Meeting Place of the Dead. Richard Palmisano

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      Recalling the team’s astounding success during the second investigation, I decided to try my own daytime experiment beginning at 10:30 a.m. I placed the recorder on an easel in the studio, the mic pointed toward the open door to the kitchen, beyond. Adjusting the E. Probe 1.0 one notch higher than the last visit, I set that down on the windowsill of the small room at the top of the stairs.

      There were no powder disturbances, no markings of charcoal pencil on the pad of paper, no movement of the bubble die, and no residual household odours followed me to the car. Though I addressed the house politely before exiting, I was careful not to empower anyone listening by acknowledging the strange event of a couple days’ previous.

      By 1:37 p.m., I was back in the car, having retrieved the recorder and E. Probe 1.0. I had arrived to find the alarm was once again blaring and — though it was placed across the length of the cottage and upstairs — had ruined a third recording by drowning out the sounds of the building. Upon analysis, this time someone touched off the alarm nearly sixteen minutes after I had left the cottage. Again, there were no powder, pencil, or die changes.

      The positive aspect of this experiment was that I had finally found “the sweet spot” on the alarm for this location.

      Visit #7 — January 23

      The window for my solo data-collecting was closing fast. I returned to the cottage at my first opportunity, at 7:39 p.m., eager to try another new tactic.

      Checking the powder traps, paper pad, and die bubble to find there were still no changes in any of them, I addressed the house good-naturedly and pointed out that the opportunity to communicate with me alone was rapidly coming to an end, politely saying that no more interested parties would be available to hear their concerns after The Searcher Group was finished visiting with them.

      Moving to the Pop-O-Matic bubble, I depressed it to shake up the die several times, and each time I did so, I enthusiastically called out the number that came up.

      I reasoned based on the imitation popping sounds that had been recorded during Visit #5, that perhaps if a new “norm” of shouting out the appropriate numbers was introduced, then perhaps whoever was imitating the popping sound might follow suit and shout the numbers they “saw” or imagined were coming up, as well (and be recorded, doing so). It was a long shot, but worth trying.

      Analysis of the three-hour recording turned up some interesting results. There were several more imitation die-popping sounds, but no numbers were called out after each ‘pop,’ as I had demonstrated. The recorder, which had been placed on the window shared between the dining room and the kitchen, picked up subtle metallic jingling noises quite close to it. This jingling resembled a nearby charm bracelet more than a set of keys being shaken or several coins clinking together.

      January 25, 12:20 a.m.

      In hindsight, perhaps my requests for communication with the residents of the cottage were truly answered, only they were not to be on my terms.

      Apart from the bizarre mid-sleep occurrence of January 17, what happened on this morning made me reconsider what I would otherwise have chalked up to exhaustion and an overactive imagination.

      Deciding to go to bed at another ridiculous work-week hour, I sauntered along the half-lit hallway toward our bedroom. Light streamed into the dark of the hall from the bathroom on the left, revealing the dim outlines of the spare room door and our daughter’s bedroom door, opposite.

      As I took two or three steps forward, a loud snap suddenly emanated from the threshold of the spare room doorway — mere feet away. Within a second of the sound, my instinct was to freeze in my tracks and look toward its source. As I did so, I caught a hint of a shadow at least five feet high flitting from the spare room door toward the lit, half-closed bathroom, before all was still.

      The environment surrounding me felt as if I was in the presence of someone else. The abrupt snap of the laminate flooring sounded as if someone had been standing in the doorway of the spare room and when they realized I was approaching, took their weight off that place to launch themselves into the bathroom, six feet away.

      Did my daughter get up to use the washroom? Was my wife around the corner of the spare room, hiding for some reason? I waited for a short time to listen for movement, before asking after my daughter. No reply came and I continued forward a little more cautiously, telling myself it was a ridiculous notion that she would be awake at that time of morning. Still, I peered into the darkened spare room, then slowly opened the bathroom door the rest of the way to inspect the interior.

      In the six years we have lived in our house, I have walked that hall hundreds of times. Never once have I heard a floorboard creak or snap like this, simply by walking the same path I was routinely walking as I was that morning.

      I climbed into bed cautiously, listening for more foreign sounds in and outside the bedroom. Satisfied my alarm clock was set for the correct wake-up time, I slowly relaxed under the covers.

      What seemed like a short time later, my bedside alarm clock sounded, its merciless beeping alerting me that it was time to rise for the day and begin it by preparing lunch for our daughter’s school day, as was my weekday custom. Crediting the incredible sense of exhaustion I was feeling as a result of my late turn-in time, I staggered to the kitchen and began to start the day.

      About fifteen minutes passed as I fed the cats, washed a few dishes, and started to make coffee. While I was filling the kettle with water, I turned to reach for the stove element dial. My eyes fell on the stovetop clock. The digital clock read 3:48.

      I blinked, utterly perplexed. Rubbing my eyes, I focused again on the stovetop clock, before glancing to the microwave clock, which echoed the display panel of the stove’s.

      Ensuring I hadn’t turned on any electrical equipment during my time in the kitchen, I returned to bed, grateful for another two hours’ worth of sleep. An inspection of my bedside clock confirmed it was indeed still set to alarm at 5:55 a.m.

      Events such as these had never happened to me before, nor have they happened since.

      None of the at-home incidents I’ve described would strike me as particularly frightening or thought-provoking on their own, but the fact that they occurred within a space of a few early morning hours after I had requested communication during my solo investigations, compels me to include them here.

      Must I attribute them all as products of an overactive imagination, or to a mind trained to perceive them with open skepticism? Could I have been paid a visit or two by a resident of the cottage, boldly investigating me?

      Be careful what you wish for.

      Conclusions:

      It was interesting to note over the time Peter commenced his solo visits to the cottage that the non-aggressive posture produced little results. However there seemed to be some sort of bond developed over this time as a spirit in the building started following him home.

      This raised a red flag for me. Sometimes when they follow you home it is to disrupt your household, a sort of retaliation to investigating theirs.

      5

      Third Investigation

      Late January

      The team assembled slowly, and as we waited for the rest to show up Peter, Paul, and I looked over the cottage exterior. It was bitter cold and Paul suggested we move inside СКАЧАТЬ