Poltergeist: A Classic Study in Destructive Haunting (15 page)

The Society for Psychical Research sent two investigators.
They were present when there were loud knocks, after which, Mrs.
MacDonald saw a woman in the doorway.
Later, there were more knocks from the wall, Mrs.
MacDonald entered a semi-trance, and suddenly declared that the trouble stemmed from a tree in the rose garden; this had been a favorite of Mrs.
Brewin’s, and it had been allowed to die.
This, said Mrs.
MacDonald, was why the old woman was now trying to “communicate.” The gardener verified the tree story.

The McEwans felt they had had enough and returned to London; the MacDonalds also left.
The house was later razed to the ground by
the army.

Clearly, Mrs.
MacDonald was, without knowing it, a “medium.” As the “haunting” progressed, she became more and more aware of her powers, and at one point offered to go into a trance for the investigators.
But why did she have to wait to go to Ardachie before discovering that she was a medium?
Stephen Jenkins, who saw my presentation on television, looked at an ordnance survey map of the area, and concluded that Ardachie Lodge stood on the crossing point of four major ley lines.
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If his theory—and that of other “ley hunters”—is correct, then Ardachie had an abundance of the kind of energy needed for “spirits” to manifest themselves, and only needed a medium to act as catalyst.
The old woman, with her curious obsession, was what Kardec calls an “earth-bound spirit,” like the rag and bone man who caused the poltergeist disturbances in the Rue des Noyers.
She had been an “obsessive” in life, and continued to be so after her death.
Kardec would probably have made some attempt to help the “spirit” to evolve and escape its earth-bound existence.

What is being suggested, then, is that a poltergeist and a “ghost” are not basically dissimilar in nature.
Both need energy to manifest themselves.
(One of the commonest features of hauntings is a sudden feeling of coldness in the room, as if the “spirit” is using up energy.) Some of this energy is taken from the “medium” or focus; but some comes from the place itself, which may be why many houses remain haunted over many years.

The earliest records of hauntings are unfortunately lacking in detail, and so obviously “touched up” by their authors, that they can only be taken as evidence that
something
out of the ordinary occurred.
Probably the earliest account of a ghost on record is to be found in a letter of the Roman orator Pliny the Younger (first century a.d.), who tells of a haunted house in Athens where the spirit rattled chains.
As the years went past, the house fell into disrepair, until the philosopher Athenodorus noticed it and thought that he might be able to rent it cheaply.
The owners asked a remarkably low price, and told him frankly that it was haunted.
Athenodorus was not bothered.
On his first evening in the house he became so absorbed in his work that he forgot all about the ghost.
Then he heard rattling chains, and looked up to see the old man with a tangled beard and heavy fetters.
The ghost was beckoning with its finger.
The philosopher was too absorbed to pay much attention, but the noise of the chains finally forced him to get up and follow it.
The ghost led him into the garden, and vanished in the midst of a clump of shrubs.
Digging at this point revealed a skeleton with the shackles still on its wrists and ankles.
When this was given proper burial rites, says Pliny, the haunting ceased.

It seems unlikely that even a Stoic philosopher would go on working when a ghost was trying to attract his attention; but—this obvious exaggeration apart—the story fits the pattern of many better documented hauntings; the old lady of Ardachie seems to have behaved in much the same manner.

One of the earliest poltergeist stories on record also has many typical features; it is to be found in a chronicle called the
Annales Fuldenses
, and the event it describes dates back to 858 b.c.
It took place in a farmhouse near Bingen, on the Rhine, where the farmer lived with his wife and children (his name is not given).
The chronicle says that the “evil spirit” made itself evident “at first by throwing stones; then it made the place dangerous by shaking the walls, as though the men of that place were striking them with hammers.” Stone throwing is perhaps the most typical of all poltergeist antics, as we shall see; the shaking of the walls as if beaten with hammers sounds not unlike the “grand piano smash” of the Cape Cod haunting.
In fact, in many poltergeist cases, the occupants of the house are convinced that the place must be severely damaged, from the violence of the blows; but this seldom happens.

In the Bingen case, it seems that the farmer himself was the object of the malice of the “spirit.” Apparently it followed him around—an unusual feature except in cases (like that of Esther Cox) where the “focus” or medium moves elsewhere—until his neighbors were afraid to receive him into their homes.
The spirit also caused fires, burning his crops (presumably of corn) soon after they were gathered.
And the poltergeist developed a voice—another unusual feature—and denounced the man for various sins, including sleeping with the daughter of the foreman or overseer.
Finally, the Bishop of Mainz sent priests with holy relics, who also heard the voice denouncing the man for adultery.
In a version of the same case, quoted in the
Golden Legend
, it is recounted that when the priests sprinkled holy water and sang hymns, the spirit hurled stones at them—another highly convincing touch.
But the version in the
Golden Legend
adds that the spirit proved to be the “familiar” of a priest, who had also committed adultery.
Neither version mentions whether it was “exorcised”—a reliable indication that it was not, since ecclesiastical writers never failed to emphasize the successes of Holy Church against spirits and demons.

The most interesting thing about this story is its obvious authenticity, which has survived the usual exaggeration of the scribe.
Stone throwing, deafening hammering noises, spontaneous fires, contempt for the exorcists—all these are typical of poltergeists, as can be seen if we compare it with a far better documented case of the late nineteenth century.
This also occurred on a farm, in the province of Quebec in Canada; the owner was called Dagg.

The disturbances began quietly, which again seems typical—the poltergeist seems to begin by trying out its powers on a small scale.
On the morning of September 15, 1889, a boy named Dean, who was working as a “chore boy” for the Daggs, came down early to light the fire, and saw a five-dollar bill on the floor; he took this up to the farmer, George Dagg, who recognized it as a bill he had given to his wife the day before, together with another two dollars.
She had placed them in a bureau drawer, from which they were now found to be missing.
When the boy was out milking, George Dagg searched his room, and found the two dollars in his bed.
Later that day, Mrs.
Dagg found a streak of filth—presumably ordure—across the floor of the house, which so enraged her that she ordered the boy to leave.
He protested his innocence.
George Dagg took him off to a nearby town to see the magistrate; but while they were away, more streaks of filth appeared around the house, effectively vindicating the boy.

From then on, poltergeist disturbances were continuous.
Milk pans were overturned, windows smashed, small fires started, water poured on to the floor.
The “focus” seemed to be an eleven-year-old Scots girl called Dinah McLean, an orphan who had been adopted by the Dagg family.
One day soon after the disturbances began, her braid of hair was tugged so violently that she screamed.
It was found to be partly cut, so that it had to be completely severed.
The “spirit” made a habit of attacking Dinah.
And she was soon reporting that she could hear its voice, although no one else seemed to be able to.

An artist named Woodcock came to the house in November, and asked Dinah questions about the “haunting.” She said she had seen something in a woodshed, so Woodcock got her to take him there.
In the woodshed, Dinah said: “Are you there mister?” and to Woodcock’s amazement, a gruff voice replied with some violent obscenities (another characteristic of the rare examples of the “talking poltergeist”).
Woodcock describes it as being like the voice of an old man which sounded from the air a few feet away from him.
When Woodcock asked “Who are you?”’ the answer came: “I am the devil.
I’ll have you in my clutches.
Get out of this or I’ll break your neck.”

But Woodcock refused to be intimidated; so did George Dagg, who was called in.
An immensely long conversation ensued, and the “devil” gradually became less foul-mouthed and abusive.
When Dagg asked: “Why have you been bothering me and my family,” it replied: “Just
for fun.”

Dagg responded that it wasn’t much fun setting the place on fire, to which came the significant reply: “I didn’t.
The fires always came in the daytime and where you could see them.” And again, when Dagg asked why it had thrown a stone which had hit his four-year-old child Mary, he got the answer: “Poor wee Mary.
I didn’t intend to hit her.
I intended it for Dinah.
But I didn’t let it hurt her.” Again and again poltergeists do things that could kill or cause severe damage; yet in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, no one is actually harmed.
People may even be beaten with what sound like terrible blows—yet they are hardly hurt.

After more conversation, the spirit declared that it would take its leave of the house the following day, a Sunday.
When this news spread around the area, people began to crowd into the farmhouse.
The poltergeist did not let them down; as soon as they began to arrive, it was there, making comments.
Like the original Hydesville poltergeist in the home of the Fox sisters, it seemed to have intimate knowledge of the people who came in, and of their private affairs.
The voice was still the same as on the previous day; but when someone remarked on the improvement in its language, it replied that it was not the same spirit, but an angel sent from God “to drive away that fellow.” But this seems to have been untrue, for it ended by contradicting itself, then lost its temper, and used some of the old bad language.

Woodcock took the opportunity of many witnesses to draw up a lengthy report, stating that they had seen fires break out spontaneously, stones thrown by invisible hands, a mouth organ apparently playing itself, and all kinds of mischievous and generally upsetting phenomena.
This statement goes on to say that the “entity” had claimed to be a discarnated spirit who had died twenty years previously; it actually gave its name, but asked that this should be kept a secret.
The spirit was able to make itself visible to the children—two-year-old John, four-year-old Mary, and Dinah.
It had appeared to them at various times as a tall, thin man with a cow’s head, horns and cloven hoof, as a big black dog, and as a beautiful man dressed in white robes with a starry crown.
This statement was signed by seventeen witnesses.

On Sunday evening, Woodcock left the house to go back to his own lodgings; but the crowd found the spook so interesting that they begged it to stay on until 3 a.m.
By this time it had ceased to speak in a gruff voice and began to sing hymns in a pleasant, flute-like voice.
In the early hours of Monday morning, the spirit took its leave, but said it would show itself again to the children before it left permanently.

The next morning the children rushed in in great excitement.
They claimed that the beautiful man in white robes had appeared in the yard, and had picked up Mary and Johnny in his arms, declaring that Johnny was a fine little fellow.
The man then remarked that “that fellow Woodcock” thought he was not an angel, but he would show that he was.
Whereupon, he ascended into the air, and disappeared.
The children all told the same story, and repeated it word for word many times.

Father Herbert Thurston, who has summarized the story in his book
Ghosts and Poltergeists
,
[2]
comments that the ghost’s ability to appear to the children must have been some form of telepathy, and mentions that this has happened in many other cases—that the poltergeist has been seen by children, though not by adults.

The Dagg case parallels the Bingen case of 858 a.d.
with remarkable closeness, even to the attitude of the neighbors, who in both cases became hostile and suspicious, believing that witchcraft or magic was at the bottom of it.
Both poltergeists set fires, both spoke and identified themselves.
These parallels make it clear that, for all its amazing features, the report in the
Annales Fuldenses
is probably basically accurate.