My Ghost Story!

(The Count Jimmy Calabrese)

You know that old motto, "a watched kettle never boils?" Or, "you can't take a crap when someone is waiting outside the stall?" That's the case with ghost hunting. Hunting for ghosts is like searching for "love." When you're desperately looking, ghosts and love will always evade you. Ghostly love is even harder to find! I've told this story before in an interview but since it's October I thought I'd share it again. Here's my ghost story!


When we were kids we lived in a rather rural Illinois neighborhood (ever hear of the expression "the boonies?"). Surrounding our neighborhood were two large cornfields. My best friend, Gary, and I, always looking for adventure, would sneak out at night to explore those cornfields. This particular night, Gary took me to an area of the field where he saw something odd. Gary told me that he was in the cornfields with our friend Shane the previous evening and witnessed a blue light floating in the air. Like an empty soda can drifting in the ocean current, the orb levitated towards their direction. Before the orb got any closer, Gary and Shane freaked out and ran away.


The start of our summer vacation shocked the neighborhood with a thousand volts of terror. A teenager, locked in his bedroom, took a shotgun to his face and committed suicide. Gary and I didn't know him very well but his actions altered our world view. Stuff like suicide only happened in the movies and on the news, right? People, especially kids, don't kill themselves. I didn't feel safe anymore and worried about what else could happen in our community. I thought this blue orb could be a clue into what was going on.


When Gary and I reached the orb location, we didn't detect any lights in the sky, but we did find a grave. Marked with a white cross, the grave laid about 4 feet long. "Baby M" was written on the wooden cross. Our flashlights revealed the dirt was a light brown and not as packed as the surrounding black soil. It was a fresh grave. Like a drug addict itching for a fix, our curiosity about this "Baby M" took possession. We had to fight the idea to get shovels! If we were to excavate the grave we could solve the mystery. Removing a few piles of dirt would tell us if a baby was secretly buried or if this was a common house pet. The thought of discovering the bones for a baby was not an option we could fathom. We were morbid, not twisted. Luckily, Gary knew of another way to search that grave...


Gary always used to find interesting items at garage sales on the weekends. Most kids would complain if their parents woke them up early to pick through peoples junk, but Gary knew a treasure when he saw it. This was an era before Ebay, so most people thought garage sales were essentially "garbage sales." During Gary's treasure hunts, he found boxes of dusty records, an old accordion, a beat up canoe, and one item we were itching to try...an antique Spirit Board. The Spirit Board was manufactured in the 1940's and had a rather plain look because of its Old English lettering. The board was missing the planchette, so Gary received a discount and bought a teacup to use as the hand device.


Using a few of my moms candles, a "mystical space" was created in my room. To further establish the mood, a tape recording of creepy "phantom of the opera" style organ music was played. Part of me thought this was just a joke, but another side of me really wanted to communicate with "the spirit of the grave." As Gary and I rotated the teacup in a circle eight, I called out, "Is anyone out there?" Of course, nothing happened. It took us a good ten minutes of moving the teacup and asking if anyone was here before our hands moved to the words YES.


Gary and I looked up at each other, knowing the other person must have forced the cup to respond. Forcefully, I asked "Can we speak to Baby M?!" The teacup moved in the circle eight to stop at NO. I asked again, "Is anyone out there?" The cup moved a few times in the circle eight and our hands finally moved to the words YES. With a smile on his face, Gary called out “Who are we talking to?” Our hands moved to the alphabet row to pause at the D, then an A, then to an L...and stopped. I knew Gary moved the teacup to spell this, so I said, “DAL, if you’re really out there give us a sign!” At that moment, my tape player stopped with a loud click. “Holy Shit!”


I got up to investigate the player and could not find a reason for it to stop. I turned the music back on and I sat down. "That was weird," Gary said, as we moved the teacup in a circle eight once again. This time, Gary asked “DAL, we need another sign. Did you stop the tape player?” The candles went out and we sat in darkness. “I’m done!” Gary said, as he got up from the table and flipped on the light switch. I don't know why, but I lied and told Gary I blew out the candles. I called Gary back, "I have just one more question to ask, don't be a pussy!" Gary, giving into my peer pressure and name calling sat back down. We pushed the teacup around one last time. I asked, “DAL, what kind of spirit are you? Are you a good spirit?” Our hands moved to the word NO. Gary flipped the Spirit board in the air and started yelling at me. "I've read about this sort of shit, we probably just invited an evil spirit into your house and the fuckers are going to haunt us!" Gary and I were both alter boys at St. Peters Church, so we knew the Devil and Evil existed. This spirit communication just might have been direct contact with the forces of Darkness. Later that night, Gary took the Spirit Board, broke it in half and burned it in his backyard fire pit.


Since that Spirit Board encounter, our house experienced many paranormal events. My brothers and sisters would spot shadow figures from the corner of their eye. A mysterious “dead rat” smell plagued the house for years. The stench would constantly move to different locations. One day it would come from my sister’s bedroom closet and the next day it would move down into the basement crawlspace. We would hear "ghostly noises," not those cliché noises like footsteps or doors slamming, but the sound of people opening the front door and talking with each other. On several occasions, my brothers and sisters would be fooled into thinking our parents had come home to find an empty hallway. We also discovered the face of the Devil on our basement door. The door was made of natural wood and within the patterns of the grain was a man with a
beard and horns. It was definitely not the Virgin Mary on toast!