Tag: ghosts

  • The Ghost at the Lake House

    The Ghost at the Lake House

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    “So, what do you do for fun?” I asked Brenda Schmidt between bites of dinner. We were on our way to see Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy at the Rialto Theater in Joliet.

    “My husband and I hunt ghosts for fun.”

    I nearly dropped my fork. Not because I had the reaction that most people do about ghosts–the “let’s not talk about uncomfortable topics” squirm, but because it was a subject I had lived with for many years.

    Back in 1977, my parents bought two cottages on Christie Lake in Michigan. Mike, the next door neighbor, told us some stories about the previous occupants, including the original owner, Mr. Eberhart, who died at the end of the pier during a storm.

    For many years, I felt Mr. Eberhart’s spirit in the tiny bedroom that I shared with my sister.

    When my parents moved the house (literally) across town and built their retirement home on the same spot, Mr. Eberhart settled in. For many years, we were busy with the kids. However, whenever I slept in the “Blue Room,” I felt like he was there.

    One day, my father asked me if I believed in ghosts.

    I told him yes. I told him I felt Mr. Eberhart’s spirit and that he never left. We compared our stories–the footsteps at night (Dad heard this) and the impossible-to-open closet doors that were left open in the middle of the night. My sister also experienced the open closet doors, so I knew I wasn’t imagining things.

    We started sharing the stories with visitors and it made for lively conversations around the fire at night. Then our visitors began experiencing Mr. Eberhart’s antics. Whispers in the ear, “I’m still here,” flashing lights, disappearing items.

    My mother never believed any of it. The ghost had a habit of turning on the radio in my boat and draining the battery. I replaced the battery, rewired the boat, and figured the problem was solved.

    One evening, I took my mom out for a sunset ride in the boat. When we docked, I made sure she watched me turn off the radio, because my father accused the kids of leaving it on.

    We were on the dock when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the radio light turn on.

    “Mom, you saw me turn off the radio, right?”

    She nodded.

    “Well, take a look at the radio now.”

    Her mouth dropped open.

    Yet, she still didn’t believe in ghosts.

    So when Brenda told me that her husband Paul was the president of The Illinois Paranomalists , I had to share the story. I gave them a copy of Totally Scared, which featured the story of the ghost at the lake house.

    Could we prove the ghost theory?

    Paul was intrigued. He stopped by my house to get a key and headed up to the lake house. He spent several hours there, setting up equipment and recording both audio and visual modes.

    The results were pretty clear: the house was haunted. I was finally validated after all the years of sharing “ghost stories.”

    I invited Paul to share his experiences: 

    I am extremely honored that Karen invited me to be a guest on her blog.  The hardest thing has been deciding what to write.  

    Karen writes about finding and following your passion.  I have a lifelong passion for the paranormal—resulting in my becoming a ghost hunter.  

    Paul Goldenrod

    I grew up reading everything I could on ghosts: Bigfoot, the Bermuda triangle, Loch Ness monster, etc.  I enjoyed the fact that there are still mysteries in the world.  I dreamed of one day actually seeing one of these mysterious phenomena.  Unfortunately, advances in technology have proven many of these supposed mysteries to be nonexistent or in some cases fabricated.  

    About 11 years ago I realized it was possible to pursue my interests in ghosts when the show “Ghosthunters” first appeared on the SyFy channel.  Like many of my ghost hunting friends a light bulb went off and I realized people actually do this stuff.  

    I began researching and going on “pay to hunt” public hunts.  I then joined a club and learned all I could.  At the urging of my family I finally formed my own club with a group of friends—The Illinois Paranormalists (TIP).  We all love to ghost hunt and have fun together.  We’ve explored places like the Rialto Theatre in Joliet, The Eldred house, and the Goldenrod Showboat.

    Rialto monitors Eldred House

    Karen and my wife Brenda are friends and during a dinner conversation my hobby came up.  Karen’s family owned a home for many years that they thought was haunted but did not have proof.  She invited me to investigate and I jumped at the chance to visit somewhere no one else had ever investigated.  (BTW:  you’d be surprised how many people tell me they live, work, or know of a haunted location.)

    I brought my cameras and recorders and investigated into the night.  While I was there, I had some very interesting personal experiences. To me the most interesting thing was actually how my body tingled for at least an hour when I was up in the bedroom that Karen identified as haunted.  Karen says the spirit  would say “I’m still here” to occasional visitors. I  could not believe the reaction of my KII meter when I asked the question “are you still here”.  Usually a few additional lights light up, but my meter went crazy with the lights going up and down in a blur.  In 20/20 hindsight, I wish I had filmed it with my iPhone.  The camera I had in the room was pointed too high to catch it.    My recorders however captured a number of unexplained loud noises in the bedroom where the haunting appears to be centered. 

    Karen was happy to finally have some validation to the experiences she had while in the house over the years.

    If you are interested or have more questions, my club has a webpage at www.ghosttip.com and a Facebook page.  I want to thank Karen again for giving me this opportunity.

     

    The tools you need for a passionate life: Unwrapping Your Passion

  • The Ghost at Christie Lake

    From the time I was seven, I spent my summers at Christie Lake, a small lake located in Lawrence, Michigan. On the weekends, I would go up to the lake with my friend Chris, whose family owned a cottage. Most of our days were spent lazing on the water in the inner tube or zipping around in her father’s boat.

    One summer day when I was eleven, my parents and my older brother came up for the day. We were cruising around the lake and my brother noticed a “For Sale” sign planted in front of a cute, green cottage.

    “Come on,” my brother said, “Let’s just go inside and take a look. It won’t hurt to see how much it is.”

    The next thing I knew, we were unpacking suitcases inside the cute, green cottage. My parents had placed an offer that very day and purchased the place.

    While getting to know the new next-door-neighbors, we learned about the previous occupants of the home. The original owners were Mr. and Mrs. Eberhart and their two sons. Mrs. Eberhart had a reputation of being a rather tart lady and Mr. Eberhart often meekly complied with her demands.

    One day, the combination proved to be a fatal one. A storm was brewing and it had started to rain. Mrs. Eberhart turned to her husband and insisted that the boat needed to be covered.  Mr. Eberhart protested as there was lightning in the distance.

    He didn’t win.

    He and his son headed out in the storm to cover the boats. As the rain pelted down, they were suddenly both struck by lightning.

    Mr. Eberhart lost his life as he fell into the boat.

    After a few years, Mrs. Eberhart and her sons moved away and sold the cottages to another family, who in turn, sold it to us.

    Hearing the story sent chills through me, but I didn’t give it another thought. My sister and I eagerly unpacked our things in the room we shared. In the bedroom, we discovered an unusual closet with two doors. One door was at eye level and the other door was high up near the ceiling. We had to get a step stool to reach the upper door and found it difficult to open. We stuffed a sleeping bag inside that closet and went off to explore the rest of the cottage.
    We spent many wonderful summers at the lake.  At night time, I wasn’t too crazy about the room that my sister and I shared. It was dark and paneled in pine, with a single lamp illuminating the darkness. I didn’t like
    falling asleep there, especially late at night.  I always felt as if someone else was in the room with me.

    Every now and then, we would have a guest and have to get out the sleeping bag. This was no easy task, as the upper closet door was often hard to open.  A chair was required to reach the latch and it would take some tugging to get the closet door to budge.

    One night, while heading to the bathroom, I noticed that the upper closet door was ajar. I shrugged it off, thinking that someone grabbed the sleeping bag after I had gone to sleep and simply left the door open.

    The next morning, I woke up and noticed that the closet door was closed. I looked around and observed that no one had used a sleeping bag the night before.

    Hmmm, I thought to myself, I must have been dreaming.

    During a few more occasions, the same thing happened. I started to wonder if perhaps Mr. Eberhart was actually around.

    Oh come on, Karen, I mumbled to myself.  Of course, I didn’t believe in ghosts. How silly.

    Fast forward, many years later, and my parents hauled away the cute little cottage to the other side of town. They built their brand new retirement home on the same land.
    One evening, my father and I were watching TV and he casually turned to me and asked, “Karen, do you believe in ghosts?”

    Startled, I looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

    So Dad went on to explain how at night, he would hear strange noises. He would often get up to check, and find nothing. There were many nights he felt that someone was in the house. He could hear the stairs creaking as if someone was walking up.

    But no one was there.

    So I told him about the closet door and how I would find it wide open at night.  Just at that moment, my sister walked into the room.

    “What are you guys talking about?”

    We filled her in, and to my utter surprise, she said, “Oh yea, I remember seeing the closet open at night too. It was really weird, because in the morning it was closed. I always figured you closed it.”

    And I had always figured she had closed it!

    Hmmm. We looked at each other and we all burst out laughing. We figured that Mr. Eberhart was living with us all those years.

    He must still be mad at his wife for sending him out in the storm.

    Fast forward to this summer. Two weeks ago, the radio in my boat kept turning on. We thought the kids were leaving it on but they vehemently denied even touching the radio. Joe replaced the cables on the battery that week and I had taken the boat to a mechanic for some repairs. We thought maybe the wiring was loose or the rocking of the boat had turned on the radio.

    Last Friday, I took my Mom and sister for a boat ride in the evening. When we arrived back at the dock, I made sure everything was turned off, including the radio. I climbed on to the pier and I was talking with my Mom, when suddenly, a light caught my eye.

    The radio turned on.

    I nudged my Mom. “Take a look, Mom! The radio is on! You just saw me turn everything off!”

    We took one look at each other, then at the boat, and we burst out laughing.

    I guess Mr. Eberhart has a sense of humor turning a radio on for a deaf family.