Ghost stories

Part 2

by Michael Koykka

This is a busy season for ghost hunters. Once a year, it seems, people are willing to set aside skepticism and believe, just for a month or so, in the invisible and un-provable. Every October Americans put up the Halloween lights, bag leaves in leering jack-o'-lantern bags, and sit down to re-runs of In Search Of . . .

This is the "Christmas rush" for the ghost hunters. The ones who make a living at this are an odd lot. There is Boston's own Arthur Myers, who has written such books as The Ghostly Register, a compendium of haunted spots open to the public. His other publications include a book on communicating with your housepet telepathically (like you don't know when your cat is hungry?).

There are also Ed and Lorraine Warren of Connecticut, who have been hunting hauntings for more than 40 years. They've built up a multimedia empire of sorts based on their work, including books, a museum of the occult, and television appearances. Devout Catholics, they sincerely believe they are on the good side, battling evil in the form of ghosts, poltergeists, and Satanists (and occasionally scientists).

Arthur Myers, who now lives in Maine, has found a peculiar niche -- he writes almost exclusively about cryptobiology, or the study of unusual and out-of-place animal life (Big Foot, Nessie, Clarence Thomas, etc.). His hero, and that of many other ghost hunters, is one Charles Fort, who early in this century wrote scattered, mad-sounding books on subjects that science couldn't or wouldn't explain. Arthur Myers himself writes columns for Fortean Times, a magazine based on Fort's work.

What drives these people to explore such phenomena? They are looking for what they believe to be a truth beyond science, a place where science will have to sprint madly to catch up. They are looking for the same thing that pushed the Hubble Telescope into orbit to observe the edges of the universe. They are looking for why we're all here, and what happens when we're no longer here.

And some, like Robert Ellis Cahill, are looking for answers to experiences they had long ago.

Cahill lives in a 170-year-old house in Salem, Massachusetts, ground central for spooky activity this time of year. Why Salem? Because more than 300 years ago 20 witches were falsely accused and hanged. Hey, it's more than your town has done.

His house is old enough to be haunted itself. "I've had friends stay, and inevitably they say they never want to stay here again. The latches move constantly, it's the wind. It's full of creaks and moans." Spooky, huh?

Okay, so that's not spooky. There's plenty of weirdness in his life already. When he was in his early twenties, he met his deceased grandmother in the most terrifying encounter of his life. She came to him, accompanied by the sound of sleigh bells, and glided toward him without a sound. He tried to scream but, just like in the movies, no sound came out. When he finally was able to shout, she vanished. His mother was in another room, calling his name. Even in her dreams she knew he was in danger.

That encounter eventually led to a life of writing about the ghosts and legends of New England. He is author of 26 books, most on ghosts and the supernatural, that are distributed in more than 500 bookstores and New England tourist shops. The meticulously researched books present an alternate history to that which you find in textbooks. They tell of UFOs, witches, vampires, and shipwrecks, all told with respect for the sources and a sense of humor. And a chill or two.

Cahill also created two museums in Salem, the Witch Dungeon Museum and the Pirate Museum. His eyes light up when he talks about them. "Instead of just telling the story of what happened to the witches, why not tell all the bizarre, unique, and unusual things that happened. One woman stepped in a mud puddle and didn't get her feet wet, therefore she was accused of witchcraft." He started the Witch Dungeon Museum in 1980, after being hobbled by medical problems which may or may not have been the result of a curse by Giles Corey, the stubborn old man who was crushed to death in 1692 rather than confess to witchcraft. As Corey's final words, he cursed his tormentors. "Damn you Sheriff! I curse you and Salem!" Cahill was Sheriff of Essex County when a series of serious medical conditions forced him to quit, as had many sheriffs before him.

The museums mostly run themselves now, but he continues to research strange events in New England, a process he began long ago. "I would go to the history department of the Boston Public Library and pick out somebody's diaries." he explains. "If a journal had a touch of humor or drama, I would take notes. Some were from the 1700s. Nobody's gone though these books in ages." He looks for the bizarre, the unusual, and files them until he feels he has enough for a new book. Eventually he had enough material to write such books as Haunted Happenings, New England's Mad and Mysterious Men, New England's Strange Sea Sagas, and New England's Visitors from Outer Space.

Occasionally, he will venture out to investigate a haunting or a local legend. Often accompanying him is Brian, a Franciscan lay monk, who totes infra-red binoculars, infra-red film, rosary beads, holy water, and a wooden cross around his neck. Cahill himself only brings his tape recorder. Many of the infra-red pictures Brian has taken are in Robert Cahill's books, and are quite frightening, particularly the one from John Stone's Inn, which seems to show a disembodied head coming out of a door jam. Cahill was watching him take that picture, and emphatically believes no trickery was involved.

It seems, in fact, Robert Cahill is a somewhat a reluctant ghost hunter. "People have asked me to sleep in haunted houses. I say no. I'm not going. Something certainly is there that's not quite right. Why go there? People say my 12-year-old kid would do it. Well . . . send him in!"

Despite his reluctance to experience the supernatural, strange events have followed him throughout his life. A few years ago he went to an island in Salem Bay to check out some haunted dwellings. "We found this really strange house that hadn't been touched since WWII. Even the canned goods were from back then. It had been vacant. There was a little window in the kitchen -- you could sit at the table. I looked out the window, and this feeling of depression began absorbing me. I knew it wasn't me. It wasn't the view. I pulled away from the window, and it went away. I thought, `Jesus, that's strange as hell.' I went back again and the same thing happened. It was trying to absorb me.

"Was that a ghost? What I think it was that somebody very depressed was sitting at that table. I think that feeling lingers, like perfume. I felt like it could absorb you if you stayed there too long. This was supposedly a house where visions had been seen. There's no answers -- who knows?"

In Haunted Happenings, he writes of his experiences in John Stone's Inn: "Upon entering the second floor main dining room of the inn both Brian and I felt the spirit of John Stone. . . . I knew instinctively that I was in the presence of something or someone supernatural. It hit me like a minor electric shock, or better explained as a major attack of pins and needles in my hands, legs, head, neck and back. I felt icy fingers up and down my spine." This was to be my next stop on my haunted hunt. From what I've heard, if ghosts were to be found, perhaps I'd find them there.

Now where have I head that before?

On to part 3