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Peter’s Visits

January

Earning the trust of our clients is an incredible feeling, especially when we’re dealing with so many unknown factors regarding the paranormal. Allowing otherwise total strangers free reign to investigate one’s private property is not something most folks are willing to do.

After three worry-free investigations, the confidence of the property owners in our work — and in us as trustworthy people — continued unabated. This was certainly made apparent during the first two weeks of January.

Though the next formal investigation of the cottage property was scheduled to take place during the last week of January, the owner furnished us with a key and granted us access while they enjoyed a two-week vacation out-of-country.

Safety is Priority #1 to The Searcher Group; one of our team rules is that we never, ever, conduct an investigation alone. Because of this cardinal law, we now had a problem to overcome. Here was this tremendous opportunity to collect more data from this haunted location, but no one on the team was available to investigate until the end of the month. No one, that is, but Peter, the local boy.

Painfully aware of the safety procedures, Peter contacted me for advice regarding this dilemma. Ultimately, Peter talked me into agreeing that he should proceed with data-collecting experimentation, but he was to avoid the barn completely and to limit his visits to the cottage. Even then, Peter was to spend as little time alone inside as possible.

After great deliberation I gave authorization to proceed, albeit with caution. Peter immediately set to work on a plan of action. What follows are Peter’s reports from his solo investigation.

Visit #1 — January 8

Arriving at the cottage before 8:00 p.m., I entered the silent building with my digital voice recorder already running and the E. Probe 1.0 pre-set at a high sensitivity detection level.

Since I was no longer a stranger to the spirits of the house, I thought I’d try to shake up their expectations a little by simply entering the cottage, offering the alarm device someone seemed to have a fondness for, then leaving without verbally acknowledging them or sharing my intent — a radical departure from normal Searcher Group procedure that “they” were no doubt becoming accustomed to.

Leaving the recorder on a chair in the dining room and the E. Probe 1.0 armed atop a drafting table far across the adjacent studio room, I locked the door behind me and drove away.

Returning two-and-a-half hours later, I couldn’t help but grin widely as I emerged from my car. The alarm of the E. Probe could be heard blaring from inside the house, as it had done during previous investigations. Pleased with my success, I worked quickly, re-entering the house, deactivating the E. Probe, collecting the recorder, and moving toward the exit; again, without a word spoken.

As I stepped across the threshold of the cottage, I suddenly experienced an abrupt pressure change in my right ear — the most unpleasant kind of deafening, popping sensation one feels when travelling at high altitudes by airplane. I half-wondered if I had just been poked or punched by someone unseen as I locked the door behind me and returned to the safety of the car. The entire procedure took less than three minutes.

Turning the ignition, I broke my silence to tell the empty air that if I was being joined by a resident spirit at that moment, they were to remain behind and not follow me home. I also noted that for the first time since beginning investigation of the property, I could smell traces of the air freshener scent from the interior of the cottage inside the car. This familiar odour lingered for about a minute as I drove away, dissipating completely as I passed the local cemetery.

The perceived success of the night’s experiment was short-lived as I began analyzing the audio data. Seven minutes and fifty-one seconds after I had left the cottage, the E. Probe 1.0 began alarming and — unfortunately — remained alarmed for the rest of the recording. Instead of a successful ghostly interaction, it seemed that the device had simply malfunctioned and its incessantly-loud blare drowned out any possible EVPs that may have occurred.

Visit #2 — January 10

I rarely drive anywhere listening to music or the radio. So it was on this evening that minutes after leaving home, I began hearing the ear-splitting E. Probe 1.0 alarm in my head. Glancing down at the device lying quietly on the passenger seat beside me, I noted the “ghost” of the alarm sound resonating in my inner ears lasted fifteen to twenty seconds before giving way to the normal ambiance of evening traffic outside the car.

I can honestly say I had not heard the pure alarm sound of the device for more than twenty-four hours before this spontaneous, ear-ringing phenomenon and I haven’t heard a similar ear-ringing since. The irony that this occurred on my way to the second solo data-collecting experiment was not lost on me.

Deciding to once again remain silent after entering the cottage, I placed the digital recorder inside the alcove at the base of the staircase to the second floor, the microphone pointed into the open studio beyond. Dropping the sensitivity of the E. Probe 1.0 to a lower setting* than the previous visit, I placed the device on the seat of the wicker chair in the northwest room, confirmed the recorder was operating properly, and exited the house silently, without incident.

[*In order to activate the alarm of the E. Probe 1.0 at this setting, a source of electrical energy would need to approach within 3 millimetres of the device’s aerial.]

Two hours and forty minutes later, I returned to the cottage to retrieve the equipment and was not smiling when I stepped from the car to hear the alarm blaring from inside the building again. Praying this evening’s recording would reveal this alarm was actually one of several, I quickly collected the equipment and exited the cottage.

While I consider it a victory whenever the alarm is activated by an unseen force, unfortunately, once activated (this time, nine minutes and forty-seven seconds after my departure), the alarm remained on for the duration of this recording, as well.

Looking on the positive side, at the very least I was slowly determining the increments of the device’s ideal sensitivity setting. Still, it came at the cost of potential EVP loss, so a new tack was definitely in order.

I learned something else that evening, as well. Wearing the same clothes I wore during the first night and spending the identical amount of time inside the cottage both times this evening, I could not detect the air freshener scent inside my car after exiting.

Visit #3 — January 12–13

On my way out of town for another investigation, I stopped by the cottage at 3:00 p.m. to introduce the next component of my experiments — a pair of powder traps.

Ensuring the surface of my target areas was as close to flat as possible, I secured flattened garbage bags to the floor of the mid-way staircase landing with tape before sprinkling a generous amount of flour, covering the entire area in a half-inch blanket of solid whiteness from corner-to-corner. Stepping over the staircase trap, I repeated this process on garbage bags taped flat to the linoleum floor just inside the entrance to the second-floor bathroom — another location of intense paranormal activity. I remained silent the whole time I worked.

Taking several control photos of both traps, I exited the cottage and continued on my way.

Hours later, a thick fog greeted me as I returned to the property at 1:00 a.m., setting the scene for a perfect Hollywood horror event. Though no figures emerged, arms outstretched, from the walls of the fog, I was sufficiently creeped out by the ambience to make this visit a quick one.

Checking the powder traps for signs of footprints or powder disturbance, I noted with some disappointment there was no change in either. Accompanying my digital recorder this time was my E. Probe 2.0 alarm device — an upgrade model with a pre-set sensitivity and a much quieter alarm. Both were placed apart from each other and activated on the main floor before I exited the cottage.

I returned twelve hours later to retrieve the equipment, by the warm light of the sun. The powder traps were clean, the E. Probe 2.0 was still armed and the digital recorder had stopped itself, as the memory card was full, containing almost nine hours of audio data.

Review of the recording revealed a few noteworthy elements. Unbeknownst to me, a heavy rainfall occurred during the wee hours of the morning and it was during this tempest that the recorder picked up what sounded like hard, pounding footfalls stomping back and forth between the recorder on the main floor and the farthest reaches of the second-storey, on multiple occasions. When the intensity of the downpour weakened, the pounding ceased; if the rain began to intensify, the running thumps would resume in uneven patterns.

Recalling the theory that electricity produced by falling water may “feed” spirits with energy enough to manifest detectable activity, could this heavy rainfall have acted as a catalyst for what was recorded?

Subsequent questioning of the homeowner revealed that while the building does not have a sump pump installed, there is a water pump connected with the unused well, located just out back of the cottage. Though the first conclusion to jump to is the sound of the water pump being activated by the excessive downpour, it does not explain the random growing and fading intensities of the pounding toward and away from the recorder; that and the fact that not even the homeowner had heard such intense pounding while working inside the cottage on rainy days.

Visit #4 — January 15

On this evening, wind chimes were introduced to the mix, hung from a nail on the studio wall. The digital recorder was once again placed in the staircase alcove and the E. Probe 1.0 — this time adjusted to its lowest sensitivity setting — was placed on a chair in the northwest room. If someone really wished to activate the alarm, they would need to grip the aerial tightly to do so.

Retrieving the equipment three hours and twenty-one minutes later, I was surprised to discover the normally reliable digital recorder registered “Low Battery” and could not be turned off, no matter what I tried, which was a first. Checking the powder traps before exiting, I noted they had not been disturbed.

Arriving back home and entering the house with the equipment in my arms, I looked down in time to see a button on the recorder being pressed, as by a pen cap, causing the recorder to spring back to life! The battery now indicated “Half Power” and the whole unit returned to function normally.

Review of the recording revealed neither the wind chimes nor the E. Probe 1.0 had been moved or alarmed, however it was interesting to note that the recording stopped itself the very second I am heard unlocking the back door of the cottage. As noted earlier, this recorder has the capacity to store almost nine hours of data. Was this pure coincidence, a random malfunction or perhaps someone taking one last “suck” of energy from the recorder just before I walked in? If the latter, was I to derive a message from this action?

Visit #5 — January 16

By 7:48 p.m. I was back in the car jotting notes on this evening’s experiment. Tonight I introduced a pad of paper and a charcoal pencil as well as a Pop-O-Matic die bubble to the cottage. The recorder (loaded with fresh batteries) was left on the kitchen counter pointed toward the studio and the E. Probe 1.0 (now adjusted one notch higher than its lowest sensitivity setting) was left in the smallest room across from the second-floor staircase.

I silently demonstrated how to shake the die up by pressing the plastic bubble and allowing the die to come to a full rest before repeating this action several more times for the benefit of anyone observing me. I left the die at the number 4, checked the powder traps, and took several photos before exiting.

I detected traces of the familiar cottage air freshener scent around me upon entering the car, but this dissipated quickly and did not remain.

By the time I returned three hours later, I decided the silent treatment I was trying to maintain had lost any effectiveness it may have ever had on the unseen residents of the cottage. After all, how were the ghosts to know what I was expecting of them for my recordings if I didn’t ask them to do something? Gathering up the recorder and the E. Probe 1.0, I respectfully invited whoever was listening to convey a message back to me using the paper and pencil, the powder, or by shifting the die to a number that held some significance to them, before leaving for the night.

Reviewing the recording of this evening revealed some intriguing phenomena: several knocking sounds were captured, smaller taps and a single, loud footfall. But what made this recording even more unique was the multiple number of times the die bubble — or something that sounded similar — was popped without changing the top-face of the die (the number 4) or shifting it from its resting place inside the plastic bubble. In other words, what I kept hearing was an imitation of the actual distinct popping sound.

As for the message that I broke my silence to ask for, I believe I received it loud and clear a few short hours later.

January 17, 1:25 a.m.

For the record, I am not an avid dreamer. I’m sure I do dream, but like many people, I forget the majority of them the moment I awake.

Crawling into bed at a ridiculously late hour, I quickly found myself falling into blissful sleep. What seemed like a matter of minutes later, between the stages of being fully awake and in deep sleep, inside what I could best describe as my “mind’s eye,” I perceived an adult male standing over me, next to my side of the bed. Wasting no time, the figure leaned forward and shouted, “PETER ROE!” like a drill sergeant.

In a foggy-minded delirium, I bolted upright and swung my legs off the side of the bed, ready to respond obediently, replying, “Yes? What?”

The lack of a response made me realize I was speaking to no one. Thankfully, my knee-jerk reply wasn’t loud and abrupt enough to wake my wife. While still cognitive of this extraordinary occurrence and the fact that it was significant enough to remember, I took note of the time but was still too tired to feel afraid. I returned to the warmth of our comforter and fell into a deep sleep.

Visit #6 — January 19

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.