My neighbour's girlfriend, who visits periodically with her three young children, mentioned that none of them like to sleep upstairs because "somebody's always trying to talk to us." This information was offered unprompted, sort of casually tossed out over coffee one day.
That pretty much did it for me and I headed for the internet, searching. I knew that the Quinte Paranormal Society existed, but had never checked out the site, though once I had, I fired off an email, testing the waters. Flurry of back and forths and the "date to investigate" was set.
And here they are. Or rather, there they go.
I'm not sure what I was expecting exactly, but Josh and Shawn, brothers, were a pleasant surprise. They were clean-cut and friendly - professional and a touch military. (Josh, as it turns out, is in the Air Force and his older brother Shawn was in law enforcement for several years before an injury forced him out.) Patrick, a quiet, older gentleman and sweet-spoken Francesa rounded out the team.
They spent some time hauling in their cameras and equipment, testing the video recorders and such, while Francesa asked about our experiences. Mark and I stumbled through by cracking jokes and being self-deprecating. I did most of the talking, Mark took care of the jokes - and then, it was time.
After touring the house with lights on, the team assembled themselves at various points and then all went dark. Mark and I, feeling foolish and a bit giddy, headed outside to snicker and wonder in whispers - watching the odd flash from a camera briefly light our darkened home.
After about half an hour, the team converged in the driveway, while I made coffee and tried to act as though it's perfectly normal to have four strangers calling forth spirits from my home on a hot summer's night in July. Tried for casual when Shawn and Josh said they were ready to wrap things up, after one last trip to our creepy dirt cellar. (Josh loved it, proclaiming that if it were his, he'd have an office down there, for blogging and writing. Me: Have at it, dude. We'll give you your own key!)
And then, suddenly, it was over and they were packing up. IF there is something or someone lurking in the shadowy depths of our home, it will show up on the audio tapes, apparently. As soon as they've been gone through, Josh will let us know and send us copies of everything.
Excellent. Photographic and audio evidence of one of the weirdest nights we've spent.
Just gone midnight and alone once more, Mark and I settled in to watch the last "Harry Potter" DVD, because really, what else were we going to watch, I ask you? We didn't speak of the evening, oddly enough. Simply enjoyed a cool movie without worrying that the noise would wake the children and plowing through a bag of Cheetos, in companionable silence.
What the EFF is that? Mark and I looked at one another. There is was again: "Tskshhhflapflapflapskritch!" Mark hit pause on the movie and I froze. He got up and tiptoed into the living room, cautiously flipped on the light and jolted back.
Me: Sigh. "There's a bat in the house, isn't there?"
Mark: Shit, yeah. And it's HUGE! I hate bats. HATE bats!
Me: Well, it's our own fault, really. We had to go and open the crypt, didn't we?
With that, I fell apart laughing. Hysterically. And was no help whatsoever to Mark, who set about trying to catch the huge bat (This shit ain't right, Liz! This thing is HUGE!) with his sweater and a baseball cap. Me? I shoved a pillow over my head and carried on laughing, peeking out every now and again long enough to holler at Mark to open the door already!
Eventually, he did and I thought I saw the bat fly out. Giggling fitfully, we finished the movie (only after we'd inspected every corner and set the rooms blazing with light - our neighbours must think WE'RE the crazy ones around here) and finally, went to bed.
All told? A marvelous way to spend a Friday night - if only for the months of mileage I'll be getting out of this tale. Life with Bellymonster = never boring for long!
I'll keep y'all posted......
Update from the QPRS site:
*** http://www.qprs.ca/0709001.htm ***