Meeting Place of the Dead. Richard Palmisano

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      One of the investigators, James, started to take photos while Peter and Victoria prepared their equipment.

      Joan returned and mentioned that she had received an impression of a body buried on the property and that it was hidden, possibly in the barn.

      Peter and Joan headed to the second floor. Victoria followed them up.

      They moved through the second floor and stopped at the bathroom.

      “This house is very old. There was a husband and wife and he had a daughter,” Joan began.

      “Here? Up here or in the house, generally?” Peter inquired, looking for clarity.

      “No, generally, yeah. They lived here, the three of them. Maybe they had a son, I don’t know, it’s … I feel like the husband is abusing her or just shouting at her and putting her inside that — under the stairs. And there was a lock; he used to lock it. And that was a hiding place for her; a place she had to be,” Joan explained.

      “So he put her in there for punishment? Or did she have to hide from him in there?” Peter asked.

      “Both. Sometimes she went there and sometimes he had to put her there for a while.”

      Joan was indicating the alcove built under the stairs on the main floor.

      “It was that spot that you were looking in earlier downstairs?”

      “Yeah. As soon as I opened it I knew there was a child in there, or used to be there. And as soon as I opened it and it was like … there was a connection. I knew that. I don’t know if it’s a ‘he’ or a ‘she.’ Before I came here I told Richard that I feel like there is a husband and wife and a child.”

      Peter didn’t say anything. Later, he suggested that the child was a tomboy, which would explain the medium’s confusion.

      “So are these feelings you’re picking up, or can they share names and dates with you yet?” Peter asked.

      “I don’t know, yet. I told Richard it’s like people are coming to this house and going; it’s like neighbours or they’re doing something here. Lots of people. I see people — they are coming and leaving. Lots of noises — talking about things. I don’t know yet.”

      “Is anybody here with us, now?” Peter asked.

      “No. Here? No.”

      “Like the angry man?”

      “Actually, downstairs in that northwest room — the second one. The chair I was sitting down in, I felt like a male used to sit there. And I sat down on a chair; I felt like he doesn’t want me to sit there. I felt there was a guy; he used to sit in that corner, always.”

      “And that’s the same angry man, or perhaps a different guy?” Peter asked.

      “He’s not angry, but I think he’s drinking a lot, like, getting drunk most of the time and I can see that his right hand is like that.” Joan mimed pounding up and down. “I don’t know what he has in his hand, I don’t see it; I don’t feel it yet, but … he has a cane or something in his hand.”

      “So while he was drunk he would be angry?”

      “Yeah, he wants something. He’s shouting and he wants it. That’s why everybody gets scared or something? I feel like it’s not a happy house, at all. I don’t feel happy. It’s like lonely. It feels so weird.”

      Joan opened the closet just outside the master bedroom. “It’s like the wife used to put something in here. They had a baby, also…”

      “In addition to the other child?” Peter inquired, looking into the closet.

      “Yeah. It’s like, uh … baby stuff. But there’s no baby; I don’t feel any baby” — she paused — “Maybe passed away, or something? Someone died in the bathroom.”

      Paul and I arrived to set up a surveillance camera in the adjacent room.

      “Yeah, it’s a female.”

      “Young? Older?” Peter asked.

      “Not young, not old. Fifty … No, younger than that. It’s not the first time she gets the pain. It’s so many times.”

      “What kind of pain? Where does it originate?”

      “She’s bleeding.”

      “From her body? Her head?”

      “It’s from … her face. I feel like it’s the face and she has a pain here.” Joan indicated her abdominal area then paused, pushing aside the shower curtains. “No, someone was abusing her. It’s her husband.”

      “The same one from downstairs?”

      “That guy, yeah. That’s the one. They had the daughter or son; I don’t know, yet. It’d get scared, go downstairs and go to the little place.”

      “Uh hm. Under the stairs?”

      “Yeah.”

      [The surveillance camera microphone captures a child saying, “Get back momma.”

      A male voice comes over the microphone: “Oh oh.”

      The child calls out, “Dad,” sobbing and sounding frightened.

      Then there was a very loud big bang.]

      “So it sounds like she is dying or died of complications from the abuse. Beatings, or something like that, finally killed her?” Peter summarized.

      “She kills herself, I think. It’s so complicated. I can see the pain and every time she comes here … washes … and changes her clothes and goes. I can hear crying and this door was closed and she’s sitting here.” Joan sits on the edge of the bathtub. “And she’s just crying. She has black hair. She’s so worried about the things, I don’t know. This is the place she used to come most of the time.”

      “Like a retreat? A safe haven?”

      “She closed that door and locked it.”

      “Do you think she eventually died in this room?” Peter inquired.

      “I can see a woman is lying down here” — indicating the bathtub — “and the head is here” — indicating opposite the taps — “but I don’t know. She doesn’t move, but I can see her; she’s sitting here, also. I can see she’s not moving at all … and it’s bleeding.”

      “Is there water in there too, with her, or is it just her?”

      “She was just with the blood.”

      “From her head?”

      Leaving the rest of the team, Paul and I went downstairs. I was whistling.

      [The microphone records a child humming along.]

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