I Spent the Night in a Haunted House!
I spent the night in a haunted house.
And not just any old haunted house – the Conjuring house.
Well, virtually spent the night.
When I was tipped off that The Dark Zone was going to be live-streaming 24/7 the Conjuring House (aka the Bathsheba killing-babies-for-Satan house), I was on it in a heartbeat. It was such a fun gimmick for un-fun times that I leapt at the chance and volunteered for the job.
While I off-and-on watched the fun during the week, I took a day off the 9-to-5 to stay up as late as I possibly could on Tuesday Night/Wednesday morning – the spookiest because it’s right in the middle of the week.
And I am no novice, my friends. I have ghost-investigation-watched-from-my-couch for many, many years. So, of course my first order to stay my (virtual) night at the haunted house was to build my base camp – a.k.a. my 2-story ghost fort:
I knew it would be a long night, so I prepared:
There were snacks, too, but less of those. Less is more, right?
After taking my old-person meds (always remember to take your meds before ghost hunting!) and vitamins, I snake-wriggled my way into my new home for the night. Glorious Spouse wished me well and left me to my own devices. My own ghost devices.
The Beginning:
Oh, yes, let’s go back to the beginning. I hear it’s a very good place to start.
When I was a child, I actually hated horror and all things scary. That being said, I was incredibly superstitious (goes hand-in-hand with Catholicism) and after moving, I slowly became obsessed with ghosts. This is mostly due to my parents believing there are at least two ghosts in their house and I grew up there, so I was absolutely convinced.
From that moment on, I read everything I could about spirits and the supernatural, while still being absolutely terrified of it. At eleven, I figured that I would one day put all of my information to use and join as a member of “the Government’s O.S.I.R. (Office of Scientific Investigation and Research Department” when I was older because what else would I do with my life?
But here I am instead, writing about horror in a virtual haunted house with peach pie wine…so it’s even better than I could have imagined.
Anyway, it was in my mid-twenties when I started seeing…inconsistencies and oddities in the ghost theories. This was about the same time that I started to question the reality of a soul, of a heaven, of a hell – the whole nine yards. One kind of bottomed out the other is what I’m saying. And when I settled into atheism, I felt an enormous self of relief and joy. I was no longer afraid of these things, but rather, just enjoyed them. I had the opportunity to find pleasure in being scared or rattled that I never had before.
Now, this is not me knocking whatever you believe. You do you, man. I’m just giving some insight of my background and process to get to this point. At the end of the day, I still watch ghost investigation shows with utter enjoyment. I still listen to “ghost stories” and they are some of my favorite horror themes in movies and attractions. I find that there is something romantic and beautiful in the ideology and reverence we have for the spirit in our stories and cultures. I enjoy and appreciate it, maybe even more so now. Even if we don’t share the same theory, I still have respect for the idea – that people, wronged or hurt or dangerous people, can still impact our world.
And I am still enthusiastic to make a ghost fort and drink and watch an empty screen for anything to happen.
Apps for Ghosts
I didn’t have any tangible things for ghosts to play around with (besides the piano that they keep ignoring), so I downloaded a few apps to try to make communication with. The first one was a Ouija board for one called Spirit Board and had 4 stars out of 5, downloadable for a smart phone. The reviews said that it was very scary – perfect!
It even came with the classic warning/rules:
I started out with basic questions: are you there? How are you? Are you here or in the virtual Satan house? What’s your name?
The ghost seemed to have trouble understanding me…as if it were a poorly written A.I.
Eventually I started…asking other questions.
After eventually getting bored (5-10 minutes), I switched to another downloadable app, “Ghost Hunting”. 4 out of 5 stars out of two thousand. I figured I could try it out.
It acted half like an ovilus and half like an EMF reader.
I’m a sucker for some sweet ovilus action. I guess I just love words being said randomly (Voodoo Priestess can attest to this). So this app was a little more up to my speed. I mean, there really wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it. Again, it was a pretty simple A.I., but it felt more enjoyable because of the spontaneity of it, like those late 90’s fishing games where nothing happens for, like, five minutes and then suddenly…
The Chat-rooms Demand More
I checked out the chat-rooms (are they still called that?) a few times, but it honestly made me feel bad for the house. I lot of people had the opinion that, since they paid human money, the house should somehow…perform for them? As one person put it, “with a house with so much history I want to see a little more action”, as if the house were a living, sentient being that could shake its ghostly money-maker for virtual sugar-daddies dumping sweaty bit-coin into its partially drawn curtains.
I guess that’s the benefit of low expectations. I expected nothing but regular house noises, annoying spirit-box sessions and night-vision cameras…and I got exactly what I came for.
The End of the Night:
I stayed up as late as I could because, let’s face it, the soft glow of the dark-vision cameras and gentle hum of static was too much calm and peace for an old person. I stayed up until about 3:30 A.M. so I could at least pass the demon hour. After that, I slept soundly in the belly of the (virtual) haunted house until the morning came.
To be honest, it was peaceful, almost nostalgic. It reminded me back of my old days as a security guard, watching the feed and my mind slowly unraveling horrific tales while I was the only presence around.
In a way that Norwegians watch Slow TV to combat the fatigue of isolation during the winter months, I, too, connected with the live-feed. Being in isolation, but watching another person, in real time, as they go about their day was oddly satisfying. Ghost investigating without silly sound effects or sped-up cameras was actually relaxing and grounded.
As I said previously, it did remind me of the old fishing games, or even of actual fishing, where there is no rhyme or reason. Nothing is plotted or scripted – everything unfolds subtly, suddenly, or not at all.
The Bottom-Line of Spookiness:
If you want to know if it’s made me a believer again – short answer is no. It’s going to take a lot more than virtual ghost house. But I will give you believers this, I had the pleasure to see a few irregularities, such as distortion to a camera that didn’t have distortion any other time, and two things in other cameras whip past around the same time.
Also, it’s interesting that, of the eleven words from the ovilus game, one of them was “nose bleed”. I got this the morning after my “investigation” when still checking in and goofing around. The coincidental part is that the ghost investigator the night prior had a pretty bad nose bleed, so was walking around the house with a wad of T.P. shoved up his nose:
However, my crowning achievement was spotting a little ghost orb in the basement. Of course I didn’t capture it on camera or video because ehhhh… (shrug). But whatever it was or may be, I sure did annoy the heck out of my spouse by screaming up the stairs about it, so that has to be worth something…
Do I think all of that were the remnants of witchery, baby-murder, or death?
Well, let’s just say that I’ve always been rather fond of the American Atheist’s symbol. Their international logo is of an atom; however, one of the orbitals of the atom is broken, or so to say, open-ended. That is represent the unknown.
I cannot say 100% that, no, ghosts don’t exist. I rely on science and logic to recognize and reason out the world that surrounds me, but that doesn’t mean that there can’t be new knowledge in the future, and that doesn’t mean that we have all the answers.
So, I came into this haunted house with the only expectation of having an experience – either with someone else miles away from me via chats; with myself in the dark, meditative silence of my ghost fort; or with something that still remains unknown.
And with that thought, it was $20 well-spent.
What if ours weren’t the only reality? What if the past paths converged, if those moments that led to our current circumstances got tangled together with their alternates and we found ourselves caught up in the threads?
Marla returned home after the funeral and wake. She drew the key in the lock and opened the door slowly, the looming dread of coming back to an empty house finally sinking in. Everyone else had gone home with their loved ones. They had all said, “goodbye,” and moved along.
Her daughter Misty and son-in-law Joel had caught a flight to Springfield so he could be at work the next day for the big meeting. Her brother Darcy was on his way back to Montreal. Emmett and Ruth were at home next door, probably washing dishes from the big meal they had helped to provide afterward, seeing as their kitchen light was on. Marla remembered there being food but couldn’t recall what exactly as she hadn’t felt like eating. Sandwiches probably… she’d have to thank them later.
Marla had felt supported up until she turned the key in the lock after the services, but then the realization sank deep in her throat like acid reflux, hanging heavy on her heart – everyone else had other lives to return to except for her. She sighed and stepped through the threshold onto the outdated beige linoleum tile and the braided rag rug that stretched across it. She closed the door behind herself and sighed again. She wiped her shoes reflexively on the mat before just kicking them off to land in a haphazard heap in the entryway.
The still silence of the house enveloped her, its oppressive emptiness palpable – she could feel it on her skin, taste it on her tongue. It was bitter. She sighed and walked purposefully to the living room, the large rust-orange sofa waiting to greet her. She flopped into its empty embrace, dropping her purse at her side as she did so.
A familiar, husky voice greeted her from deeper within the large, empty house. “Where have you been?”
Marla looked up and glanced around. Her husband Frank was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, drying a bowl. Marla gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth. Her clutched appendage took on a life of its own, slowly relinquishing itself of her gaping jaw and extending a first finger to point at the specter.
“Frank?” she spoke hesitantly.
“Yeah,” the man replied, holding the now-dry bowl nestled in the faded blue-and-white-checkered kitchen towel in both hands. “Who else would you expect?”
“But you’re dead,” Marla spat, the words falling limply from her mouth of their own accord.
The 66-year old man looked around confusedly and turned to face Marla, his silver hair sparkling in the light from the kitchen, illuminated from behind like a halo. “What are you talking about? I’m just here washing up after lunch. You were gone so I made myself some soup. Where have you been?”
“No, I just got home from your funeral,” Marla spoke quietly. “You are dead. After the boating accident… You drowned. I went along to the hospital – they pronounced you dead on arrival.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank said. “What boating accident?”
“The sailboat… You were going to take me out,” Marla coughed, her brown eyes glossed over with tears.
“We don’t own a sailboat,” Frank said bluntly. “Sure, I’d thought about it – it seems like a cool retirement hobby – but it’s just too expensive. We’ve talked about this, we can’t afford it.”
Marla glanced out the bay window towards the driveway where the small sailboat sat on its trailer, its orange hull reminiscent of the Florida citrus industry, and also of the life jacket Frank should have been wearing when he’d been pulled under. Marla cringed and turned back toward the kitchen. She sighed and spoke again, “But the boat’s out front. The guys at the marina helped to bring it back… after you… drowned.”
Frank had retreated to the kitchen to put away the bowl. Marla followed. She stood in the doorway and studied the man intently. He was unmistakably her husband, there was no denying it even despite her having just witnessed his waxen lifeless body in the coffin at the wake before the burial, though this Frank was a slight bit more overweight than she remembered.
“Well, that’s not possible. Because I’m still here,” Frank grumbled. He turned to face her, his blue eyes edged with worry. “There now, it was probably just a dream. You knew I wanted a boat and your anxiety just formulated the worst-case scenario…”
“See for yourself,” Marla said, her voice lilting with every syllable.
Frank strode into the living room and stared out the bay window. The driveway was vacant save for some bits of Spanish moss strewn over the concrete from the neighboring live oak tree. He turned towards his wife.
“But there’s no boat,” he sighed. “You must have had a bad dream. Did you fall asleep in the car in the garage again?” Concern was written all over his face, deepening every crease and wrinkle. “Is that where you were? The garage?”
Marla glanced again at the boat, plain as day, and turned to face Frank. Her voice grew stubborn. “It’s right here. How can you miss it?” she said, pointing at the orange behemoth.
“Honey, there’s nothing there,” Frank exclaimed, exasperation creeping into his voice.
Marla huffed and strode to the entryway, gathering her shoes from where they waited in their haphazard heap alongside the braided rag run on the worn linoleum floor. She marched out the door as Frank took vigil in its open frame, still staring at her. She stomped out to the boat and slapped her hand on the fiberglass surface with a resounding smack. The boat was warm to the touch, having baked in the Florida sun. She turned back towards the front door.
“See!” she bellowed.
The door stood open, empty. No one was there, watching. Marla sighed again and walked back inside. The vacant house once again enveloped her in its oppressive emptiness. Frank was nowhere to be found.
So I guess it’s goodbye for now. Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
Today on Nightmarish Nature we’re gonna revisit The Blob and jiggle our way to terror. Why? ‘Cause we’re just jellies – looking at those gelatinous denizens of the deep, as well as some snot-like land-bound monstrosities, and wishing we could ooze on down for some snoozy booze schmoozing action. Or something.
Honestly, I don’t know what exactly it is that jellyfish and slime molds do but whatever it is they do it well, which is why they’re still around despite being among the more ancient organism templates still in common use.
Jellyfish are on the rise.
Yeah, yeah, some species like moon jellies will hang out in huge blooms near the surface feeding, but that’s not what I meant. Jellyfish populations are up. They’re honing in on the open over-fished ocean and making themselves at home. Again.
And, although this makes the sea turtles happy since jellies are a favorite food staple of theirs, not much else is excited about the development. Except for those fish that like to hide out inside of their bells, assuming they don’t accidentally get eaten hanging out in there. But that’s a risk you gotta take when you’re trying to escape predation by surrounding yourself in a bubble of danger that itself wants to eat you. Be eaten or be eaten. Oh, wait…
So what makes jellies so scary?
Jellyfish pack some mighty venom. Despite obvious differences in mobility, they are related to anemones and corals. But not the Man o’ War which looks similar but is actually a community of microorganisms that function together as a whole, not one creature. Not that it matters when you’re on the wrong end of a nematocyst, really. Because regardless what it’s attached to, that stings.
Box jellies are among the most venomous creatures in the world and can move of their own accord rather than just drifting about like many smaller jellyfish do. And even if they aren’t deadly, the venom from many jellyfish species will cause blisters and lesions that can take a long time to heal. So even if they do resemble free-floating plastic grocery bags, you’d do best to steer clear. Because those are some dangerous curves.
But what does this have to do with slime molds?
Absolutely nothing. I honestly don’t know enough about jellyfish or slime molds to devote the whole of a Nightmarish Nature segment to either, so they had to share. Essentially, this bit is what happened when I decided to toast a bagel before coming up with something to write about and spent a tad too much time in contemplation of my breakfast. I guess we’re lucky I didn’t have any cream cheese or clotted cream…
Oh, and also thinking about gelatinous cubes and oozes in the role-playing game sense – because those sort of seem like a weird hybrid between jellies and slime molds, as does The Blob. Any of those amoeba influenced creatures are horrific by their very nature – they don’t even need to be souped up, just ask anyone who’s had dysentery.
And one of the most interesting thing about slime molds is that they can take the shortest path to food even when confronted with very complex barriers. They are maze masterminds and would give the Minotaur more than a run for his money, especially if he had or was food. They have even proven capable of determining the most efficient paths for water lines or railways in metropolitan regions, which is kind of crazy when you really think about it. Check it out in Scientific American here. So, if we assume that this is essentially the model upon which The Blob was built, then it’s kind of a miracle anything got away. And slime molds are coming under closer scrutiny and study as alternative means of creating computer components are being explored.
Jellies are the Wave of the Future.
We are learning that there may be a myriad of uses for jellyfish from foodstuffs to cosmetic products as we rethink how we interact with them. They are even proving useful in cleaning up plastic pollution. I don’t know how I feel about the foodstuff angle for all that they’ve been a part of various recipes for a long time. From what I’ve seen of the jellyfish cookbook recipes, they just don’t look that appealing. But then again I hate boba with a passion, so I’m probably not the best candidate to consider the possibility.
So it seems that jellies are kind of the wave of the future as we find that they can help solve our problems. That’s pretty impressive for some brainless millions of years old critter condiments. Past – present – perpetuity! Who knows what else we’d have found if evolution hadn’t cleaned out the fridge every so often?
Feel free to check out more Nightmarish Nature here.
Continuing our junkyard dawg werewolf story from the previous St. Patrick’s Days… though technically he’s more of a wolfwere but wolfwhatever. Anyway, here are Part 1 from 2022, Part 2 from 2023 and Part 3 from 2024 if you want to catch up.
Yeah I don’t know how you managed to find me after all this time. We haven’t been the easiest to track down, Monty and I, and we like it that way. Though actually, you’ve managed to find me every St. Patrick’s Day since 2022 despite me being someplace else every single time. It’s a little disconcerting, like I’m starting to wonder if I was microchipped way back in the day in 2021 when I was out lollygagging around and blacked out behind that taco hut…
Anyway as I’d mentioned before, that Scratchers was a winner. And I’d already moved in with Monty come last St. Patrick’s Day. Hell, he’d already begun the process of cashing in the Scratchers, and what a process that was. It made my head spin, like too many squirrels chirping at you from three different trees at once. We did get the money eventually though.
Since I saw you last, we were kicked out of Monty’s crap apartment and had gone to live with his parents while we sorted things out. Thank goodness that was short-lived; his mother is a nosy one for sure, and Monty didn’t want to let on he was sitting on a gold mine as he knew they’d want a cut even though they had it made already. She did make a mean brisket though, and it sure beat living with Sal. Just sayin.
Anyway, we finally got a better beater car and headed west. I was livin’ the dream. We were seeing the country, driving out along old Route 66, for the most part. At least until our car broke down just outside of Roswell near the mountains and we decided to just shack it up there. (Boy, Monty sure can pick ‘em. It’s like he has radar for bad cars. Calling them lemons would be generous. At least it’s not high maintenance women who won’t toss you table scraps or let you up on the sofa.)
We found ourselves the perfect little cabin in the woods. And it turns out we were in the heart of Bigfoot Country, depending on who you ask. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one. But it seems that Monty was all into all of those supernatural things: aliens, Bigfoot, even werewolves. And finding out his instincts on me were legit only added fuel to that fire. So now he sees himself as some sort of paranormal investigator.
Whatever. I keep telling him this werewolf gig isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, and it doesn’t work like in the movies. I wasn’t bitten, and I generally don’t bite unless provoked. He says technically I’m a wolfwere, to which I just reply “Where?” and smile. Whatever. It’s the little things I guess. I just wish everything didn’t come out as a bark most of the time, though Monty’s gotten pretty good at interpreting… As long as he doesn’t get the government involved, and considering his take on the government himself that would seem to be a long stretch. We both prefer the down low.
So here we are, still livin’ the dream. There aren’t all that many rabbits out here but it’s quiet and the locals don’t seem to notice me all that much. And Monty can run around and make like he’s gonna have some kind of sighting of Bigfoot or aliens or the like. As long as the pantry’s stocked it’s no hair off my back. Sure, there are scads of tourists, but they can be fun to mess around with, especially at that time of the month if I happen to catch them out and about.
Speaking of tourists, I even ran into that misspent youth from way back in 2021 at the convenience store; I spotted him at the Quickie Mart along the highway here. I guess he and his girlfriend were apparently on walkabout (or car-about) perhaps making their way to California or something. He even bought me another cookie. Small world. But we all knew that already…
If you enjoyed this werewolf wolfwere wolfwhatever saga, feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
Brianna Schullo
May 20, 2020 at 2:33 am
I really enjoyed this! Excellent work. It was super thorough and entertaining. My favorite line was the, “virtual sugar daddies dumping sweaty bit-coins.” What an image.