The spirit I had just felt had begun to distance herself. Although I still felt her presence lingering, it was nothing more than a faint thrumming of low-level current on my skin. Like the echoing of a train whistle in the distance, it faded into the background.

I had taken no more than two steps into the room when an icy hand gripping my leg stopped me in my tracks. "Ah, let go!" I screamed. "What the h.e.l.l?"

Startled, Ron yelled, "What, what?"

I stepped away from the bed, backing up to the wall. "Something from under there grabbed my leg."

"Get out. Really?" He said as he dropped to the floor, lifted the bed sheet, and peered under the bed. "Maureen, there's nothing here."

"I'm telling you what happened. Here," I said, raising the pant leg of my faded jeans, "look at my calf. I'm not sure if we'll see any marks, but it feels like it's bruising already."

Together we walked to the bathroom, and turned on the light to get a better look.

"Wow, I guess you did feel something," Ron said, looking at the red handprint on my leg.

As we returned to the group, I tried to put what I'd just felt into words. An impression of the incident popped into my head, and instinctively I knew. "I think it was an elderly woman who had fallen off her walker and was reaching out for help."

I couldn't help but notice Ron's look of disbelief, but then Paula spoke up. "Well, actually, in the fifties, this building was a nursing home."

I smiled at Ron, "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Ron said.

I wasn't surprised at Ron's next suggestion. "Why don't we try to communicate?"

"What are we going to do?" Paula asked.

"We are going to make contact with the spirit and see if we can calm things down a bit."

"I'm up for that," Paula said. "So what do we do now?"

"Let's all sit on the floor and hold hands. This way the energy flows freely from person to person." Ron knelt down on the rug. Unable to sit Indian style, he adjusted his legs so that they were straight out in front of him, and then nodded for everyone to follow his lead.

Within moments we were all holding hands. The EMF meter, still on, lay eerily quiet in the center of the circle. Closing our eyes, we focused our intent.

"Are there any spirits here who would like to communicate? If so, show yourself now." Ron raised his voice to be heard above the sudden blaring of the EMF meter. "Thank you," Ron replied to the spirit.

Ron continued, "If anyone in this circle receives a message, just speak up."

A sharp pain sliced through my chest. Unable to breathe in deeply, I took short, quick breaths. "There's negative energy here. He doesn't like Bridget, he wants her gone."

"Who the heck's Bridget?" Ron asked.

"Oh my G.o.d, Bridget's my daughter," Paula said, her voice shaky. "That must be why, why-she can't sleep in this room."

Ron, picking up where he left off, continued. "They are only making changes in this house to make it comfortable. We ask that you not hurt this family, rather that you protect them."

The EMF slowed down, eventually stopping. The ent.i.ty was gone.

We closed the circle, dusted off our b.u.t.ts, and continued our investigation of the building.

Walking two flights down through a narrow stairwell, we stepped off the last step into pitch-black darkness. "Where are we now?" Ron asked.

"In the bas.e.m.e.nt," Paula answered.

I heard a slight ting of metal sc.r.a.ping, as Paula pulled the chain to the naked light bulb. "I want to show you the hidden room that David and I found." She gestured with her hand for us to follow. "It's over here. But be careful, there's not much light. David and I believe it might be part of the Underground Railroad."

We gathered in an area just in front of the door.

"It's right here, behind these pieces of wood." Paula pointed to a stack of wooden panels leaning against the wall.

Like peeling an onion, Ron and Ron Jr. removed one board after another. Layer by layer, they struggled with the weight of old beams and planks of rotted wood, until nothing was left except for a small wooden door, its edges masked by globs of mortar and stone. Together they pulled on the handle. It was stuck. Refusing to be thwarted, they yanked even harder. The door finally gave way. The sound of wood sc.r.a.ping on cement was like fingernails drawn across a chalkboard, causing my teeth to ache. I hung back and waited as Ron peered into the secret room. Realizing he needed light, he retrieved the flashlight from his rear pocket. Taking a moment to juggle the items in his hands to make room for the light, he aimed the beam in front of him, ducked his head ever so slightly, and headed into the dark abyss.

"Hey, Maureen, come take a look at this," Ron's voice echoed.

As I stepped into the secret chamber, I felt the first chilled breeze brush over my skin. After the rest of the group filed in, Ron reached his left hand out and yanked on the wooden door, sealing us inside and preventing any outside interference. I stood there, holding my breath in antic.i.p.ation, as I watched the low light of the cellar fade into blackness. And I couldn't help but wonder about the door. Once inside, the door had closed behind us as easily as a hot knife cut through b.u.t.ter, like someone or something wanted us inside. How odd?

Now standing in utter darkness, I closed my eyes to focus my senses. Although I knew there were no more than five of us huddled within the secret chamber, it began to feel crowded. Almost too crowded.

I opened my eyes, struggling to see the silhouettes of our team in the darkness, but my mind looked past them, through them, until all I could see was the images of women and children, huddled in the corner of the room, gasping for breath. I stood there watching as streams of tears washed down their filthy, soot-soiled faces. My mind was transported to a different time.

Suddenly, my breathing turned heavy, raspy.

The air around me grew thick with smoke.

My chest tightened, constricted. I held my hand over my mouth to stifle the spasmodic cough. I took a sharp intake of air. It burned. I coughed again. The image slowly receding, I said, "Ron, I...I...I need to leave."

"Did you see something? Are you all right?" His voice sounded as thick as the air felt.

"The room is filled with smoke," I coughed, "and death." Ron Jr. pushed the door open. I left and all but ran up the cellar stairs, making my way to the front of the house and out the door into the night. Pacing back and forth, I inhaled and then exhaled slowly, struggling to clear the irritation in my lungs. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say I'd just exited a burning building. But that was impossible. I turned to stare at the house that from this vantage point looked fine. Hmmm, looks are definitely deceiving Hmmm, looks are definitely deceiving, I thought.

Not pain-free, but feeling somewhat myself, I went back into the house. Being empathic can be a challenge. Especially when I open up to communicate with spirits and end up wearing their pain and their suffering like a glove.

Karen's screech caught everyone's attention.

Ron, Leo, Ron Jr., and I ran toward Karen, who had been standing in the hallway, near a very large mirror, recording EVPs. Ron asked, "What's the problem?"

"All my recorders are empty!"

"You're kidding," Ron replied.

"No, I'm not. I've been recording all night. Oh my G.o.d, would you look at this one..." Karen held up one of her digital recorders, and angled it for us to see the screen. The numbers on the recorder were running backward, in reverse. "I didn't even push the b.u.t.ton," she said, distraught. "They're erasing themselves!"

"Well, looks like we can forget capturing any EVP evidence," Ron muttered.

Ron's remark pushed Karen over the edge. She turned off her recorders. One by one she dropped them into her kit.

As a group we walked into the kitchen and took a seat.

David, his hand flat on the table, leaned over and said in a low voice, "I've had a few accidents here myself. I was on the stepladder fixing the trim against the ceiling, when out of nowhere someone unseen lifted the ladder and yanked it out from under me. I ended up with bruises and a fractured rib. Then, there are times I've woken up drenched, as if someone has poured a bucket of water on me." Still standing, he pushed away from the table, did an about-face and walked over to a well-lit room adjacent to the kitchen. The only room that we had yet to investigate. "There's more." He gestured with his hand for us to follow him. "Come here," he said. "I want to show you guys something."

Our morbid curiosity piqued, we followed him.

"One weekend I came to the house alone. I had way too much work to do, and Paula wasn't able to make it. So, after a long day of laboring, just before bed, I came down to the kitchen to get myself a drink and decided to use this bathroom, instead of the upstairs one."

I watched David's eyes glaze over as if he was looking at the bathroom, but not truly seeing it. As he began to retell the events of that night, his previously relaxed stance became rigid, guarded. "Well, I was sitting on the toilet, when the door began to open by itself." His smile turned into a grimace. "At first I was stunned, and then I got mad. I probably said some things I shouldn't have."

"Like what?" I asked.

Attempting to hide his embarra.s.sment, he looked away momentarily. He gathered his thoughts and said, "I called them perverts!"

"Then what?"

"Then this." He stepped aside and let us take a look. There on the floor was a toilet bowl sheared in half. Well, not really in half. As I looked more closely I noticed that not a drop of water from the bowl had spilled. The only thing that kept the water from pouring forth and onto the floor was a sliver of porcelain, no thicker than that of a dollar bill standing on edge.

"Wow, that would be tough to pull off," Ron said.

"You didn't get hurt, did you?" I asked.

"No. It happened after I went upstairs to bed. I heard a loud bang, and when I went to investigate the source, that's when I found it."

Even though David's emotions were hard to read, I felt a swift, sudden onset of fear, and it triggered something in me. Just then an image of David being tipped over on excavating equipment popped into the forefront of my mind. "David, you also had an accident in the backyard, didn't you?"

"Yes. But how do you know?" He paused. "It scared the h.e.l.l out of me, so I had some of my guys pack up the machines and drive them away."

"Was it a Kubota?"

"Yeah," he rubbed his chin as in deep thought, "how did you know that?"

I had no good answer for him, so I told him the truth. "I have no idea. It just popped into my head."

"Interesting," he said. "One minute I'm on the Kubota, the next, I'm tipped sideways." He said in excitement, "I had to jump out of the way or risk being crushed."

"David, that's sounds so terrifying. Thank G.o.d you're all right," I said.

"Maureen, Ron told Paula about a blessing she could do on the house. Do you know of a protection that I can use for traveling? These incidents have me a little on edge."

As coincidence would have it, prior to leaving for the day, I'd jotted down a few prayers of protection. One of them was for traveling. I dug into my pocketbook and handed him the prayer: In the name of G.o.d I go on this journey.May G.o.d the Father be with me,G.o.d the Son protect me, andG.o.d the Holy Ghost be by my side.Whoever is stronger than these three personsMay approach my body and my life; yetWhoso is not stronger than these threeWould much better let me be!

The grandfather clock chimed three times. With a two-hour ride back, it was time to go. As we left, we gave David and Paula the tools to protect themselves. We hoped that our investigation had answered some of their questions as to why their dream house had become a nightmare. And for now, our job was done.

RESULTS OF THE INVESTIGATION.

This is one case where history and the paranormal go hand in hand. Our research showed us that the presence of the elderly woman could be attributed to the house once being a nursing home. And perhaps more dramatically, we later discovered that this area was the scene of several Indian raids in which settlers' houses were burned and families ma.s.sacred. Was this the tragic event that Maureen relived in the secret room?Since our investigation David and Paula have split up. His behavior at the house became more and more not his own, yet he failed to recognize it. He refused help, and now the dream house sits vacant.

episode twelve

THE SPECTRAL HITCHHIKER.

CASE FILE: 6348765.

SPECTRAL HITCHHIKER.

Locations: America's Stonehenge, Salem, New Hampshire; Route 28, Salem, New Hampshire; and Methuen, Ma.s.sachusetts.History: Shrouded in mystery, America's Stonehenge is a maze of stonewalls punctuated with chambers. At four thousand years old, America's Stonehenge is one of the oldest megalithic sites in North America.Reported Paranormal Activity: Sounds of drums and chanting echoing in the night, unexplained lights, blue mist, and shooting orbs.Clients: N/AInvestigators: Ron (lead investigator), Maureen (trance medium).

Ron and I pulled out of the parking lot of America's Stonehenge.

"Well, that was pretty mundane, ghost hunting in the afternoon. But at least we got the podcast done," Ron said, referring to our latest iTunes adventure. "Other than that one spirit who dogged us all afternoon, there really wasn't that much happening."

"Yeah, but he was pretty strong. Remember when we were standing around the sacrificial table? It was all I could do to not channel him."

"Well, why didn't you? Isn't that what we were here for?" Ron asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Easy for you to say. I have free will like everyone else. The last thing I want to do is channel someone as nasty as that spirit. A Native American that sacrificed people by cutting their hearts out."

"And you know this how?"

I knew, like always, Ron was just trying to rile me up. "I know, because when we were standing by that big flat rock, the one with the groove carved around the edge to drain the blood, I had a quick glimpse of the spirit as he tore someone's heart out. It made me sick. I could feel his pleasure in the task."

A photo of the sacrificial altar at America's Stonehenge. Notice the groove in the stone used to drain the blood of the victims.

Suddenly, a tingle in my third eye caught me off guard. I pressed my finger to my forehead. "Hey, Ron, I'm feeling strange."

"Yeah, but when don't you?"

"No, I really mean it." I turned to look around, having the odd sensation that we were not alone. "Maybe I should have blessed the car. I think the spirit followed us."

"I don't think so. Come on," Ron said, denying the possibilities.

I heard the vague, familiar sound of rhythmic beeping over the music and Ron grumbling. "Shhh," I said, as I turned the radio down. The EMF meter in Ron's pocket had sprung to life.

"Oh, that's just the wires," Ron said, pointing to the telephone poles above our heads as we waited to turn onto Route 28.

But the energy pulsated in my third eye, making it challenging to concentrate on the road. And as we drove away from the wires and the EMF meter kept beeping, I said, "Wires, huh, Ron?"

"Well. Okay. Maybe not."

"Are you recording this?"

"I am now," Ron said, as he pressed the b.u.t.ton on the digital recorder. "We're on our way home in Maureen's car. Who, by the way, didn't put any protection on it. And guess what's going on in my pocket?" Ron said as he held the microphone closer to his pocket, catching the incessant beeping of the EMF meter.