Midnight Hour

Ghost hunting is not just about chasing down shadows and phantom noises. Ghost hunting and the study of the paranormal, can be looked at and explained through a scientific perspective. Although, in most cases, it is hard to prove The following story is a true account of the investigation involving the old Whittaker Mansion by the Deveraux Paranormal Research (DPR) team, led by myself; Andy Deveraux.
I have been a part of the DPR team my whole life. My parents were Ghost Hunters, so I was seeing ghosts, long before I could walk. The family business got passed down to me and my brother when my parents had a freak accident while ghost hunting in Peru. That was when I was sixteen. For three years now, my brother and I have been keeping my parents' spirits happy and proud by solving multiple cases around the world.
Let me introduce you to the DPR team. There is Seth Deveraux, my twenty-one year old brother who is our Tech manager. Declan, who is also twenty-one and my brother's best friend, is our case handler/researcher. Georgia, who has been my best friend since I was thirteen, is our receptionist who takes our calls and files our cases. There is Colette, a hunter, who has an unnatural obsession with food. Mercer who is another hunter, who can game better than anyone I know. And there is Kris, the newest member of our team, who just does whatever I tell her to do.
I was wrapping up another case, when I received a call from our case handler and researcher, Declan, around noon. He hinted that this new case was going to be something big. With my interest now piqued, I hurried to the Crypt, to wait for Declan to arrive. I know what you are thinking, but don’t worry: it is not an actual crypt. It is more of a conference room, where our clients tell us about their ‘haunting.’ I heard the bell above the front door chime and made my way to the waiting area where I saw Declan reclining carelessly in our friend Georgia‘s chair. Leaning across the desk in front of Declan, I bombarded him with questions.
“Who’s the client? What’s the case? Where are we going? Is it here in town? Is that a Jack-in-the-Box receipt I see?” To my annoyance, Declan remained silent and calm, as usual. “Well,” I asked, hands on my hips, “why won’t you answer me?”
With a twinkle in his emerald green eyes and a satisfied smirk, Declan finally answered. “All in good time, Short Stack. All in good time.”
I was contemplating on wiping that infuriating smirk off his face, when the bell above the door chimed again. I had to do a triple-take as the man entered, to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. I had never met the guy before, but I knew exactly who he was: Colby Whittaker. Mr. Whittaker was in his late 40’s with dark, salt-n-pepper hair and a mustache to match. He was about six feet tall, had a slight build and was wearing an expensive- looking suit with shoes that shined like they had been freshly polished.
Declan smirked at me before walking over to Mr. Whittaker to shake his hand. He nodded a short welcome, causing his black hair to fall into his eyes.
“Mr. Whittaker,” Declan said, glaring slightly at the offensive hair, while simultaneously gesturing towards me, “this is my boss, Andy Deveraux.”
“Ms. Deveraux?” Mr. Whittaker said, shaking my hand. “I was not aware that the Deveraux Paranormal Research team was a group of…”
“…kids?” I asked.
“Sorry,” Mr. Whittaker said, shaking his head with a rueful smile, “I did not mean to imply that you were inexperienced.”
I smiled. “I assure you, Mr. Whittaker, that everyone here at the DPR is strictly professional,” I said, sending a death glare to Declan. “If you follow me into the conference room, you can tell us your story.”
He simply nodded before I turned and led the way through the hallway and into the Crypt. I pulled out a swivel chair and gestured to it. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Whittaker.” I smiled as I pulled a chair out for myself. I waited for Declan to join us, before continuing. “So, Mr. Whittaker, what can the DPR team do for you?”
Mr. Whittaker shifted nervously in his chair before answering. “I assume you have heard the rumors about my family’s estate, just outside of town, correct?”
“Yes.” I confirmed. Everyone within a fifty-mile radius had heard the rumors about the Old Whittaker Place. Besides being a poster house for scary movies, it also had a legitimate history. Local legend had it that the late-wife of J. Whittaker, former Duke of York, still haunted the mansion.
“Over the last couple of years, I have been renovating the mansion as a gift to my wife,” Mr. Whittaker started, laying his hands on the table. “Shortly after the renovations began, my staff came to me, complaining about hearing phantom noises and chanting sounds as well as smelling strange aromas and being physically touched…”
“…had feelings of someone watching them, saw furniture being moved, and experienced full body apparitions,” Declan finished, setting the notepad aside to glance at the rest of the DPR team sitting around the table, who had arrive only minutes after Mr. Whittaker had left.
“So, what do you think guys? Are you up for it?” I asked, looking at each team member in turn.
“Well, I have nothing better to do.” Mercer announced promptly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve already finished next month’s homework.”
“As long as there’s food, I’m in,” Colette said, rubbing her stomach.
“I’m in,” Kris informed us, pulling her hair back into a pony tail. She looked like she was about ready to go do her daily workouts in her blue t-shirt and yellow shorts.
“What about you Georgia?” my brother, Seth asked, pulling on one of Georgia‘s curls.
“Uh… what do you think?” Georgia snapped, slapping at Seth’s hand.
Seth had a huge crush on Georgia and everyone knew it, perhaps, except for Georgia herself. Seth was about as subtle as a herd of elephants in Time Square if you know what I mean.
“So, let’s get this graveyard rocking,” Declan said, standing up.
“Okay,” I said, following suit, “Declan and I will start researching the history of the Old Whittaker place while the rest of you get all the equipment together and packed into the Ghost Buster.”
“No problem,” Colette replied cheerfully. “Right after I get me some food.”
Chuckling, I grabbed the notepad and whacked Colette playfully in the head. “Get moving, girly, and don’t forget the extra batteries!”
One of the most important things an investigator can bring with them on a hunt, besides themself, is extra batteries. Having your flashlight go out in a creepy, rundown place is not good.
“Yes, Ma’am!” Colette said, saluting me in mock seriousness. “Right away, Ma’am!”
I watched Colette, Seth, Mercer, and Kris gather their notes up and head upstairs to our living quarters before turning to find Georgia still in her seat, staring at her nails in a bored fashion. “Georgia,” I started, “you can-”
“-go man the desk,” she finished, “I’m on it, boss.”
I nodded and turned around to face Declan. “You ready to do some research?”
An hour later found Declan and I in the decent sized storage room next to the Crypt, pouring over various documents and newspaper articles found via the internet and our local library. It is usually frowned upon to research a location before we go to investigate because of the whole, ‘going in objectively’ thing, but this was an exception. I wanted to know what we were up against.
“If the claims are right,” Declan said, “it may be an intelligent type haunting.”
I nodded in agreement. There are typically four types of hauntings. The first is a residual haunting. A residual haunting is the most common type of ‘human’ haunting. Potentials for a residual haunting can be created by traumatic events like a violent murder or high stress. The spirits or apparitions in this type of haunting cannot communicate or interact with anyone. It is like they are stuck in a loop hole, doomed to replay their last moments over and over again.
The second type of haunting is an intelligent haunting. An intelligent haunting is when the spirit or apparition is aware of its environment. Most intelligent type spirits will try to communicate with humans by moving objects. They are limited, though, because they can only move objects that are light. To be able to manifest fully, it takes a lot of energy; energy that they do not have because it takes a while to build up.
The third type of haunting is a poltergeist. The word poltergeist is derived from a German word meaning noisy spirits. Poltergeist activity typically involves loud knocking sounds, moving furniture, full body apparitions, and the manifestation of voices. Activity of this kind can usually be traced back to a teenage girl with PK or psychokenesis, who is under a lot of stress. If the activity is not being caused by a teenage girl, then that means there are an abundance of ghosts in the area who are pooling their energy together to be strong enough to make more noise.
The fourth type of haunting is a demonic haunting. A demonic haunting is the rarest of the four hauntings. These are generally easy to identify, though. The smell of sulfuric acid or rotting flesh is a common indicator of a demonic haunt. Another sign identifying a demonic haunting is the sudden rise of temperature or the air gains a heavier feel to it. Physical abuse is another common indicator of this type of haunting. Because these creatures are inhuman, they are stronger, and more malevolent, than normal spirits.
“You’re right,” I said, “it does sound more like an intelligent haunting. It might even be a poltergeist.”
“Yeah,” Declan replied. “Hey, listen to this.”
I grabbed a swivel chair and pulled it over next to Declan so I could see what he was pointing to.
“It says here that the Whittaker Mansion was started in the late 1880’s, but construction was stopped only three months later.”
“Does the article say why?” I asked him, trying to read over his shoulder.
“I think so,” Declan replied. “Yeah, okay, here we go. It says here that the construction was stopped because the owner’s wife died.”
“Is there anything on her cause of death?”
“Not really,” Declan said, “but there is something about her daughter.”
“Daughter?” I asked. “I knew there was a son, but a daughter?”
“Yup,” Declan confirmed. “Her name was Annabelle and she died four years after her mother of tuberculosis. She was only nine.”
“That’s terrible,” I said, sitting back in my chair. “What happened to the owner- what’s his name - after that?”
“John Whittaker was the owner, but no one really knows what happened to him, or if they did they certainly didn’t say. It’s like he just dropped off the face of the earth. There’s nothing on him after his daughter’s death in 1893.”
“What happened to the son?” I asked quietly.
“He was sent off to a boarding school,” Declan told me. “He was seven.”
I sighed and glanced at the grandfather clock resting snugly in one corner of the room. The hands read ten o’three p.m. “I guess we can call it a night. We’re going to have to be well rested for tomorrow evening.”

“No! Please!” The words were screamed desperately. “I don’t want to die!” The voice was feminine and strained as if she had been screaming for hours.
There was an altar resting on a raised dais, a pentacle carved onto the top of it. The dais was surrounded by six candles allowing a slender form to be seen chained to the altar while casting the rest of the room in shadow.
At first, the only sounds that could be heard were the broken sobs of the young woman on the altar, but they were soon followed by soft chanting. The voice was definitely male, but the words were indistinguishable.
A bulky shadow stepped out of the darkness and into the soft glow of the candles. Something in his hand glinted in the light. The movement was quick, precise. There was no scream, only a small gurgle of protest, and then all was silent. Dead. Silent.

The old Whittaker mansion was many things, but unimposing, it was not. The decrepit three-story building, while beautiful in the waning light, seemed to give off the impression of a slumbering giant waiting to swallow any unwary traveler whole. The beautiful ivory towers, choked in ivy, stretched ever upward toward the sky.
A jolt of electricity moved through me as my dream from last night came to mind unbidden. I shivered slightly and pushed the dream back into the farthest recesses of my mind. Now was not the time to think about my dream or what it could possibly represent.
Declan put the Ghost Buster in park, while I unbuckled my seat belt and opened my door. The rest of the team followed suit and soon we were standing in front of the Whittaker mansion.
A lazy knock from Declan announced our arrival and I held my breath in anticipation. Meanwhile, the rest of the team was fidgeting restlessly. I was so focused on examining everyone else, that I didn’t notice the front door creaking open quietly.
“Can I help you?” The deep voice startled me out of my observations and I had to suppress a small ‘eep’ from escaping my lips.
I swung my head around to look at the man standing in the doorway. He was about five-foot seven and in his late 60’s with light, gray hair.
“Umm…” I said intelligently, “Mr. Whittaker had informed me that we would be expected.”
“Ah,” the old man replied, “you must be the Deveraux Paranormal Research team.”
“Yes, Sir,” Declan said, taking over for me since I apparently couldn’t find my tongue.
“My name is Niles,” the old man informed us, “I am the butler.”
There were several collective ‘hellos’ from the team before we were shown in.
“This is Maria,” Niles said, gesturing to a plump older woman in an honest-to-God maid’s uniform, frilly cap and all, “she will show you to your rooms.”
We followed Maria into the hall and up the curving staircase to the second floor. Once we made it to the top of the stairs, she gestured to her right.
“This is where the young men will be staying,” she said in a clipped British accent.
The guys nodded and headed into their temporary room to check it out.
Turning back to the left, Maria led us girls down a short hallway, until we were faced with a door on each side.
“Here are two rooms,” she said. “You can decide how to split them.”
“Thank you,” I told her, bowing my head in respect.
Maria nodded before heading back the way we had come.
“Georgia and I can take this room,” I said, pointing to the one on the left, “and you guys can have the one on the right.”
Kris and Colette nodded their heads in agreement.
Hours later found us with all of our suitcases in their prospective places and most of our equipment in the library on the first floor. The library, as expected, was absolutely stunning. Each wall housed shelf upon shelf of books that reached from the ceiling to the floor, and there were rolling ladders that you could use to reach the books higher up. There was one big desk in the middle of the room, where we set up our monitors.
So, as the guys set up the equipment in the library, the rest of us put the stationary IR Cameras up in all the rooms with reported activity. A thermal camera, also known as an IR (Infra-Red) Camera, allows people to see in the deep red color of the color spectrum. In other words, the IR camera picks up images that cannot be seen by the human eye, like orbs and ghosts and are used to measure the surface temperature of an object. The only down fall is that it cannot measure ambient or surrounding temperature.
“Hey, Seth,” I said into my walkie-talkie while adjusting the camera in the front hall, “how’s this?”
“Lookin’ good, Sis,” was Seth’s smooth reply.
“I wasn’t talking about Georgia,” I said, as I rolled my eyes and moved on to the parlor where Mercer was setting up his camera.
“How long will it be until we go dark?” Mercer asked when he noticed me standing in the room.
“About half an hour, I think,” I told him as I glanced at my Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack watch. It was already ten o‘clock. I grabbed my walkie-talkie once more and brought it up to my mouth.
“Get ready to go dark,” I said into the walkie-talkie, copying my heroes, the Ghost Hunters. There were cheers from various rooms of the mansion as my message was received.
After all the equipment was set up and the base temperatures and EMF readings were taken for each room, we met back in the library so we could decide on who was going with whom.
“I say we go by who we share rooms with,” Kris said, getting straight to the point.
I nodded my head. “I agree,” I replied, “but Seth is going to stay at the base camp and watch the cameras.”
“Fine with me,” Seth said, taking a seat in the plushy swivel chair. I could practically hear him purring in satisfaction.
“I guess it’s time to go dark,” I said, ignoring him.
One-by-one the lights in each room were turned off until, finally, the only lights left were the ones from our flashlights.
“Alright, guys,” I said addressing each team, “time to hunt.”
Georgia and I were starting in the house, so we decided that it was probably best to start on the top floor and work our way down. The room of interest was the Playhouse room. The room had once belonged to Annabelle Whittaker and it was the room that she had died in.
The door creaked open slowly, sending chills up my spine.
“This place is creepy,” Georgia muttered under her breath.
I had to agree. “Yeah,” I said, “really creepy.”
I took a deep breath and pushed the door the rest of way open. I regretted it almost instantly. If there was one thing in the world that I hated the most, it would have to be dolls, and this room was full of them. Dolls lined all four walls, the floor, the bed, and even the old-time wardrobe in the far left corner.
“And I thought Chucky was scary,” Georgia said, pushing me into the room ahead of her, using me like a human shield
I said nothing as I tried to ignore the hundreds of blank eyes staring at me. It was my own personal opinion that dolls were the perfect ‘housing unit’ for wayward spirits.
Working up my courage, I walked further into the room and took a seat on the nearby rocking chair. Georgia followed suit and sat on the end of the bed.
One of the best things a ghost hunter can do is just sit still and listen. If we’re always up moving around and making noise, then we might miss something impertinent to the case.
“What was that?” Georgia asked suddenly, jumping up off the bed. “Did you hear that?”
I listened intently in the ensuing silence. I didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary at first, then… there! It was soft, but I could hear the sound of someone shuffling around somewhere to the left of me. I turned to face the direction the sound was coming from. I could see nothing, but the noise was getting progressively louder.
“I think it’s time for an EVP session,” I told Georgia quietly. EVP, which stands for Electronic Voice Phenomenon, is commonly used to capture sounds not audible to human ears. I pulled the slim, silver and black recorder out of one of the many pockets on my vest. When using a voice recorder to do an EVP session, it is always best to use a recorder with an external speaker. I glanced over at Georgia and she nodded, letting me know she was ready to start the session. I flipped the little ‘on’ switch and held the recorder a little bit away from me.
“This is Andy and Georgia in the Playhouse room in the Whittaker mansion,” I said, talking as normally as possible. When using an EVP recorder, you have to be able to tell the difference between one of the ghost hunters and a possible entity. If the hunters are whispering and the entity is whispering, then it would be hard to tell the difference between the two.
“Is there anyone in the room here with us?” Georgia asked, glancing around the room. She let a few seconds pass before she asked her next question. The general theory is that spirits don’t have enough energy on their own to do anything, so they have to draw energy from the objects around them. That’s why the room gets colder when a spirit is nearby, because they are drawing energy from the room. So, when asking questions or asking a spirit to do something, we have to give them time to gather the energy.
“Did you die here?” I asked. There was a short silence before I heard a muffled sound coming from directly behind me. I turned around just in time to see one of the dolls on the shelf plunge forward. The resounding thump echoed in the large room and sent a shiver up my spine.
It also didn’t help that Colette chose that exact moment to radio us. “Hey,” a voice arose from the walkie-talkie attached to my hip, “Andy, are you there?”
I drew in a lungful of breath quickly, then let it back out with an audible ‘whoosh’. “Yeah,” I said into the talkie, while trying to get my heartbeat back to normal, “I’m here.”
“Kris and I are in the stables, and we’re picking up something on the EMF Detector. We’ve got a 2.7.”
Georgia and I exchanged a glance. The EMF Detector is used for detecting energy fields. Anything paranormal will usually range anywhere from a 2.0 to a 7.0 milligauss.
“Are you sure it’s not your guys’ equipment?” I replied.
“I’m positive,” was Colette’s response, “pink little plus sign and everything.”
“Try an EVP session and see if you can get anything else,” I said into the talkie again.
“Okay,” Colette said, “over and out.”
I barely had enough time to lower the talkie before another voice interrupted me.
“Andy,” Seth said, his voice sounding funny, “I think you should go check out the living room down stairs.”
Georgia and I exchanged confused glances. “Okay…” I said, drawing out the word so that each letter had its own syllable.
I placed my talkie back at my hip and looked at Georgia. “Let’s head down stairs and see what has Seth sounding so weird.”
I shut off my EVP recorder and slipped it back into one of my many pockets, and then Georgia and I left the room and made our way down the stairs to the first floor.
At first, nothing seemed out of order, but that was before we walked into the living room. To say that something was off would have been an understatement; everything was either flipped over on its side or completely backwards. Even the big, old-time couch was resting on its side and the Persian rug was overturned so that the rough plastic side was face up.
“What in the…” I started but couldn’t finish.
“How is this even possible?” Georgia whispered her voice full of awe.
I scrambled to get my walkie-talkie up to my mouth. “Seth! How did this happen!?” I basically screeched into the talkie.
“I think you should come see this,” was Seth’s cryptic reply.
Seeing as there was nothing we could possibly do, Georgia and I slowly made our way to the Library.
I was so preoccupied with what I had just seen, that I didn’t notice that we had made it to the Library.
“Hey, there you are.” Seth said. “Come check this out.”
Georgia and I walked over to Seth at the table. Georgia yanked Seth out of the chair and sat down in his place while I leaned my elbows on the table.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry Georgia.” Seth said, running a hand through his hair. “You can have the chair.”
“Yeah, way to be a gentleman, Seth.” I rolled my eyes as Seth stuck his tongue out at me.
“So, what am I looking at?” Georgia asked, blunt as ever.
Seth chuckled. “You think Chris Angel freaks your mind? Well you should check this out.” He clicked play on the top right monitor; the camera in the Living Room.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. We watched as the couch steadily rocked back and forth until, finally it flipped over.
“Holy crap!” Georgia and I muttered in unison.
I grabbed the walkie-talkie from my belt and brought it to my lips with shaky hands. “Declan, do you read me?” I held my breath, while waiting for a reply.
“Loud and clear, Short Stack.” I sighed in relief as Declan continued. “Is everything okay? You sound—oh my God!”
“What?” I asked him, my heart pounding. “What just happened? Declan, Mercer, is everything okay?”
There’s static on the other end and I begin to panic. I’m about to check out the gazebo myself, when Declan finally answered me.
“I’m fine. Something just pulled my hair, though.” Declan took a deep breath before continuing. “Mercer has the K-II meter out now. He’s checking to see if we can catch anything.”
“Alright. Keep me posted.” I clipped the walkie-talkie back onto my belt.
The K-II Meter is a small device with different colored lights that determine different frequencies and magnetic fields.
“Guys?” Colette asked, sounding serious. “I’m hungry. Can we call it a night?
Georgia and Seth chuckled behind me and I had to suppress a grin. “Yeah,” I told Colette, “We can call it a night.”

The hallways were deserted, all lights extinguished; except for one lone figure and it’s candle. Outside the window, the moon was high. The strange figure, seemingly male, cloaked in black shuffled quickly down the hallway, hunched over as if he were carrying a large burden on his shoulders.
The scene changes and the man in black was now walking through a cemetery toward a mausoleum. The mausoleum door opened and the figure stepped through and into the mausoleum. The man began digging around inside his black cloak and pulled out a shiny silver medallion.
Shuffling toward the center of the room, the candle’s frail light fell upon a coffin with a sculpture of a beautiful woman on top. The man leaned over and kissed the stone woman on the forehead before placing the silver medallion into the hollow at the base of the woman’s throat. There was a small popping sound as the medallion fell into place, then a sound much like thunder reverberated through the small stone room. Where there was once a wall, there was now a gaping black hole. The man stood up straight before heading down into the yawning mouth of darkness.

By the time I woke up the next day, it was two o’clock in the afternoon. I shook Georgia awake and followed the smell of cooking bacon and pancakes to the small, informal kitchen at the back of the house. When Georgia and I got there, the gang was already, stuffing their faces. Georgia and I took a seat and grabbed a plate of food. I chose that moment to tell everyone about my crazy dream.
We lounged around the rest of the day, waiting for sunset, and the next hunt. When sunset approached, we once again met in the library and broke off into new teams. Georgia and Seth were one team; Mercer and Colette was another; Declan and I made three; and Kris volunteered to stay at the base camp in the Library.
“Alright,” I said once everything else had been decided, “Declan and I are going to go check out the mausoleum. Georgia, you and Seth can search the stables out back. Colette, Mercer, you two can check out the Cellar.” Everyone bobbed their head in agreement, and then we were off.
The Mausoleum was located on the far north-west of the property, down a path that was
overgrown with weeds. The short, broken path led directly to a small cemetery, with a medium-sized mausoleum as the center piece.
“Have you ever thought about why cemeteries are haunted?” I asked Declan suddenly. It had never made any sense to me. It’s not as if people die there or anything.
Declan shot me a confused look. “I can tell you why some of the older cemeteries might be haunted,” he replied.
“Well,” I said, “take it away, Einstein of the Night.”
Even in the dark I could tell he was smirking as he gestured to the tombstones around us. “How old do you think this cemetery is?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I shot back, “why don’t you tell me?”
Declan looked about for a few seconds before he replied. “I’d say this particular cemetery was built in either the middle to late 19th century.” He continued before I could ask him how he knew that. “Most of the tombstones we just passed were placed here in the late 1800’s which, if you had been paying attention, it tells you.”
I glared at him, but he ignored me and, instead, continued to tell me what I wanted to know.
“I say the cemetery could be older, because the tombstones over there appear to have more damage to them,” he said, pointing to a patch of crumbling tombstones. “This tells me that this cemetery is most likely not haunted.”
“And why not?” I asked, genuinely curious now.
“Because in 1665, the English Parliament made a law against unnecessary visits to the graveyard and any grave had to be at least six feet deep. The reasoning behind this legislation was that the spreading of the Black Death was mainly due to burial customs.”
“Ah,” I said, finally catching on. “And John Whittaker came over to America in 1860-something.”
We had been walking around the graveyard while we talked, but now we had stopped in front of the Mausoleum. The Mausoleum, much like the tombstones, was crumbling in some areas; eroded by the weather. The plaque above the door read Give us light for our darkest days.
I looked at Declan nervously. “Should we go in?”
“Yeah,” Declan replied, “we might find something cool in there.”
Leave it to a guy to think there would be something cool in a mausoleum.
“Alright,” I said, “let’s go.” I grabbed the old, worn-out handle and tugged; it wouldn’t budge. I tried again; nothing.
“Um,” I started, “a little help please?”
Declan chuckled and opened the large stone door with one hand. “After you, Milady.” He gave a mocking bow.
“I’ll Milady you if you don’t hurry up and get in here,” I said from inside the dark mausoleum. I flipped on my flashlight and about had a heart attack. There, in front of me, was a woman lying on a slab of stone. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t actually a woman, but a carving of a woman.
“Whoa!” Declan exclaimed from beside me. “That is one wicked coffin!”
“Coffin!?” I said. “That does not look like a coffin!”
“It’s basically like a sarcophagus,” Declan informed me, going into history student mode. “See how they made the figure on top of the coffin look real?”
I moved closer to the coffin to examine it. “Yeah, okay,” I said, “but it’s still really creepy.”
I stepped away from the coffin and continued to check out the small room we were in. That’s when I saw it. The object was small and round, like an oversized penny, and silver in color. It was resting on a medium sized shelf built into the wall.
I picked the coin up carefully, and then placed it gently into the palm of my other hand. The coin looked exactly like the one from my dream. I tried to tell myself that it was a coincidence, but I knew it wasn’t. So, I decided to see if my dreams were trying to tell me something. Closing my hand around the coin, I slowly made my way over to the lady on the coffin. Positioning my flashlight to where the beams hit the lady’s throat, I began looking for the indention where the coin went. I didn’t have to look long. I found it exactly where it was in my dream.
Holding my breath, I placed the coin in the corresponding slot and stepped back. Then everything seemed to happen at once. There was a great shuttering deep within the structure of the stone room, causing a small earthquake. The floor beneath me started bucking and I tried to regain my balance, only to be tackled by a 190 pound guy.
Where my head had been just seconds before, there was now a pile of stones from the ceiling.
“Thanks,” I said when I was finally able to breathe again.
“No problem,” Declan replied, standing up and dusting himself off. “Do you need a hand getting up?”
“Nah, I’m good,” I told him picking myself up off the dusty floor.
“What was that? Declan asked into the now deafeningly silent room. Just like in my dream, one of the walls had opened up to reveal a gaping black hole.
“Um,” I said, “do you remember that dream I told you about after breakfast?” I asked while twiddling my fingers together nervously.
“Yeah,” Declan said slowly before a look of understanding came across his face. “This was in your dream,” he stated unnecessarily. “You were dreaming about this room.”
We were silent for a few seconds while we both let that revelation sink in. The dust had settled enough by now so that I could see the rest of the damage the opening of the secret door had caused.
“PK,” Declan exclaimed suddenly, startling me.
“What?” I asked, confused.
Declan looked utterly excited. “I think you may have a form of PK!”
PK or Psychokenesis is the movement of objects through sheer willpower. Another form of PK is premonition. Premonition is the ability to see the future or the past through dreams.
“I do not have PK,” I told him, but even as I said it I knew he was right. How else could I explain how I knew what the coin would do?
“What are you thinking?” Declan asked, touching my shoulder lightly. I could see that he was genuinely worried about me.
“Nothing,” I said, shrugging it off. “Let’s go see where that secret passage leads to.”
Declan nodded, dropping the conversation and we made our way down into the black tunnel. The stairs we were taking seemed to spiral ever downwards deeper and deeper underground.
Roughly five minutes later, Declan and I finally reached the end of the stairs, and I about had a heart attack for the second time that night.
“Holy snap!” I yelled, my voice going up nearly three octaves. “What in the world?”
Declan hurried down the rest of the stairs and positioned himself protectively in front of me.
“What? What’s wrong? Why did you…” Declan trailed off. “Oh.”
The sight in front of us was both gruesome and morbidly fascinating. Stretching down the hallway about 15 feet on both sides, were neat stacks of human bones, the grinning skulls resting comfortably on top.
“I don’t suppose they’re fake,” I said nervously. I was looking at everything but the bones.
“No,” Declan answered, his voice steady and controlled, “I don’t suppose they are.”
We stood there for a while, uncertain what we should do, where we should go next. Just like after the secret door opened, the silence was deafening.
“There’s a door at the end of this tunnel,” Declan said suddenly. “Do you want to see where it leads to?”
“Honestly,” I told him, “I want to get as far away from this place as I can, but as a hunter, it is my job to investigate all possible leads.”
I had already started toward the door at the end of the hall when my walkie-talkie buzzed to life.
“Andy, Declan,” came Seth’s panicked voice, “you really need to get down here to the Cellar! Mercer’s been hurt!”
I turned around swiftly and ran up the stairs, with Declan close behind. Once we had made it out of the Mausoleum, I tried to think back to the layout of the house. According to the map Declan had gotten from the local library, there was a door leading to the cellar in the Courtyard.
It didn’t take me long to find the door to the cellar, as it was the only other door besides the one to the kitchen on that wall. When I reached the door, I ripped it open and tore down the stairs, Declan right on my heels.
By the time Declan and I made it to the bottom of the stairs, my lungs were protesting with every breath I took.
Seth stood up from his position on the floor, and I could see that his white shirt was now red with blood.
“We were holding an EVP Session when Mercer got hurt,” Colette informed me tearfully. “I don’t know what happened. One minute we were asking questions, the next he was on the floor, bleeding.”
I looked over at Mercer. He was lying on his stomach in the middle of the room, using his shirt as a cushion for his head. On his back, were three long scratches extending from his left shoulder to the edge of his pants. Each scratch was deep and looked like they were created by a large animal.
“We called 911…” Seth said, voice trailing off at the end.
The wait for the ambulance was excruciating. No one knew what to say or do, so we all sat silently, in our own little worlds. I kept trying to think of a way to explain what had happened, but I kept coming back to the thought that this was not a poltergeist or intelligent haunting; it had to be a demonic haunting: there was no other explanation.
I think it was a relief for all of us when Mercer was finally safe inside the ambulance. It was as if we could all breathe again. I could tell that everyone was exhausted, both mentally and physically, so I decided to call it a night.
Lying in bed the next morning, I tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep; with what happened to Mercer and me having PK, my mind was in a whirlwind. When sleep finally did claim me, it was fitful and drenched in nightmares.

The man in the black cloak was in the hallway of grinning skulls, making his way toward the door with the pentagram on it. As the man neared the door, a muffled noise could be heard coming from the other side. As the man entered the room, a light sparked to life illuminating the room enough to see a woman tied to an altar.
“Please Mr. Whittaker,” the woman cried. “I don’t want to die!”
The man, now known as Mr. Whitaker, said nothing, as he drew a small dagger from inside his cloak. The woman on the altar continued to sob, but Mr. Whittaker paid it no mind.
Mr. Whittaker yanked her head back, baring the soft flesh of her neck and—

Waking up the next afternoon, I felt more exhausted than I had last night. Breakfast was quiet and uneventful, as we all attempted to wrap our minds around the events that had transpired the night before.
After a late breakfast and a quick call to the hospital to see how Mercer was doing, everyone meandered into the Library where we would go over the evidence from last night.
“We were holding an EVP Session when it happened,” Colette said, “so there should be something on the recording.”
I nodded and plugged the voice recorder into the computer. The first forty-three minutes of the recording was just Colette and Mercer asking random questions, and not getting any responses. I was about to give up and take a break, when I heard a strange anomaly on the recording. I sat up straighter in my chair and grabbed the computer mouse, using it to drag the little bar on the screen back, so I could listen to it again.
“Is there anyone here with us?” I heard Colette ask.
There was a brief silence before the slightest of a whisper could be discerned. “Yes…” It seemed to whisper.
“Is it hot in here,” Colette asked randomly, “or is it just me?”
“It’s just you,” Mercer said sarcastically.
“Oh, be quiet,” Colette replied.
“Hold on,” Mercer spoke, “it does feel hotter in here.”
I replayed it once more and then let it continue. I did not think I would get anything else, but I was wrong. If I had thought that the first voice could have just been the wind, then there was no mistaking what this new sound was.
“Were you murdered?” Colette continued unable to hear the answer she had received
“LEAVE!” came the screamed reply. This new voice was angry and definitively male.
What happened next seemed almost instantaneous. There was a short cry of pain from Mercer and a high-pitched screech from Colette.
I ripped the ear buds out of my ears and turned to face the rest of my team. “I’ve got something!” I nearly shouted, addressing everyone. “You guys have to check this out!”
One at a time, each team member put the ear buds in and listened to the EVP recording.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Colette said, sounding as if her mind was miles away from us. “The voice was so loud. How did I not hear it?”
I stood up and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What happened was not your fault, Colette. You had no control over it.”
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, I know.”
I glanced at my watch, and then looked back up at everyone. “It’s time to go dark,” I told them.
Everyone nodded and proceeded to gather the equipment they would need for the night.
Once we were all standing back in a circle, I addressed the team as a whole.
“In light of what happened to Mercer last night, I think we should all stick together tonight.” There were various forms of agreement from the group, and then we were off.
If my dream was any indication of what had happened here so long ago, then I thought it best that we all check out the secret passage again. It did not take long to get back to the hall of grinning skulls, and soon we were all standing in front of the door with the pentagram.
Working up my courage, I reached out an unsteady hand and pushed the door open. The stench of dust and decay hit my nose, making me gag and cough at the same time. I opened the door the rest of the way, then stepped in, allowing the others to come into the room.
“What is this place?” Georgia asked, sweeping her flashlight around the room.
“The sacrifice room,” I answered, remembering my dream. “There should be an altar around here some- oh!” Toward the back of the room, the altar on the raised dais stood exactly as it had in my dream; blood stains and all.
“It’s exactly how you said it was,” Kris said from beside me. “Looks like we have us a resident psychic.”
I moved away from the altar to examine the shelves that lined the wall. Each shelf had books with names such as An Understanding of Alchemy and Spells and Potions.
“Hey,” Seth said suddenly,” look what I found.” He was holding an old leather bound book in his hand, skimming through the pages.
I walked over to where Seth was standing and looked at the page he had flipped to. The heading read To Resurrect a Loved One.
“This was the only page marked,” Seth said, passing the book over to Declan. “What can you make of it?”
Declan gazed intently at the page before him, the frown on his face growing deeper the more he read.
“It looks like an instruction manual,” Declan said when he was done reading, “for bringing someone back from the dead. This part right here,” he positioned the book so that we could all see it, “is talking about a blood sacrifice.”
I thought back to my dream and the woman pleading for her life. She must have been one of his sacrifices. I could guess that all those bones out there belonged to the other people John Whittaker had murdered.
“Oh, God,” Georgia said, “all those people…”
“We need to tell Mr. Whittaker about this,” I said. “It’s obvious now that this is a demonic haunting.”
“Yeah,” Georgia agreed, “just look at what happened to Mercer.”
“Let’s head back up to the house,” Declan said. “I don’t know how safe it is to be here anymore.”
Without further adieu, we left the cemetery and walked back to the house. The next morning, we packed up all our equipment into the Ghost Buster and headed back to the DPR Building, where we would go through all of the evidence we had collected.
While there was no doubt in my mind that the Whitaker Mansion was indeed haunted by a demonic entity, we still had to prove it to Mr. Whittaker. But that could wait another day. Ghost hunting, and the study of the paranormal, can be looked at through a scientific point of view. But, not everything can be explained with science. This is the true account of the investigation involving the old Whittaker Mansion by the Deveraux Paranormal Research team, led by myself; Andy Deveraux.

The End???