The Ghost Chronicles (5 page)

I slid a chair in front of the fireplace. Brian and Tom,taking my cue, set up their camera for the shoot, as did Bob, our videographer.

“Can I get you guys something to drink?” Vess asked.

“No, thanks. I think we’ll just get started.” I looked around. “Are the waitresses here?”

“Nah. They’re too shy to talk on camera. So I’m it.”

Not wanting to be influenced by the interview, Maureen left the room, closing the French doors behind her.

Sitting in a chair, a glass of Merlot in his hand, Vess began to tell his story as the fire crackled behind him.

“My name is Vess Liakas, and I’m the owner of the Windham Restaurant. Since I’ve owned this place, many strange things have occurred here that I can’t explain.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“The chairs on the second floor would be turned around facing the window, like somebody was watching a parade coming up the street. Other times we would find the silverware and place settings on some of the tables out of place or gone missing.” Taking a moment, he sipped from his wine glass.

“After locking up in the evening, we would return in the morning to find windows opened, faucets running, and lights on.” He shook his head in disbelief. “We even lost an expensive set of dishes in the kitchen when they flew off the rack and smashed on to the floor.”

“Has anybody else seen anything unusual?”

“Customers and the wait staff have seen a little boy, a girl, and a man in a blue suit that the staff named Jacob. In fact, one night my partner Lula saw a man fall down the stairs, and when she ran to help him, he was gone. Vanished into thin air. Now she refuses to be here alone.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah. Pagers and deodorizers are constantly having their batteries drained with no logical explanation. Sometimes when the staff needs to go into the basement to get something, they hear a man clear his throat when no one is down there.” Vess rolled his eyes. “I can even remember a time when I was in the kitchen preparing a meal and the shrimp disappeared off the plate. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find it. It was gone. In seconds.”

As I listened, I couldn’t help but have my doubts about
that
story. Just as I finished the interview, I could feel a surge of cold air rush by me, causing the little hairs at the base of my neck to stand at attention.

“Something’s here!” Bob said with a broad grin. He felt it too.

We didn’t have to be told. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

It was time to see if we could find any evidence to validate the stories we had just heard. Maureen rejoined us and we gathered up our equipment to do a sweep of the building, while Ron Jr. monitored base camp. During a “sweep,” we go from room to room looking for evidence of ghostly activity, such as EMF spikes, unexplained temperature fluctuations, psychic impressions, EVPs, as well as video and photographic evidence.

It was now time to try out my brand new EMF meter, something I was pretty excited about.

After assembling the group, with meter in hand, I turned to Maureen. “Okay Maureen, you ready? Let’s see what you can do.”

* * *

With a sweep of Ron’s arm, he indicated I should get a move on. “Where do you want to go?” he asked. “Lead the way.”

Lead the way
? Was he kidding? Not wanting to look inept, I plastered on a makeshift smile and prayed I appeared more confident than I felt.

The nervous energy I’d been fighting since I’d opened my eyes to start the day continued to gnaw at me. Before leaving my house that evening, I’d pulled a few tarot cards from my Voyager deck to gain some insight on what type of evening to expect.

I’ve been reading tarot cards all my life as a tool to connect me with other people’s pasts, presents, and futures. I don’t usually read for myself, but it isn’t every day that I’m invited to join a team of paranormal investigators in search of communing with the dead. To gather my nerve, I visualized the two cards I’d pulled: the Sensor, a sign to me that my senses were in overdrive, and the Magician, a card of dreams realized and manifestation. Although it was too early to know for sure, I’d say that the “manifestation” card was right on the mark. I’d known it the second I’d walked into the Windham Restaurant. The air danced with electricity, a sure sign to me that it was haunted, inhabited by an earthbound spirit.

Finishing our sweep of the first floor, we climbed the stairs to the second floor, Ron directly behind me with his EMF meter and the remainder of his team nipping at his heels. As we walked through the second floor of the restaurant, I felt a presence. Intuitively I knew it was a male spirit. By the weight of the energy, the lightness, and the fleeting feel of it, I knew he remained at a distance. His presence wisped around us, darting too and fro, coming close, then retreating just as quickly as he’d come. Having had more than twenty-five years, experience in dealing
with the paranormal, I knew this activity meant the spirit was just as curious about us as we were about him.

That all changed a few moments later, when we walked into the room Ron referred to as the wait station, an undersized prep area with coolers, a sink, a counter, and some small appliances. The second we crossed the threshold, the atmosphere became dense and statically charged—it grabbed me like a live wire. It was the same feeling I’d experienced when we had first arrived. I glanced at Ron.

“A male spirit is here, and he is anxious to speak.”

We positioned ourselves to make communication.
What was I thinking
? The anxiety I’d been feeling up to now suddenly turned to claustrophobia as each member of our party filed in one by one. Ron stood to my right, Brian Bates to my left, Leo beneath the entranceway, and Tom, the cameraman, kneeling between us, the light of his camera burning my retinas.

“You ready?” Ron asked.

Gingerly I nodded my head. With all eyes on me, I began to feel a bit self-conscious. I’d never been on an outing with the group, and I was terrified of failing them. Although Ron hadn’t expressed any fears about the evening’s success, I sensed the New England Ghost Project had a lot riding on this investigation, especially with the television cameras rolling. I didn’t want to let them down.

Whether I liked it or not, there was no turning back. I pulled out my pendulum.

Although the spirits communicate with me in numerous ways, spiritual dowsing acts as a visual tool for those who are present to take an active role in the communication, so I’d decided to start with that.

I lifted my pendulum between my thumb and forefinger, waiting for it to sway.

“How does that thing work?” Ron asked. By the eagerness in his voice, I knew I’d captured his attention.

“I’m using my psychic ability to tap into the energy around us. You know, that sixth sense that so many people forget about. First I make a connection. I mentally open myself up to energy that is reaching out to me. When my third eye begins to pulsate we begin to ask the spirit questions.”

I started off with the usual questions.

“What is a yes?”

The pendulum swung counterclockwise, indicating what a yes response would be.

“What is a no?”

The pendulum slowed, stopped, and began its circular swing to a clockwise rotation, indicating a no response.

“What is a maybe?”

Once again, the pendulum indicated its response; it slowed its movement then swung to and fro in a back and forth motion.

“Is there someone here with us?” I asked.

The pendulum swung counterclockwise. A yes.

But I didn’t need a pendulum to tell me that. I already knew.

“Are you a woman?”

The response was clockwise: no.

“Are you a man?”

The brass bobber rotated counterclockwise once again.

“Is your name Jacob?”

I knew intuitively it was, and then the pendulum gave a resounding yes.

“Can you feel this?” I asked Ron, excited that the spirit seemed to have been touched by the last question. Almost as if the mere mention of the name Jacob had garnered the ghost’s undivided attention.

“Feel what?”

“The air. It’s different. Heavy.” It wasn’t just heavy; it was inhabited. But how could I tell Ron that? It was the first night out with the group, and I wanted to be on my best behavior. Well, at the very least, I didn’t want him to think I was crazy.

“You don’t feel that?” I asked, sensing the weight of energy hovering above us.

Like a minnow chasing a shiny fishing lure, Ron became distracted by the sudden blaring of his EMF meter.

My attention returned to the spirit reaching out to us. My third eye pulsated with energy. It was spiraling, consuming my whole face in sizzling electricity. The heavy energy sapped my breath as if stones had been laid upon my chest.

A random thought popped into my mind, and with it a feeling of rage. Gathering strength, I moaned, “He’s not happy with the changes in the restaurant.” I turned to meet Ron’s glare over the glowing red light of his EMF meter. “This is his home. He doesn’t like what’s going on.”

“Tough. Tell him to get over it.”

My mouth said, “Be nice,” but my mind thought,
What a jerk
. Was he serious? Weren’t we here to help the spirits too?

An oddly familiar voice entered my mind, diverting my attention away from Ron’s momentary lack of respect. It was the reporter, Brian Bates. I could feel his thoughts; his unspoken words burned me to the core. He thought this was all a sham and that I was completely nuts. Not that I’m unfamiliar with this type of reaction to what I do, since I’d faced it all my life, but for some reason, this time I took it to heart. Maybe it was because I’d wanted to make such a good impression with the New England Ghost Project . I suddenly felt like a fool in front of the camera. The fact that Brian didn’t believe me really pissed me off.

As if
my
thoughts were being flashed on a neon sign, an awkward silence filled the room. Once again Jacob’s energy grew stronger, and in a flash, I felt his anger reach out to me. Brian’s refusal to acknowledge Jacob’s existence had gravely insulted him. On some twisted level, I couldn’t help but agree. The silence erupted as a voice crackled over the radio.

It was the base camp. “The temperature’s dropped to 66.6 degrees!”

I felt his presence gathering more strength. Then—
bam.
Jacob’s energy tore through my abdomen like a freight train, doubling me over in pain. My body was a conduit, channeling a surge of supernatural energy. Instantaneously, the force barreling through me triggered the coffeemaker on the counter, turning it on. We jumped at the sound of suddenly spurting coffee.

An infrared photo taken at the time of the incident captures an energy spike surging through the coffee machine.

The faint aroma permeated the air. Feeling like I’d just been knocked over with a wrecking ball, I clutched my abdomen in an attempt to catch my breath.

“What the hell was that?” Brian shouted. He bolted for the door, not even waiting for a reply.

Over the buzzing in my ears, the frantic chatter of the rest of the group became nothing but a jumble in my mind.

Although Ron and I had worked together for no more than several hours at this point, he sensed my agony. “That’s it. Let’s get out of here.”

Ron grabbed my arm and guided me out of the wait station. His well-meaning efforts irritated me though. As he patted my back to comfort me, I inwardly shrugged him away, wanting nothing more than to cower in the corner and ride out the residual energy left like a fingerprint on my soul.

“Why don’t we go outside and get some air? You look a little pale.”

I hesitated. Jacob’s voice was still dogging me. “Wait. Wait, Ron.”

I closed my eyes in an attempt to hear Jacob’s weakened whisper. He wanted me back in the room. I’d had enough and mentally told him so. Undaunted by my refusal to return, he said,
Leslie
.

Leslie?

“Is there a Leslie here?” I called out. “Jacob’s calling your name.”

Ron immediately said, “No,” but was quickly corrected by Gay, Bob the videographer’s wife, as she scurried out from the adjacent dining area, straight toward Ron.

“My name is Leslie,” she said. Adjusting her Red Sox cap, she looked at me. “But I don’t use that name. What does he want?”

Even though I sensed that Jacob was already gone, I could see her excitement and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I thought quickly. “He wants you to take pictures,” I lied. I suspected Jacob only really wanted to prove he existed by whispering a name to me that I couldn’t possibly have known.

* * *

Brushing by me and Maureen, Gay entered the wait station, snapping away. The click, click, click of the camera and the buzzing of the group filled the hallway. They were still shocked at what we had just witnessed. I stood transfixed for a moment while I attempted to digest what had just transpired between Maureen and Gay. Leslie was Gay’s real name—but Maureen could not have known that, since it was the first time they had met. What an amazing connection.