The investigation continues . . .
A skeptical ghost hunter teams with a medium to investigate paranormal mysteries. More Ghost Chronicles will provide a unique perspective into the lives of people touched by the paranormal. Ron, with his down-to-earth scientific approach, and Maureen, with her psychic insight, will take you on yet another journey into the realm of the unknown, the unexplained, and the unbelievable.
Readers will join Maureen and Ron on their investigations throughout the Northeast and beyond. Their travels take them to Portsmouth, NH where the caretaker seeks to learn more about the strange happenings at the windswept Portsmouth Harbor Lighthouse and to Georgia where they hunt for the true identity of Button Wood's spirit, General Beauregard, as well as to Daniel Lady Farm in Gettysburg, PA, widely considered one of the most haunted locations in America. This book also includes follow-ups to the investigations compiled in the original Ghost Chronicles book.
|Product dimensions:||5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.80(d)|
About the Author
Ron Kolek is the Emmy-winning founder and lead investigator of the New England Ghost Project. With a degree in environmental science, he was the ultimate skeptic until a near-death experience prompted him to use his scientific background to seek the truth about the paranormal. Ron produces and hosts Ghost Chronicles radio on TOGINET, Para X, iTunes, Tunein, Ghostvillage and other radio stations.
Jeff Belanger is a voracious fan of the unexplained. He's been studying and writing about the supernatural for regional and national publications since 1997. Belanger is the founder of Ghostvillage.com, the Internet's largest supernatural community, which attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors per year. He's the author of: The World's Most Haunted Places: From the Secret Files of Ghostvillage.com (New Page Books 2004), and The Encyclopedia of Haunted Places (New Page Books 2005).
Read an Excerpt
The Reverend's Secret
Case File: 1904323 The Reverend's Secret
Location: A small New Hampshire town
History: A white historic farmhouse with attached barn and apartment, located in the old part of town.
Reported Paranormal Activity: The feeling of being watched. Doors opening and closing of their own accord. Apparitions and visitations accompanied by strange inexplicable noises.
Clients: Homeowners: Mary; her husband, Ben; sons William, Frank, and Al; along with their tenant, a medium named Dawn.
Investigators: Ron (lead investigator), Maureen (trance medium), Ron Jr. (investigator/photographer), Jim (photographer), Karen Mossey (EVP specialist), St. Jan (Ron's wife).
Purpose of Investigation: To validate the experiences of the homeowner and her family.
It was 5:59 p.m. "Well, we're out of time, so remember to tune in every Friday from five to six for another episode of Ghost Chronicles here on WCCM." Maureen and I spoke in unison, "Good night and God bless."
Over the heartbeats of the closing, Lou said, "Mics are off. You two are good to go."
With that I removed my headset, dropped it on the desk, and jumped to my feet, sending the office chair rolling against the wall. Maureen and I scrambled down the corridor, out the station's door, and into her Audi A6. I guess we're driving in style tonight.
Fighting the typical Friday night traffic jam heading north on 93, we arrived at our destination in the old part of Salem, New Hampshire.
No sooner had we arrived than I heard the horn blow and glanced in the rearview mirror to see Jim's van pull in behind us. Like the exiting of a clown mobile, the rest of the crew piled out of his Aerostar.
"I thought I'd beat you guys here." Jim chuckled.
"Seriously? With that Aerostar? Slim chance," Maureen retorted.
Without even enough time to collect ourselves, we were greeted by a group of enthusiastic people in the driveway.
As I looked past the mob that had assembled, I couldn't help but notice the historic nature of this circa-1825 house and attached barn. In fact, it was just as Mary, the homeowner, had described in our previous conversation.
"Hi, Ron," Mary said in a greeting. "I recognize you from Channel 5 Chronicles."
"I'm better looking in person, you know," I said, as I glanced at Maureen, who was rolling her eyes as usual.
Mary gestured to the group that was now gathering closer. "This is my husband, Ben, my sons William, Frank, and Al." She looked at Maureen and then reached out to touch the arm of the woman standing next to her. "And this is Dawn. She rents an apartment here. She's a medium, too, you know."
"Nice to meet you," I said, but what I thought was, Whatever. Everyone's a medium these days.
"You want to come this way," Mary said as she motioned us to follow.
One by one we walked through the old barn door and up a set of creaky wooden steps and into the kitchen. We stood elbow to elbow around the kitchen island, packed in like sardines. Although it was distracting, we had to deal with it, nevertheless. I looked at Maureen, and I didn't have to be psychic to know she was thinking the same thing I was: This is way too many people to conduct a proper investigation.
* * *
Looking at Ron, I read his thoughts. This was way too many people to conduct a proper investigation. Above the clamor of voices, the all-too-familiar feeling began to arise. My heart began to beat wildly in my chest. A spirit had arrived. Typically, I would walk throughout the room to scan the energy. To my frustration, the large crowd and lack of space prevented this. Feeling like I was being beckoned, I weaved through the crowd to what appeared to be a walled-up chimney. My heart beat even faster. The energy was extremely strong here. I reached out and placed my palm on the painted brick. Like a hand on a hot stove, I jerked it back as a sharp pain shot through me. "Freakin' A!" I yelped as I clutched my head.
"What's wrong?" Ron asked, maneuvering closer.
"I don't know. There's something weird in there."
Apparently eavesdropping on our conversation, Dawn spoke up,
"There's nothing bad here. I know; I'm a medium."
I looked at her and smiled through gritted teeth. Maybe that's what you feel, but the world's not all rainbows and unicorns, I thought to myself. I reached out my hand to touch the brick once again. This time nothing.
"Do you want to communicate here?" Ron asked.
I shook my head no. Whatever had been here a moment ago was now gone.
Ron Jr. interrupted. "Dad, you can forget about recording an interview. You're not going to believe this. The camcorder batteries are dead."
"You're kidding me. I just charged them."
"Evidently you didn't bless them," I said. By the oh-shit look that crossed Ron's face, I guess I was right.
Ron turned toward Mary who was wrapped up in a conversation with Ron Jr. "Okay, where's this door that keeps opening by itself. You know, the one you told me about the other day."
"It's upstairs. Follow me," she said, as she motioned to an adjacent room.
We followed her, climbed the stairs to the second-floor hallway. Halfway down the corridor, I could feel the light, playful energy of a child. Taking advantage of the moment, I stopped mid-step, closed my eyes, and concentrated. The energetic signature was unmistakable. I knew it was a little girl. "Ron, hold up."
He stopped in his tracks and turned back at me. "What d'ya get?"
I reached out, gliding my hand back and forth in the corridor's atmosphere. "It's a little girl. I can feel her run past me, over and over. Like she's playing with us."
Ron, with a tight grip on the EMF he was holding, began to wave it up and down. "I got nothing."
"I know she's here." The moment I said it, I heard an ethereal whisper in my ear: My name is Sarah. "Her name is Sarah."
"How do you know that?"
"She just told me," I said fighting back tears. My heart suddenly heavy, filled with grief, I said, "Oh, my God. She died in a fire."
Mary, now listening, interjected. "There was no fire here that we know of."
I shrugged in response. "I can only tell you what she told me." Even though in my heart I knew it was true.
I reached out with my mind, returning my attention back to Sarah once again. But she was gone. "Sarah apparently has nothing else to say. She's left." I turned to Ron. "I think we can move on now."
* * *
Taking Maureen's advice, we continued down the hallway to the master bedroom. I rounded the corner and found myself staring at a large poster on the closet door. "Hey, look at this," I said, pointing to the poster that was floating to and fro off the door. "Ron Jr., take a picture."
Ron Jr. raised his camera and snapped the button to take a shot. Nothing. He tried again, to no avail.
Not wanting to lose the moment, I reached for my own camera and raised it to my eye. But before I had a chance to take a picture, the camera flew out of my hand and crashed to the wide-plank floor. "What the hell?! It felt like someone just whacked it out of my hand," I said as I picked up the now-broken camera and dropped it atop the dresser. I cautiously approached the still-moving poster. I opened the case clipped to my belt and retrieved the anemometer, taking various measurements around the poster.
I could detect no draft. But still the poster moved. Glancing at the gauge on the anemometer, I did notice a drop in temperature. I turned around and spied Maureen standing by the rocking chair, which appeared to be moving of its own accord. "Maureen, do you feel anything?"
Maureen didn't respond right away. Placing her hand to her temple, she said, "Yes. In fact, I think there are two spirits here. A woman and a man."
"Who are you connected with?"
"The woman. I think it's the little girl's mother." Rubbing her temple, she grimaced and shook her head as though she was struggling with something. "She keeps trying to relay a message, but ... the other spirit — the man — is trying to stop her from speaking."
She removed her hand from her forehead, stood erect, and took a deep breath. "His thoughts are coming through clearer now." She groaned in disgust. "I can feel his loathing for this woman and her child."
As if the words were torn from her body, she screeched, "Whore!"
A sudden look of horror crossed Maureen's face. "Oh, my God. Sarah is his daughter. That's disgusting. He's a reverend."
"He was a reverend?" I asked.
Mary spoke up, "A reverend did live here."
Maureen bent over in pain, then stumbled back. "I can feel his rage. He's angry because his secret's been revealed." Hands on her thighs, Maureen slowly straightened herself. Through raspy breath, she said, "He's gone."
Puzzled, Mary looked to Dawn. "What do you think?"
Dawn stood there, jaw clenched, remaining silent.
Mary huffed and spoke up again. "Like I said, a reverend did live here. But there's no record of a Sarah or any other child by him."
As in the hallway, Maureen shrugged. Her voice curt, "Right or wrong, all I can say is what comes to me."
Not wanting to get into a pissing match between two mediums and trying to diffuse the situation, I turned to Karen, who had been recording the whole time. "Karen, did you get anything?"
"Let me check." She pressed the replay button of her digital recorder and raised it to her ear. The room grew silent. Through the small speakers of the recorder we could hear what sounded like a sermon being recited.
"Wow, did you hear that?" Karen said as she rewound the recorder and hit play again.
Mary and Dawn leaned closer, listening more intently.
Once again, a man's voice echoed through the speaker. "We are all gathered here ..."
Mary was giddy with excitement. "Dawn, did you hear that? Wow, that was amazing, Karen."
Both Mary and Dawn stood in front of Maureen and me, enthusiastically chatting with Karen as if she were a long-lost friend.
"That was cool, but we still have to check out the rest of the house. Let's move on," I said.
* * *
A short time later, Maureen and I were back in the Audi driving home. Because of the equipment issues and drained batteries, I had to listen to her rant and rave all the way home about not blessing the equipment.
"I got it," I spat. "By the way, I don't think they were too happy about your assessment of the reverend."
"Oh, well. And why have us come and investigate if they were so sure of what was going on there? Whatever."
* * *
Three months later I received a phone call from Mary, who conveyed that after Dawn moved out, they had received a strange message on their answering machine. Mary asked me to call her back and listen. I dialed the number, and as the answering machine message played, I couldn't believe my ears. Immediately after, I called Maureen at work. "Do you remember that investigation we did in Salem, with the reverend and the little girl, Sarah?"
"Do you remember how they didn't believe you and told us there was no record of any Sarah ever having lived there?"
An exasperated sigh came through the phone. "How could I forget?"
"Well, I just got a call from Mary."
"Well, just call this number and listen to the answering machine. Then call me back."
* * *
Without hesitation, I dialed the number Ron had given me and listened. The eerie whispers of a little girl's voice could be heard beneath the outgoing welcome message, "Across the road ... follow the wall ... down by the river ... by the big oak tree ... you will find me."
As cool as it was, I was confused. Not sure what to make of it, I called Ron back. "Hi, Ron. I heard the message. What the hell does it mean?" Ron chuckled. "You're gonna love this. If you follow the instructions, it leads you to a small grave. There, etched in the cold stone is the name Sarah."
I smiled to myself. "It appears the reverend's secret has been revealed."CHAPTER 2
Tricks at Rick's
Case File: 1904052 Rick's Cafe
Location: Kingston, New Hampshire
History: Built during the Revolutionary War, this home-turned-restaurant is located in Kingston, one of New Hampshire's most historic towns.
Reported Paranormal Activity: Eerie mists, slithering shadows, objects moving by themselves.
Clients: Rick Korn (restaurant owner).
Investigators: Ron (lead investigator), Maureen (trance medium), Ron Jr. (investigator), Karen (EVP specialist), Jim (photographer), St. Jan (Ron's wife).
Press: Eric Baxter and his photographer, Bruce (The Salem Observer); Margo Lesage (Lawrence Eagle-Tribune).
Purpose of Investigation: Providing the press with the opportunity to experience a paranormal investigation, while attempting to discover the reasons behind the odd occurrences at the restaurant.
I had arranged to do an investigation at a restaurant in Derry, New Hampshire, when it was cancelled at the last minute. A cancellation would normally not be a problem, except that I had invited Margo Lesage from the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune and Eric Baxter from the Salem Observer to come along. I needed to find another place quick, so I called Rick Korn at Rick's Cafe in Kingston. Rick jumped at the chance to investigate his restaurant, and the stage was set for the evening encounter. But what would we encounter?
Later that night, after a short trip, we arrived at what appeared to be an older home that had been converted into a restaurant. We piled out of the van and entered through an old heavy-duty hardwood door. As I surveyed the room, I noticed Eric and his photographer, Bruce, had already arrived and were speaking with what appeared to be some of the staff.
As the door slammed behind us, Eric looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Ron. You finally made it. Glad you're here. I was getting worried."
The kitchen door swung open behind Eric, and I saw the small frame of a woman walk through. I knew, unmistakably, that it was Margo.
Ron Jr. plopped the equipment down on one of the dining room tables by the window and began setting up base camp. A second later, I heard him calling me, "Dad, can you give me a hand."
* * *
As I stepped through the entryway past Ron and Ron Jr., I immediately felt the onslaught of energy that began gnawing at me. I reached into my fleece jacket to pull out my rosary beads and cringed.
They weren't there. I frantically searched my other pockets to no avail. "Crapstick," I grumbled. I don't know what I was thinking. How could I forget something that's such a staple in my protection during an investigation? Nervously, I stepped over to Ron. "You're not going to believe this, but I forgot my rosary beads."
"Oh, there's a big surprise. You're always forgetting everything. Sometimes I feel like I'm your purse." He hesitated, then dug into the pocket of his jeans. "Here, take these," he said, as he plopped the delicate beads into my open palm. "Be careful with these — they were my father's."
Once the beads were in my hand, I looked them over and noticed the details — muted browns and blacks, slightly aged, but beautiful just the same. I could almost feel the memories vibrating along their surface. Realizing their sentiment, I was a bit nervous and determined to take extra good care of them. I held them gently between my fingers, draped over my palms, while Bruce, the photographer, stood close by. Now that the equipment had been set up, Ron began to interview the waitstaff. Ron Jr. videotaped the interviews while I stood off to the side.
Through all the commotion, I began to feel a surge of energy swirling around me. The sudden pressure in my forehead could only mean one thing: whatever had been haunting Rick's had joined me now and was listening to every word spoken. I turned my head slowly and scanned the room, looking for someone who may be feeling what I was feeling. I didn't have to look too far for a sign.
Ron Jr. fiddled with the camera. "Hold on, Dad. Looks like this freakin' battery is dead."
Suddenly, I felt a rush of energy brushing up against me. I extended the rosaries out in front of me, between both hands. As if struck by some unseen force, the rosary broke in two. Just great! The rosary beads I'd held so gently in my hands were now split in two.
"Did I see right?" the photographer asked with a quiver in his voice.
"Yes," I said, still trying to absorb what had just happened.
He aimed his camera at the beads I held in my hand and began clicking away.
Whatever was playing games with me split the rosary once again. I cringed as I heard the sound of the beads bouncing off the wooden floor.
"Oh, my God! Did you see that?" the photographer exclaimed.
Ignoring his question, I nervously bent over and gathered up the scattered beads from the floor and placed them all in the palm of my hand. Now what? My feet suddenly feeling like lead, I reluctantly headed toward Ron, feeling like a person being sent to the gallows. Nervously, I spoke up, "Hey, Ron, did you give me a broken rosary to hold?"
* * *
I looked at Maureen, giving her one of my "Yeah, right!" stares, and replied, "Sure, I always carry broken rosaries with me." With that she dropped the fragments on the table. Shocked, I asked her what had happened. She went on to explain the weird circumstances of their demise as she attempted to reassemble them. Feeling uneasy about her efforts, I said, "They're linked in groups of ten, you know."(Continues…)
Excerpted from "More Ghost Chronicles"
Copyright © 2018 Maureen Wood and Ron Kolek.
Excerpted by permission of Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Foreword, by Jeff Belanger,
1 The Reverend's Secret,
2 Tricks at Rick's,
3 The Legend of Dudley Road,
4 The 1859 House,
5 The Portsmouth Harbor Lighthouse,
6 Daniel Lady Farm,
7 Sleeping with the Dead,
8 Ghost Bride,
9 A Sea Captain, a Drunken Sailor, and a Nice Old Lady,
10 The Keeper,
12 New London Ledge Lighthouse,
13 The Sprague Mansion: Part I, the Tour,
14 The Sprague Mansion: Part II, the Investigation,
15 Turtle Mound,
16 Attack of the Puckwudgie,