I don’t feel alone in my home anymore and that scares me. Since visiting the prison and getting the cryptic message, I have noticed things going on here that before I would have brushed off as non-threatening. Lights flickering when I enter a room, footsteps on the stairs when I’m lying in bed, and even now I can hear the sound of something being dragged in the attic. It’s the sound of wood scraping against wood.
I tried to keep the details of my recent research secret from my friends. I didn’t want to be the weird guy in the group, and I also didn’t want my friends to bring up that I was the one who liked to look for ghosts anytime they introduced me at a party. So, I’ve kept my research relatively quiet. One night though, I did end up slipping.
I had a buddy from college over to my house one night. He had stopped back in town to visit family, and since he can’t stand to be around them for more than a few hours at a time, I let him crash on my couch for the night. Ted works for the Illinois Department of Corrections, and we compared the usual job stories, both funny and frustrating. After a few beers the conversation turned to spooky things he’s heard about on the job. He told me some stories he heard about Joliet Prison, and rumors of the ghosts of murdered inmates that stalk the halls.
“Don’t tread where the deer dance as men, for they are neither.”
That was the last thing my grandfather said to me before he passed away. He was feverish and suffering from pneumonia stemming from lung cancer, and I was lucky enough to be in Harlan County, Kentucky on a project with the DNR when I got the call that he was in the hospital.
After speaking with McGivern and hearing about Denali, I began searching out other strange stories. What started as a hobby began developing into an obsession. The internet became my greatest ally and greatest curse, because searching for anything remotely related to mystery creatures or weird happenings brings up a fair amount of obviously fake stories and hoaxes.
For as long as I can remember I have been interested in the lost and forgotten. Some of my first memories are of my grandparent’s ranch in the hills of California, where I would use my father’s beat up metal detector to search for old coins and abandoned gold mines.
I never found anything on the property really worth sharing, but it sparked my passion for exploration.