EMILY KALKA Editor
One of the few ghost investigations I have taken part in was actually a book club gathering. We started the evening taking fun photos dressed up as ghosts (aka we threw on sheets and funny hats and glasses) aroundoneofthemembers’ properties. And then we all loaded up in her pickup truck and headed out to an abandoned cemetery.
There were four of us on this little adventure. At first, we were joking around and laughing it up as we drove through the pasture. We then came to a stop at a fence, and the driver declared this was as far as we went in the truck -- it was a short hike from there. Not a problem for us.
Until we saw the dark tunnel of trees we had to hike through to get to the cemetery.
Yes, we continued on. But the laughter got a little tight. Our eyes darted around a bit more. Logically, we knew the worst thing out in the trees was wildlife. And even then, not likely something that could kill us as long as you watched where you stepped.
Granted, even then, we were clueless about the biggest threat in those woods, though we would all certainly find out.
The sun was setting, and suddenly, everything around us looked and felt a bit more sinister, despite our best attempts at dark humor. (The jokes were very funny, I will say.) It was darker. The trees felt like they were reaching out for us. The air was heavier. Every rustle and call had us twisting our attention this way and that.
Finally, we walked out into a sort-of clearing. I say sort-of because the grass was so high, you couldn’t see the tombstones until you got right on them. There were a few that were out in the open or under trees, but nature had long ago taken over the plots. I believe there were a few dozen scattered throughout.
The story, as we were told, was that there was a time when the cemetery was cared for, but it was so old that eventually the group in charge died out and no one else stepped up. We were also told that this was the final resting place of some of the victims of the Chandler tornado in 1897. The youngest grave was somewhere in the 1920s.
We put our things down in a pile and pulled out the paranormal investigation equipment. One person went for the dowsing rods. Someone else went for a meter. I pulled out my phone and opened up an app I had downloaded earlier that day aptly named “GhostTube.” The idea is that if there were any ghosts around us, they would appear as stick figures.
Don’t ask me how it works. I still don’t know. And I still have my doubts that it’s legit (now that I’m safe and warm in the daylight… not so much that night).
Our fearless leader started givingmorebackground to the cemetery, and the ghostly experiences her father (who lived nearby) had that they believed were connected to people buried there. They started using the dowsing rods, asking questions and sometimes getting answers. I wandered around with my app, wondering if it would even work.
And then it did. Like, a lot.
As in there were ghosts everywhere.
In the videos, you hear me laughing it off. Declaring all the logical, rational things it could be other than ghosts.AndthenIjumpand nearly shriek as one of the figures appears to run at me. I also laughed that off.
We made it about 20 minutes before we all collectively agreedthatwehad spent enough time chatting with ghosts. In actuality, I think we were all freaked out, though some of us hid it better than others. One of my friends commented about how I kept my cool, which helped her stay calm.
Little did she know that on the inside, I very much wasn’t all that calm and cool. However, once we made it out of the woods and back to civilization, it was easier to joke about everything and chalk it up to us scaring ourselves. Even now, I still chuckle about it, though I’m pretty sure I’ll never volunteer to go back out there at dusk or dark again.
Or well… probably period. That threat I mentioned earlier? Yea, it turns out we all should have been more worried about the chiggers than the ghosts. I still have scars on my legs.