outside the house. We listened for a repeat of what we had heard before, but there wasn’t any. After a while, we wondered if that was all we would get that night.
Then we heard three amazingly loud growls from under the dining room table, which was only about six feet away from us. After we caught our breath, we agreed that the sound had come from a particular spot in the floor. Examining it, we found loose floorboards. With some trepidation, Helen told us it would be all right to pull them up.
When we did, we found a trapdoor.
Grant and I exchanged glances. We knew the answer to all the house’s troubles might be down there under that door. Preparing ourselves for what we might find, we swung it open. Underneath there was a hole of some kind, choked solid with rocks. They had some kind of markings scratched into them, but we had no idea what they meant.
While Grant was looking at the rocks, I happened to glance in the direction of the bathroom—and saw a tall, shadowy man dressed in scraggly clothes standing there and watching us. By the time I pointed him out to the others, he had gone back down the hallway. We pursued him, but we couldn’t find any sign of him.
Helen hadn’t seen the apparition this time, but she agreed that the description I gave her was the figure she had seen before. She seemed relieved that I had caught a glimpse of it too.
As it turned out, we weren’t done hearing sounds that night. But the ones we heard next weren’t at all like the others. They sounded like someone pounding the underside of the floor. When we checked it out, we found evidence of a leaky pipe.
Now, we may be ghost hunters when we’re investigating claims of the paranormal, but we’re also plumbers. When we see a leaky water line, we can’t just ignore it. We have to fix it.
In this case, that was easier said than done. The only practical way for us to address the problem was to lay in a new ten-foot piece of copper pipe and solder it into place, and we only had a small, unlit crawl space in which to work. What’s more, there was hand-blown insulation above and below. If we hit the insulation above us with the flame from our torch, the house would go up like a Roman candle. If we hit the insulation below us, we would go up.
So we had to be extra careful. First, as we made our way through the crawl space elbow over elbow, we sprayed down the insulation with our water bottles. Then we laid a foot-square fire blanket under the section we would be soldering, so we wouldn’t drip any molten metal on anything flammable. It was a tough job, but we had come to help—one way or the other.
By the time we were done, it was almost dawn. We packed up our stuff, told Helen we would be in touch with her, and headed back home. But we were eager to see what we had picked up on our equipment.
When we ran our analysis the next day, we saw that our cameras hadn’t recorded anything interesting. It was a pity. We were hoping to have gotten some footage of the scraggly figure near the bathroom.
However, when we went over our audio footage, it was a different story. To our satisfaction, we had captured some EVPs. Nasty ones.
The first had been recorded when those three loud growls had come from under the dining room table. As it turned out, there were nine growls altogether, three before the ones we had heard and three more immediately after.
The second EVP came up when we found the trapdoor and saw the man in dirty clothes watching us. As he retreated into the hallway, we heard a voice saying something like, “Now, now, now, dirty folk…mean.”
Of course, the job wouldn’t be done until we had conducted our research. Grant and I spent the next couple of days poring over records and visiting the local historical society. Finally, we struck pay dirt.
The house had been built in the middle of a “ghost lot”—an area marked on old maps to denote a territory held sacred by its original Native American inhabitants. Such
Then we heard three amazingly loud growls from under the dining room table, which was only about six feet away from us. After we caught our breath, we agreed that the sound had come from a particular spot in the floor. Examining it, we found loose floorboards. With some trepidation, Helen told us it would be all right to pull them up.
When we did, we found a trapdoor.
Grant and I exchanged glances. We knew the answer to all the house’s troubles might be down there under that door. Preparing ourselves for what we might find, we swung it open. Underneath there was a hole of some kind, choked solid with rocks. They had some kind of markings scratched into them, but we had no idea what they meant.
While Grant was looking at the rocks, I happened to glance in the direction of the bathroom—and saw a tall, shadowy man dressed in scraggly clothes standing there and watching us. By the time I pointed him out to the others, he had gone back down the hallway. We pursued him, but we couldn’t find any sign of him.
Helen hadn’t seen the apparition this time, but she agreed that the description I gave her was the figure she had seen before. She seemed relieved that I had caught a glimpse of it too.
As it turned out, we weren’t done hearing sounds that night. But the ones we heard next weren’t at all like the others. They sounded like someone pounding the underside of the floor. When we checked it out, we found evidence of a leaky pipe.
Now, we may be ghost hunters when we’re investigating claims of the paranormal, but we’re also plumbers. When we see a leaky water line, we can’t just ignore it. We have to fix it.
In this case, that was easier said than done. The only practical way for us to address the problem was to lay in a new ten-foot piece of copper pipe and solder it into place, and we only had a small, unlit crawl space in which to work. What’s more, there was hand-blown insulation above and below. If we hit the insulation above us with the flame from our torch, the house would go up like a Roman candle. If we hit the insulation below us, we would go up.
So we had to be extra careful. First, as we made our way through the crawl space elbow over elbow, we sprayed down the insulation with our water bottles. Then we laid a foot-square fire blanket under the section we would be soldering, so we wouldn’t drip any molten metal on anything flammable. It was a tough job, but we had come to help—one way or the other.
By the time we were done, it was almost dawn. We packed up our stuff, told Helen we would be in touch with her, and headed back home. But we were eager to see what we had picked up on our equipment.
When we ran our analysis the next day, we saw that our cameras hadn’t recorded anything interesting. It was a pity. We were hoping to have gotten some footage of the scraggly figure near the bathroom.
However, when we went over our audio footage, it was a different story. To our satisfaction, we had captured some EVPs. Nasty ones.
The first had been recorded when those three loud growls had come from under the dining room table. As it turned out, there were nine growls altogether, three before the ones we had heard and three more immediately after.
The second EVP came up when we found the trapdoor and saw the man in dirty clothes watching us. As he retreated into the hallway, we heard a voice saying something like, “Now, now, now, dirty folk…mean.”
Of course, the job wouldn’t be done until we had conducted our research. Grant and I spent the next couple of days poring over records and visiting the local historical society. Finally, we struck pay dirt.
The house had been built in the middle of a “ghost lot”—an area marked on old maps to denote a territory held sacred by its original Native American inhabitants. Such
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