowered and tried to hide before the phenomena took place. She crouched at the door and scratched frantically in order to be let out. This used to happen a few seconds or minutes before something flew or exploded. Her behaviour was the best evidence that something spooky was going on in the house.

  Had I told Ted Pauls that the poltergeist activity was due to a projection of his repressed aggressions against someone in the house (parents or grandparents) he would have turned indignantly against me and would have withdrawn into a shell. It is a delicate matter to tell somebody that he is guilty of something he knows nothing about. However, it is not enough to speak of aggressivity in general terms. Specific reasons should be found. He was not a chronic bed-wetter or sleep-walker in childhood. He had not been exposed to humiliation on either account. But his toilet training could have been over-severe. I know at least of one instance within my clinical experience in which a psychotic disposition developed on this basis alone. His mother was not available for an interview and Ted knew too little about himself. He was not a loquacious young man. He had no friends and lived in his room like a monk in his cell. And there was nothing visible to indicate a disturbed relationship with his parents or grandparents beyond the fact that they did not approve of his quitting school at sixteen and living for science fiction alone.

  Grandfather was a retired fireman of 70. He served the Fire Department for 37 years. No doubt he must have regaled his grandson with plenty of stories of his exploits. Like a war horse ready for the bugle, his short-wave radio was going all day to receive signals of fire. He had an easy way to become a hero ideal for his grandson. Proof of it could be seen in Ted’s extraordinary interest in fires. This interest caused me anxiety when told about it on my arrival. The thought occurred to me that he may be studying for arson. There have been incendiary poltergeists in the past. Spontaneous combustion is a far more dangerous phenomenon than the hurling or smashing of objects. It could easily result in loss of life in a gutted house. But I found that his interest in fires was open and above board. It was most unlikely to become an idea for the poltergeist. While it is true that in one case a can of fruit dislodged from a shelf full on grandfather’s head, this single incident was not enough to suggest that his aggression was directed at the old man. But the old man owned the house and the house was shared by Ted’s parents. Any destruction in the house would hit both parents and grandparents. Against this stands the fact that material damage was slight. More valuable items were avoided and when removed to a safer place were not singled out for destruction.

  Before discussing further the problem of motivation, let us consider the question of the mechanics of poltergeist activities. This is the central mystery. It is not enough to say that the poltergeist is a bundle of projected repression. We should want an answer as to how this projection takes place. What is the nature of the energy involved? Is it muscular, nervous, electric or electronic? How does it work?

  We do not know. Therefore, the best we can do is speculative approach. I would call the poltergeist manifestation the result of somatic and psychic dissociation. Somatic dissociation is something new. It has never been postulated before. It means that the human body is capable of releasing energy in a manner similar to atomic bombardments. The electron shot out of its orbits round the proton is like a bolt of lightning. It can be photographed streaking through the air in a cloud chamber. It is a purely mechanical energy. The atom, as such, has no power to impart direction to it. A human being has. It appears that under strong emotions not only does such a discharge (happily without chain reaction) take place but that the energy thus released is under control. A poltergeist-thrown object can travel slowly or fast, it can change course as if part of the psyche of the projector would travel with it, as if the somatic dissociation that releases it would not free it from mental control. But even that hypothesis leaves a great deal unexplained. The explosive effect may be due to pressure in the unconscious, it may partly release it or it may act as a S.O.S. calling for help. But in the Baltimore case the force was apparently able to enter Coca Cola and soda bottles that had not been uncapped and burst them from within. In one instance, a flower pot of plastic material, wide open at the top, was cracked on both sides by an explosion within that left the plant in the middle undisturbed and the pot itself standing. It indicated that the bilateral explosion was exceedingly well balanced. It hinted at brain activity similar to that of an electronic computing machine.

  So much for the physical aspect, the elucidation of which fell within the range of Douglas Dean’s investigation. My job was to find motives and then decide on a course of action.

  The theory of projected aggression could not be dismissed just because the cause of it was not apparent. An unconscious storm may well rage behind conscious compliance with an existing situation. Ted Pauls was subjected to too much pushing around. He was not suffered to have a goal of life of his own choosing. The fact that he had no friends strongly suggested that the relationship between himself and his schoolmates was not a good one. He might have been subjected to too much teasing and name calling. There was his walk, his pixie looks, his tendency of withdrawal and his intellectual superiority. (He claimed that the school could no longer teach him anything. This was not due to a swollen head because school authorities describe him as a brilliant boy.) Bitter against his schoolmates, smouldering for not being understood at home, tension must have been growing deep within. He was a well-mannered boy, exceedingly courteous and careful to preserve appearances and not lacking in courage if he was provoked.

  When I first saw him, he faced a crowd that he hated, but he faced it and the only sign of the tension in him was the whiteness of his knuckles as he gripped the arms of the rocking chair. To tell him that he was a monster inside would have been considered a preposterous accusation. I just did not know what to do until, out of the blue, a key was presented by the reading of a page of his editorial writing found in the cellar near the multigraphing machine. To my utter amazement I found that this young boy had a great talent for writing. At seventeen he was an accomplished journalist. His vocabulary had left nothing behind and his editorial handling of Fanjack showed a rare maturity. He was bursting with a rage for
writing and no one in his immediate surroundings understood or appreciated him. They considered his preoccupation nonsensical and drove against it with all their might. Was it, I queried, that the poltergeist activity arose from his frustrated creative rage?

  At this thought I began to breathe easily. I found a therapeutic approach to the problem of the poltergeist. The boy had talent that clamoured for expression. Playing the editor was the only balm for his crushed ego. It elevated him above his readers. If then a depressed ego was hiding behind the poltergeist rebellion, raising of his self-feelings to a higher level would stop the release of his creative channels into abnormal channels. If frustrated creativity was responsible for the explosive manifestations, increasing self-confidence and acceptance of his personality by people around him would cancel the poltergeist. He would be lifted to the heights instead of sinking into the depths.

  I explained this to Ted, and he drank in the explanation with relief. But I realized that I had yet to prove my sincerity. He may have had his mental reservations about me. So I went out on a limb and stated on television and on radio that I had discovered a boy-wonder who had surprising literary gifts and that recognition of his talent would seal the breach in his psyche and stop the poltergeist for good. I suggested that he should be commissioned to write the story of the poltergeist and give his own treatment to the subject. It would be not only a worthwhile document but also one of scientific value. His unusual somatic talent was not necessarily evidence of madness; on the contrary it may have heralded a gift that the race may possess in the future.