Haunted Realm Paranormal Investigators

Mike is a freelance writer and specialises in penning books, newspaper columns and articles about the paranormal. Mike contributes regularly to a number of journals and newspapers. He has penned his WraithScape column for the Shields Gazette for nearly a decade and it is the longest-running paranormal column in a provincial newspaper in the UK. WraithRealm covers all areas of the paranormal from ghosts to cryptozoology.

Copyright©-2007-Haunted-Realm-Paranormal-Investigators

On my initial visit, I could detect nothing untoward in the house. Most times, when entering haunted premises, I get a tight feeling in my gut as I pass over the threshold. Not on this occasion, though; I detected absolutely nothing amiss. Mary scuttled off into the kitchen to make some tea. I simply sat on the sofa and looked around. The house was immaculately clean, cheerfully decorated and filled with family memoirs. I asked Mary if I could wander around her home just to get the feel of the place, and she immediately agreed. I wondered up the narrow stairwell and made my first port of call the bathroom where the “ghost” had first appeared. At first nothing seemed amiss, but after a few seconds I picked up the distinct smell of lavender. I glanced around to see if I could see any soaps or other items that were lavender-scented, but there weren’t any. As I turned to leave the bathroom I was startled by a loud cracking noise that seemed to come from the vicinity of some shelves. Above the bath. When I looked down, in the bottom of the bath lay a bottle of hair shampoo. I was pretty certain that it hadn’t been there when I first entered. I photographed the bottle in situ. A perusal of the bedrooms precipitated nothing, so I walked back downstairs. As I finished my tea I asked Mary if she’d ever had any problems with objects moving around in her house. “Just once”, she replied. I heard a noise upstairs, and when I looked in the bathroom some things had fallen into the bath from the shelf on the wall”.
     I hadn’t told Mary about the shampoo bottle, so I was intrigued.
    “What did you find in the bath?”
    “Two things”, she replied. “A bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo”.
    I also asked Mary if she had any idea who the phantom woman she had encountered might be.
    “Not really…although the woman next door said that she had a similar experience in her bathroom once. She might know”.
    Mary invited the neighbour in to meet me, and that’s when things got really interesting.
    “My mother told me that these houses were built on the site of a Victorian workhouse. I’ve often wondered if the ghost is of one of the women who lived there”. When Carol described the ghost that she’d seen – also in the bathroom – her description matched that given by Mary almost exactly.
On a hunch, I wandered back up the stairs and paid another visit to the bathroom. There, on the floor, was a cellophane wrapper from a bar of soap. As I knew that neither Mary or her neighbour had been up the stairs, it was obvious that something decidedly odd was going on. I took another photograph, and quietly asked the “ghost” to stop bothering the householder as she was finding her impromptu visits distressing. To my knowledge, she has never returned. The identity of the wraith in Mary’s house remains a mystery, as does her fascination with soap and shampoo. Perhaps they were luxuries denied to her when she lived in the workhouse – if she ever did.

Most Haunted Realm readers will have seen those wonderful old black-and-white re-runs of The Outer Limits and The Twilight Zone on TV.  Some may even remember those equally-as-wonderful comic books –also in black-and-white – with epithets such as Creepy Worlds, Weird Tales and Astounding Stories.Back in the 1960s, no self-respecting science fiction story or movie failed to make mention of that mysterious netherworld known as the 4th Dimension.  The 4th Dimension was, according to popular wisdom, the home of flying saucers, the repository of fairies and the Happy Hunting Ground of the Loch Ness monster to boot. With all this talk about a 4^th Dimension, then, it would make sense at this juncture to ask an obvious question; could such a place exist?

We live in a three-dimensional world.  We think of things, and formulate our perspective of them, in terms of width, height and depth.  If there is indeed a fourth dimension, then, it is unlikely to be a “place”, but rather another means of quantifying things that we are currently unaware of. Because of this, philosophers now prefer to talk not about “other dimensions”, but rather of “alternate realities” – other worlds which may be parallel to our own, but invisible to us.If such worlds exist, what might they be like?  The short answer is that we do not know, because the laws of physics which govern our world may not apply in others. We may find that the 4^th Dimension, if it exists, is an alien landscape not unlike those seen on sci-fi ‘B’ movies decades ago.  It may be teeming with alien life forms, or, alternatively, a barren wilderness similar to the surface of Mars or Pluto.Over the years there have been thousands of mysterious disappearances recorded.  Men, women and children of all ages and backgrounds have, quite literally, disappeared off the face of the earth.  Could these people have accidentally wandered through a portal of some kind, a doorway into an ‘alternate reality’?  Did this doorway then close, trapping them there forever? There is an old Jewish legend about a man who falls asleep in a cave whilst picking figs.  He wakes up and, finding that it is getting dark makes his way home. On his arrival he is astonished to find a stranger living in his house.  He protests, only to be told that everyone he knew had died decades previously.  It was as if he had been in a state of suspended animation for years, or at least living in a place where the flow of time was slower.In his basket the bewildered man still had branches of fresh figs.  This convinced the other man that he was telling the truth, because the fig season had finished months previously.Where had he been all those years?  Trapped in another world, a different reality?  You tell me. From time to time, a number of people have claimed to visit these other dimensions, returning with fantastic tales beyond the widest stretches of the imagination.But what about other worlds in this universe?  Is it possible that portals exist which could allow us to travel to far-flung regions of the galaxy instantaneously?  Programmes such as Stargate – oft repeated on Sky – certainly suggest so.And then there’s the matter of Black Holes, those centres of super gravity which suck anything and everything in, before expelling the same material, in rather compressed form, somewhere else.

One theory is that Black Holes could actually be used as short-cuts to take us from one part of the universe to another in the blink of an eye.  How on earth we’re supposed to survive the gravitational pressure - which can condense something as big as planet earth to the size of pea – no one seems to have worked out.Despite the logistical difficulties, a number of UFO abductees claim to have visited other planets – other solar systems, even – courtesy of extraterrestrials who have allegedly taken them there, in a flying saucer, when they had an hour or two to spare.But here’s the real problem.  Satellite and probe photographs have demonstrated that the bleak terrains of the planets in our solar system are nothing like the way most abductees describe them. The moon, according to one famous 1950s UFO buff, was, at least on its dark side, covered with forests and all manner of strange flora and fauna. One 19th century religious leader even said that the moon was populated by eight foot-tall humans who wore top hats. If true, then Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and others don’t seem to have bumped into them.

Seriously though, we cannot discount the possibility that life does exist on other worlds.  Many ancient traditions – such as those of Native Americans – speak of “Sky People” who came from the stars many millennia ago.  If they visited us on our home world, then they must have one of their own.Perhaps the most fascinating tales come from those who claim to have visited other worlds in their sleep.  One correspondent told me that the same landscape kept appearing every time in her dreams; a hot, dry desert with pale blue sand and a purple-tinged sky.What convinced this lady that she was really travelling to this place in her sleep was the fact that, whenever she had this dream, she would wake up and find grains of sand and dust in her bed and adhering to her nightclothes.  Alas, she did not keep these particles for analysis.

If science ever does find a way of travelling to other worlds quickly and easily – an almost impossible task, some would say – the potential would be beyond our imagination.Imagine what it would be like to be the first human to set foot on a planet at the other end of the galaxy, or the first person to dive into an ocean on a world thousands of light years away.We can but wonder.  Meanwhile, perhaps we can content ourselves by watching the re-runs of Stargate, Star Trek and even – dare I say it – the wincingly awful re-runs of those old episodes of Dr. Who.

The Hope Pole pub – home of “The Lady in Red”

By Michael J. Hallowell

With New Labour’s popularity seemingly in free-fall at the moment, here’s something to cheer Gordon up.  In fact, I may just be able to save his bacon at the next election, and it won’t cost him a bean. Here’s how it works.  At Monkton, near Jarrow, in the hallowed Borough of South Tyneside, there is an ancient well.  Its known as Bede’s Well, for it was there that the venerable scholar and monk, by ancient tradition, allegedly sprung forth from his mother’s womb. Inevitably, the well acquired a miraculous reputation. The vapours?.  Scrofula? Suffering from a touch of the humours?  Visit Bede’s Well and you’ll be hunky-dory in no time.  Or so the legend went. Now the good thing about the cures which were effected at Bede’s Well is that they were free.  Well, almost free.  A local superstition dictated that your sickness would be relieved only if you threw a bent pin into the sacred waters.  Why, I know not; but the fact that loads of them have been dredged up over the years demonstrates that this bizarre form of treatment must have been deemed reasonably efficacious. There was another good thing about Bede’s Well.  When you arrived you didn’t have to wait for three days lying on a trolley in a corridor before the treatment began. you simply chucked your bent pin in the water and waited for the miracle-cure to manifest itself. But there’s more.  Because the only payment required was a bent pin, the service was open to rich and poor alike.  Now if all this has started a metaphorical bell ringing within your cerebrum, it may be because this is the way the NHS is supposed to operate.  If Gordon introduced a bent pin philosophy into his manifesto he would cure the NHS’s ills – and hopefully ours – at a stroke.

And it gets better.  Entrepreneurs could set up stalls – Pins Bent While U Wait – whilst others could sell portable pin retrieval devices – magnets and a bit of string – which would enable punters to get their pins back after the cure had been effected.  This would make the pins re-useable, and therefore an environmentally friendly/recyclable form of treatment.  One reusable pin would equal a “season ticket” prescription certificate, and cost you a damn sight less. Just think of the jobs! Authors such as I could write learned tomes on Bentpinology, adding it to the burgeoning list of alternative therapies.  Keeping the arcane secrets of our craft to ourselves, we could mystify our patients – as all specialists do – by pontificating on why copper pins are better for arthritis than stainless steel ones, why only hat pins cure psoriasis and why safety pins are doubly effective in the treatment of tropical acne. You’d also get two treatments for the price of one, for acupuncturists could use them first before giving them to you to throw down the well.  Now when did you ever hear of a bargain like that within the confines of the NHS? Gordon, of course, will think that I’m off my rocker – or off my trolley, as one of his illustrious predecessors once said.  Well, lets see what happens at the General Election, mate.  To be honest, I think that for two pins – sorry - a growing number of patients out there would gladly try the old bent pin treatment and see it as infinitely more preferable to the second-rate service they’ve been getting from the NHS of late. Give me a ring, Gordon, and I’ll tell you how to sort this mess out.  When you announce this wizard strategy in the Commons, Cameron and his Dark Hordes will be gob-smacked.  You’ll be able to hear a pin drop, in fact. 

Oh, I jest, of course. Everyone knows that this current administration couldn't take the back of a sticking plaster properly let alone rescue the Health Service, but enough of politics and more about Bede's Well. The Venerable Bede was one of our greatest scholars, and visitors to South Tyneside can still see the remains of the monastery where he worked, rested and prayed, all without the help of a Mars Bar. Bede's greatest achievement was to invent our modern calendar by which we could date the year 2000, or the Millennium. Think of it; if it hadn't been for Bede, we wouldn't have had the Y2K fiasco which threatened to combust every computer in the universe at the stroke of midnight. Mind you, I don't want to sound petty, but strictly speaking the Millennium didn't really begin until one year later at the dawn of 2001, but let's not get sidetracked. Bede was a really clever dude, and that's that. There's a chair in a nearby church that is said to have belonged to Bede, and a number of miracles have been said to happen when people have sat upon it. Here's the problem, though; Bede lived 673 – 735 AD, but carbon dating tests have proved that the chair probably dates back to the 9th century. If sitting on the chair does precipitate miracles, they can't have anything to do with the good monk. The well, however, is a different story. Unfortunately, its history and reputation have been neglected terribly, and few people know the true tale concerning its miraculous powers. At one time the well was...well, a well; that is, a hole in the ground filled with water. However, over the centuries a succession of well-meaning officials from hither and thither tried to tart the hole up by surrounding it with fences, walls, paving stones, ornamental skirtings and God knows what else. The idea was to make the well more visible and at least give the appearance that it was being revered as a historical monument, if not exactly the Geordie version of Lourdes. With every passing “improvement”, however, the aperture of the well became smaller and a steady stream of rubble and junk ended up in the hole. Last year, my wife and I visited Bede's Well, and were appalled to find out that it has now dried up altogether. A large, paved precinct surrounds what is left, along with beer cans, crisp packets and other detritus that does not bear mention in a magazine that may be read by youngsters. That a historical landmark of such significance could be allowed to deteriorate to this degree is completely unacceptable. But hang on a minute; we surely need to ask ourselves at this juncture whether or not the miracles associated with Bede's Well are really true. If not, then, other than the fact that Bede was supposed to be born in that vicinity, this rather unassuming hole in the ground really hasn't much to brag about. But there have been miracles. During the 19th century, on Sunday mornings, upwards of twenty children at a time used to be brought to the well to be immersed. Many, particularly those suffering from ague (a sudden and severe fever) found their symptoms reduced or even removed completely after the event. Even in recent years, before the well became polluted with rubbish and covered up completely, it was common for people to visit it and drink in an effort to cure an ailment.

Alas, it isn't possible to put the healing properties of Bede's Well to the test now, which is a shame. However, there has recently been a number of voices crying out for the landmark to be restored to its primitive but glorious appearance. I support this proposal firmly. It is said that the ghost of Bede has been seen at the well, and that the sound of a baby crying (Bede as a youngster?) has been heard after midnight. Its all a mystery, but an intriguing one. Me? I'd gladly pay three bent pins to anyone who can supply the answers...

You wouldn’t think that you could hide a large, anthropomorphic monster in the British Isles, even less an entire colony of them. If its escaped you’re notice, our green and (sometimes) pleasant land isn’t exactly a huge expanse filled with uncharted forests and windswept plains. We, are, metaphorically speaking, a postage stamp; a drop in the ocean, a tiny gravy stain on the Great Necktie of Life. And yet, reports continue to come in suggesting that homo sapiens may not be the only man-shaped inhabitants of Blighty.

I first had experience of this some years ago, when I joined with the Centre for Fortean Zoology in investigating the infamous Beast of Bolam Lake affair. The Beast of Bolam Lake was, for the uninitiated, a huge, Bigfoot-like creature that was frightening the bejabbers out of visitors to Bolam Lake Park in rural Northumberland. Before you laugh, control yourself. If you suggest that the Beast of Bolam Lake didn’t exist – whatever you consider its provenance to be – then – and there’s no nice way to put this – you’re either ignorant or stupid. I’m sorry if this offends anyone, but its true. There were simply too many witnesses who saw the beast – up close and personal, not at a distance – to suggest that anything other than a true cryptozoological experience was occurring.

Of course, no one is suggesting that a breeding population of hirsute hominids could exist in such a small locality, but the truth is that the Beast of Bolam Lake may have been a zooform creature; that is, not exactly flesh-and-blood, but something more spectral that can, in ways we do not yet understand, enter and depart from our plane of existence at will. A creature that can both appear and disappear in a flash is highly unlikely to be caught. But I don’t want to get side-tracked into writing about the Beast of Bolam Lake again, as I covered the case extensively in my book Mystery Animals of the British Isles: Northumberland & Tyneside¹. In any event, another out-of-place anthropomorph has allegedly popped up in much the same locality, and I must confess that it has got my attention.  This creature, however, is nothing like the Beast of Bolam Lake.

Last summer, a chap from Northumberland went hiking on the moors and had a close encounter with a creature which he described as being five feet in height, covered in green-brown scaly skin and sporting a large fin which ran from the top of its head down to the bottom of its tail. It also had what appeared to be a mane of red, matted hair on the top of its head and two rather bulbous, lizard-like red eyes. Just what this creature could be, if it truly exists, is something of a mystery. Superficially it has all the hallmarks of a 1950s "B" movie horror monster, but we need to be careful that we don't throw the baby out with the bath water here. Actually, creatures such as those described by our witness have been seen for not just hundreds but thousands of years. The ancient Sumerians believed in a race of fish-like creatures called the Anunnaki. The Dogon tribe from Mali call them the Nommo. For the record, our hiker from Northumberland told me that the creature he saw was known as the Splitback Demon. This intrigued me, and led me to do some covert digging into the case. Unfortunately I can't reveal what I uncovered at this juncture for a number of reasons, but I hope to at some point in the future when my investigations are complete.

After the first report was received I was told about a second sighting of the creature, although a good few miles from the first. The description was almost identical, and the witness had it in view for a longer time. Working with the witnesses has not been easy, through no fault of their own. One is a professional person who is well known in the region and told me that if his name was ever mentioned it would be "the kiss of death" to his career. The second witness is not well known, but for reasons that make sense to me does not want to reveal the exact location of his sighting. It would, he reasons, place him in a position where he might be faced with answering some extremely awkward questions. The distance between the two sightings makes me think it unlikely that the same creature was spotted on both occasions. The reason for this is that it would, as far as I can tell, have been virtually impossible for it to get from A to B without being seen. This is intriguing, for it means that there may be more than one Splitback Demon in the region. If there are two, then for all we know there could be twenty-two.

Could there be a breeding population of Splitback Demons in the north east of England? It’s unlikely, but certainly not impossible.

I'd like to conclude this column by making an appeal to readers. If you – or someone you know – have seen a human-like creature with distinctly lizard-like features, either here or abroad, I'd like to hear the details. You can e-mail me at wraithscape@mikehallowell.com 

Blimey. Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water…

.

I can remember the time – it's not that long ago – when there was only one paranormal research group in Tyneside; well, at least to my knowledge. Then there were two. Now there are dozens. That's great, if you're merely judging success by the popularity stakes. The problem is that popularity is no benchmark of quality, and, sad to say, when it comes to quality there's a gaping big hole in our chosen field of endeavour. Let me explain why this is a problem.

One of the mantras chugged out by paranormal researchers – almost to the point of monotony – is that we need our profession to be taken seriously. Of course, I agree. However, it’s a fact of life that most of us only ever get what we want by earning it, and I'm not sure that many paranormal research groups have earned the right to be taken seriously at all. Some time ago, my colleague and fellow author Darren W. Ritson went on an overnight "vigil" at a haunted location. At some point in the proceedings a crucifix which was being used as a "trigger object" moved a couple of inches. It wasn't much, I grant you, but those in attendance legitimately got excited about it. Whatever had moved the crucifix, it hadn't been human. But then one of the ghost-hunters exclaimed, "Wow, that can only be described as major poltergeist activity!".  If my memory serves me right Darren interjected and said something like, "Whoa, hang on a minute! I've seen 'major poltergeist activity', and that isn't it. Major poltergeist activity is when you have knives thrown at you, scratches appear on your torso from nowhere and coins drop out of the air. What we've witnessed is fascinating, but you can't describe it as 'major poltergeist activity'!"

And he was right, of course. One of the problems associated with some paranormal research groups is their tendency to inflate minor preternatural occurrences to something akin to Amityville Horror proportions. In other words, they have way too much flare for the dramatic. This may impress excitable rookie ghost-hunters, but it only strengthens the belief of critics that we are unable to take a level-headed view of the things we experience.

Some time ago I was asked to accompany a research group on a ghost-hunt held in an abandoned warehouse. Against my better judgement I went along, and was startled to see the entire entourage turn up in camouflage jackets that would have been more at home worn by an elite forces unit. The highlight of the evening came when one chap got on his radio and made a call to a colleague who was staking out a small office at the other end of the building

"This is Sharktooth to Red Leader, Sharktooth to Red Leader…we've just had a Code 24 on Level One. Priority Assistance Call! Priority Assistance Call!"

Now this all sounded incredibly exciting, and the only drawback was that I hadn't a clue what the hell he was talking about. Red Leader, it turned out, was nothing more than an exotic epithet for the group supremo Brian, and Sharktooth was the pimply teenager standing next to me. In the real world he was called Keith. And what, pray, was a Code 24? Erm…it was ghost-hunting speak for an "anomalous noise", apparently, and referred to a faint clank that had manifested outside. It must have been faint, as I didn't hear it at all. Level One was code-speak for the ground floor, and a Priority Assistance Call actually meant, "Help!". Within seconds, a band of para-warriors came charging across the warehouse floor screaming and yelling like…well, like demented screaming and yelling things. EMF metres were wafted hither and thither and night-vision cameras were dusted off and thrown into action. Eventually the excitement died down, and I couldn't help but ask a few pertinent questions.

Firstly, I wanted to know why Keith – sorry, Sharktooth – hadn't simply said, "This is Keith to Brian…I think I've just heard a clanking noise outside." I also wanted to know why macho codenames like Sharktooth and Red Leader were necessary. Were they afraid that someone from the Secret Service was listening in on their conversation?. And why the "Priority Assistance Call"? Had Keith felt that the faint clanking noise was putting his life in danger? And in any event, why waft EMF metres and night-vision cameras around in the warehouse when the almost inaudible clank had been heard outside? Brian – aka Red Leader – had a ready answer to all these questions. "Actually, we're trying to be professional". "Actually", I replied, "you're behaving like a bunch of nackerheads". Trust me, I'm not normally as robust as this with my retorts but the whole episode really did make me angry. There were two "rookie" ghost-hunters in the group who were there to be "trained". They'd have been better off being coached by orang-utangs. Green as grass, they had no way of evaluating this "training" they were being subjected to objectively. They were honestly starting to believe that this was the way "professional" ghost-hunters acted and behaved. Look, the bottom line is that real paranormal research is not about wearing paramilitary outfits and engaging in Hollywood-style dialogue. It's about patient, meticulous research and, for most of the time, having an infinite capacity to be bored.

And there's another problem I have with drama-loving investigators; why is it that they never seem to go into a location that is completely devoid of paranormal activity? My guess is that many of them don't want to go into a place that isn't haunted because it would effectively kill off any chance of them enjoying themselves and getting to play at soldiers.  Hence, they'll always find something to get excited about. I recall one conversation I heard between a "team medium" and a young, rather nervous householder. One of the team members had photographed an orb over an old wardrobe in the bedroom, and the medium asked, "Who did that wardrobe belong to before you had it?"

"My Gran".

    "Did she store her clothes in there?"

    (I would have thought that would have been bleedin' obvious, but never mind.)

    "Yes, she did".

    "Ah, there you are, then. That orb was your Gran".

    Actually, the orb was a reflection of light from a dust particle in the atmosphere, but never mind.

    Am I against the wearing of team uniforms or even camouflage jackets per se, then? Not at all. Its sensible for researchers to be easily identified, particularly when they are in an environment where there are a number of "civilians" around. Neither am I against the use of EMF metres, and nor do I think that all orbs are merely reflections from dust or moisture in the atmosphere. What I am against is the abuse of all these things simply to make amateur researchers look like comic-book superheroes.

Please don't think I'm taking a pop at all amateur researchers, because I'm not. I used to be one myself. There are some damned good amateur investigators out there who serve our cause very well indeed. All I'm asking is that all researchers – amateur and professional alike – stop looking for excitement and start looking for solid evidence. Of course, when you are subjected to really scary experiences you will get excited – maybe even terrified – but these episodes will be few and far between. If we want paranormal research to be taken seriously then we have to start acting in a mature, professional manner.

Well, I'm feeling peckish so I'm off to see if the missus has finished making the tea.