I so apologize for this late post, everyone. Halloween has been ridiculously busy for me this year, running from interview to interview, everybody wanting to hear about ghosts!

Oh, can’t you just hear that witch cackle as she rides across the full moon on her broomstick? EEEHEEHEE!

As many of you might have already guessed, I love this time of year! Ghosts and ghoulies, tricksters and treaters . . . To celebrate this haunting time, I thought I’d share a story from one of my latest ghost hunts.

It was a private residence in south Louisiana, located wayyyy out in the sticks. Just driving to the place was enough to give anyone the willys. But drive it I did, late one night not long ago, following a caravan of local ghost hunters. I hadn’t been told much about the house, other than it was supposed to be haunted of course, so I was anxious to get there, keeping my fingers crossed that we’d come up with some evidence of paranormal activity.

As we pulled up into the driveway, the house seemed benign enough. Relatively small, nothing fancy, and just like the roads that led us here, it was isolated, the nearest neighbor about ½ mile away.

The moment I walked into the house, I felt like a fish that had swallowed a hook and was being reeled over to one particular corner of the living room. (See pic below)

The closer I got to the corner, the heavier my innards felt, and I heard myself say, “Someone died right here, didn’t they?”

I didn’t hear a response from any of the other team members, so I glanced over and saw the two lead guys nodding in unison. One finally responded. “Yeah, the previous owner of the house died right in that corner. Her son decapitated her with an electric guitar.”

Officially creeped out now, I followed this ‘reeling in’ sensation throughout the house. The master bedroom (below) had the same heaviness as the living room, but I didn’t sense a death had taken place there, just a lot of misery. I wasn’t surprised when something turned up in one of the first photos taken in the room. Although the white mist wasn’t evident to the naked eye, it most certainly showed itself on film.

Oddly enough, the strangest sensation of all came from the current owner’s young daughter’s bedroom. As we walked inside the room, I felt we were being watched…by something or someone that definitely didn’t want us there. Most of the reported activity came from this room, according to the owner, so, using a camera and recording device, I started asking questions to ‘whatever’ was watching us, snapping pictures the entire time.

“Who are you?”

Silence.

“Are you Mary?” (Name changed to protect the current owner.)

No answer.

“Are you the woman who was killed in this house?”

Silence, but the being watched sensation grew stronger.

“If you are Mary, can you give us a sign of your presence?”

It was then I heard one of the team members gasp and point. Strings of beads hung over the little girl’s closet and two strands were moving. (See below)

Although my reaction would have typically been to blame a breeze from an air conditioning vent, this movement caught my attention. First of all, only TWO strands were moving, the pink and the yellow as noted in the picture. Secondly, there was NO air conditioner vent in the room. Odder still was the way the yellow beads were moving. Instead of swaying back and forth like the pink ones, only one section at the bottom of the yellow strand moved, like someone crooking his or her finger at us.

Yep, another major creep out moment….

The activity was so strong in this area of the house, that it nearly skewered one of the hunters with her own dowsing rods. (See below)

(Dowsing rods are often used in paranormal hunts by sensitives who want to narrow down the location on the property that has the greatest potential for paranormal activity.)

Evidently, whoever (or whatever) was creeping around the inside of that house had been raised in the south and taught to always follow company outside for a final farewell before they leave…..because this is the last picture we caught before leaving.

If the orb had been any bigger, it would have lit up every back road leading to the swamps, which were only a few miles away.

Was that Mary saying goodbye? A decapitated Mary? I never did find out for sure because everyone was too busy hurrying to their cars so they could get the hell out of there.

I plan to go back there one day soon, and should Mary offer an update on my return visit, I’ll make sure to let you know.

© 2007 – 2009, Deborah LeBlanc. All rights reserved.