Read Online Dark World: Into the Shadows with the Lead Investigator of the Ghost Adventures Crew by Kelly Crigger, Zak Bagans - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kelly Crigger, Zak Bagans
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priceless Aaron Goodwin facial expression for the books.
Smells are another part of paranormal investigation that boggles me. I’ve smelled horse manure in Castillo de San Marcos, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Aaron’s gas, because he doesn’t eat hay. I’ve smelled perfume in the Old Washoe Club, a rotting corpse in my apartment in Michigan, the foul and musty air of mold at the Ancient Ram Inn, and the putrid stench of sulfur in Bobby Mackey’s Music World. These smells were always out of place and had no source. It’s something I love about paranormal investigation, because it takes me to the time period when the building was alive and teeming with activity. It also serves as a warning that more paranormal activity is about to happen. It’s a yellow light at an intersection begging you to make a decision— slam on the brakes or floor it. I’m not big on brakes.
Like sounds, I would classify these incidents as residual hauntings, but then again they always seem to precede paranormal phenomena, so they might be the precursors to something bigger. I’ve heard the tales of a pipe-smoking, nineteenth-century mogul wandering the halls of his old home and a perfumesoaked prostitute stalking an old inn, so it’s certainly feasible that odors can be one characteristic of an intelligent spirit that still roams its old stomping grounds. If I smell sulfur in a dilapidated barn and no one has eaten White Castle hamburgers, then bad stuff is about to happen.
The People We Meet
Just as with life, someone can be in the wrong place at the wrong time and become part of a paranormal experience, whether they want to or not. Innocent bystanders frequently get left in the wake of ghostly activity. It’s one of the best parts of paranormal investigation: listening to the stories of the people who were there. Former residents, patients, caregivers, guards, workers, or inmates can unlock clues to the source of a haunting. They witnessed the weirdness as it happened and had to live or work in an environment that most people are not subjected to. They had to deal with these phenomena on a daily basis, listen to the voices that people told them weren’t there, and do a self-assessment to determine their own sanity. I respect people who dealt with that and came through it. A big part of being a paranormal investigator is listening to these people and, many times, helping them cope with it.
Red Bone
One of the first people I ever met was outside Moundsville Penitentiary in West Virginia. We were filming some background footage when a little red car pulled up and an older man I can only describe as a “character” interrupted us.
“What choo guys filming?” he asked in a backwoods drawl.
“We’re making a film about the prison,” I replied.
“I was in there. A lot of years.”
“Mind if we talk to you about it?” He pulled his car over (I think it said “Limited Edition Escort” on it) and I was giddy at the thought of getting a guided tour from a man who was on the inside. And I mean REALLY on the inside—not an administrator or a tour guide, but someone who lived under the iron fist of justice for many years. A man who not only looked despair in the eye and didn’t flinch, but someone who would turn out to have an intimate relationship with the spirits that haunted the prison. He was Tom “Red Bone” Richardson, an inmate from 1967 to 1983, and an apparent fan of ZZ Top from the looks of his flowing white beard. I really hoped that he would leave his overflowing tobacco spit cup in the car before we began.
When we took Red Bone around the prison, I was pretty quiet. Walking the aisles of steel bars and fencing built to control the movements of dangerous men, I could see the emotion in his eyes. I could feel the intensity of the life he led and see the pain in his cragged face at every turn. I tried to visualize what he saw, but of course, failed to, not having any idea what life at rock bottom is like.
I
Smells are another part of paranormal investigation that boggles me. I’ve smelled horse manure in Castillo de San Marcos, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Aaron’s gas, because he doesn’t eat hay. I’ve smelled perfume in the Old Washoe Club, a rotting corpse in my apartment in Michigan, the foul and musty air of mold at the Ancient Ram Inn, and the putrid stench of sulfur in Bobby Mackey’s Music World. These smells were always out of place and had no source. It’s something I love about paranormal investigation, because it takes me to the time period when the building was alive and teeming with activity. It also serves as a warning that more paranormal activity is about to happen. It’s a yellow light at an intersection begging you to make a decision— slam on the brakes or floor it. I’m not big on brakes.
Like sounds, I would classify these incidents as residual hauntings, but then again they always seem to precede paranormal phenomena, so they might be the precursors to something bigger. I’ve heard the tales of a pipe-smoking, nineteenth-century mogul wandering the halls of his old home and a perfumesoaked prostitute stalking an old inn, so it’s certainly feasible that odors can be one characteristic of an intelligent spirit that still roams its old stomping grounds. If I smell sulfur in a dilapidated barn and no one has eaten White Castle hamburgers, then bad stuff is about to happen.
The People We Meet
Just as with life, someone can be in the wrong place at the wrong time and become part of a paranormal experience, whether they want to or not. Innocent bystanders frequently get left in the wake of ghostly activity. It’s one of the best parts of paranormal investigation: listening to the stories of the people who were there. Former residents, patients, caregivers, guards, workers, or inmates can unlock clues to the source of a haunting. They witnessed the weirdness as it happened and had to live or work in an environment that most people are not subjected to. They had to deal with these phenomena on a daily basis, listen to the voices that people told them weren’t there, and do a self-assessment to determine their own sanity. I respect people who dealt with that and came through it. A big part of being a paranormal investigator is listening to these people and, many times, helping them cope with it.
Red Bone
One of the first people I ever met was outside Moundsville Penitentiary in West Virginia. We were filming some background footage when a little red car pulled up and an older man I can only describe as a “character” interrupted us.
“What choo guys filming?” he asked in a backwoods drawl.
“We’re making a film about the prison,” I replied.
“I was in there. A lot of years.”
“Mind if we talk to you about it?” He pulled his car over (I think it said “Limited Edition Escort” on it) and I was giddy at the thought of getting a guided tour from a man who was on the inside. And I mean REALLY on the inside—not an administrator or a tour guide, but someone who lived under the iron fist of justice for many years. A man who not only looked despair in the eye and didn’t flinch, but someone who would turn out to have an intimate relationship with the spirits that haunted the prison. He was Tom “Red Bone” Richardson, an inmate from 1967 to 1983, and an apparent fan of ZZ Top from the looks of his flowing white beard. I really hoped that he would leave his overflowing tobacco spit cup in the car before we began.
When we took Red Bone around the prison, I was pretty quiet. Walking the aisles of steel bars and fencing built to control the movements of dangerous men, I could see the emotion in his eyes. I could feel the intensity of the life he led and see the pain in his cragged face at every turn. I tried to visualize what he saw, but of course, failed to, not having any idea what life at rock bottom is like.
I
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