Read Online Paranormal State: My Journey into the Unknown by Stefan Petrucha, Ryan Buell - Free Book Online

self-proclaimed psychics, or mothers hailing their children as the next Chip Coffey. In order for me to believe in their abilities, they have to drop hard, undeniable testimony, and prove without reasonable doubt, that they had no prior knowledge. I also refuse to let psychics perform readings for me.
That said, there are a rare few I do trust as human beings. Yet, even today, no matter how many times I walk through a house with a medium like Chip Coffey or Michelle Belanger, no matter how much I enjoy their company as friends, I question them every time . They have to prove themselves again and again. And any information they intuit is always taken with a grain of salt—until tangible evidence can be found to back their claims.

Chapter 4
Triple-Time
     
     
    Even my sister is haunted.
     
    After UNIV-CON in mid-October, production went into full swing. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Normally we’d spend two weeks preparing for a case. Club rules required that at least one or two secondary witnesses be screened before a case could even move forward. There’d be preliminary interviews, a psychological evaluation, and interviews with any medical and psychology experts the clients had been working with. Then our tech, research, and occult departments would evaluate the case. In the process, we’d come up with a battle plan. We’d even try to get photographs and blueprints of the house in advance.
    Then, of course, we had to raise money for car rentals, gas, hotel rooms, and other supplies. Typically I’d work extra shifts at a restaurant. Much as I despised the work, it was fast cash.
    Now I had a team of producers and filmmakers bringing back video of the clients and the location. Anything I needed, they provided. Plus, for the first time, PRS had a few thousand dollars for equipment. To an organization that operated with a few hundred dollars and rented university equipment, it was a huge sum.
    The shooting date for our first episode was pushed back to mid-November, giving us ample time, I thought, to pick the first case. Previously, PRS received a few dozen inquiries a month. Among those, one or two piqued our interest. In the past, it was a sufficient case flow. We took our time working on one case. We could go back and revisit a site if need be. In some instances, we’d go back three or four times.
    Now that was a problem. As much as production wanted to honor our work process, the network expected thirteen episodes by March. That gave us four months to do thirteen investigations, an average of three a month, tripling what we were used to covering. There was some definite pressure to find a pool of interesting cases.
    Taking advantage of the Halloween spirit in October, we put out flyers and press releases all over Pennsylvania. Dozens of calls and e-mails came through. Suddenly PRS was operating full-time. Every member had to pull extra shifts to sift through the responses.
    Meanwhile, coexecutive producer Alan LaGarde, along with other crew members, had moved to State College to get things prepared for the series. It was already strange knowing we were going to be followed around by a documentary crew. It was even more bizarre knowing that ten to fifteen people would be living nearby for four months because of us.
    I first met Alan at a restaurant in downtown State College. He originally came from news broadcasting, which reassured me that they were looking for authenticity. I learned later that in his early twenties, he’d run an entire news station. That was something I could identify with. I’ve often found myself reminded how young I am to be an authority figure. After all, there I was, a twenty-three-year-old among seasoned filmmakers, producers, and crew in their forties. Alan had a professorial air and a genuine ability to listen. I felt like I had a mentor in him, someone I could go to for honest advice.
    As for the cases, most didn’t pan out, but we did find a few that seemed worth hitting the road