The Ghost Chronicles Page 10

  Brenda and Brian walked into the kitchen as I looked at Ron. “Now what?”

  “How am I supposed to know? I’ve never been to an exorcism before.”

  Brenda strode past us, taking a seat on the couch. Brian followed a short time later with his brown leather bag. His jeans and black Rolling Stones T-shirt were now replaced with a brown woolen smock, a rope belt tied around his paunchy waist. He placed his bag on the floor beside the couch. “Brenda, could you please lay back on the couch for me?” he asked. Reaching into the bag, he removed a white sash, unfolded it, and brought it to his lips, then placed it around his neck. Next he took out a heavylooking, brown, tattered Bible. Its cover was embossed with a golden cross, so faded it nearly blended into the background. Reaching into the bag once again, he retrieved a pair of wirerimmed glasses and put them on.

  I shoved my elbow deep in Ron’s ribs.

  Ron jerked away, rubbing his side. “Ouch! What was that for?”

  “Brian doesn’t wear glasses, huh?”

  “Oops. My bad,” Ron replied, still wincing from the jab.

  Brian turned to face us, his words interrupting our bickering. “We’re going to open with a prayer. But I need your help. The three of us need to say it together.”

  “Why is that?” Ron asked.

  “Because like the Trinity, it makes the prayer stronger. We’ll start off with the Our Father.” Then, making a cross in the air with his hand, he said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

  Our voices resonated as one. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name…”

  The sweet, pungent aroma of the anointed oil permeated the air as he ran his thumb across Brenda’s forehead, and then I heard the hollowness of Brian’s voice speaking in a strange tongue. “Exorcizámus te, omnis immúnde spíritus…”

  An infrared shot of Brian the Monk conducting the exorcism (client’s face obscured to protect her identity).

  As in my dream, he moved his head slightly, looking from the Bible to Brenda, then back to the Bible again. I shivered, even as his wire-rimmed glasses slid down his nose. He pushed his glasses back into place and continued his prayers.

  Brenda began to moan slightly and shift uncomfortably with each word passing Brian’s lips.

  As I watched the scene unfold in front of me, tension filled the room. The energy I’d felt at the top of the stairs was now all around me, darting back and forth.

  Brenda’s body twisted and turned.

  Bone-chilling cold encircled our bodies. Brian’s voice grew stronger. Penetrating. Powerful. There was no doubt the energy I sensed was demonic. The evil presence’s anger grew, escalating with each word. An acrid odor assailed my senses.

  Brian sensed it too. His stance became rigid, tall, growing in stature. For a man who couldn’t have been more than five foot nine, he seemed like a giant. His voice became unyielding, meeting each invisible thrust of demonic energy with his own determination.

  Brenda’s body was now the battleground between the demonic energy and Brian’s unwavering faith. Her head tilted back and her body followed suit, her spine bowing backward then curling in as a silent scream escaped her lips. Brian quickly laid his hand upon her head. “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…”

  Evil roiled around me, filling the room. I gasped. As if a vacuum had sucked the air out of the room, I suddenly found it hard to breathe. Coughing, I struggled. My throat tightened, closed, constricted. Unable to swallow, I opened my mouth to scream. But no sound came out.

  Brian detected my distress. Still chanting, he stepped away from Brenda for a heartbeat. Sticking his finger in the anointing oil once again, he made the sign of the cross on my forehead. The death grip on my throat lessened. Greedy for air, I inhaled deeply.

  A moment later, Brian was once again at Brenda’s side. Kneeling, his voice rose and reached a crescendo. “…Omni infernálium spirituum potestáte, láqueo deceptióne et nequitia nos poténter liberáre, et incólumes custodire dignéris. Per Christum Dóminum nostrum. Amen.”

  With that came a loud bang. Brenda’s body stiffened like a corpse, then collapsed. Her chest heaved up and down. A long, exaggerated sigh escaped her as she sunk deeper into the softness of the couch. The fetid odor that had once permeated the room was gone.

  Brian stood to face us. “Maureen, are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m feeling better now. Thanks.”

  “Wow, that was amazing. Brian, what was that sound Brenda made?” Ron asked.

  “When you hear that sound, you know the exorcism was successful. The evil spirit is gone.”

  “Where did it go?” I asked.

  “I can’t guarantee where’s it’s gone, but I can guarantee it’s no longer here.”

  Brenda slowly sat upright. Grabbing a tissue from her pocket, she dried her eyes.

  Brian turned his attention back to her. In a gentle voice he asked, “Brenda, are you feeling any different?”

  “Yes, I feel so much lighter, as if my burdens have been lifted.” She smiled, genuinely. “Is it just me, or does it feel warmer in here?”

  “You know, you’re right, I was going to say something about that. It feels so much better in here right now.” Ron said.

  Brian smiled. “Okay, Brenda, the spirit is gone now, but to ensure that it doesn’t come back, I’m going to hang the Shroud of Turin over your doors and on the walls facing each other. Do not take them down for at least thirty days. I’d also like it if you would start going to church.”

  Brenda sat solemnly on the couch, nodding as Brian relayed his instructions.

  “Brian, if you want, I’ll help you hang up the printouts and bless the house,” Ron offered.

  “I’d appreciate that.” Brian said.

  As Brian and Ron left to hang the pictures, I sat beside Brenda on the couch. “So, Brenda, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling worlds better. It’s amazing. I’m so grateful for everything all of you have done for me.” As Brenda lifted her purse off the floor beside the couch and rummaged for her wallet, I could tell she wanted to offer us monetary compensation.

  I placed my hand on top of Brenda’s. “Please. We appreciate the offer, but this is volunteer work. We’re just happy that you’re going to be all right.”

  Brenda looked a little taken aback. Tears glistened in her eyes. “You’re sure?”

  “Positively.” I smiled. Warmth spread through me. Although I’d been fearful of coming here, one look at Brenda and I was extremely happy that I did.

  “Brenda, we’re all set here,” Brian said as he and Ron stepped off the last step and walked into the living room. “As you can see, Ron and I have finished hanging the images. Also, we’ve blessed all the doors, windows, and the rest of the rooms with holy water, so you should be all set.” He smiled. “Do you have any questions for me before we head out?”

  “You feel confident that it’s gone?” Brenda asked, her voice sounding a little unsure, afraid to believe the horror she’d been living was now gone for good.

  “Yes. But make sure you follow the directions I gave you. If you have any more problems, feel free to give Ron a call and we’ll come back out as soon as possible. But truthfully, I know you’re going to be just fine.”

  Two weeks later, while writing an article about protection, I went to my jewelry box for a better look at the scapular that I’d worn that night. The instant my hands came in contact with it, I dropped to my knees. A searing pain pierced my heart. I gasped for breath. My hand on the dresser, I steadied my breathing and pulled myself up and off the floor. It took a moment for my mind to clear. To realize what had happened. The scapular had indeed been my protection, absorbing the negative energy, protecting me, like St. George, shielding me from the dragon’s breath. My mistake was not realizing that I should have cleansed it, blessed it with holy water. I’d learned an invaluable lesson. One that I would never forget…

  RESULTS OF THE
INVESTIGATION

  Research revealed that the original owner of the house was a Catholic who had committed suicide by hanging. Brian determined that Brenda was plagued by a demonic obsession, not a possession. It appears the exorcism was successful. Neither Brenda nor Duke required our services again.

  While writing this episode we were plagued by odd events: computer and electrical problems, water damage from a pipe bursting, and perhaps the eeriest occurrence of all, the unexplained removal of Ron’s scapula and exorcism medal. The medal, the one worn during the exorcism, which was safely secured on a chain, was torn free.

  episode seven

  ASHES TO ASHES

  CASE FILE: 6281763

  ASHES TO ASHES

  Location: Chester, New Hampshire.

  History: A split level home built in the 1960s, surrounded by woods.

  Reported Paranormal Activity: Ghostly figure appearing in photos, noises in the basement, apparitions, and disembodied voices.

  Clients: Andrea (owner), Robert (Andrea’s husband).

  Investigators: Ron (lead investigator), Maureen (trance medium), Leo (photographer), Karen (EVP specialist).

  What would you do if you found the ashes of the former owner of a house you just purchased in the closet? Or what if your young daughter came up to you and said, “Tell that man to get out of my bed?” These aren’t hypothetical questions. These events really happened to a family in Chester, New Hampshire.

  Ring, ring, ring.

  “Good afternoon, New England Ghost Project.”

  “Hello, Ron, this is Andrea. I Googled ‘ghosts’ and found your website. I was the one who sent you the email about what’s going on at our house. Ahhh, you know, the house with the ashes in the basement.”

  “Oh yeah. Now I remember.” Hmmm, that’s a little strange, I thought. “Whose ashes were they?”

  “George, the former owner. And things have escalated since the email.”

  “What do you mean, ‘escalated’?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as apprehensive as I felt.

  “There are voices coming from the woods.” With the sound of panic in her voice, she continued, “Evil laughter. We can hear a little boy crying, ‘Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.’ And if that’s not bad enough, they’re commanding us, ‘GET OUT!’ Even my husband’s starting to hear them. We feel like we’re losing our minds. Ron, we don’t feel safe here anymore. And I’m really worried about my daughter.”

  The thought of a child in danger tugged at my heartstrings, and being the sensitive sort, I said, “How about Saturday night?”

  Her voice quivered, sounding on the verge of tears. “Thank you. That would be great. I realize it’s short notice, but we’re desperate.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be there.” As I hung up the phone, a sense of dread assailed my senses, my gut twisting in a knot. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a premonition of what was to come or the kielbasa I ate for lunch. I was hoping it was the lunch, but we would soon find out.

  * * *

  “Brrrrr.” My soul shivered as I stepped out of Ron’s car, my foot coming into contact with Andrea’s paved driveway. I cringed at the sudden sharp pain boring a hole through my heart. Ron was right; it was apparent to me that the entities had come out to answer the challenge, to check out the fresh meat that dared enter their space.

  The hair at the base of my neck prickled to attention. I didn’t know about anyone else, but I was ready to call it a night even though we’d only just arrived.

  “Maureen, are you coming, or are you going to make a night of it?” Ron sarcastically remarked.

  Pushing away the threatening feelings, I pretended to be calm. I was determined to keep up the charade as long as I had to. “Yeah, just a minute,” I quipped, doing my best to push my fears to the recesses of my mind. Ron can be such an ass at times, I thought. And besides, we’d come to help, and there was no way I was turning back now.

  As we reached the front door I turned to look at the remaining members of the NEGP for some sort of sign, any reaction to show me they had picked up on something too. But it looked like I was alone.

  “Hi, I’m Andrea, and this is my husband, Robert. Glad you could make it.”

  First stop on this little tour of horrors would be to find George, or what was left of him. “So, Andrea, what happened to George’s ashes?” I asked.

  “Well, you see, from what we were told, George wanted his ashes buried beneath the maple tree he had planted in the backyard. But…” She hesitated, giving Robert a cold stare. “But Robert cut it down. That’s when we started hearing noises. Doors slamming, boxes being dragged across the floor, and throaty whispers emanating from the basement.”

  “Oops. So what did you do?” Ron asked.

  “To try and appease George, we scattered his ashes in a simple ceremony on Memorial Day weekend, at the site of the former tree.”

  “Did it work?” I couldn’t help wondering.

  “For a while. But that’s when the voices started, and that’s when we contacted you guys for help.”

  “Do you think you can find the place where you scattered his ashes in the dark?” Ron asked, digging in his pocket for his flashlight.

  We followed Robert as he cut a zigzag path through the dried twigs and branches, stumbling over fallen trees and unseen rocks.

  Twenty minutes later, briars stuck to my jeans, we stood where Robert thought he had laid George to rest. “Is this the spot?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s dark, and it’s been six months.”

  Judging from the path he cut, I had my doubts.

  “Want to try and communicate?” Ron asked eagerly.

  With my pendulum held tightly between my thumb and forefinger, I attempted to make contact. “Are there any spirits here with us?” I asked, as Ron began to scan the vicinity with the EMF meter.

  Was this the resting place of George’s ashes?

  My pendulum remained still. No response. Nothing. From what little I could sense, our friend George was not hanging out in the woods with his ashes. If they were even here.

  I stuffed my pendulum back into my pocket, while Leo, our photographer, began taking infrared shots.

  Ron looked at me. Without even speaking I knew his thoughts:

  There’s nothing out here.

  I shrugged in response.

  Turning our backs on the buzz of the group, we began our trek back, the dim lights of the house acting like a beacon in the star-filled night. Approaching the rear of the house, we stopped momentarily, as if at a crossroads. I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply the frigid night air, and waited for my instincts to kick in. That’s when it came to me. We had to go toward the right side of the house. I had no way to explain it. I just knew. Like a magnet to iron, without the time to explain, I took off at a near run. “This way,” I said, stepping over weathered landscape timbers and around a child’s swing set. Turning, looking over my shoulder, I cried, with a sense of urgency in my voice, “Hurry, over here.”

  Ron quickly joined me. As we neared the right front corner of the house, the pull became stronger. This was it.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  My third eye pulsated. Energy was everywhere. But I was having trouble discerning who or “what” it was. The beeping of the EMF meter was amplifying the feelings surging through my veins.

  The energy grew thick, suffocating, like a storm cloud starting to envelop us. As if reading my thoughts, Ron said, “Yeah, I feel it too.” He paused. “What the hell is it?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I knew,” I said, unable to focus. “I just can’t make it out.” The intensity was growing around us, reaching a crescendo, when—bam—it was gone. The beeping of Ron’s EMF meter was quickly replaced by the footsteps of the approaching group, who looked totally oblivious to what had just transpired.

  Robert, Leo, and our EVP specialist, Karen, meandered by us, laughing and chatting about something that sounded like ghosts in period clothing and flowing d
resses.

  “I think we’re done here,” Ron said. “Let’s go in.”

  Andrea was sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open; Leo and Karen were already perched over her shoulder, mouths agape, apparently enthralled by the photo on the screen.

  “What’s that?” Ron asked, walking up to the table.

  “Check this photo out.” She paused, angling the LCD screen so we all could see.

  Peeking over Andrea’s shoulder I caught a glimpse of the head of a shadowy figure behind a toy Oscar Mayer Weiner mobile. Its eye sockets were intently focused on the toy in front of it. Curious about what I was looking at, I asked, “Where did you take this?”

  Andrea pointed to the L-shaped counter top. “Right there. I sell collectibles on eBay, and when I take the photos, these ‘things’ show up.”

  “Now, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Ron commented, as we both knew that was good evidence that something was going on here. Looking down at his watch, he continued, “Let’s finish up the investigation.”

  Leo picked up his 35mm, Karen her recorders, and we followed Andrea down the narrow hallway, with Ron and I bringing up the rear. One by one we entered each room with little result, until we reached the daughter’s room. I was struck with a familiar feeling as we entered. “Has anything ever happened in here?”

  “Funny you should ask. My daughter had an invisible friend she would often play with in here.” Andrea paused, carefully considering her words. “But that was before we ‘buried’ George’s ashes.”

  Ron turned to me, “Isn’t this the corner of the house where we picked up our readings?”

  I nodded. Now I knew what I had felt—it was the same energy. Although there was energy present, it was fleeting, and unfortunately for us, I had a feeling the worst was yet to come. And oh boy, was I right…

  Having checked out all of the rooms, we were done with our investigation of the first floor of the split-level, and we headed to the basement. In single file we traversed the narrow steps to the cellar.