The Ghost Chronicles Part 6

"It's difficult to say," I replied, stepping over a missing floorboard. "But it seems that some spirits are tied to a specific house or property. Almost like they are stuck there." Still making my way down the stairs, I glanced over my shoulder and said, "For instance, this restaurant is comprised of two houses joined together. On one side, I don't feel any spiritual activity whatsoever, while the other side is overly active." Still feeling the hanged man's noose gripping my body, I said, "Sorry, Brian, I have to go. Ron, I'm going outside for some air."

"Do you want me to go with you?" he replied.

"Nah, I'll be okay," I said as I sped to the door.

I watched Maureen as she exited the building.

"Ron," Eric turned to me. "You know, when the second spirit came in, I was looking through my camera and noticed a light appear at the top right of the view finder. I don't know what it was, but it might have been something."

"That's cool; you probably picked up on him," I said.

I was interrupted when I heard Amy yell from the other room, "Ron, I just thought of something else."

Eric and I rushed to Room #1, where we saw Amy, hands on her hips, standing by the fireplace, in front of the stained-gla.s.s window. "I have two stories for you. First, you see the window I am standing in front of? Well, it was a regular window at one time, but customers began to complain when they would see the image of a woman in it instead of their own reflections, which really freaked them out. So the owner replaced it with this stained gla.s.s, which has no reflection."

"Wow," I interjected, although my mind was drifting to Maureen and how she was doing. "And what's the second story?"

"Well, sometimes I would hear noises upstairs almost like footsteps, so I would open the door and peek my head in the stairway, and to my surprise I would see...like, little white clouds moving across the room. I tried to debunk them, but couldn't. That really scared me."

"Wait a minute," Bob said.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"The camera keeps going in and out of focus. There's something by the fireplace, near the bookshelf."

I went over to investigate. Pus.h.i.+ng the books aside, I found a secret shelf. On it was an old book hidden from view. I pulled it out, and to everyone's amazement, there in bold print on the cover was the number 666. No one could tell us where the book came from. Is this a message from the hanged man? Or just another attempt to intimidate us? Is this a message from the hanged man? Or just another attempt to intimidate us? I was betting on the latter of my thoughts. Was it evil? Possibly. More often than not, our experience has shown that when we're confronted with "evil" spirits, they usually use the "666," the mark of the Devil according to Biblical references, as an attempt to intimidate. I was betting on the latter of my thoughts. Was it evil? Possibly. More often than not, our experience has shown that when we're confronted with "evil" spirits, they usually use the "666," the mark of the Devil according to Biblical references, as an attempt to intimidate.

I turned at the sound of footsteps on hardwood and saw Maureen standing in the doorway. By the look of exhaustion on her face I knew it was time to wrap it up.

On the way home, my thoughts turned to next week's investigation with WNDS. I really wanted to scare the c.r.a.p out of Brian this time. After all, it was taking place on All Hallows Eve. Hmmm. Where could I go? Aha! I've got it: a cemetery. What could be scarier than that...? Hmmm. Where could I go? Aha! I've got it: a cemetery. What could be scarier than that...?

RESULTS OF THE INVESTIGATION.

Tortilla Flats lived up to its reputation and provided us with another gripping episode for WNDS News. We made contact with several spirits, including slaves and a young girl whose family aided the fugitive slaves. However, the strongest, most dominant spirit was the "hanged man," whose name is thought to be Zechariah. And although we could find no historical record of him, the restaurant staff confirmed that a man did hang himself in Room #1.

episode five

THE CRYPT KEEPER.

CASE FILE: 6231963.

OLD HILL CEMETERY.

Location: Newburyport, Ma.s.sachusetts.History: Established in 1729, the oldest cemetery in Newburyport. The resting place of sea captains and revolutionary soldiers.Reported Paranormal Activity: Ghostly images and alleged possessions.Clients: The viewers of WNDS News.Investigators: Ron (lead investigator), Maureen (trance medium), Pete (Ron's friend).Press: Brian Bates (reporter WNDS), Tom (Brian's cameraman), Beth (Brian's intern).

It was Halloween and the final night of the four-part WDNS series, and I was glad it was almost over. After all, we had spent the past month together exploring some of New England's most haunted places, and the original curiosity, which they had first shown, had now been replaced with a weird sense of camaraderie.

The frozen ground crunched beneath our feet as Maureen and I stumbled between the broken gravestones of Old Hill Cemetery in Newburyport, Ma.s.sachusetts. It was cold, but I didn't need a thermometer to tell me that. The stinging of my nose spoke volumes.

The faint flicker of dancing lights radiating in the distance slowly morphed into the flashlights and camera of the WNDS News crew. We had reached our destination. It was Brian, Tom, and a young woman, an intern whom I had never seen before. Judging from the beaming smiles on their cherry-red faces, they were glad to see us as well.

"Hi Ron, give me a minute, I just have to tape the opening to the show," said Brian.

We stood back a few feet to give them some room. With a signal from Tom, Brian walked out of the darkness, into the light of the camcorder, and began. "You know, cemeteries during the day can be eerie enough, never mind at night. So what better place to be on All Hallows Eve, the spookiest night of the year, than at a cemetery, one of the oldest and most haunted along the coast. In the historic seacoast town of Newburyport, Ma.s.sachusetts, a town filled with stories of horror and hauntings, including those from the grave."

Barely waiting for him to finish, I blurted out, "Hey guys, you ready to go?" Not waiting for a reply, I said, "Good, let's rock."

With Maureen at my side, we slowly slipped back into the darkness, with Brian and the crew trying to keep up. As we walked amongst the headstones, Maureen turned toward me, and before she could speak, I knew what she was going to say.

"So what's the plan?" No, I wasn't psychic. She always says that.

"I'm looking for a special grave. One with holes in the ground where you can see the bones and skull. You know, the one where I got slimed."

"You got slimed?" Brian exclaimed as he darted up to my side. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a recorder. "Tell me more."

"You never heard about that? Hmm, I must be slipping." With the click of Brian's recorder, I continued. "We were supposed to go on an investigation to a deserted island, but it got cancelled. In fact, that was to be Maureen's first investigation with the group. Since we already had the cameras loaded with infrared film, we decided to use it in another investigation. After all, infrared film, which is heat sensitive, doesn't last very long. So, Brian the Monk brought me here instead. He said this was a good place to use up the film. He showed me the photo that he took here, of a head coming out of the ground."

"Do you have a copy of it?" Brian asked.

"No. But you can find it in Bob Cahill's book, Haunted Happenings Haunted Happenings."

"So, where did you get slimed?"

"Somewhere there's a grave here..." I said, scanning the desolate parade of tombstones. "You can see the skeletal remains of the person buried there by peering through a hole in the eroding ground." I chose my next words carefully, not knowing how a rational person would react to what I was about to say. "So when I was here with Brian, I stuck my camera in the hole to snap a couple of pictures, when all of sudden my arm from my wrist to my elbow was covered with a thick, black, oozy gook that burned terribly. There was nothing above or below me, it just appeared out of nowhere." As I retold the story, the horror of the moment resurfaced to my consciousness. My heart began to thud wildly in my chest. "I-I just freaked."

"What do you mean you freaked?" Brian asked.

At Brian's question I could feel the anger building in my voice. "Well, what would you do, Brian? One minute I'm taking a picture, and the next minute I'm sc.r.a.ping thick, black, foul-smelling, nauseating crud off my arm. How do you think I felt? I was totally repulsed. Meanwhile, Brian the Monk is standing there, laughing at me. And telling me that I'd been slimed, thinking it was the best thing he'd seen since The Texas Chainsaw Ma.s.sacre The Texas Chainsaw Ma.s.sacre."

"What was it? Did you get a sample?" Brian asked.

"Yes, tell me, Mr. Scientist," Maureen said, gesturing with air quotes. "Did you take a sample?"

Glancing at Maureen, I couldn't help but notice her smug smile. I just wanted to smack her. Since she had already heard the story before, she knew that the answer was no. "Well, Brian, I consider myself a man of science. After all, I did graduate with a 4.0 in Environmental Science. But, on that day and at that time, it was all for naught. I guess we never know how we'll react until we face our darkest fears. I was so repulsed by it that I was consumed with the need to remove it as quickly as possible. A decision I'll regret for the rest of my life."

"I guess that makes sense." Brian's voice suddenly escalated with excitement. "So do think you can find this grave?"

Hesitantly, I replied, "I'm not sure. It's been awhile. But I have an idea. Why don't you find it?" I turned toward Maureen, still irritated with her "sample" remark. "You've got the dowsing rods, smart a.s.s."

DOWSING RODS (DIVINING RODS).

L-shaped bra.s.s rods. The handles are approximately four inches long with copper sleeves that allow the rods to swing freely while being held.The rods will point in the direction that an object or place is located. Once the area or object is found, they will either cross over each other or uncross, depending upon the particular user's energy field.

"Fine," I grumbled at Ron. Grudgingly, I removed my gloves and pulled my dowsing rods from my back pocket. "What are we looking for?"

"You know, the grave with the hole in the ground."

"Okay." I positioned the rods in my hand, closed my eyes and made the request: "Show us where the hole in the ground is." Both the rods spun, pointing the way. Following the direction of the rods I took a step, then plummeted to the ground, my right leg disappearing into a gopher hole. I guess I had found what I'd asked for.

The sound of laughter reinforced my embarra.s.sment. I was now the subject of unwanted attention, being asked to lead the team, only to fall on my face, literally. With one leg swallowed up to my knee, I was unable to stand. Finally, once the laughter subsided and they realized my predicament, both Brian and Ron reached down and pulled me out of my snare.

Doing my best to hide my mortification and regaining my balance, I quipped, "Okay, guys, I guess we'll have to be more specific."

Carefully rethinking my words, I once again repositioned the rods to dowse. This time I focused my intentions and phrased my request appropriately. "Where is the location of the grave?" I paused. "The one where Ron got slimed." I felt both rods begin to vibrate slightly, as they slowly turned in unison, changing direction to the left of where we stood.

Following the rods, we began our search. We snaked our way through the ill-kept cemetery, past the crumbling stones, avoiding the gopher holes. I opened my mind to reach out to any spirits that may be around us. Although I was finding it difficult to concentrate in the bitter cold, I began to feel a low-level energy p.r.i.c.kling across my skin, so low it was almost indistinguishable from the numbness I was feeling. But it was there. "Ron, I'm picking up on some energy. But, it feels more like residual energy than anything else."

As we continued to follow the dowsing rods, Brian asked, "Residual energy, what's that?"

"There are different types of energies. Residual energy, or a residual haunting, is like an imprint in time, or memories if you will. An echo of the past. Much like videotape, the event is replayed over and over again, with no intelligent spirit, ghost, or other ent.i.ty involved. Whereas an intelligent energy or haunting is when a spirit, ghost, or other ent.i.ty interacts with the living."

"Here it is. I found the grave!" Ron yelled.

"Excuse me...you found it?" I asked, unable to squelch the humor in my voice. found it?" I asked, unable to squelch the humor in my voice.

"Okay. We We found it," he reluctantly agreed. Ron glanced at the dowsing rods. "I guess those things really do work." found it," he reluctantly agreed. Ron glanced at the dowsing rods. "I guess those things really do work."

"So how do you want to do this?" Brian gestured to Tom. "Can you get a shot of the grave?"

"Yeah, I think so." Bending over, Tom placed his camera in the hole. He adjusted the lights to illuminate the grave and began filming.

After a couple of minutes, Tom stood up. Ron quickly took his place. He lay on the frozen ground, s.h.i.+fting a bit for a better vantage point as I knelt down beside him.

"Maureen, give me one of those, I want to try something," I said, pointing to the dowsing rods.

She handed me the dowsing rod. Then she hesitated in a moment of indecision. "Here, take it. I'll wait over here."

"What? Where you going?"

In a hushed voice she answered, "I already made a fool of myself once; I'm not going to do it again-on camera, no less. Here, you do it," she said as she raised herself off the cold ground and retreated to a nearby tombstone.

I held Maureen's dowsing rod over the hole to see if it would pick up any energy. As if by magic, I felt a pull in my hand as the rod slowly spun from left to right. I wasn't sure what it meant, but it was cool just the same. Putting down the rod, I picked up the EMF meter and was surprised by the lack of readings. I reached for my 35mm camera, stuck it in the opening, and quickly snapped a photo. Seeing the human skull was too much of a temptation for me. Sticking my arm into the hole, I rubbed the uneven surface of the decaying bones. For some inexplicable reason, I slowly removed my hand and brought my half-frozen fingers to my nose and took a sniff. The sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh pervaded my nostrils, but the putrid odor was the least of my worries. By the shocked expressions of those standing around me, I had little doubt this gesture would come back to haunt me.

The excitement of the moment began to wear thin, as the bitter cold penetrated my clothing. Unable to endure it any longer and eager to get my blood circulating again, I decided to move on.

"So what's next, Ron?" Brian asked.

"Well, there's a tomb here that's been broken into several times."

"You're kidding."

"No. Actually, it's pretty bizarre. You want to take a look?"

"Sure. Lead the way."

"No problem. This one I can find."

Within moments we reached the crypt. Eerily, the battery in Tom's camera failed. "That's odd. These are seven-hour batteries and should have had plenty of time to spare."

Maureen and I glanced at each other; a smile crossed our faces.

"Coincidence, I think not," I said.

Brian waited for Tom to replace the battery in his camera. "So, Ron, what is so bizarre about this particular crypt? Can you share with me a bit of the history?"

We stood in front of a heavy door with an embossed cross. "The Pierce family crypt has been broken into several times in its history. The first time was back in the 1880s when several youths broke into the tomb. They propped up the corpses, poured liquor down their throats, and had a mock game of cards with them. Later they were arrested in town, wearing the clothes of the deceased." I paused for a moment, sniffled, and then continued. "The most recent time was in 2005, when an inmate performing community service broke into the vault and twisted the skull off one of the corpses. He then proceeded to parade around the graveyard with the skull on his shoulder and even had his picture taken with it."

"Ewww," Maureen said. "I'm sure his mother must have been real proud of that snapshot. That's a nice Kodak moment."

"That's disgusting." Brian paused to gather his thoughts. "So, Ron, why do you think it's been broken into so many times?"

"I'm really not sure. Out of all the tombs in this cemetery, why this one? Always the same one? Do you believe in curses?"

"I don't know. I never really thought about them," Brian answered.

"It's just conjecture on my part, I really can't say for sure, but... What if someone placed a curse on this family? A curse that ensured that they would never rest in peace. And after all that's happened to this one particular crypt over all these years, wouldn't it make sense?"

"Okay, this is good. But we need some action. Any ideas?" Brian asked.

"Ron, this place is dead," Maureen said. "No pun intended. But really, I'm not feeling anything. Other than the residual energy from before, that is."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, let's take a look and see what we can dig up." I led the group deeper into the burial grounds. We had contacted local law enforcement to ensure a safe and legal investigation, and now we were getting a boring one. I racked my brains for something, anything to salvage this episode. Here we were in one of the most haunted cemeteries, a place where I'd been slimed, no less, on the spookiest night of the year, and it seemed that n.o.body was home.

As we stumbled through the darkness, we came upon a lone dead tree perched on a barren hill. Large, bulbous, seemingly animated roots stretched out, as if in search of sustenance to quench its unearthly appet.i.te. A creepy feeling crawled up my spine. I half expected to see a hangman's noose dangling from its rotting limbs, casting an eerie shadow in the moonlight. Along with it came an overwhelming feeling of doom. Was this the omen of some forthcoming evil lurking in the darkness, waiting to pounce on us? An unnatural silence fell upon the group.

A dark, hulking figure came out of the shadows, and the sharp, shrill, blood-curdling scream of a female voice startled the group, breaking the deadly silence. It was Beth, Brian's intern, who screamed at the approaching figure, the first utterance we'd heard from her all night.

"What the h.e.l.l!" I cried, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Tom turned, the light of his camera slightly illuminating the approaching figure. It was Pete, a friend of mine whom I had invited along to try out his new infrared camera. He was so late and I had been so preoccupied with the investigation that I had forgotten that he was coming.

INFRARED CAMERA (IR).

A camera that operates on the infrared range and allows the viewer to see in low levels or the absence of light.