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My Night With The Spirits, Conclusion

There was so much information to impart that I broke this narrative up into several parts. It is necessary, or at the least highly recommended, that you read the first three parts before you proceed. You won’t know what’s going on otherwise. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Okay, then.

Do you all know what a “Ghost Box” is? I didn’t, not really. Not until I was introduced to one. What the device does is, it scans all existing radio frequencies at rapid speed. To listen to it, it’s just so much static and gibberish, little snippets of songs or speech. Imagine taking a radio dial and spinning it more quickly than is humanly possible. That’s what it sounds like. Yet the belief is that spirits can somehow interfere with the overall broadcast, slowing it down for milliseconds, snatching pieces of broadcasts from out of the airwaves, individual words, in order to communicate. Remember the way Bumblebee talks in the TRANSFORMERS movies, by using the radio? It works just like that.

See the crystal on the top of the Ghost Box?


Okay, so we’re all sitting in a more or less circle in the office outside the secret room, and they turn on the “Ghost Box.” We all take turns asking questions. (Yes, I took part in this.) Now there are literally billions of pieces of information floating around in the ether. Think about all the songs that are being broadcast on every radio station, all at the same time. How many words are out there at any given moment? Billions, right? At least millions. Maybe, as the hardline skeptics claim, the ghost box is really just grabbing onto snippets of broadcasts at random. Maybe it’s only chance. But what are the odds, I would ask them, and I ask you, that of all the words floating around out there in the ether, the first one the Ghost Box chose to play for us would be MY NAME?(!!!)

One of the investigators asked, “Do you have anything you would like to tell us?” And the Ghost Box responded by SAYING MY NAME.

HOLY F***ING SH*T!

And THAT was just the beginning.

When I asked Ms. Ann (see, if you didn’t read all the material before you got to this point, you won’t know who I’m talking about) where her grave was located, the Ghost Box replied “cement.” I was told by the TPRG folks that it isn’t uncommon to get words that don’t make any sense in regards to the questions asked, so maybe sometimes it IS just snatching bits of information from the broadcast spectrum at random. Other times, though, like with my name…?

And here’s something I didn’t know. I was talking to the owner of the House the next day, telling her all about my experiences, and she told me that, when she and her husband purchased the House, there had been a cement slab in the backyard, that they didn’t know what it was there for, and they’d had it removed. Suddenly “cement” made a LOT more sense. Is the grave located beneath the ground that cement slab once covered?

My wife had gone out with a friend of ours. She didn’t arrive at the House until the wee hours of the morning. When she came upstairs, the Ghost Box said “just got here” at one point, and then “the pretty one.” I can assure my readers that my lovely better half had in fact just gotten there, and that she is indeed “the pretty one.” One of the investigators is named Scot. At one point, the Box asked, “Where is Scot?” “He’s downstairs,” someone answered. A few moments later, it said “So am I.”

Some other things that came through:
“Where did you die?” Answer: “On the stairs.”
“Where are you buried?” Answer: “Right as you come in” and “In the backyard, by the bush.” (This was after the initial answer of “cement.”)
“Who are you?” Answer: “Ghost.”

The Ghost Box gave us the name “Kate” twice. We’re going to put our historian to work, to see if he can find a record of someone by that name in association with the House. It also gave us the name “Henry.”

One of the investigators was a tad brash, provocative with his comments, antagonistic. The responses he got from the Ghost Box were variations on the same message: “Leave.” “Go.” Goodbye.” I don’t think they liked him.

Oh, and because I’d forgotten it until now, one of the ladies took the motion-capture device with her to the downstairs restroom, which is one of the locations where people have most frequently reported paranormal activity. It detected a digital “stick figure” that followed her out of the bathroom when she left.

That’s mostly everything. I don’t expect to convince anybody who is determined not to believe in the supernatural. I don’t even know how to explain what I experienced. But I do know what I saw and what I heard. I was not hallucinating. I was not the victim of a scam. (I’m smart enough that I would have seen through that, and I WAS keeping my eyes open.) I did not imagine it and I am not lying. What I say I saw and heard, I did see and hear. As Robert Ripley said, believe it or not. As for myself, am I satisfied? Do I believe? Yeah. I do. And I believe Billy Shakespeare was right. There really are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in our philosophies.

The TPRG is supposed to come back for another visit. I’ll let you know how it goes.

WAYNE MILLER is the owner and creative director of EVIL CHEEZ PRODUCTIONS (www.evilcheezproductions.blogspot.com, www.facebook.com/evilcheezproductions), specializing in theatrical performances and haunted attractions. He has written, produced and directed (and occasionally acted in) over a dozen plays, most of them in the Horror and Crime genres. His first novel, THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER: WEREWOLF, is available for purchase here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/734763

MORTUI VELOCES SUNT!

TheCheezman • February 22, 2018


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