“How in the world did you get into this stuff?” It’s a question that you are sure to be asked no less than 987 times throughout your time as a paranormal investigator. I’ve gotten asked it at public investigations, the hair salon, family reunions, and the checkout line at the grocery store. It never bothers me, even if it’s asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm and a side of judgement. It never bothers me, because I know that under that raised eyebrow lies something important…genuine interest and intrigue.
So, how did I get into this stuff? Because it takes a certain kind of person to wander around empty buildings in the dark and talk to thin air for hours at a time. My story isn’t particularly unique or different from the stories I’ve heard from dozens of other investigators in the field. I didn’t watch someone levitate off their chair. I didn’t have a close encounter with little green men. And I didn’t play a game of parcheesi with my dead great-grandma. It wasn’t a harrowing experience, but nevertheless it’s an experience I won’t ever forget—and it of course starts with…a haunted house.
The house in question was one my family and I moved into when I was around 7 years old. There wasn’t anything particularly scary or ominous about this house, unless you find mauve carpeting and lace-embroidered, cat curtains scary—both of which I happen to find very frightening indeed. My parents were drawn to the house because of its old-world charm and unique architecture. The push button light switches and crown molding were the least of my concerns, I was far more interested in the fact that there were plenty of kids in the neighborhood my age and woods for fort-building out back. I gave my whole-hearted approval, not that it mattered, and we moved into our new home. Renovations began almost immediately. Turns out my parents were equally terrified of the mauve carpeting and cat curtains. The renovations stirred up some interesting activity in the home including a healthy population of bats living in the attic and their very close friends, a family of squirrels taking up residence in the walls. Besides the fact that there was was one particularly noisy squirrel, who enjoyed snacking on his cache of nuts directly behind my headboard at night, I wasn’t bothered too much. But there was something else that renovations stirred up that would soon phase me.
I was your standard, nervous 7 year old. The pops and creaks of the floor and radiators in our new old house sometimes made me jump and made it difficult for me to get to sleep most nights. It was on one particularly noisy night, as I tossed and turned trying to get to sleep, when something caught my eye. My bed faced a large window where light from the street filtered in. I had gotten used to the shadows of the furniture in my room at night and even the shadows that the trees outside cast on my wall. But, this shadow was different…very different. At the foot of my bed, stood something significantly darker and taller than any of the other shadows in my room and distinctly shaped like a person. What did I do? I did what any semi-rational 7 year old does—I yelled for my parents and stuck my head under the covers. Eventually my mom came to check on me. Of course the shadow didn’t stick around to greet her, so she had to rely on the shaky testimony of a semi-nervous 7 year old. I don’t begrudge my mom her reaction to my story as I’m sure most rational parents would have reacted the same…reassurance, a hug, and a night light will solve most problems.
Unfortunately it didn’t solve this one. The shadow came back again and again and again. Always the same shape, and always in the same spot. My reaction to the shadow never got any less wimpy—although, I eventually stopped calling for my mom’s help. I simply engaged the tried-and-true method of, “If I can’t see it, it can’t see me” and employed the best paranormal shield a child can muster…my comforter. This tactic seemed to work until one particular hot and muggy summer night where I found myself faced with a difficult choice— either I could face this stupid shadow, or I could endlessly roast in this self-imposed sauna. So, I mustered all the courage I had, popped my head out from under the covers (eyes closed still, of course, I wasn’t Joan of Arc after all), and told that thing to go away. When my heart rate slowed down enough for me to venture opening one eye, I found that the shadow was no longer there. It appears I’d won the battle, but I was not yet certain I’d won the war. The following nights were no less nerve-wracking. I would lay in my bed for hours and wait for the shadow to show up. But it never came back. It took a long time for me to feel comfortable in my room, but soon my biggest problem was once again that stupid squirrel.
Renovations continued—with my parent’s eventually putting on an addition to accommodate the two younger sisters that were now added to our family. Eventually, I moved out of my childhood bedroom into one of the larger new bedrooms (perks of being the oldest child.) My youngest sister took up residence in my old bedroom. My sister and I are a lot alike. We both love the outdoors and we both love puns. Turns out she, too, was a nervous-natured kid and perhaps even more wimpy than I was when it came to things that go bump in the night. She was never a good sleeper, but things seemed to get worse out of the blue. The door had to be open at night, like all the way open. Her bedside lamp needed to be on, and even then, she would sometimes wander into my parent’s room at night. It was clear she was afraid. So, one day I asked her what the big deal was. By this time my experiences had faded. I still remembered them clearly, but my rational teenage brain had now written them off as a kid who was afraid of the dark. Maybe I had dreamed them or misinterpreted them at the time? Maybe I had an overactive imagination? So, it came as a big surprise when my sister nervously said that a person shaped shadow was keeping her up in her room at night. I didn’t press her for many details, because I could tell talking about it scared her. But she did say it stood at the end of her bed. I knew instantly it was the same phenomenon that I had experienced when I was a child. Just like that I had exactly what I had been looking for ever since my own experience …validation! I still don’t know what or who the shadow was, but I know that what I experienced was real and that gave me a sense of closure. I had several other experiences in the house over the years, but I felt very differently about them than I did my first experience. I viewed them with curiosity instead of fear. Eventually, my parents completed the home renovations and with that a certain peace seemed to settle over the house. It’s like whatever had been active just kind of settled into the background—content with the work that had been done. My sister never really got over her fear of the unexplained. So, although I’d love to discuss her experiences more with her, I don’t bring up the shadow in the bedroom. Everyone deals with experiences in their own way, and I can respect that.
Many years after my own experiences, I got the chance to join a team that helps people who are experiencing the paranormal in their homes and businesses. I am so thankful for the opportunity to provide people the same validation that I received all those years ago. It’s for this reason that I will continue to wander around empty buildings in the dark and talk to thin air for hours at a time. I will continue to help people search for the answers they are looking for. And I will continue to follow along wherever this crazy paranormal journey takes me.
- Allie Schmalz