Another Mysterious Mystery

The annual selfie!

As some of you may know, there’s a very mysterious mystery that has been mystifying people in Joplin, MO since 1836 : The Ghost Lights!

What are ghost lights?

Strange balls of light that appear suddenly upon a darkened highway known as The Devil’s Promenade bounce around and just as suddenly disappear.

No one actually knows what the light is, where it comes from, or—apparently—where they really show up because they’re called The Joplin Ghost Lights but the road they appear on is actually just across the border in Oklahoma.

Enough people have seen these lights over the years that the Army Corps of Engineers actually came out to investigate. They couldn’t figure out what the heck was going on, unless people were seeing the reflection of lights from passing cars on a highway a few miles away.

Which just goes to show you that, although I have a great deal of respect for the Army Corps of Engineers, they must not be careful readers because, once again, the lights have been appearing since 1836.

Not a lot of cars bopping around in 1836.

Unless, now that I think of it, the Army Corps of Engineers was trying to hint that there was some sort of weird TIME PORTAL that cars are driving through…or getting caught in…getting caught in and endlessly traveling down The Devil’s Promenade, trying to lure unsuspecting travelers to the same horrible fate…

Kind of glad I didn’t come up with THAT theory while Eric and I were driving The Devil’s Promenade last weekend or I might have completely freaked out.

Because, yes, you guessed it, The Hadley – Yates Vacation this year was Joplin, Missouri to investigate the mysterious mystery of the ghost lights.

Though I have to be honest, the first mysterious mystery that mystified us was the exact location of The Devil’s Promenade. Because, as I’ve said before, Eric and I are not what you would call navigational geniuses. And it might surprise you to know that these are not the type of locations easily found on Google Maps. I’m also shocked to report that the kind of websites that give you directions to ghost lights can be a little…well…can I say sketchy?

In fact on our first sojourn to The Devil’s Promenade Friday night, our directions said we needed to follow Highway 86 for a couple of miles to Highway BB then turn on Gum Road. And we never found Highway 86 or BB…though we did find Highway 43 which I reasoned was half of 86 and therefore likely to take us to the same place.

I will now pause for my husband Opie, my mom, and other logically minded folks to yell things like “Are you out of your damn minds?!”

And I won’t even gloat when I tell you that this plan actually worked –we found Gum Road and Highway 51 and the alleged Devil’s Promenade (also known as Spirit Light Road)

Did we find the Ghost Lights of Joplin?

I don’t know…we saw lots of lights. Some of which could have been the reflection of car lights on another highway a few miles away, some that could have been radio towers in the distance, a couple that could have been enormous mutant fireflies (Or Fireflies of Unusual Size if you’re a Princess Bride fan) but we didn’t see anything that could definitively been called ghost lights.

I can tell you that we were chagrined (mostly because I like the word chagrin and try to use it whenever I can) but not defeated. We went back to Joplin, where we were staying at the same garage apartment Bonnie and Clyde hid out for several weeks in 1933 and were immediately mystified with another mysterious mystery. Specifically, what is the name of this piece of furniture:

Is it a divan (that was my guess…but, again, mostly because I like the word divan)? Is it a chaise lounge (that was Eric’s guess…and, though he wouldn’t admit it, I suspect he just likes the word chaise)? After a lot of Internet research (and, to be honest, a lot of wine) we were actually more mystified as it could also be a Davenport, a settee, or even a Chesterfield.

Anyone know?? It’s seriously sending me right over the edge.

In any case, Eric and I are not the kind of investigators who let these kind of things distract us. We are the kind of investigators who go to the Joplin Museum Complex to do more research, find this rather sad display:

 

Seriously, this was in an actual MUSEUM.

and then get distracted by one of the most random collections of alleged artifacts I’ve ever seen. Like the creepy china doll collection…or the circus collection of things from circuses in other cities…or the Cookie Cutter Collection...like I said, random.

Got this little gem  FREE at the National
Cookie Cutter  Museum -- vintage clown! Jealous, aren't you?

We’re also the kind of investigators who get distracted by the fact that we are somewhat near the exact spot where Missouri, Kansas, and Oklahoma intersect and we could go there and—after a literal TWO HOUR search—drink a toast to 20 years of vacations in THREE STATES AT ONCE.  I won’t bore you with all the details of this epic journey, I’ll just say it involved a few of signs like this one,

more than a little swearing and a few shouts of things like “We’re off the map, how in hell did we get off the map?!” and “Are you freaking kidding me, are we back in Oklahoma?” It also involved a few selfies where we laughed like little kids about being in separate states even though we were in the same car,

I'm in Kansas and Eric's in Missouri!

a teeny-tiny bit of what some people call trespassing but we prefer to think of as exploring, and a slightly disconcerting trip down a gravel road just north of a buffalo preserve.

But we found it, that’s the point!

Feeling suitably fortified by success, we decided to go back to our hotel, fortify ourselves with more wine, then sleep until 11:00 and go back out to The Devil’s Promenade.

And, for those of you who are shaking your heads and saying things like “Remember when we were young and pre-partied at someone’s house and didn’t even hit the bars until 11:00?” I would just like to remind you that in our misspent youth, Eric and I actually used to go out to the bars really early when you didn’t have to wait in line for a drink and we could OWN the dance floor. When the rest of you people showed up, we started talking about going home.

But I digress..

We set the alarm, stumbled around grumbling at each other until we got our hands on some coffee, and drove back out.

Did we see the lights?

Again, I don’t know.  We saw SOMETHING.  And when we got back and took a closer look at the pictures, we saw that we had one with what could very well be a Ghost Light in the upper corner left hand corner…it’s not in the direction of the other highway, it wasn’t a radio tower…we don’t know what it was.

So, we are still mystified by the mysterious mystery in Joplin, we still don’t know the name of that weird piece of furniture, we still struggle with basic directions but I think we have a pretty clear understanding why neither of our spouses ever want to come on our annual trip!

Vacation 2019 -- A Little Preview!

Well, summer has just officially faded into fall and I bet that means the same question just popped into everyone’s minds: How come I haven’t heard anything about Eric and Kimberly’s annual vacation?

Which means the next thought that popped into everyone’s minds is “Wait, I don’t remember reading about their vacation LAST summer…or the summer BEFORE THAT…FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, PLEASE DON’T TELL ME THAT THEY’VE GIVEN UP THIS FABULOUS TRADITION OR—WORSE YET—I’VE MISSED THOSE POSTS!!”

Which further means that you’re all braced to start frantically searching through this blog, desperately searching for the any sign of travel tales.

(It is interesting to note that I might have an overblown sense of my importance in your lives.)

In any case, fear not, Eric and I have not given up our annual sojourn into the silly side of life. I, apparently, just haven’t been writing about our trips. And I don’t have time to write about them all now but, rest assured, they’ve been as nutty as ever!  For example, 2 years ago we made a return trip to Roswell, New Mexico for the International UFO Festival. And while it was less dramatic than our first trip there 15 years ago (when we might or might not have trespassed on private government property), it was still chock full of crazy. We saw people who were literally wearing tinfoil hats or fairy wings or both.

 We once again spoke to The Alien Hunter (who told me my questions about alien abduction were, and I quote EXCELLENT). We met Travis Walton (famous alleged alien abduction victim). And, far best of all, we got to witness a rather heated diatribe by a woman who was furious that the Convention wasn’t giving more attention to the Reptoid Plot of World Domination.

Reptoids, for those of you who don’t vacation with UFO enthusiasts, are an ancient alien race of reptiles that are able to shapeshift into human forms and have infiltrated every powerful family in the WORLD. They are here to take over the Earth—and possibly the entire universe—because they enjoy feeding on and breeding with humans.

There’s a very complicated explanation involving the shadow government, the Rockefellers, the British Royal Family and any number of US celebrities but, according to the 2 books I bought dissecting this phenomenon, I am one of the many “sheeple” of the world, too blind to understand the danger.

Good times, my fellow sheeple, good times.

My point is, yes we still take our trip every year. And, although we didn’t go this summer, we’re going next weekend. Why so much later than usual?

For three main reasons:

1.     

  Uhhh, have you been reading the blog? Skin cancer and a new house, sheeple! I’ve been busy.

2.       Our original destination – a ghost hunt at the Missouri State Penitentiary in Jefferson City, MO – was hit by a tornado earlier in the year and the event was cancelled.

3.       There was a slight discrepancy between the vacation weekend on MY calendar and the one marked on Eric’s.

I maintain that when Eric visited this summer to help with the new house, we picked September 13^th as the weekend and he just doesn’t remember.  Eric maintains that we talked about September 13^th but landed on the 27^th as a better option and I just don’t remember…Opie maintains that Eric and I drink too much when we’re making plans and he’s surprised anyone remembers anything.

I’m pretty sure that’s his way of saying he’s on Team Kimbo and just doesn’t want to hurt Eric’s feelings.

Luckily for Eric, I was able to rearrange my schedule because, although one can search for the mysterious ghost lights that travel down an abandoned highway known as The Devil’s Promenade pretty much any time one wants, it’s harder to book a night in the garage apartment where Bonnie and Clyde hid from the police than you might think.

That’s just the tip of the iceberg for our weekend plans but if history teaches us anything, I think we can expect a lot of laughs, a few ghosts, and way too much alcohol.

I just hope we don’t run into any reptoids because the abovementioned books were so confusing, I still have no idea how to fight them off.

If you want to hear about some of our earlier vacations, feel free to check out any of the links below:

Scariest Vacation – The Villisca, Iowa Axe Murder House

The First Trip to Roswell

Why You Shouldn't Be Annoying When You're On A Ghost Hunt -- The Eldred House

The Lizzie Borden Bed & Breakfast

The Time We Literally Set a Guiness World Record

Blast From the Past

Well, it's almost everyone's favorite time of year: time for Eric and Kimberly's fabulous yet freaky summer vacation! 

For those who are new to this blog, I should mention we’ve gone every summer for the past 17 years now—yes, even after I got married.

Largely because Opie has NO DESIRE to go any of the places we’ve gone.  I tell him where we've decided to go, he stares at me for a long moment in horrified silence then says "Have a good time."

See, Eric and my goal is to go to the wackiest places possible, places no on in their right mind would visit. Which is why we’ve been to  The Lizzie Borden Axe Murder House,  The Waverly Hills Sanotarium, The Villisca Iowa Axe Murder House  (sort of an axe murder theme there for awhile), The Superman Convention in Metropolis, Illinois, Psychic Boot Camp, and  Snake World (which was basically a TRAILER in Arkansas that housed the largest private collection of venomous snakes in North America) and so on…

Let me tell you, it’s been HILARIOUS.

This year we're flying in the face of tradition and returning to one of the places we've already been: The Roswell, New Mexico Annual International UFO Festival.

Why?

Because it's been 15 years and who knows what kind of mindboggling breakthroughs have occurred in the field of xenoarchaeology?

So, when we return, I'll be sure to update everyone on our trip.  But first  I thought I'd share a blast from the past: the official record of our last trip to hunt UFOs 15 years ago...back when we were young, crazy and had a somewhat limited understanding of Government Security Clearance guidelines.

THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE!

Ok, as some of you probably are already aware, Eric and I took our annual vacation over 4^th of July weekend and as always, we chose a somewhat unusual vacation spot: Roswell, New Mexico for the annual national UFO convention. It was actually 3 conventions in one as there are 3 different groups who put on rival conventions all over town.

Roswell, for those of you who don’t know, is the place where a UFO supposedly crashed in 1947. The army first released a statement saying it was, in fact, a flying saucer. Later they retracted that statement and said it was a weather balloon. It is now the Mecca of UFO researchers.

We thought it would be fun to go someplace where we are the most normal people around. Most of the people, however, were deceptively ordinary--until, of course, they started discussing their abduction experiences, government conspiracies, and the malevolent alien plot of world domination.

But I get ahead of myself…it was quite a trip and I've included a detailed play by play but  it is ridiculously long so feel free to skim or not read this at all…it was just too funny not to share!

In any case, we began our journey on Wednesday, July 2^nd. We actually thought we were off to a good start because we began a mere 40 minutes late…this is over an hour better than our previous record! Unfortunately this fabulous start time was slightly marred by our nearly immediate stop and 10 minute search for the trip journal to record the fabulous start time.

Then any leftover euphoria quickly died when we realized that our planned route was actually 2-3 hours out of our way. Since we were supposed to stay with Eric’s parents, we had no choice but to press on. We did, however, peruse the map and come up with an alternate route home.

The rest of the day’s events are best illustrated in the following timeline:
10:50 -- First fervent wish for alcoholic beverage.
10:51 -- Loud chanting of “We don’t drink and drive, we don’t drink and drive!” Oddly, chanting did not dim desire.
10:54 -- Debate whether or not Kahlua really constitutes alcohol. Surely something that tastes so much like coffee can be considered coffee?
11:00 -- Vote taken on the status of Kahlua. 2 votes for coffee.
11:01 -- Search for Kahlua in backseat of car.
11:05 -- Realization that Kahlua is either still in St. Louis or buried in bag in trunk of car.
11:06 - 11:10 Cursing, finger-pointing and overall disgust concerning undetermined location of Kahlua.
11:15 -- Water chosen as healthier but infinitely less satisfying beverage.
12:36 -- First stop for gas.
12:38 -- Eric inadvertently locks car; panicked search for keys encompasses several minutes as we envision calling a locksmith etc.
12:45 -- Locate keys, enter gas station/convenience store.
12:46 -- Get into argument with clerk about true size of bag of ice. Insist that he is overcharging us for a $1.00 bag of ice as the sign clearly indicates 2 pounds for a dollar and we only have 1 bag.
12:49 -- Feel like idiots when clerk explains for the 3rd time that the bag we are holding is 2 and pounds.
12:50 Assuage each other's embarrassment by marveling how easily we can lug 2 pounds of ice around the parking lot.
1:55 -- Enter Kansas.
2:00 -- 5:30 Endless discussion of how far out of the way this route is. Eric maintains that route is better as more scenic and historical (Actual Santa Fe Trail!). My reply obscene and not included for fear of offending anyone still reading.
6:00 -- 10:00 -- Arrive at Eric’s parents. Have dinner, sit down with Eric’s mother and peruse map for shortest route to Roswell. I make sounds like “north” and “west” as if I understand what they mean. Eric tries not to laugh.
10:01 -- Realize no possible way to get to Roswell in under 10 hours. Plot Eric’s bloody death.
10:30 -- Go to bed so can get early start.

DAY TWO

Driving the second day included more wrong turns and directional struggles but we stopped a few fun places along the way--like the exact mid-point of the United States. This spot is exactly 1561 miles from San Francisco and 1561 miles from New York. We got out of car like big tourist nerds, climbed the hill to take pictures, then I stepped on cockleburr with my bare foot, hopped back to the car and complained loudly for next twenty minutes.

We finally arrived in Roswell around 5:30. Of course, the address that the online reservation service gave me was wrong so, just like last year, we went into the wrong hotel, went up to the front desk and demanded imaginary reservations. Then—sure that I was right and assuming that our room had been given to some other conference attendee with fistfuls of cash—I engaged in a loud, heated discussion with the clerk, insisting that I had booked a room days earlier. I even triumphantly waved my confirmation email in his face.

Which is when the clerk snatched the paper from my hand, pointed at the name of the hotel emblazoned across the top and said “That’s not us.”

I’m not going to lie, it was a little embarrassing.

The conference itself was great! My only suggestion for the organizers is that next year, they should indicate right on the program which presentations are best experienced under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs…for example, we went to one so called laser light show that I could have done with 2 flashlights and some colored cellophane.

Plus, I was astounded to learn that the truth about aliens has not been discovered because of a conspiracy between both the government and organized religion. Apparently, the government doesn’t think we can handle the truth and organized religions don’t want to admit that aliens caused evolution by interfering with our genetic structure millions of years ago.

It is now clear that this blog entry will not only cause me to be interrogated by the FBI, the CIA and other nefarious secret government organizations but I will also, no doubt, be excommunicated.

But I’m getting ahead of myself again!

The first thing we did Friday morning was drive out to the actual crash site. It is about 35 miles outside of town and the road is only marked by a raggedy old sign. We got out of the car, took a few pictures, and another group of people told us that no one is allowed to go to the actual crash site anymore.

“All part of the government conspiracy,” I said.

Two of them nodded along with me but one woman shook her head and said, “No, I think it’s just private property now.”

“Allegedly,” I said.

And the other two nodded even more emphatically.

But you know what?

They were all cowards. 

They weren’t interested in what some people call “trespassing” but Eric and I call “exploring.” So we had to wait for them to leave before we could go ahead with our own search.

Oh sure, it was private property and yes, there might or might not have been but definitely were signs indicating the area was restricted by the government and yes, it was the middle of the desert where it was so hot I thought I might actually burst into flame and admittedly we spent over an hour driving up and down unmarked gravel roads avoiding cows and sheep and various other livestock but we did find the gated off area and managed to wander around a bit until we could identify the ranch house and the area in question.

Then, when we got back to the UFO museum, we saw a sign that informed us one of the reasons that the crash site is off limits is because of the “excessive danger of TARANTULAS and RATTLESNAKES.”


“The question is,” I told Eric, “did the government MAKE UP the tarantulas and rattlesnakes or did they PLANT THEM THERE to further the cover up?”

“We’ll probably never know,” Eric said

In any case, we felt suitably freaked out enough to spend the rest of the day getting freaked out by people giving convincing and somewhat alarming accounts of what really happened 50 years ago in Roswell…did you know that Jerry Marcel, the army guy who was instrumental in the alien cover up, came forward years later and basically said the government was lying, he believed that a UFO had crashed?

Weird.

Later we went out to a presentation at the Roswell fair grounds and it is interesting to note that slamming vodka and Sprite in 105 degree heat can occasionally induce feelings of nausea…this feeling is not noticeably improved by a 20 minute viewing of wobbly home videos of a supposed UFO. Was it a UFO? I have no clue, I thought it looked by a big black dot.

However, I turned my attention to the presenter and was mildly amused to feel a sort of “He’s a long-haired UFO chaser but what a great smile” type of attraction (it is possible that this was due to the vodka as well).

Then, sadly, he spoke.

“I saw me the UFO” he said. “So I went and got me muh videah camra.”

Then he revealed that this is what he does for a living; he sits around his house all day drinking beer, smoking dope (I’m speculating on this last bit) and pointing his “videah camra” at the sky for hours a at time.

I need this guy’s life.

After dinner (the highlight of which was cracking Eric up as he was trying to do a shot and getting vodka sprayed in my face) things were a little disappointing. We went to a presentation called “The Great UFO Mystery” and the biggest mystery was “When are you actually going to stop talking about astronomy and talk about UFOs?”

Eric and I tried to lighten the mood with a few jokes and witty repartee during the presentation but considering the woman right next to us actually got up and MOVED TO ANOTHER SEAT, I think it’s possible that everyone did not appreciate our humor.

Next we drove out to fairgrounds for a fireworks display …which would have been a lot cooler if the fireworks display had actually been scheduled for the fairgrounds and not behind the planetarium on the other side of town.

In any case, the last day more than made up for any disappointment. We met “The Alien Hunter” who makes his living investigating claims of alien abduction and perused his collection of alien implants. Strange as this may sound, this guy was actually NOT a loon. He was articulate, educated and explained to us the scientific methods he uses to investigate these claims.

Honestly, he freaked me out.

On the other hand, there were plenty of loons. For example the guy who said he got involved in UFO studies after a “strange being” entered his bedroom and touched him. Or the woman who was continually possessed by aliens and forced to run around her bedroom over and over again as part of some bizarre athletic experiments. Or the guy who was abducted continually for about 10 years until he found Christ and then he quit his job and moved to Roswell to start The Alien Resistance Organization in order to get the word out. He was even handing out stickers that had an alien head inside a circle with a line through it (like a no smoking sign).

You can’t buy fun like that, not in any store.

I had, of course, come up with an alien abduction story of our own but the only place where people were invited to share their stories was at the Biblical Studies of UFOs. Considering that one of their books blamed homosexuality on aliens and further considering I was already getting dirty looks for daring to wear a tank top to the presentation, I didn’t think we should tempt fate any further.

So we left, drove all night to get home and are now considering giving up our careers as teachers and becoming UFO researchers…

I'm not going to lie, this is going to be a hard trip to beat -- but we're leaving Friday and I'll let you know how we do!

All The Things I Would Have Said

Opie and I went hiking in Arkansas this weekend and it was AWESOME.

The only downside was that we were completely cut-off from technology--no internet, no cell phones, no way to get on social media.

That part was excruciating.

Especially since share-worthy photo opportunities just flung themselves at my feet every time I turned around.

A couple of times we hiked high enough on the mountain to catch a weak signal but eventually I decided that the only sensible thing to do was keep a list of all the things I would have said and share them when I got home.

So, here it is, 4 days of tweets, instagrams, and posts all jammed into one.

 

Call me a cynic but when the camp catches on fire an hour after I arrive, I consider it a bad sign.


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My vacation hair would like to take this opportunity to welcome everyone to 1985...and, for anyone who has ever complained about how long it takes me to get ready, I defy you to straighten all this mess in less than forty-five minutes.

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Nothing says "Camping with Kimbo" like grilled pineapple margaritas.

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Ok, you're a BUTTERFLY, what do you have to look so serious about?

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Please note I wasn't the only one who wanted to hike to the top of the mountain for internet-related issues...although Opie maintains that checking the hockey boards is significantly more important than random selfies.

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I'm not going to lie, I feel like Hershey's should sponsor me to post s'more related blogs.

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As a matter of fact, I do consider this roughing it...I mean, we're drinking champagne out of red solo cups like a couple of SAVAGES.

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Saw this deer early this morning, shortly before encountering the most savage of beasts: children whose parents have no problem with them running and screaming at the top of their lungs at 6:00 am. In related news, these same children were very surprised that they didn't come across any wildlife.

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Heading home and realizing that packing to go on vacation is much more fun than packing to go home.

The Ashmore Estate...Poltergeists, Punks and People Who Should Be Punched in the Face

Well, it’s early summer and that means one thing here : The Eric and Kimberly annual vacation.  For the past 15 years we have taken a trip together every summer, focusing our attention on attractions somewhat off the beaten path, places where most people don’t venture.  Places like the Lizzie Borden Bed & Breakfast, the Annual SupermanFestival, Psychic Boot Camp and the Villisca, Iowa Axe Murder House.

It’s been fifteen years of full on awesome!

The annual selfie featuring our brand new EMF meter!

It is interesting to note that a lot of people still worry that Opie might be upset about the fact that, once a year, I gallivant around the country without him.

Which is why it’s important to mention that for the past few years Eric and I have strategically planned our vacation the same weekend as the NHL draft. This is perfect timing because Opie really likes to spend the draft on the couch, drinking beer, unencumbered by questions like "Who's that guy?" and “What kind of name is that?” and "Don't you think those jerseys are ugly?"

In fact, Opie was so excited about his bachelor hockey weekend that when it looked like the trip might be off, because Eric was sick, he was quietly horrified and immediately began suggesting alternative plans--ostensibly to make up for my disappointment--that would still get me out of the house for the weekend.

Besides, he also has zero interest in traveling to places like the Ashmore Estate for a night of ghost hunting, even if the building has been featured on Ghost Adventurers, Ghost Hunter and Children of the Grave.


The Ashmore Estate, for those of you who don’t have your finger on the pulse of the paranormal community, was formerly a really horrifyingly filthy county poor house, then an equally disturbing hospital for the mentally ill. Over 200 people are rumored to have died there and it is supposedly a hotbed of ghostly activity.

The Ashmore Estate is located in Ashmore, Illinois—and if you haven’t ever heard of it, don’t feel bad; there’s only about 800 people in the entire town. However, it is part of the slightly more famous Coles County, Illinois…which is where Abraham Lincoln’s father and stepmother lived and which is home to an enormous collection of Lincoln paraphernalia—like the fabulous Lincoln in a log:

And, even better, the largest Lincoln statue in the WORLD.

And I don’t know about the rest of you, but when Eric and I realize we are somewhere near such an epic landmark, we stop in our tracks to find it.  Even if the attraction in question is closed.  Even if getting a glimpse of this landmark involves a little something some people call trespassing and we prefer to call exploring and can only be photographed through the fence of the Charleston, Illinois Raceway.

I hate to say it, but doesn't it look
like the tallest Lincoln statue in the
world is flipping us off?

Seriously, these might be the two worst representatives of Lincoln I have ever seen in my life. Could they look any creepier? To be fair, it’s possible that the residents of Coles County have no familiarity with Lincoln’s appearance because he never actually lived there.  His dad and step-mom did but he was already grown up and out of the house but the time they moved to Cole County.

Which kind of makes all of the Lincoln paraphernalia completely inappropriate.

But I digress…suffice it to say that this whole Lincoln landmark disappointment was somewhat representative of our ghost hunt this year.

The house definitely had some spirit activity but our personal ghostly encounters were very limited.  In addition, we were hindered by 2 very important things:

This was the type of ultra serious ghost hunt that 2 goofy amateurs have NO BUSINESS participating in. Particularly if the aforementioned amateurs think they're practically professionals because they ghost hunt once a year and had recently procured a EMF

First of all, a measley little EMF meter (even if it did receive killer reviews on all the ghost hunting websites) looked pretty pathetic next to all the other hunters’ equipment.  There were about a dozen other people exploring the house and EVERYONE had an EMF. The only other clear amateurs were these 3 college kids who were half-drunk and even they had a video camera and some sort of voice recorder.  The others had video cameras strapped to their heads, they had EVP recorders, they had spirit boxes, they had infrared cameras, someone had this weird laser light box, and two other guys were walking around with huge headphones and some equally weird wand thing.

It was disturbing.

Especially when they’d just burst into whatever room Eric and I were exploring, start shooting pictures and blinding us with their flashes, then yelling “Sorry!” before scurrying away and waving their wands and meters in the air with reckless abandon.

It’s a miracle I didn’t punch anyone right in the face.

Which brings me to my second point:

Serious ghost hunters are annoying.

Serious ghost hunters take themselves WAAAAYYYY too seriously.  They don’t appreciate giggling, they don’t appreciate any suggestion of logic, and they definitely don’t appreciate questions like “What is that thing you have strapped to your head?”

Plus, once they decide you’re an amateur, they’re downright rude.

For instance, after exploring several rooms with no success, Eric and I settled down in the 3^rd floor lobby, a supposed “hot spot” in the house.  We put the EMF on the chair and began trying to talk to spirits in the room.  And just when things started to get interesting—the EMF started to give tiny flickers and then we heard something fall to the floor--this other guy came in, flopped his disgruntled self down in the chair next to me and muttered "This has been a complete disappointment!" Thus spreading his negative energy all over our hotspot and chasing our ghost away.

This is considered very bad form in the ghost hunting community.

Then the 3 college kids began telling everyone how they had gone into one of the other supposed hot spots and one of them had been briefly taken over by a spirit and was forced to do some Michael Jackson Thriller-esque moves against his will.

Personally, I thought this was the perfect time for the “bullshit” cough but the other hunters were all oohing and aahhing like the kids didn’t reek of beer and cheap liquor that they weren’t even polite enough to share with the group.

Which is considered very bad form in the drinking community.

Then, when Eric and I wanted to return to our 3^rd floor hotspot we found that it had been hijacked by the two women with the weird laser light box. The box essentially lit up the entire room and most of that end of the hall with hundreds of tiny green laser lights—kind of like we were at the couples skate at a 1980s roller rink. The theory behind this was that, if you sit very still and somehow manage NOT to have an epileptic seizure, you will be able to see the dark shadows of ghosts as they cross through the lights.

I would love to report how this turned out but Eric (possibly possessed by some evil spirit in the manner of the aforementioned drunk college kids) sarcastically said “Ohhh, pretty!” and we were made to feel unwelcome by the serious hunters in the room.

At this point, Eric and I were forced to resort to plan B: glom onto anyone who was having luck finding ghosts and ride their coat tails to paranormal success.

This is considered genius by the Hadley-Yates community.

In any case, we eased our ghost-affirming, positive energy selves over to the room where two women had seemingly connected to one of the spirits in the house. Their EMF meter was going crazy, lighting up in in response to the questions they asked it. Then, best of all, they had this little stuffed teddy bear night light thing that lit up when you pressed its belly.  They put it on the bed, stepped away from it, and said "Elva, are you still with us?"

And the teddy bear lit up.

I'm not too proud to say I almost wet my pants.

Unfortunately, the women weren't interested in sharing their success.  Once they realized they had an audience, they basically took their toys and went home, flouncing out of the room and saying "good luck." over their shoulders.

Then, as if they already didn't deserve to be punched in the throat, they looked at this guy whose EMF meter started beeping and said "There's an electric outlet above you.  DEBUNKED!" in a snotty tone reminiscent of over-entitled high school girls.

Seriously, this is obnoxious in ANY community.

That poor guy retaliated by getting out his spirit box and trying to convince us all he was hearing the ghosts talk. "Did you hear that?!" He kept asking.

And if he meant earsplitting static that made me feel like my head was about to explode, then yes, I heard tons of that.

At this point it was almost one in the morning so we had a choice: do one final sweep of the house, hoping for a last minute ghost to jump out and scare us to death or go back to the hotel and eat Double Stuf Oreos.

The fact that this decision was made with almost no discussion is a testament to why our friendship has lasted all these years.

So, in summary, the house may be haunted but you couldn't prove it by us, OTHER serious ghost hunters often need to be punched in the face, and Double Stuf Oreos are amazing.

The Eldred House

Well it's that time again, time for one of my favorite (and, let’s be honest, longest) blogs of the year--the Eric/Kimberly annual vacation!

For those of you who are somewhat new to this blog I should probably mention that no, Eric is not my husband; he’s one of my best friends and we go on a short vacation together every year.

And no, my actual husband, Opie, doesn't object to me gallivanting around the country with Eric as long as we don't go someplace that he (Opie) also wants to go. Which is why some of our more memorable trips have included Psychic BootCamp, the Lizzie Borden Bed-and-Breakfast and the International UFO Conventionin Roswell New Mexico.

This year, when I told Opie we planned to go to the Eldred House in Eldred, Illinois for a haunting investigation and séance, he stared at me for a long moment (no doubt contemplating how lucky he’d been to hitch his wagon to this particular star) and finally said “Have a good time.”

However, in spite of Opie's clear apathy towards our proposed destination, the Eldred House seemed like the perfect preternatural vacation--and not just because I really like to say the word preternatural.

It was perfect because while Eric and I might not be professional ghost hunters, we consider ourselves highly qualified amateurs--the kind of amateurs who could ghost hunt in the Olympics. In fact, we're experienced enough that I feel completely comfortable sharing these 2 pieces of advice with the organizers and participants alike:

1. If you are organizing a ghost hunt and you actually want people to attend, give good directions.

I’m the first to admit that Eric and I are not exactly navigational geniuses so we expect to have a little trouble making it to abandoned houses in the middle of nowhere. However, I think anyone would be challenged by the following “Drive until you are almost to the Eldred Blacktop and turn right after the canopy of trees.”

“How am I supposed to know when I’m almost to the Eldred Blacktop?” Eric demanded.

“I don’t know—what’s a canopy of trees?” I retorted.

(Opie would like to interject that we wouldn’t have these type of directional challenges if we would have followed his advice and not only read the directions in advance but also consulted a map to confirm them. Which just goes to show you that Opie has never been on vacation with Eric and I.)

Luckily, Eldred, Illinois is not exactly a booming metropolis (211 people!) so we resorted to a grid search of the area.

And by grid search I, of course, mean drove around in crazy circles, cursing, until we found a house that we thought looked right.

We did find it within a mere 45 minutes or this would be the worst vacation blog EVER.

But this leads me to my second piece of advice:

2.If you are participating in a ghost hunt and you actually want to see ghosts, don’t be annoying.

Again, I freely admit that Eric and I can be a touch, shall we say trying?  when we’re on a ghost hunt surrounded by people who are taking things a little too seriously (aka The Waverly Hills incident)

However, we were nothing like this woman in our group at the Eldred House…a woman that I like to refer to as MICE (Most Irritating Chick EVER!).

She was annoying because

A.    She was a complete amateur.

B.    She thought she was a professional.

And most importantly

C.   She thought she was a professional because she had downloaded a ghost hunting app on her iPhone.

An app that didn’t work…How do I know the app didn't work?

Because Eric and I had downloaded the same app on our phones--but we tested it by walking around with our phones side by side to see if we got the same readings at the same time.

We are scientists, after all.

In any case, we didn't get the same readings, decided the apps were a bunch of bunk, and immediately began making friends with people who had real EMF meters. Which might seem annoying but I'm sure is 100% acceptable in the ghost hunting world.

Would MICE listen? No. She was convinced that an app that she bought for 99 cents could not only detect the presence of spirits but also hear what they whispered to each other and translate it. This was bad enough when she had the app at full volume and this creepy voice would blare from her phone shouting random words. But it got worse when her husband made her turn it off and SHE just started yelling out random words. “Blood!” she’d yell. “My phone just said blood!

Anyway, the problem with being annoying when you're a ghost hunter is that not only do the other participants start seriously considering ways to turn you into a ghost, the preternatural creatures don't want to waste their valuable energy interacting with someone who makes them glad they're non-corporeal!

They avoided MICE like the plague.

Which was too bad for her because this was easily one of the most haunted places that Eric and I have ever been. Definitely more haunted than the Lizzie Borden House and the Waverly Hills Hospital and as haunted, if not more, than the Villisca Iowa Axe MurderHouse.

And I know that some of you don't believe in ghosts, and some of you think that Eric and I are crazy, and some of you blame vodka for everything we see on our trips...but, seriously, this place was haunted.

First of all, a lot of little things happened--we could smell weird things in the sick rooms that other people couldn't smell, I kept hearing carousel music playing when the guide was talking, and we saw things in the shadows that freaked us out.

All of which could have easily been our imaginations or faked by the organizers.

But 2 things happened that we couldn't explain--and that showed how little the ghosts/spirits/demons/whatever liked MICE.

Eric and I, MICE and her husband, and this cool couple with a real EMF were all upstairs in the playroom with one of the guides. The guide was saying how this was one of the most "active" rooms, how things were always moving around and how EMF meters were always going crazy in there. They even keep this child's ball in the room so the ghosts have something to play with.

MICE had her phone app going, she kept yelling out things the ghosts were saying and taking random pictures to check for "orbs" with a flash so bight that the rest of us were blinded every time it went off. Just when I thought I was going to have to physically restrain Eric from grabbing the phone and stomping it to a pulp, MICE's husband dragged her from the room. 

The cool couple told us they were going to take their EMF meter down to the basement--far from MICE-- and did we want to come along? But we decided to stay behind in the playroom and explore a little more. Once we were alone, Eric went over to the ball and gave it a little push. It started to roll toward the window, stopped abruptly, then rolled back, rolled around me and stopped against the side of my foot.

At which point I did what any sensible ghost hunter would do: I got my grandmother's rosary out of my pocket and put it around my neck while simultaneously praying that the ball would move again and that no evil spirits would attach themselves to us.  Or failing that, that they wouldn't attach to me and would only irritate Eric a little.

(Sorry, buddy, but it's every hunter for themselves when it comes to evil spirits.)

A few minutes later, the ball did move again. No matter where we moved in the room or where we pushed it, the ball always stopped, turned around and stopped at one of our feet.

The guide and the cool couple saw what was happening a few minutes later and came back in the room to watch. Their EMF meters went crazy, the ball moved a little...

Until MICE came back in. And then bam! Everything stopped.

Because she was so annoying that the ghosts couldn't stand her.

Which was irritating and amusing at the same time.

But the best preternatural revenge came during the séance.  First of all, it wasn't like a séance  you see on TV; we didn't hold hands while some dressed up stereotypical gypsy woman rolled her eyes back in her head and mumbled nonsense words while faking a seizure.

We did sit in a circle (to concentrate our energy in one place), put an EMF meter in the middle of the room, put a flashlight on a table in the middle of the circle while the guide tried to call the spirits.

Except she kept getting interrupted by MICE who shouted out "Cookie! My phone just said cookie!"

And, when even the guide (also fed up with the most irritating chick ever) said ""Those apps DON'T WORK." MICE kept on nattering away. "You don't understand!" she said. "My husband just went to the car to get a cookie and then my phone said cookie."

I considered saying "That's so weird because my phone said gun and guess what I just got out of the car?" but I was interrupted by Eric announcing "What I don't understand is how one person thinks they can ruin this experience for everyone!"

Which is completely out of character for him and a clear sign that the ghosts were taking over his body.

But that's not the best part of preternatural revenge.

The best part came about 20 minutes later when everyone had pretty much given up on the séance, and left the room--except for Eric and I. We were sitting in the kitchen, trying to decide if we wanted to explore the playroom again or just take off when--I swear this is true--the flashlight turned off.

No one was anywhere near it, but the flashlight turned off.

I'm not too proud to say I almost wet my pants.

But I contained myself long enough to tiptoe across the room and out on the porch to get the guide's attention.

Since she was also completely fed up with MICE, she tiptoed back in without alerting any other participants and we held our own mini- séance. During which time the flashlight turned on and off a couple of more times without any of us touching it.

It is interesting to note that while supernatural entities are clearly disturbed by shouts of "Cookie!" they are not at all put off by profanity and comments about impending incontinence because Eric and I were gripping each other like small children and freaking out like nobody's business.

Particularly when 2 other people (not MICE and her husband) came back in the room, saw what was happening and immediately sat down with us, and the flashlight got even brighter. 

"Turn it the other way," the guide said.

And the flashlight went off again.

Then MICE came in to see what all the commotion was about and, sure enough, the EMF meter went dead and the flashlight never moved again.

I'm pretty sure she thought we were just messing with her--particularly when I said "Did your phone just say SUCK IT?!"

Ok, I didn't say that, at least not very loud, but she did leave in somewhat of a huff.

So, while her blog is probably an annoying rant about how other ghost hunters just don't understand her and how the Eldred House isn't haunted at all, Eric and I can safely say "Another successful investigation!" and start planning our trip for next year!