What follows is a much annotated account of a favorite investigation of mine. A "Highlights" version, if you will. This is only the begining of this account. Much more to come in the following weeks and yes...it just keeps getting better.
Christopher and I are the first to arrive. We set off on an exploration of the grounds as well as the structures, and what remains of some of them first. This estate reported, although not verified as yet, to have been built in the late 1800's. Some accounts claim approximately 1900. A large and stately manor house, made only larger by the construction of other add ons to the original though out the passage of years. The grounds are in ruins, partially torn down structures, crumbling walls, foundations with pipes jutting forth, debris, much of it dangerous, adorn the grounds surrounding the manor and the asylum/sanitarium wing, which extends behind the manor like a long tail.
I examine the walls, the electrical boxes, the foundation, the boarded up windows, busily making mental notes. I can hear them as we round the corner on the eastern side of the manor. Hundreds of bees, collectively buzzing around a second story window, their wax dripping down the walls like a candle.
"How very Amityville," I remark, smiling at Christopher. Yet, they make me nervous.
Todd, the owner arrives and I am introduced. The rest of the team arrives and we make our way up the steps onto the porch. Todd unlocks the front door, I follow behind and as I cross the threshold, into the manor I find that I am smiling. If someone set about to write a story of a haunted structure they could not have dreamed up better than this one.
Todd begins to recount his version of the property's history. Christopher interviews, Liz rolls film and I take notes and chime in with my occasional query. The tour begins and again I am again struck by how stereotypically ideal it all is.
In the two weeks leading up to our arrival 911 dispatchers have repeatedly received calls, their origin tracing back to this location. When they answer, they say there is nothing there, or, sometimes static. There hasn't been a phone or line activated here in over twenty years.
We get an odd call ourselves. A man calls on Dave's cell phone stating he saw Dave's Avalanche bearing the signs advertizing our team. He needs our help. The line drops, cutting the man off. Later, in the evening, Dave calls the number back and gets a man whose voice is different from the original caller. This new voice claims that he never called us and it wasn't possible that anyone but he could make a call from this phone. Perhaps he wasn't honest….or, perhaps hewas .
Equipment set up, dinner consumed, sun going down and electromagnetic fields beginning to settle on this corner of Earth's plane, we get to work. Dave, Christopher and I form a regular trio throughout the following hours. Sometimes it will just be Dave and I, or Christopher and I alone. I love to watch the two of them. Like psychic bloodhounds, they can see and feel what I cannot…that is, until later. The burden of their abilities weighs heavily on them here, flooded by feelings of sadness, confusion and pain of those who came before. This is something I take with a grain of salt, yes, but I know, first hand what Christopher can do. I may doubt others, but never him.
First shifts over, we return to home base for a break and to check in with one another. Liz has been faithfully monitoring all the cameras on the laptops set up around. Holly, our guest who won an auction from a donation we made to a not for profit organization is seated in an ancient armchair. I take my place on a couch and we casually begin to converse among ourselves. Dave and Jon are out in the hallway near the kitchen. I am not certain of Christopher's exact location when it happens.
We are interrupted by an almost deafening BANG! I am immediately concerned for my team. Liz and Holly are with me, so there is no need for concern. I cannot see Jon and Dave and without a doubt, the sound came from close proximity to them. I call out to them, asking for confirmation of their locale and if they are hurt. They answer back they are fine. In moments I am on my feet and race to the hallway to find them, we meet halfway and ask one another what happened. No one answers. I am utterly perplexed that they were not the ones responsible for this sound. Our eyes meet, for a fraction of a second, there is no need for words between us, just an innate synergy, and the three of us are out the front door at full speed, flying down the steps, in three different directions.
There is no one there. There was no place for anyone to hide either. We closely examine the structure, the ground, anything and everything, desperately seeking some sort of answer. There is nothing.
It's my turn to play bloodhound. This is my arena now, where I can make sense of what the others cannot. Equations, distance, particles and light, sound and surface. I am told later the psychics have just as much fun watching me do what I do as I do watching them.
I rush each individual back into their positions at the time the "Big Bang" occurred. At my instruction Dave, the largest, strongest of the men, remains outside and we try to recreate the sound. I cue him on the radio to begin. He bangs on the door, the walls, the windows with hands, fists, rocks. Nothing even comes close to what we heard. I know, with certainty the sound did not originate from outside of the house. It came from within.
We all agree that the sound came from upstairs near what is called "Mary's Room." Jon, Dave, Christopher and I ascend the staircase and set about examining the hallway, the closets, the rooms, the floors in this area of the house. Nothing is out of place, my control photographs support this. Nothing causes even me, a small suspicion. I order a restore and all individuals are back to their original positions again, save Jon. I mark them and when all is to my satisfaction I yell up to Jon to start the first one.
The place is littered with medical volumes. Bizarre and graphic in nature, some of them, he takes the largest of these, raises it above his head and slams it, full force onto the floor of the landing upstairs.This was the sound . He repeats this action twice more. We all agree that this was the location origin of the sound, only muchlouder.
I am still trying to find a logical explanation for what happened. I return to it, like a cherished memory examining it again and again. I am looking for a missing component which only begets answers that birth more questions. I hold a certainty in me, that I admit only fully here, now, that with what we know so far, my known science has failed me. The unknown,finally, has not.
(Some names were changed to protect the innocent...of which you'll find none here)