Promised you guys a blog post over a week ago documenting my latest Stanley encounters. Got busy, but as promised (only late);
What set my senses off first was Lucy’s room during the public investigation. Perhaps it was because Callea had stayed for the investigation when it was originally set for only fifteen and just me leading it that night, but it was the first time since January that had both of us in the same room leading only fifteen people on a hunt. It was like old times you could say. While I think this likely might have had an effect on the energies in the room, I’m not as convinced (though can never rule out) the psychological impact. Callea and I had spent plenty of time investigating the room together since January, but that night was the only night with a group of fifteen for both of us.
“It feels like it used to,” I said. How it used to feel was a sense of presence, that there was something to even the very walls themselves; space to hide, a darkness more pressing. The last few months, even with the newer spirits coming and going and the nature spirits, the room had taken on a more hollow feel. The way a normal room is supposed to feel; the kind of feel that had me wondering if in fact anything had changed or if I had closed myself off to the spirits after six months once again. Or if there was even anything to begin with.
But that night, that night it felt like anything could happen. There was the tension in the air that suggested that maybe a voice would come from the darkness, maybe a flashlight would flicker on, maybe a K2 or cell censor would go nuts for five minutes.
If indeed Lucy had returned to check in, or if the energies had aligned as they once had, there was little significant activity to speak of in the room. Though for Callea and I the change in feeling was enough.
It was after the guests left that the place got really strange.
Callea and I were sitting in Lucy’s room, hoping for a repeat of the strange feeling from earlier in the night when a sound startled us from out in the hallway. We’d been talking about dreams. It’s been a year now since I started investigating at the Stanley, and the sounds that the concert hall makes, however rare, had become a part of my mental vocabulary. Even the random taps that sound like a drumstick on a bucket, that come once every few months, have been pushed into the mechanical category. The bane of becoming intimately familiar with a location.
This sound was different. From the hallway it sounded as if something had actually been pushed over. I ran to the doorway to see what it might have been, but there was nothing obvious that had made the sound. The stranger part was that as Callea and I tried to recreate the sound, we could pinpoint what wasn’t the sound, but not quite what it was. It was, as we both described it, as if we’d heard the sound in a dream. Looking back on the event felt like trying to recreate the fuzzy memories of a dream state, though we were in full conversation when the sound first came.
This struck me as interesting, if only due to the amount of research I’ve been doing into astral work and meditation, accessing the spiritual plane through the dream state, and how closely the two are linked. How many spiritual encounters are difficult to remember because of a crossing over into our world of a similar realm our brain is untrained to process, as dreams.
While in the hallway, a strange tapping brought our attention to the far end of the hall, where the back staircase winds behind the stairs, and the exit sign casts its red glow.
“I’m not sure what could have made the sound,” I said, turning to Callea when she said,
“Oh my god.” She spun and pressed herself against the wall. “I’m sorry, just all of a sudden I can’t have my back to the hall anymore.”
Almost as she spoke, I flinched, the nerves in my arms constricting almost at the same time as my heart surged in my chest. “Jesus,” I said. It was like her motion had startled me, but there was no thought in my mind to link the two. I’d reacted as if something had scared me, but there was nothing to scare me. Almost as quickly as it came, it was gone. No aftereffects lingered, no pounding heart or quickness of breath the way most amusing non-supernatural scares will leave me. Here it was only a scare and then… nothing.
The surge itself had felt as if something had gone back through me, passed in a split second from Callea to me to… out the exit door? Toward the Carriage House? Or possibly up the back staircase. Had something gone through me? Or was it only a severe presence, in an instant, moving past me? Were it only a mental experience, it was the first of its kind I’ve ever had in three intensive years of ghost hunting.
But the eeriness persisted. When Callea turned to Paul’s room she at once didn’t like it in there. “It’s dark in here. Really dark.” Despite the light that usually pours into the room from the windows at ground level near the ceiling, the room had a foggy feel, as if the dark was tight around us.
I walked a few steps into the room when movement caught my eye. Glancing down, I followed what looked like a large black mass, the shape of a head, run past me at the height of a small child. Immediately I tried to recreate the shape running past my leg, by glancing at the windows, by looking about the room and then looking back to my side again, but without result. Had I just seen an apparition? I’m not willing to call it that. It had barely more form than the shadow people I’ve been seeing intermittently since January, but something about it struck me as real, as tangible, as there one minute and gone another.
A later EVP session and another hour in the basement gave no further results or experiences other than the strange sense of presence the basement brought, fresh from months of quiet. I still wish for something a bit more concrete than the passing sounds, shapes, and sensations, to justify my own experiences in a way trusting myself cannot. But it’s after a year of realizing expectations, getting in touch with myself, and realizing the difference between a room three months cold and one tingling with a strange activity that leaves me scratching my head over what felt like an active evening in the way they used to be.
(Of course this post was not intended to suggest that the Concert Hall at the Stanley has been quiet these last few months, to which they absolutely have not! I only mean to suggest that the night got intense in a way it hadn’t in some weeks, and in a way that felt the way it used to, with the spiritual presences I met on my first night at the hotel. For more information on the latest happenings at the Stanley, feel free to read earlier postings here at my blog)