Far From Home, Chapter 2, unedited, first draft 2 The full moon shone brightly against the clear night sky causing a blinding shimmer of elegance on the freshly fallen snow of Central Park. Blanketed by the disguising vale of a million city lights, a few stray stars here and there were all that shared the grandeur amidst the blackened heavens above New York City. Still…its beauty was a far cry to behold when compared against the celestial crowding of North Texas nightfall…but it held a certain charm all its own nonetheless. The chilling, frozen precipitation had ended hours ago removing all signs of life or movement amongst the local population. With the darkness came a need for them all to return indoors to their warm homes without fear of molestation by the metaphoric monsters that reside in the shadows of the night. Tucked away safely in toasty beds, most inhabitants of this city dreamt away their worries and cares amidst the ignored intrusions of honking taxi cabs and the ear piercing squeal of an occasional garbage truck’s brakes. Regardless of the noise surrounding it, no sounds existed in Central Park with the exception of a broken tree limb from time to time being overcome by the weight of the accumulation. It was the eerie kind of silence in which nightmares were often composed. Ten blocks away from the serenity of the majestic park, a young stranger sat alone in ultimate concentration within the gothic cathedral walls of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church shaking off two hour’s worth of the park’s frigid emptiness. Like an ancient shadow pressed against the modern illumination of Manhattan, the three hundred foot tall spires rose like flowers to the sunlight amongst its more recently built counterparts. Able to accommodate over two thousand people at any given service, the young girl felt more alone than ever before. Although she knew all too well that she wasn’t the only person that had ever felt insignificant inside the church’s echoing, empty chambers since its construction nearly two centuries ago…the girl couldn’t help but think exactly that with each passing second. Deep in the confines of prayer, a lonesome tear of both fear and hope streaked the soft skin of her young cheek heading straight for the polished marble floor below. In the quiet darkness, its impact caused a deafening disturbance that snapped her from her trance momentarily. Quickly scanning the shadows for any other signs of life, she bowed her head once again and returned to her meditation. Her name was Katie Liberman. The past few years of Katie’s life had been one of tragedy and discovery. With every passing day, the memories of those that had come and gone before her in the metaphorical roller coaster that she had come to know as life tugged at her heart strings with increasing weight. Barely eighteen years of age, she had been struck with the loss of her favorite Uncle, Johnny Haynes, who had served as her personality and attitude’s mentor since the time in which she was first learning how to speak. Within hours of that tragedy, she had personally witnessed the murdering of her own mother, Jessica Liberman, at the hands of a rogue deputy Sheriff after he had broken into their home in Twin Oaks, Texas by order of a maniacal tyrant hell bent on destroying her family. In return, she bestowed upon herself a great power in order to rescue what remained of those she loved and cared about but with great power…comes a price. This price, in general, was that of a curse that changed her life completely from that moment until now. She had journeyed to the terrible city from her quiet, country roots in order to find a cure that curse and it was nearly within her grasp. To most, hers was a story that would be almost too much to handle on any given day regardless of circumstances or upbringing. To Katie, this had become daily life. The curse of the werewolf was something she had seen produced by Hollywood time and time again during her youth but, contrary to popular belief, there was nothing glamorous about it. Inadvertently caught up in the middle of an ongoing war between the lunatic Sheriff of her hometown, Jessie McGee, and a stranger whom she had never met face to face, her father and been infected with the rage of the once thought mythical creature. In order to save his life from the secretive and power mad Sheriff, she had made the rash decision to take upon her father’s burden without a second to spare for thinking of repercussions and win the day for all those that suffered at the hands of McGee. At thirteen years old, an altered future was something rarely thought of. Jamming her wrist between her father’s poisonous teeth as he drew what could’ve been his final breaths; she turned to meet her foe with a face of terror and took his life with furious anger. Unknown to her at the time, Jessie McGee was not the source of the evil that had coursed through her veins over the past five years. There were more. A New York City attorney by the name of Kurt Jimmerson had came and went in her small town like a falling star in the night sky and left in his wake a pathway of destruction…yet hope. Being the cursed Sheriff’s creator, he had traveled to and from the East Coast and North Texas on several occasions in the hopes of destroying that which had gotten out of hand. Repeatedly, he had failed. Realizing that newer, younger blood would be needed to defeat his foe had led to a chance meeting with Katie’s father in the midnight wilderness and that was where it all began. Departing quickly with a mouthful of lies to mislead her father on various facts of his existence and history, Jimmerson had left Twin Oaks before the infamous final showdown in order to retain his safety when it all came to a head. As that rainy night in the fairgrounds progressed, the light of truth had been brought forth before the death blow was dealt to the town villain. Jimmerson had lied about a lot of things with the exception of, luckily, his profession and place of residence. The hope amongst the bad dreams of five years ago was the fact that the townspeople had embraced her father’s misfortune rather than fear him for his differences. Soon after everything was said, done, and settled…Toby Liberman had been elected the replacement Sheriff in Myrtle County and the entire place went werewolf crazy. Still a secret to the majority of their community’s outsiders, the local population had lifted him up to near celebrity status and entrusted their safety and well being to what they considered to be a type of super hero as sorts. Within the frame of a few months, her hometown had become a place of safety and family where those who wished ill will against peace were no longer welcomed…and taught accordingly with swift justice. He had even remarried. Katie was now the proud step daughter of her Uncle’s late girlfriend upon his untimely death. They had all been so close during the tragic ordeal that it was the only solution that really made sense. What happened in the Liberman family…stayed in the Liberman family. Somehow, she had made it through her high school years without a soul identifying that she, too, possessed her father’s ‘gift’. Granted, she was a little more nimble and faster at sports and such than the normal kids ever wished they could be, but no one had ever guessed of the hunger that stirred inside of her from time to time. If they had, there was no way for it to be comprehended. A weekend camping trip from month to month was used to hide the true animal that prowled just beneath the skin of she and her father. In secluded privacy, the two of them would hunt wild deer and game to suffocate the pain filled feeling of emptiness that no mortal or conventional food could fill. This small tidbit of information would more than likely instill fear into the masses if they ever were to discover what their curses were truly capable of. The last thing they needed in such a small town was enemies. As time had progressed during the times that the two of them spent alone, her powers of transformation had become perfected and synchronized with her emotional state. Unlike the beliefs of the West Coast movie magicians, the curse of the werewolf had nothing to do with the cycles of the moon. It could be turned on and off at will with practice, patience, and mental peace. Also and unfortunately, unlike the horror films, it didn’t take a silver bullet from a gun to drop either of them like a bad habit. They could be killed by any means that would kill a normal human being. With this in mind, it was almost enough to keep Katie near the safety of her home rather than the far away confines of New York City on a quest for answers. Due to the lies that Kurt Jimmerson had fed her father over their extremely short relationship, neither of them truly knew much of the actual truth of their being unless it had been something personally experienced or accidentally discovered. To her, that in itself was enough to risk the unknown. She needed to know. Of course, this sudden trip across the country had been disguised as something else entirely… As far as anyone knew back home, including her own family, Katie was living the good life at the University of North Texas by way of a high school sports scholarship. Withdrawing all of her savings that was intended to be her lifeline for her freshman year in college, she bought a plane ticket to Manhattan and rented the most extravagant furnished apartment she could find closest to Central Park. With the difference in the cost of living between New York and home, she was only going to be able to survive financially for a month. Only three more weeks remained in order to confront her family’s nemesis or return home and explain to her father what had transpired. Either way, she wasn’t expecting to live through either. Taking on her mother’s maiden name, she had immediately represented herself as the newcomer Katie Haynes and landed a job in the basement floor mail room of the Jimmerson and Wolfe law firm on 52nd street near the park. After working there for only a few days now, she had realized all too quickly that her meager paychecks weren’t going to be able to support her heightened lifestyle in the Rockefeller Center apartments…and neither Mr. Jimmerson nor Mr. Wolfe had poked their heads in the basement very often. It was going to take some careful planning on her part and some down home cunning to eventually get where she needed to be in order to meet the infamous Kurt Jimmerson in the workplace. If that didn’t work then she was almost certain to meet him face to face in Central Park. When Jimmerson had given his version of the curse’s origin to Toby, the slick attorney had told him that there were entire clans of werewolves in New York City living daily lives in secrecy. When that special time came, they would venture into the park under cover of darkness to feed upon whatever living creature was unlucky enough to cross their paths. After three late and chilly nights in the park, Katie had seen nothing or no one other than average purse snatching criminals and police officers. Decent people didn’t venture into the park much after the sun went down but maybe that was the reasoning. If the wolf clans only fed on the criminal element…then who would care much if a few people disappeared here and there from time to time? Who would know when and where to find those people better than an attorney? Maybe all of them weren’t all that bad? If things didn’t change soon in order for the young girl to return home unscathed, she was beginning to think that she would have to do the same thing very soon. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time that she had delivered death to a human being. The only difference was that this particular man had been pointing a gun at her earlier in the evening. He had it coming. Again, her praying eyes opened slightly as she peered from side to side but, as before, there was nothing to be seen. Shifting slightly in the church pew, she returned to deep thoughts and requests for guidance and forgiveness for the events in her life’s horizon. Overhead through hidden speakers, a recording of chanting monk’s played that soothed her troubled soul. Even though it was being spoken in another language and she had no idea whatsoever what they were saying, it was a calming soundtrack to the mental movie of blood and carnage that was playing out in her head. She was trying everything possible to block those scary images from coming but it was no use. Upon her initial transformation, she had beaten McGee hands down because he had underestimated her. Jimmerson would be different. One of the lies, out of many, that her father’s mentor had explained to him was the fact that McGee had been the one to change him many years ago while on a camping trip in North Texas. According to the cryptic man and the majority of the werewolf legends, an infected person can be cured of their curse by tracking down and destroying the one responsible for bestowing the disease upon you .In reality, it had been the other way around and Jimmerson was merely attempting to clean up one of his ‘messes’ by killing the Sheriff.. With that being the case, no one was cured by Jessie McGee’s death. It was also the reason that McGee had allowed Jimmerson to live year after year through failed and numerous attempts on his life. If McGee killed Jimmerson, the Sheriff would’ve lost his powers and the ability to govern his criminal empire through fear and bloodshed. Ultimately, that was why Katie had journeyed to Manhattan. She wasn’t on a quest for answers or teachings. She was there to end it once and for all. With Jimmerson’s death…all would be set right once again. For years now, she had known that a normal life would be beyond her grasp as long as she carried her family’s burden. Time after time, she had turned boys away and put up her defenses upon their interest regardless of how much she admired the guy in return. What if she got carried away in the heat of the moment one night, transformed, and knocked the guy’s head clean off of his shoulders? What if eventually the relationship became serious and she had to reveal her deepest, darkest secret to the unsuspecting mate and he ran away in fear? What if she were to keep it a secret throughout the relationship only to reveal it suddenly when their first child began teething and killed the family cat? Is the curse even something that could be passed along through genetics? There were too many questions she didn’t have answers for but she cared little for discovering them. If she terminated the bloodline once and for all, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of the craziness that went through her head while staring at the ceiling deep in the dark night. Five long years of nothing but unanswered questions was enough. She was going to be cured or die trying. The other curse in her young life, other than the facts that she was a creature of the night with her late uncle’s undiagnosed tourette’s syndrome, was the fact that she had been passed along her biological mother’s physical features. Being five and a half feet tall and weighing a mere one hundred and twenty pounds, Katie had adopted her mother’s dirty blonde hair and athletic figure. It was getting harder and harder to remain hidden in a room full of men as she got older. Between genetics and the athleticism required to be a successful werewolf, nothing she ate stayed physically visible for any length of time. Her heightened senses could pick out easily which guy in the room was physically attracted to her and it sometimes made her sick to her stomach. As things developed in her favor during her last couple of years in high school, it got harder and harder to go to certain classes because of the bells and whistles going off in her head concerning how a few of the teachers truly felt about her. Luckily, her athletics coach was a woman but there were times where she wasn’t too sure about her feelings either. Most young girls that ended up this ‘lucky’ would flaunt their gifts to no end but all Katie wanted to do was hide it all. It did her no good whatsoever knowing that at any given time…she could be showing someone a lot more than what they bargained for. When she looked into the mirror, she couldn’t see what those around her coveted. All she could see was the animal within. The images of her past were beginning to invade her communication attempts with the all knowing and, though she tried, it was becoming more difficult to block them out. She could almost feel the frigid downpour of the October rain on her skin as she lay nearly helpless on the saturated ground of the Myrtle County fairgrounds. Her father’s almost lifeless body in werewolf form was twitching spastically only a few feet from her position and she could hear her foe loading his shotgun to deal out a swift end to the both of them. Five years later and fifteen hundred miles away, the piercing and searing pain of her father’s teeth dug deep within her arm’s flesh and all transformed to red. Dodging McGee’s gun as though she was no longer in charge of the destiny of her body, she pounced. The uncertain fear in his eyes revealed that he was no longer in control of the situation at hand. The taste of warm blood trickled down her throat for the first time and she howled into the pouring sky for the entire world to know of her victory… That was when the voice came. “What seems to be troubling you on this snowy night my child?” Katie’s mental bond with the savior was broken suddenly but she remained calm. She wasn’t quite sure how this individual was able to sneak up on her but from the sound of his voice, he meant no harm. He was merely curious and possibly offering help. At this point in time, she needed every bit that she could get. In a town full of eight million people coming and going, there was little time for any of them to offer kindness or advice. Whoever this gentleman was, he sounded both wise and sincerely concerned…and he was the first to do so since her plane had landed. “Nothing much” she replied, not wanting to reveal too much to the stranger. Not knowing of this individual’s intentions, she was going to attempt to stay as mysterious as possible. Granted, this man didn’t give off any vibe or aroma of something that intended her harm…but how many of those prowling the city at this hour had she truly encountered other than her father and Jessie McGee? Cautiously, she kept her eyes shut tight in the hopes that he would take the hint and go on about his business in the church. “I might’ve been born at night…but it wasn’t last night, my dear” the raspy, soft voice of the elderly gentleman continued “You’ve been sitting in this exact same spot every night for almost a week now. Boy trouble?” Even though it was a welcomed distraction from what Katie had come to know as ‘normal’ inside the confines of the cathedral over the past few nights, she wasn’t quite sure on what to reveal to this man. Unfortunately, his persistence had caused an answer on that subject to come to mind almost instantly. Fine. If he truly wanted to know…she was going to tell him. Perhaps it would be enough to give him the hint to keep moving about his business. "I don't do romantic relationships, mister.” She began. “Most people I've had an emotional attachment to have either died a horrible death in the past five years or had their lives severely altered beyond recognition. After that, all that's left is sex…and where does that leave me? They fall in love and I fall asleep most of the time. A basic friendship usually has to suffice but I would almost advise most people against doing that as well! They have no idea who I am and, half of the time…neither do I" Katie waited patiently for the inevitable inhale of the disgusted man or the awkward silence followed by footsteps away from her location. Neither of them came. “Young lady” the gentle voice began again “I’ve been alive for many, many years and if you think you can fool me into leaving with a comment like that…you’re wrong. If that was truly the way your mind worked…you wouldn’t be sitting here. You’d be at a bar instead.” Smiling slightly, Katie continued her vigil with the ground below her with head bowed. It was beginning to appear that her night couldn’t move forward without going into deep conversation with this man. A confession, so to speak. If the man truly wanted to do some digging…she knew a great place that needed a mental ditch or two. “Forgive me Father…for I have sinned.” She began. “I know dear” the old man replied “Haven’t we all at one time or another?” Katie’s smile began to grow a little bigger. He had no idea. She continued. “It has been a little over eighteen years since my last confession” she stated, holding back a giggle. Raising a bushy eyebrow to the heavens, the priest inquired further. “Eighteen years, my dear? You can’t be a day over eighteen yourself! Are you even Catholic?” “Well, that’s the issue” Katie spoke seriously “I was born into a family that was never much for a church-ish environment and my father is a Jewish man that is in denial…or at least that’s what my Uncle Johnny used to claim about him. I came into this place because it felt safe and wise. I really needed safety…and I really, really need some wisdom. Got any?” The old priest filled the empty, echoing cathedral with laughter that broke the reverent silence like shattering glass. This was the exact moment that Katie had been waiting for. As far as New York was concerned, she had yet to meet a friendly person that could fall victim to her southern charm and witty humor. If she ever got half the chance, she knew that it wouldn’t take much…but no one in this city stood still for longer than five seconds at a time. The priest was the first…and he was exactly the type of friend she needed. She was determined to make this man fall in love before the night was over. “I’m glad you liked that” she said cynically “because I worked terribly hard on it. Do you have any idea whatsoever of what it’s like to be a stranger in a strange land? An outcast among conformity? A freak among normalcy? If you don’t…then there is little chance that you’re going to be able to relate and help at all.” She felt the bench sink slightly as the now quiet priest sat beside her. A chill ran the length of her body from head to toe as he did so. This was the point in the conversation where things were about to turn into a more serious agenda or he was just going to move into a better position to place his holy hands around her neck and do the world a favor. Either way, she braced for the worst. After all, no one back home even knew of her location and there would be little chance of figuring out where to start looking for the body. Ultimately, if she felt hands…those hands were going to feel hair…and not the good kind that most men hope to feel when touching a young woman. Finally, the priest began to speak again revealing his intentions. A girl has to be prepared for all situations… “My dear, sweet, and weary traveler…these old eyes have seen much over the years. I doubt that there is much you could tell me or show me that would make me sprint out of here in terror. This is the Catholic faith after all. We believe in demons and exorcisms and all the things that go bump in the night that some religions in this country choose to ignore. From what I can gather of your essence, so to speak, I know that you’re not from around here and there is something slightly ‘different’ about you…but it’s nothing that I’ve never come in contact with before.” Now came the deep inhale that Katie had been expecting long before this moment. “I can sense the curse upon you, my dear, and I deeply sympathize.” He stated honestly “For someone so young to carry around so much, I don’t believe it’s fair. The Lord, however, truly works in mysterious ways…and you, my young child, are indeed one of His mysteries. Now…back to my original question. Why are you here?” Katie was tired of holding it back and was about to lay all of her cards on the table in a single slam. Far from home, ultimately alone, and with no one to offer a smidgen of help or advice on the matters at hand, she was going to burst if she didn’t get it all out soon. When it all came down to it, why not confess it all to a priest? Besides…he has to keep all of his secrets confidential, doesn’t he? “I’m from Texas” she started “I turned myself into a werewolf to save my father’s life five years ago and I was told that the curse could be lifted if you destroyed the source. The source is a powerful man that lives close by. I came here to kill him and lift my family’s curse for good. I can’t live with it anymore. One day, I want to have children and a family…and it’s going to be a little difficult to land a good husband if I have to explain to him that I could possibly lose control and rip his head off the first time we decide to get intimate…or I have to leave the house occasionally to go out into the woods to decapitate a wild animal so I don’t eat all of his poker buddies. I don’t know for a fact but I’m sure the curse can be passed genetically. It could be passed to my children and that’s a daycare newspaper headline that I’m not willing to read. My entire future and the futures of generations to come depend on my success right here, right now, so I guess what I meant to say was…forgive me father, because I’m about to do a whole lotta sinning.” Now came an even more awkward and extended silence from the receiving end of the conversation. She could only imagine what it was taking in order to process all of the strange information the unprepared man just received. Still, she felt a lot better being able to tell someone who she truly was and what she had on the plate before her. It was the first time that she had ever been able to do that with a complete stranger. “I knew that you were a werewolf from the moment you first walked into my church.” the priest stated after a long pause of deep reflection “Your kind have a particular smell to you but I haven’t sensed it in these halls in many a year. The creatures of the night don’t come in here often after all.” “It’s probably a good thing that most humans can’t recognize that smell you speak of or it would’ve been really hard trying to get a date to the senior prom” Katie chuckled, relieved. “Indeed” the priest joined her “but I jest slightly. God keeps few secrets from those that are truly faithful, my child, and he assisted with your identification a little bit.” Katie loved to hear conversations that helped to cement the existence of an all knowing being. There had been times in the past few years in which she had wondered if a real deity would allow such things to happen to his people such as the events of the Myrtle County Fair Grounds incident. It was time to switch tracks in the conversation. “Why would God allow this to happen? I mean my curse and all…” “God doesn’t control us, in my opinion” the old man interrupted “He allows us to do as we will and helps those in need that come to him humbly. Remember, my dear, because there is a real God above and all around us…there is also an all knowing, all powerful spirit that leads the forces of those that intend to do evil. Unfortunately, you fell victim to one of those instead. He’s here now, though, because you came to him in need. I doubt very seriously that he would ever turn away from someone as sincere and valiant as you.” “Valiant?” Katie asked. “When it comes down to it, you’re doing the work of the Lord by battling the forces of evil” he explained “It would appear that Mr. Jimmerson has traveled beyond his normal boundaries to do his handy work and I don’t think God is going to care much one way or the other if you were to quietly dispatch him. It would take one less thing off of his spiritual ‘honey-do’ list…if you catch what I’m saying.” Katie couldn’t believe that the wise old man sitting beside her already knew so much about what was going on in her life. Was Kurt Jimmerson really that well known for his doings? How many others locally had fell victim to his charm and false promises? How many other werewolves were there in New York City? “I can tell by your silence that you’ve been taken aback from my knowledge of the subject” the man spoke again “Yes, Kurt Jimmerson has been at this type of trickery for many years and you’re not the first individual to sit in this very seat and tell me their similar stories. The only thing is…where are they now? They never returned from an identical quest to tell me of their exploits and victory. At one time, even he, himself, sat here and confessed to me his wrong doings and aspirations but I knew I’d never see him again after that. The devil inside of him was much too strong of an ally to allow him to do so.” The nerves that Katie had calmed by entering the Holy sanctuary were beginning to act up once again from the priest’s speech. If his was a favored stop on the quest of those that had set out on her identical journey, then it didn’t shed much light and hope on the outcome. All those that had come before her had perished after this point. Very similar to Jimmerson’s quest to end McGee’s tyranny over the town of Twin Oaks, Katie herself had been the only one to win the battle that so many others had failed before her also. The only difference was that she had the element of surprise on her side that night and the Sheriff didn’t know what to expect. She had caught him off guard. This would not be the case when it came down to her east coast target. She was almost certain that he knew someone from the Liberman family was coming for him eventually. Hopefully, he wouldn’t expect that it would be young Katie. For all he knew or anyone else involved the in secret lives of lycanthropy, her father’s life was the only one thought effected by his antics back home. He was gone long before the final confrontation and her being infected had been a secret that Toby insisted on taking to the grave. Due to this…there was still hope. “So…Jimmerson confessed to you when he was first turned?” she asked curiously. “Oh no, my child” he answered sharply “I think he had been living with his curse for several years before he finally came to God for help with his way of thinking. I just think that his so called sharing of the power had gotten out of hand and someone had turned on him and challenged him for dominance. He was losing the struggle and he felt that this was his final chance at redemption.” Katie knew exactly of who the priest spoke of. “McGee” she answered suddenly “Jessie McGee. He was the Sheriff in my town back home and Jimmerson turned my dad to help deal with him. He’s the reason that I am who I am right now…sort of. Unlike my father, I had a choice in the matter. I chose to save his life and continue living myself. McGee wasn’t going to allow that to happen if I didn’t do so.” “So that would appear to be another internal struggle going on in your young mind” he said wisely “You wonder if the choice you made between dying or living with a curse was the right choice to make?” “Sometimes…” Katie answered unsure. She had often wondered if sacrificing her father’s life would’ve allowed her to live on several occasions. She had pondered the scenario that McGee would’ve let her go on living if he had been satisfied with Toby’s demise. Ultimately, that wouldn’t have been fair to anyone involved. Everything happened so quickly that night and she was being driven by the instinct to protect someone she loved. Knowing the Sheriff, he would’ve definitely killed her also just to keep his secrets from getting out. There was never an ounce of doubt in his eyes that night that he truly had every intention of dispatching her in the same way he planned on doing her father. She had gone with her gut and did what needed to be done. There was no other way. Was there? “I sounds to me that you did exactly what needed to be done in order for you to be sitting here entertaining me this evening” the priest picked up on her insecurity “You fought to live another day in the hopes that you could one day solve the problems at hand. I’m sure that your father thanks heaven every day that you did what needed to be done. Now, you’re here to make things right. Not only for yourself, but for him and those that are yet to come. You were noble that day and you’re being very noble now for being here. Never doubt that, young one. Never doubt that.” Still, up until this point, Katie had never opened her eyes to the wise old man that was offering the advice and comfort. It was much more soothing to hear his voice without being able to pinpoint it to a recognizable face. It was almost as though she had been speaking to the voice of God himself all along and she liked keeping it that way. In the end, she felt like that was going to be the only man to help her when things got to where she was intending for them to go. “I like talking to you, Father” she whispered quietly “You almost remind me of my own Grandfather from when I was a little kid…other than the fact that he was a grumpy old Jewish man that did nothing for our family because my did wouldn’t accept his faith. Still, he was a smart man.” Oh, I’m not all that smart” the priest chuckled again “I’ve just been around the block a time or two several times over many years. There is a fine line between knowledge and wisdom. I don’t know much…but what I do know…I know it well.” Katie paused again in the hopes that the man wouldn’t take any offense to what she was about to ask him. “You’re a ghost, aren’t you?” There was yet another, but expected long pause in the conversation as the ancient man was searching for the proper way to answer the question at hand. “You guys have a certain smell also” Katie added. “Do you spend a lot of time around ghosts?” the priest inquired as curious as ever. “My Uncle Johnny had helped me right after I changed but never showed up again after my dad married his girlfriend. I know. Jerry Springer stuff, right? Shortly after that, my mother showed up and she pops up here and there. Right now I’m sure she’s popping up in my temporary apartment a few blocks away waiting to grill me on where I’ve been and why I was gone for so long. I liked her much better when she was alive and could care less about what I do. Jimmerson had told my dad that he could only see the ghosts that he knew personally while they were living. Something about reciting the perverted lyrics to an Elton John song, I don’t know…it’s confusing, but we soon found out that he lied about that too. I see them all the time.” “He lies a lot” the man reassured her “and I’m sure that you’re going to find out soon enough that other things you thought you knew were complete falsities also.” This was something that Katie feared the most. If the theory of the curse reversal had been another concoction of the twisted mind of Kurt Jimmerson, all of this would be for nothing and it would almost spell certain death. He had tricked her father with every outing of his forked tongue and that knowledge had been passed on to her. As time went by and the curse took hold of their lives even tighter, they both began to realize that they truly knew nothing about the world they lived in and the rules that bound them. Every day was a learning experience. For Katie, today hadn’t been any different. “So…I’m probably going to be coming back here to see you quite a bit” Katie broke the ice again “and I don’t even know what to call you.” “I’m Father McCormack” the old priest introduced himself. “I’m Katie Liberman and it was a pleasure to meet you” she stated, finally opening her eyes to the blue tinted, transparent man sitting beside her “but tomorrow is another day and work comes early.” “Oh, I’m sure work is nothing compared to your late nights in Central Park in an attempt to find the clues you so desperately seek, young one.” He groaned With that note, Katie stood from her place of rest and passed through the man’s spirit on the way to the door. With a rush of chilled wind, she peered dreadfully into the snow covered night for any signs of danger that might be awaiting her. Pulling the wool hood from underneath her frantically blowing hair, she hid her face from both element and foe looking back on the helpful being one last time. “Thank you” she said “You’ll never know how much of a help you’ve been to me tonight” “And to you also, Katie Liberman” the priest replied “I don’t get many visitors that purposely interact with my old soul. Be safe.” “Always…” she winked, firmly shutting the door on her way into the night “Always…”

A Decade of Shadows Chapter 2

Then…
“We’re Under Here”

Years ago, a young and impressionable inventor by the now infamous name of

Thomas Edison had an irregular (for that period in time) and unusual theory that one of

his amazing creations could not only be considered a form of high value entertainment,

but also possessed the unlikely ability to intercept eerie, sometimes disturbing

communication from the other side. To all of you out there that cannot utilize the ability

to process context clues, this invention was called the “phonograph”.

How, some may inquire, does this intricate and most of the time underestimated

tool of our modern society serve as a telephone service to the nearly departed? Well, as

you may or may not know, sound waves are nothing more than an invisible form of

energy. Theoretically, when a spirit materializes, it causes an absence of energy in the

position in which it does so. This is why paranormal investigators claim to be coming in

contact with an entity when they experience a “cold spot” or a place where there is an

absence of heat in an otherwise heated area without the presence of a draft or cooling

source…because heat is another form of energy. In theory, regardless of whether it is a

residual haunting (events that are possibly trapped in some kind of time loop) or an active

haunting, ghosts can use sound wave energy to communicate. This communication is

commonly referred to as EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomenon) and can be picked up and

recorded with the most basic of recording devices, if in fact, you’re lucky enough to have

a spirit want to conversate with you. Now that I have a somewhat basic explanation of

EVP out of the way, I can continue on to the fun stuff, my first official investigation!

For months, I had been dying to begin what I had been dreaming of for

years. You see, being a young and impressionable child in the midst of mid eighties pop

culture heaven, you wanted to be one of two things when you grew up: A Jedi or a

Ghostbuster! Well, trying frantically, sadly, and unsuccessfully to move things with the

power of my mind had made the Jedi dream unobtainable. However, paranormal

investigation technology and popularity grows more everyday. There may not be

backpacks that fire beams of proton energy and one hundred foot tall marshmallow

sailors threatening to destroy our lives, but our televisions are bombarded with shows

detailing the chronicles of professional paranormal investigating organizations, no matter

how “hokey” some of them are. I personally think that one of my biggest and most

recent influences is an investigation group out of Rhode Island known as T.A.P.S. (The

Atlantic Paranormal Society). These guys go into places with reported paranormal

activity and try to “debunk” activity by giving occurrences a scientific and normal

explanation. However, when they do discover something that is unexplainable, the

footage is usually amazing…unlike some others who turn the camera and scream or

claim to be possessed. Getting a member of T.A.P.S. to say that a location is actually

haunted is like getting a three time scorned man to say “ I Love You “. There was only

so long that a television show could captivate my longing and I was literally dying to go

out and conduct these investigations on my own. Another of my greatest influences, of

course being my partner in everything that I do, my girlfriend was just as excited as I was

to begin this hunt into the unknown.

Early one afternoon as I was conducting my daily routine of suiting up for

work, I presented her with a spontaneous idea that I had concocted while showering,

which is where I have been known to come up with some of my most brilliant ideas. My

presentation contained the key words “tonight” and “cemetery” which, in fact, are two of

the words contained in the combination to unlock one of her most devious and seductive

grins. It had begun.

Something was missing, though. Knowing that neither of us would run

hysterically into the night screaming at the discovery of any type of paranormal event,

we decided to invite one of our female friends along, not only for the value of her

company, but for the fact that every Scooby Doo organization needs its own “Shaggy”.

She normally acts a little skittish towards these types of scenarios and I thought that it

would make the investigation more enjoyable if she were to come along…not to mention

that she owns all of the camera equipment. To my surprise she made not a whimper,

acting highly professional, and I personally hoped that she would remain the third

member of our team regardless of the barrage of personal criticism that I knew she would

have to endure if she decided to do so. With the plan in motion, I left for work, eagerly

awaiting the end of my shift to begin the fulfillment of my childhood dream of becoming

a paranormal investigator.

As we entered the darkened gates of McWright cemetery, the three of us

unanimously and simultaneously agreed that flashlights would have been an awesome

idea but were not readily available or obtainable in this wooded, country cemetery at

10:30 pm on a Sunday night. Once I extinguished the vehicle headlights, it seemed an

eternity before our eyes could adjust to the ambience of the moonlit cemetery. I pressed

“record” on my micro cassette recorder and began to recite aloud the place, time, and

date in which our investigation was being conducted but was suddenly distracted by the

hysterical laughter of my co-conspirators in this midnight intrusion of afterlife privacy.

Perhaps they believed I was taking this a bit too seriously? Perhaps I was, and regardless

of the personal experiences that I had witnessed over the past couple of years, there still

remained a bit of a skeptic in me, a belief that nothing would be discovered and all that is

“paranormal” would continue to remain a mystery to me revealing nothing. As we

walked along the white rock pathway that circled the perimeter of the weathered

headstones we came upon the landmark that made McWright remain in my mind as my

initial investigation choice. In the center of the cemetery lies an open air mausoleum

that, over time, had sunken into the ground revealing only about three feet of the walls,

the headstones, and a roof that now begins at chest level of the average man…which

means it begins at neck level for me! My girl snapped a photo on the digital camera, and

upon its appearance on the camera’s view screen, she noticed that it contained an “orb”

next to the roof of the sunken enclosure.


Some say that orbs are balls of spirit energy that can be digitally photographed

and are highly regarded by some paranormal investigators to be proof of the existence of

life after death. I, on the other hand, feel that some investigators go for years without

finding any other evidence and possibly even begin to falsify their findings. Orb

photograph, personally, is nothing more that a camera’s flash reflecting light from dust

particles or even nocturnal flying insects. Passing this oddity off as either of the above,

we pressed on into the darkness occasionally enduring the temporary blindness caused

by the flash of the camera. We began to hear human voices nearby; possibly from one of

the homes in the area wondering what was causing all of the flashing. It was at this point

we came to the decision that we should draw our maiden investigation to a close

before we inadvertently became the receivers of a shot gun blast by one of the curious

members of the living. Disappointed, I made the suggestion to take more photos and

recordings near the sunken mausoleum for the simple fact that it was the only spot that

we had encountered anything out of the ordinary, even though it was just an orb. (o.k.,

now I was reaching!) As we were venturing through the labyrinth of headstones, a bright

ball of light passed quickly a few feet above my head! I never said that I didn’t believe in

orbs that can be seen with human eyes!

“Did you just see that”? I asked the other two excitedly.

Luckily, I wasn’t the only one who had seen it and together we brainstormed to

figure out its origin. There was no rain in the forecast which ruled out lightening and

heat lightening was out of the question due to the fact that it was late October. We had

no flash lights and no pictures had been taken in quite a while. With a renewed sense of

enthusiasm, we continued towards the sunken structure.

When we reached the mausoleum, my girlfriend began to share with us a little of

the history of McWright cemetery and informed us that at one time there had been two

mausoleums, side by side, but one had mysteriously been destroyed by a fire long ago.

She recalled some of the writing on one of the headstones that had since been erased by

time and the elements.

“A Loving Wife, A Mother Dear, A Faithful Friend Lies Buried Here”. “Kind of

creepy, huh?” she inquired.

We shuffled back to the car to put an end to the events of the evening and I spoke

aloud to all that were listening.

“If anyone has anything to say, you’re running out of time.”

I lit a cigarette and, one last time, did a 360 degree viewing of the moon

drenched, peaceful landscape. When it’s my time, I thought, this is where I’d love to be.

No city lights to block the view of the stars, and nothing to hear but chirping crickets, the

distant howls of a pack of coyotes, and the chatter of country dwellers loading their guns

and wondering what is really going on in that cemetery down the road. Receiving

another set of twin laughs from my female companions, I spoke aloud into the recorder

“end of recording”. I started the car and turned towards the other two, congratulating

them for we had now had our ghost hunting cherries popped. I activated the headlights

and off we sped into the darkness of normalcy.

Once we returned home, the audio tape was rewound to the beginning and we

huddled close together, eagerly awaiting the presence of anything that didn’t belong,

anything that was not spoken by any of us, and anything that was paranormal. We

attentively listened and, half an hour into the playback, the only discovery that I had

made is that everyone I know has been right all this time: I am, indeed, the cockiest

person that I’ve ever had the displeasure of listening to for half an hour! I have since

apologized to almost everyone I know and even a few complete strangers. With my ears

on fire, the playback continued.



As we came to the spot in the audio tape in which we encountered the orb, there

was no type of disturbance caught on the tape that we could decipher and nearing the end

of the recording our morale began to plummet. We continued, listening ever closer,

waiting for anything to reveal itself.

“A Loving Wife, A Mother Dear, A Faithful Friend Lies Buried Here, pretty

creepy, huh”?

“Carla”

STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“What was that? Who in the heck said that?”

We ran the tape back again and again and clearly, each time, a male voice whispers the

word “Carla”. Our spirits soared to new heights as we had discovered our own evidence

of any otherworld existence. We had just captured our first EVP! High fives and hugs

all around. Thinking that this was the pinnacle of the night’s findings, we settled in to

endure the remainder of the recording, not knowing that the best, if not the eeriest

moment of my life, was merely minutes ahead.

“If anyone has anything to say, you’re running out of time”.

This is it. We had captured an EVP and were ecstatic about it, believing that

nothing more awesome than that could have ever been found in our initial data

collection.

“We’re Under Heeeeere”

Electricity engulfed my spine and both our jaws fell open as the ghostly words

were spoken again and again as the segment was repeatedly rewound and reviewed. A

distinct female voice upon my taunting had stated to us the obvious explanation as to

why no one could hear her speak….

”We’re Under Here”.

We were no longer people who had an interest in hunting the paranormal. In two

hours time, we had been christened by the voices of the unknown, given the title of

paranormal investigators. Not just any paranormal investigators, mind you, but such that

had obtained evidence. Our own evidence!! I have since played these recordings to

friends and co-workers, skeptics and hard core believers, with the results resembling a

shocking likeness to my own upon first discovery. I have so wanted to post these on the

web site to share with the world but I’ve hesitated due to the fear of an investigator being

less fortunate and copying them and claiming them as their own.

We needed a name. A clever name, like so many others, that could spark easy

recognition and, when the time came, would look awesome on a T-shirt!

Thus, P.R.I.N.T. was born: Paranormal Research and Investigations of North

Texas. I haven’t yet discovered the time to return to McWright to see if I can find the

identity of “Carla” because we need to go in the daylight hours to be able to read the

headstones…not to mention that neither of us had gathered the nerve to enter a sunken

mausoleum in pitch black conditions. Not yet!

It had begun:

P.R.I.N.T. is a non-profit organization that is dedicated to furthering the research and exploration into the scientific aspect of paranormal investigation. We are not psychics, nor are we "Ghost Busters". However, we believe that there is something more out there than what the powers-that-be have led us to believe. If you believe that you have a paranormal problem, or blessing depending on if you're one of those "glass is half full" kind of people, we would be honored to assist you in discovering and verifying the activity in a scientific and rational manner. To initiate an investigation, leave us a personal message containing your name, a phone number that you can be reached at, and a brief description of the activity. From there we will conduct a telephone interview to determine if your problem requires further investigation. Please do not falsify information or contact us because you are a skeptic that finds those sort of things humorous. We take our work and beliefs very seriously. By no means will you be charged for any of our services. If you have not experienced paranormal activity personally but know of a particular location that has, please feel free to contact us also. It's all about discovery and the quest to further our knowledge into the unknown to share with one and all. Until then....Keep believing.

Now…

Wow…how naive we were. A borrowed digital camera and a cheap tape recorder. I actually still have the tapes in my equipment bag but I haven’t listened to them in ages…probably because we’ve uncovered a ton of evidence since then that runs circles around a few simple EVPs. Equipment wise, we roll out with multiple digital night vision cameras and several digital audio devices now…not to mention a few other really sweet toys that have been invented since that fateful night. Clients are required to submit to a video taped interview that is reviewed by professional lie detectors before we will even step foot in their house instead of a simple phone call. For the record, I think T.A.P.S is a joke now. Sometimes I yearn for the simpler times though. Trial and error…

A Decade Of Shadows Chapter 1

This is a compilation of my journal entries as a paranormal investigator over the last decade. These were originally released by Publish America Publishing years ago under the titles "A Ghost Hunter's Journal" and "We Believe You". I am re-releasing them as a Kindle exclusive soon with updated 'Now' sections at the end of each chapter to explain where things have gone since writing them. Here is chapter 1. Enjoy.

Then…

“The Converted”

In the beginning, I didn’t believe her. Sure, I had my share of unexplained events

that had occurred around me, but I could always find plausible explanations such as

alcohol, illegal drugs, sleep deprivation, or second hand information. For instance, an

uncle of mine witnessed my deceased Great-Grandmother floating above him while he

lay sleeping. A mere five seconds later, a house not more than fifty yards away from us

exploded due to a gas leak or a drug lab…take your pick. Did the house really explode?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I witnessed the aftermath with my own eyes on several occasions

because they took their sweet time cleaning up the debris. They later rebuilt it and rented

it out. I always wanted to go inform the new tenants just to scare the living heck out of

them. Next question, did my uncle see a ghost? Who knows! Explanation: He was

quite the little expert when it came to the subject of the exploration of the effects of

illegal substances. Hey, man, it was the eighties!

My next unexplained experience came when I was but a young lad with

my hormones raging and stupidity at an all time high! My best friend and I, probably no

older than fourteen if I recall correctly, were lying on our backs in a drainage ditch

waiting for my latest conquest’s parents to go to sleep so that I may venture through an

open window and lay waste to the spoils of their daughter. O.K., you win, I was a virgin

and only wishing that the above mentioned scenario would play out identically to the way

I had dreamed it up. All jokes aside, we were lying on our backs, staring blankly and

lethargically up at the midnight sky when suddenly we began to bear witness to an

awesome meteor shower. The freaked out part about this particular event was the fact

that there was one object, among the thousands that were streaking towards our

atmosphere that was a lot larger, significantly brighter, and moving at about half the

speed of its celestial brothers. Suddenly, the object stopped dead in the middle of its

decent and hovered completely motionless while the remainder of the heavenly debris

continued to plummet all around it. Without warning, the hovering object shot skyward

in the opposite direction and out of sight. Needless to say, the only things remaining in

our site of temporary refuge were the shape of two young boys that remained in the

flattened grass. Was it a UFO? I can’t say. I had only seen stars “fall” before, not

change their minds in mid-drop and return home. Explanation: We were drunk as

skunks! The two of us had raided an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels from his parent’s

liquor cabinet and had easily consumed at least half of it before we began the trek.

Shortly upon our return, we ascended his ancient childhood tree house and accidentally

caught it on fire with the remainder of the whiskey. Man, you’ll never have friends like

that again. Sometimes, I really miss him.


We skip ahead in time about four years from that fateful night in which I

unexpectedly got to try my luck at performing the duties of an amateur fire fighter, to

find myself in my senior year of high school. Living with my grandparents in the same

house that my uncle had witnessed the floating apparition, strange noises and things of

that nature were a pretty regular occurrence. I thank the powers that be everyday that

those unexplained noises in the night were not being emitted from my grandparent’s

bedroom, causing some type of repressed erectile dysfunction that would probably still

effect me to this very day. My uncle and his girlfriend were sitting in the living room

with me when we began to hear footsteps in the hallway coming towards us. My only

thought was that my grandmother had been removed from a dead sleep either by the

sound of a blaring television or the ear-piercing chuckle of our female companion.

When the footsteps reached our location, we simultaneously turned towards the doorway

to receive our latest scolding and to be reminded of what time it was, regardless of how

may clocks were contained in that particular room of the house. We were pretty

awestruck to discover that we were blankly staring into the darkness of the hallway. Our

puzzled stares were quickly transformed into frightened faces as a bluish colored,

transparent hand reached into the room as though what remained of this being lay in

waiting around the corner. The girl screamed and the hand was no more, now being

replaced by my real grandmother who was now cutting us to the bone by an evil gaze for

taking her away from whatever childhood backwoods farmhouse of a dream that we had

inadvertently awoke her from. You can never quite forget the unmistakable scent of

Menthalatum, cold-cream, and unconditional love. I miss her, too. Since her death, my

grandfather has re-married and, at one time before an awesome renovation took place,

had put the house up for sale. It was offered to me just to try to keep it in the family, but

I refused it. I no longer can tolerate a Texas summer without central air conditioning, and

quite frankly, as much as I would love to, would absolutely hate to be summoned into the

kitchen late one evening because the ghost of my grandmother had whipped me up her

famous meatloaf, fried potatoes, red beans, and cornbread. I take that back…two wives

later and I still can’t get a woman to duplicate her awesome cooking. She was loved, and

she is missed.

The question that weighed heavily on my mind was: Did the three of us just have

a supernatural encounter? Were there spirits running amok somewhere in the quaint and

quiet dwellings of my grandparent’s home, deep in the dark and eerie nights when only a

select few could possibly discover their presence? After all, if you catch an old person

awake at midnight, they’re not your average, ordinary old geezer and probably have some

interesting tidbits of life saving information that could possibly assist you in your

whirlwind of a life, if not save it someday. This being the case, immediately snatch up

this vessel of ancient wisdom and entertain them with some type of alcoholic beverage,

for they have earned it, two or three times over. But, to the question at hand: Did we see

a ghost? Explanation: We were stoned out of our ever loving minds! Will I ever be able

to explain the unexplainable without blaming it on the effects of controlled substances?

Just wait, there’s more!


We jump ahead five more years and I’ve become someone’s ex-husband and the

father of the world’s most beautiful little girl. Then, I accidentally get the rebound girl

pregnant, and BLAM, I am the father of two of the most beautiful girls that I have ever

had the privilege of laying eyes on. As if I didn’t have enough joy in my life, the

rebound girl had a daughter already. I was in love with this one from the first day I saw

her. (The daughter, not the rebound girl, to hell with the rebound girl!!!!) She was so

tiny and adorable, and she crapped all over a fifty dollar silk tie that I happened to be

wearing at the time. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is! In my early twenties, with

three daughters and no wife, I made an irreversible, drunken decision that

would change the course of my life forever. Not only did I wake up one morning in the

Army, but I awoke more confused and lonely than I had ever recalled being before. In

times like these most men turn to God…and so did I. Military church was not at all like I

expected. I had attended service to find shelter, advice, and possibly some kind of

loophole in the whole military experience that could provide for me a way out of this

voluntary hell hole. All I got in return was a “holy” explanation as to why God wanted

me to follow the orders of my superior officers, straight to my own death if they so

desired it. I believed exactly at that moment that God let me down. Spiritually lost, I

mentally wandered desperately seeking answers into the unknown. Then in a fateful turn

of events, I came across a fellow soldier sitting on a stone wall staring with undivided

attention at a small patch of ground. When I asked him what he was doing, he informed

me he was studying an ant bed. Being the jerk that I was, I inquired as to why in the heck

someone would want to burn their free time by watching insects? He told me that it

made him understand nature better, and that it helped him to better understand the way of

the goddess. He later loaned me a book titled “Wicca, For the Solitary Practitioner” by

Scott Cunningham (Llewellyn Publishing). All at once, my entire life seemed to fall into

place and the next thing I knew, I was watching ants also. I found the drive, strength

and courage to remain in the Army, but with one major drawback. I came home and

married the rebound girl.

Enter Ft. Huachuca, Arizona. A beautiful yet rustic military installation nestled

deep in the valley of the Huachuca Mountains, some fifteen minutes away from

Tombstone. I was in a nature lover’s heaven! With nature, however, comes the presence

of spirits and spirits, in the hands of a young, curious and inexperienced student in the

ways of Old, can be a dangerous combination. The thing that needs to be noted about the

nature of spirits is their origin. Ft. Huachuca was the home base of the Buffalo Soldiers

in the late 1800’s and they are famous for their courageous duty during the infamous

Mexican and Indian wars. There were a lot of lives lost in that desert, and psychic

energy built up over time can be a tempting lure. Ft. Huachuca had more domestic

violence incidents and divorces than any other military installation in the world. A lot of

people believed it was due to the simple fact that all of the military housing was located

on land that was used for both the living areas and burial grounds of the Indians that were

eradicated from that area. Now, the thing to be noted about witchcraft is that its user

thirsts greedily for knowledge, for with knowledge comes power and with power comes

the ability to accomplish awesome feats of the supernatural. Eventually, the beginner

books no longer satisfy.

Midnight, Halloween. You can see where this is all leading, even if you’ve never

watched the movie Poltergeist. Reading through some advanced incantation, something

was set free in my home. Over the next year, it continued to scare my young daughters

and the rebound wife even claims to this very day that a female apparition materialized

and actually spoke to her crying desperately for help. Using the power of the ancient

religions, did I actually conjure up some dangerous and evil spirit? Explanation: Little

children have awesomely vivid and powerful imaginations and my wife at the time was

on some serious drugs. Long after I’d given up on the partaking of illegal substances, my

immature military buddies found companionship in the form of my young burnout of a

wife which, in fact, stayed pretty much baked out of her bleached blonde mind on a daily

basis. Of course frickin ghosts were talking to her!



Now you can plainly see why I had remained a bit of a skeptic for so many years.

I never had tangible evidence to back up any of the paranormal experiences that had

occurred in either my own life or in the lives of my friends and family. I stopped

practicing the craft; however, I remain a faithful holder in the beliefs of natural co-

existence and conservation. Another child, another divorce, and a failed career later,

something amazing happened.

I ran into a girl that I had not seen in years. A girl that had been an intricate and

very special part of my life for as long as I could possibly remember. Recently

weathering the storm of a romantic relationship gone horribly wrong, we clung to one

another for sanctuary. Anyone who owns half of a brain and believes in romantic fate

can figure out the rest of that storyline, but what I would like to do now is skip far away

from the details of my past because I think you can gather the type of person that you’re

dealing with by now. If not, stop reading now because this is actually where it begins to

get complicated. The “her” that is mentioned in the very first line of this work of literary

lunacy is, in fact, my girlfriend. One night, after she had moved in with me, she began to

tell me a story. According to her, she had been stalked by a spirit over the course of her

entire life. Nothing more than a large shadow in the shape of a man, it had followed from

her youth in California, to every home she had ever settled in locally. Imagine my

surprise to discover that this, by all means, was not a part of her creative subconscious.

Our spiritual houseguest first appeared to me late one evening while she and I

were camped out for a cozy evening on the sofa, watching whatever visual junk that was

being offered by our local cable distributor, when she whispered for me to look in the

doorway of our bathroom. As a bolt of frightened energy strategically worked its way

from my feet to my spinal column, I came to the eerie realization that my uncle had at

one time witnessed my long departed great grandmother floating inches from his face,

that I could have possibly witnessed an unidentified flying object while lying in a ditch

down a country road, that myself and two others had once been on the receiving end of a

ghostly handshake, and that I, quite possibly released an evil spirit into my old house that

threatened my children and had conversations with my ex wife just by reading a few

simple verses that can be found on the pages of witchcraft books that are sold by the

thousands in bookstores nationwide. Not to mention that I, one hundred percent stone

cold sober was staring at an actual ghost! So, being the man that I am, I mustered up the

courage to do what any red blooded figure of masculinity would do given a similar

situation. I threw back my shoulders, tightened my arms, and ran towards the entity!

However, as I arrived closer to its location it was no longer visible. When I reached the

exact spot in which the bastard had spiritually taunted me, a sudden feeling of extreme

and bitter cold came over me causing every hair on my body to stand at electrical

attention. Now, armed with my trusty vacuum cleaner, I swore at the now empty corner

promising to suck him up if he had the balls to show himself again. He did, time and

time again, over the period of a year. Sometimes, he appeared during some highly

awkward situations. I’m here to tell you from first hand experience that seeing a ghost

during the course of committing unspeakable acts can make you lose concentration faster

than if your girlfriend’s mother had walked in and caught you…depending on how hot

your girlfriend’s mom is.

When we relocated to a larger apartment on the opposite side of town, I was

curious to see if our shadow stalker would again follow suit and travel alongside her to

our new dwelling. Without missing a beat, the sightings began within a week but this

time there was an added bonus (if you consider strange phenomena a bonus). After

finally getting unpacked and settled in I was wakened one night by the feeling of being

touched by small cold hands, accompanied by an innocent and childish giggle. When I

had finally taken all I could stand, I sat up in my bed and yelled loudly

“For Heaven’s Sake, Will You Frickin Stop!!!!!!!”

No sooner had I done so, the meanest sounding and loudest evil hissing noise that I had

ever experienced came from the direction of the giggling like I had just stomped on the

tail of the world’s largest cat. In the far corner of the bedroom stood a small shadow, half

the size of the other, cowering like a scared child. Suddenly, the shadow jumped and

disappeared through the ceiling. Where did this one come from? One of my developing

theories is that the spiritual energy of our shadowy hitchhiker somehow woke a sleeping

entity that had lay dormant in the new place in which we were living. Or, perhaps, the

spirit was already there before we arrived, and is possibly lending strength to our original

buddy because of the fact that he is no longer lurking in the shadows but de-

materializing when I get too close. Recently, I’ve witnessed him darting down well-lit

hallways and materializing close by me, unexpectedly, just to make sure that the living

daylights are officially scared out of me. To boot, our young child spirit, which has now

been recognized as a female, is no longer a shadow but an illuminated being with

recognizable features that enjoys making appearances at the foot of our bed.

Why is this happening to us? Why were the two of us being chosen to play the

part of some type of paranormal magnet? Somehow I’m going to find out. I needed

answers.

I never meant to take things this far. After having my first unexplained paranormal experience, we decided to start ghost hunting as a hobby. As far as the writing goes, it was always a way to pass the time and express my feelings through twisted little short stories and poetry. I never knew I’d go public with it because, when I first began, I never really had any subject matter to write about that could hold a person’s interest. I honestly don’t recall at exactly what point it all got out of hand.
My name is Chad. As you already know from even glancing at the cover of this literary journey, I am a ghost hunter. What you are about to read is the documentation from the journal that I wrote during my first year as a paranormal investigator. None of the following information has been altered and none of the evidence we uncovered has been falsified or exaggerated.
When I first co – founded the group that I belong to, P.R.I.N.T. (Paranormal Research and Investigations of North Texas) it was originally meant to be and unusual and cool way to pass the spare time. At first, even though I had encountered a paranormal event that couldn’t be explained by alcohol or drug usage or even severe exhaustion, I was still convinced that all the paranormal shows on television were completely full of it. I wasn’t trying to say that I didn’t believe in ghosts, I just wanted to prove that all of the televised EVP and spirit photographs were fake. I was wrong.
I grew up and lived the majority of my life in the mid sized North Texas town of Greenville. It was the home of Audie Murphy (the most decorated soldier of WWII), Collin Raye (a country singing superstar) and twenty six thousand of the most conservative non believers that you’ll ever come across.
Greenville was the center of the cotton industry in this area long ago during the days of slavery and beyond. We had a baseball team that played and won, I think, against the New York Yankees, burned a man accused of rape on the steps of the courthouse, and boasted a sign that hung near the town square that read ‘Welcome to Greenville: The blackest land, the whitest people’. Trust me, this place has multiple skeletons in their municipal closet that some people don’t want discovered. You figure it would be a cool place to find something unusual.
My co – founder Shahnez ‘Nez’ Ragosino moved here from California when she was very young. Through some unseen circumstances we became the best of friends growing up, coming and going with other relationships until we both ended up taking things to the next level several years later. Her husband and my wife both had bad habits of sharing the cold side of the pillow with various people other than the one they were married to. You could say that we had something in common. We hated cheating, lying, and abusive spouses. It was the perfect way to start a relationship. When she moved in, she unintentionally brought along the paranormal friend mentioned above. Now, I’m hooked.
The hard part in all of this was making people in such a conservative town to take us seriously. According to local belief, ghosts do not exist within the city limits of Greenville. When we started out, we were scheduling places to investigate on our own. I would come home afterwards and document what we found on my web page and the few friends that I had would comment and anxiously await the next adventure. Four hundred friends, four thousand readers, two radio talk show interviews, and a years full of investigations later, we’re networking with over three hundred different paranormal investigation groups world wide to find the answers to the unknown. Needless to say, we don’t have to schedule our own adventures anymore.
I’d like to think that we accomplished what we originally set out to do by proving to the local community that there is the possibility that things exist outside of human comprehension. Its something that has slowly came to pass with the select few but there are some minds you can never change. To these people, what we’re doing is wrong and there’s no way to make it right. We’re the epitome of all that is evil. Even if we somehow landed a television gig and became loved by millions, we’d still be loathed entirely in this town.
Well, I think I’ve set you up to continue the rest of this journey on your own. I seriously hope that you enjoy reading about this little life of ours as much as we enjoyed living and writing it. Even if you’re not a true believer, maybe before it’s all said and done you’ll hopefully raise an eyebrow to the events that have occurred around us and the evidence that we’ve uncovered. We hope that the next time you visit or drive by a cemetery, you’ll ponder the fact that there might be something more going on there other than growing grass and weathering head stones. We hope that when you visit an old house that you’ll see beyond the dust and age and recognize the history and the soul of the house itself. This is a way of life and a gift that I never once asked for. My life and my beliefs changed forever suddenly and without warning.
There are times when I look back on my life, a different life, and remember fondly when I didn’t have to lie to my children and tell them that ghosts and things are all in their head. There was a time when I didn’t lead a secret life and hide it from my conservative friends and family. Those times are gone forever. In the beginning, I didn’t even want Nez’s name involved in this. You’ll notice that she’s referred to as my partner, co – founder, and girlfriend for quite some time as you begin reading.
To the skeptics, keep in mind that I didn’t choose the entities, they chose me. You’re time could come sooner than you think when they choose you also. To the believers, keep believing. You’re the only ones who can vouch for me and prove that I’m not a complete psychopath that is suffering from reoccurring hallucinations.
This is a ghost hunter’s journal. Feel free to walk in my shoes but don’t forget where you found them. Some day soon, I’ll need to strap them on again to continue the journey.

Now…

If I’d only known back then, back when I first wrote that journal entry, what I know today…

The Legend Of The Smoking Cowboy...

To the many of you that have been following my little escapades over the past seven years…this may not come as much of a shock to you. To the many more that really have no idea what I'm about and who I really am…I hope you enjoy this…and I hope it creeps the living hell out of you. Since 2004, my best friend and I have been vigorously investigating the paranormal because of separate incidents in our lives that pretty much made us both ‘obsessed’. We've investigated just about every local cemetery and claimed haunted house in our local area and even went as far as successfully influencing the powers that be that we deserved a night alone in Six Flags Over Texas to investigate claims of hauntings in the park that date all the way back to the 1960's! It's been a fun ride. However, in October of 2010 the two of us tied the knot and ceased to be business partners. We became husband and wife. One of the things I promised myself upon saying 'I do' was that I was going to be less of a careless adventurer and more of a husband over our first year of marriage…just to see if I could remember how 'normal people' lived. This meant that I wouldn’t be running crazily after every claimed haunting and every creepy cemetery that I came in contact with and no spending month after month pecking out another novel…at least until our one year anniversary in October 2011. As you can see per the title of this rant…it didn’t last. We were bored out of our freaking minds and eventually came to the conclusion that we could care less how normal people lived! After all…the two of us are far from being normal people and there is something about being all alone, miles away from civilization in the darkness, in places where some have claimed to experience pure hell. That feeling of isolation and terror…nothing can compare to it. Now that I’ve got the explanations out of the way…I can get to the meat and potatoes of this whole scenario. Next time…pay attention from the beginning and we won't have to backtrack?

So…over the past seven years, we've spent night after night in this beautiful country cemetery hoping to catch a glimpse of what some have called 'The Smoking Cowboy'. After all, I was informed by a member of the Money family a few years ago that they didn’t want their cemetery associated with 'people like us' so the 'Goat Man Legend' was out of the question. Dear mean people…bite me on my three published novels and get over yourself! In other words, the cowboy would have to suffice. Supposedly, three different people that have never spoken to one another have all witnessed the darkened figure of a cowboy smoking a cigarette in the darkness at a local grave yard that scared them to the point of pissing their pants and running away screaming. Sweet. Sounds like fun! I love pissing in my pants almost as much as I adore screaming and running! Where do I sign up for this? (Oh…by the way…I’m not going to make it public record which cemetery this is due to the fact that it’s vandalized enough as it is without some dumb ass kids looking for something to do on summer vacation and coming by and knocking over some headstones. I wouldn’t want adults going out there getting in trouble by the law either. I am the man…I have special privileges lol. If you really must know though…you can always beg me…) For seven long years, in between the countless other investigations that we’ve conducted, we’ve gone to this special place repeatedly with different team members in the hopes of flushing out this mythical figure. I discovered quickly that it wasn’t an urban legend because no one else I asked had ever heard of it before. These three people might’ve actually had a strange experience! We had to know. Investigation after investigation occurred there year after year with some of them producing little results and other’s causing head injuries. (For details…read Chad Miller’s ‘A Ghost Hunter’s Journal’ and ‘We Believe You…A Ghost Hunter’s Journal Continues’ – shameless plug) We never saw anything that resembled a cowboy…just headstones in the darkness and an occasional demonic shadow chasing you step for step. I wish I was kidding. Shortly after my six month absence due to nuptials…My new wife, an investigator in training by the name of Jake, and I journeyed towards the setting sun and an approaching storm to spend some quality time with an imaginary cowboy that has rudely never walked up to any of us and introduced himself. From the time we entered the cemetery gates, the three of us stumbled crazily like drunken pirates due to the fact that our equilibrium was unexplainably being affected. Was it the storm that was coming…or was something legitimately wrong with this place? After an hour had passed and the millionth lightning strike had struck…the three of us walked simultaneously towards a familiar grove of trees in the spacious cemetery fighting monotony. From about fifty yards away, my loving bride noticed the flicker of a match or lighter in the distance illuminating the dark of the gathered trees. Jokingly, I asked what the possibilities of it being the legendary cowboy was….especially since individuals had followed us there in the past wearing sheets with eye holes cut out. Oddly enough, we all almost witnessed a real ghost that day because I rarely travel into dark and creepy places without a .357 on my side. Call me funny…but it would’ve been convenient to kill one of my friends in the middle of a cemetery. Think before you do, ladies and gentlemen…think before you do. Granted, it was funny after about an hour had passed but I had never been so angry in my life. This time, no one knew we were coming and unfortunately I had left the gun at home. As we drew closer, the three of us stopped dead in our tracks in unison. I didn’t even have to ask if they saw it also. I could tell that they did by the quickened breathing. In the midst of the shadowed trees stood a figure in the darkness sporting the brim of a cowboy hat where its head should’ve been. Six feet tall at least, we stood at the ready for anything…not daring to cross the threshold of the trees. Immediately, the electromagnetic frequency detector in my hand began to react violently proving that a paranormal event was indeed at hand…or the shadowy figure in the darkness had a powerful cell phone. (Before anyone says anything…our cell phones were off. This wasn’t our first rodeo.) Tired of the standoff…I moved in for the kill, so to speak, and the figure immediately darted into the darkness. With the feeling now back to my legs and our blood pumping madly, I gave chase to the next set of trees in hopes of viewing the phenomenon again. Unbeknownst to me…my darling bride that had stayed behind had been overwhelmed by a feeling of unseen force and her body slumped to the ground. Sitting there in a daze, a figure hovered over her victoriously at his deception but vanished once again at the approach of our trainee. After everything was over, she described the feeling to me as being that of ultimate sadness and hopelessness. For the first time in ages, she was legitimately frightened. Honestly, so was I. Unprepared from our absence of investigating and without the majority of our equipment to record the scenario…we exited the cemetery for safety reasons in order to regroup and research. Back in the comfort of home, with only our own ‘well known inside and out’ ghost to bother us, I thought to myself that there was no way whatsoever that I would’ve made it through an entire year without putting myself or someone I care about in a precarious or dangerous situation and been able to live with myself. This is who we are and what we do. Why deny ourselves what we consider to be normalcy? Just because the ones that persecute and point fingers at us can’t fathom the opportunity of being in the presence of something amazing doesn’t agree with what we do isn’t a good enough reason to be someone that I’m not. Actually, the majority of them do wish for these feelings…they just give it another name to make themselves feel better and be viewed as ‘normal’ through the eyes of the judging public. I’m sure that soon, every single one of them will venture out to experience the grandeur of the Great White Buffalo that was born just outside of my hometown that is supposed to signal the beginning of the end of days. Guess what, ladies and gentlemen? That IS a paranormal experience by true definition of the word…whether you like it or not. Hell…our smoking cowboy doesn’t even have a movie deal yet and the damn buffalo has two of them! From now on…you be ‘you’ and I’ll be ‘me’. Give me ghosts any day. Ghost shit is much easier to clean than buffalo. I’m sure of it.

Sealed Fates...

Being a paranormal investigator can sometimes become tedious and repetitive to the point that you would love to do nothing more than hang up your EMF meter and never look back. On very rare occasions however, you come across those little investigations where your discoveries are enough to keep you in the game a bit longer and initiating a hunger, a proverbial fuel to the fire, that makes you quest for more. Sometimes the hidden and unknown histories behind the investigation itself can be more intriguing than the actual findings.

If by strange occurrence one day you find yourself heading east of Dallas on a mission to explore the inbreeding capitols of the country, you will come to a town called Greenville. Now, at this point my advice to you, the uninformed reader, is that you roll up your windows and lock your doors for the fear of being sucked in and trapped by the invisible force field that has held me captive here for as long as I can possibly remember. I’ve made it as far west as Los Angeles and was still somehow sucked back into its bloody claws of despair and mediocrity. If that chance should occur, playing the role of the weary traveler, that you become a slave to the needs of the human body known as extreme fatigue or hunger this place looks as though it could be a welcomed beacon in the endless night that is Interstate 30. Don’t let it fool you.

As our tiny group of rag tag paranormal investigators began to grow in popularity and recognition, we were approached by the owners of a small bed and breakfast on the outskirts of this prison of despair that some call a town. It was no longer open to the public and was serving as nothing more than a home for the couple, providing a human being’s necessary requirement for sanctuary and shelter with rooms that had not so much as been slept in for countless years. They told us that they had ghosts in the old home and who were we to deny them the services that we so graciously had wanted to supply to this community since my co-founder and I first concocted this crazy idea of being ghost hunters. In all reality of the situation, the majority of this community fears and hates anything that isn’t represented within the walls of one of it’s hundreds of churches that are contained inside the city limits and it was highly difficult back then to find an investigation. There’s no way we would’ve said ‘no’!
At that particular time in this otherworldly hobby, we didn’t want to know any details about the places we were investigating for fear that it would influence our decisions and results. We entered the house blindly and walked the floors of this home with no agenda, snapping numerous photographs of the countless dust covered antiques and asking questions into the unknown aimed at entities that we knew absolutely nothing about. The owner’s stayed outdoors and gave us total reign of the inside. They were already well aware of what they had there and were just waiting for us to exit the home to fill us in on what they already knew. After a few hours of recorded audio and video data had been collected and we could no longer walk in the same footsteps again for fear of the burnout effect, we packed up our belongings and headed in their direction. This is the story of the “Iron Skillet Inn”.

Way back in the days when the North Texas cotton barons ruled this part of the state, was a young girl that resided here whose lover was one of the founder’s of a very popular soft drink company...which shall remain nameless for the sake of law suits and finger pointing. I will say that this particular beverage is bold enough to carry a prefix at the beginning of it’s title so at least you’ll have the general idea of what I’m talking about while leaving myself a back door clause in case the before mentioned fingers happen to ever find me. The two were eventually married and they lived happily ever after, or so the general public and the local history books would like to have you believe. Not unlike the marriages of today but totally unheard of in the early decades of the 1900’s, the relationship came to a screeching halt when the soda entrepreneur discovered that a young, Jewish business man had bumped him unexpectedly out of the relationship. In an effort to express his undying love for this young woman, the Jewish man built an extravagant home for her, for those times, and everything was kosher, no pun intended. This is where the story gets interesting.

Before small town high society could even blink, the soda heir and the young bride were an item again and the young business man who had built the house was nowhere to be found. To this very day, not a soul is aware of his whereabouts. Passed down from owner to owner over the years, it’s rumored that he was forever quieted by the construction of a fireplace in the home that is made out of materials that are newer in date than the materials used to construct the home itself. The fireplace is grand in its appearance and way too big to be used for a source of heat in the tiny room that it’s contained in. Even today, no fire has ever been built in this room of the house. During the days of the great depression, things were not built that were unnecessary and, in my opinion, an extravagant fireplace in a room that size fits into that category. Years later, in one of the upstairs bedrooms, the young girl was found dead due to a drug overdose. Over the years, the house changed hands time and again and stories were passed from generation to generation regarding the fates of all the people involved since its construction. The current owner’s have never bothered to remove a single brick from the rumored tomb of the young business man for fear of what they might find or unleash. I don’t blame them. With our heads full of buzzing information, we headed for our makeshift HQ to review the photos and analyze the audio we had taken. Sure enough, in the background of the audio taken inside of the room containing the overkill fireplace, a highly unpleasant and insisting voice tells us to “get out”. In my personal experience, this is the way that my father in law would treat me if I were to enter his private sanctuaries and he, too, is Jewish. As we continued to pick apart the audio the word “fate” could be heard being spoken by a female voice in the upstairs bedroom where her life had been taken from her so many years ago. To sum this all up, the word ‘fate’ is definitely the key to this entire occurrence. The young business man built the house in an attempt to trap the heart of a certain young woman and, in turn, he could possibly be trapped behind the walls of the house itself.

The young woman, who insisted on freely partaking the secret sauces of society which eventually led to her premature demise, could also be trapped eternally inside the home itself that was once her coveted and scandalous trophy amidst the shanty’s and cotton fields that once filled this area.

Several decades later, it seems that her body was stolen from an above ground crypt by a drunken group of demented teenagers and made a fixture at a party that was being thrown in the honor of a certain ghost hunter’s high school graduation. Imagine the surprise and horror I felt almost twenty years ago watching the stumbling bunch introduce a dead body to the festivities that were originally meant as a form of celebration and rite of passage for a young man that was about to introduce himself into the slavery that is known as the rest of my life. They were caught, sentenced, and incarcerated but those images are wedged into a place in my mind that can never be erased regardless of how many times I have unsuccessfully tried. Was it ‘fate’ that I ended up in the former bedroom of the deceased party guest in an attempt to discover tangible proof of life after death all these years later? That’s another story completely. Until then…Keep Believing

Homecoming...

For six long years…I lived in a world of darkness. I was never sure if it was something that was triggered by my brutal divorce of if years of repression by worrying so much about outward appearances in the community brought it on…but I would come home every day to a home reminiscent of Dracula’s and love every minute of it. Perhaps it was having my eyes opened to the actual existence of the supernatural from my first unexplainable paranormal experience…who knows. Shortly after the PRINT organization was formed, my wife and I spent every waking moment searching for more darkness. Our free weekends took place in suspected haunted houses and old, country cemeteries during the night. The tingle of fear that occurred while your eyes were trying to adjust to nothingness and not knowing what could possibly be lurking behind the next tree became like a drug that I absolutely had to have or I would go insane. Hell, I even remember one year where we realized in June that we still had a few Halloween decorations up in the home. Very few people outside of our relationship could grasp the concept or even begin to try and understand our views on happiness and the world around us. The closest explanation would rank somewhere up there with watching every episode of the Addams Family back to back on an endless loop. We had very few friends and visitors in our lives…and we liked it that way. Complete strangers would walk the other direction almost as though they could sense the unusualness that was coming their way. It was nice to do in a Wal-Mart line from time to time so it really wasn’t all that bad. Shortly after that, we adopted a forgotten cemetery in the middle of nowhere and began restoration work surrounded by the constant reminder of death…and a few dozen venomous snakes here and there for variety and to keep you on your toes. Our final journey into darkness came at the hands of our wedding where we tied the knot surrounded by friends and family under a cemetery pavilion during a violent thunderstorm as the sun set. I had never seen her look so beautiful in my entire life…illuminated by only candle light while hundreds of potential ghosts gave us their blessing knowing that our union began in exactly the same spot in which it would end. Suddenly, exactly upon the inevitable ‘I do’…the rain stopped falling and the sun shone blindingly through the trees creating a rainbow that stretched from end to end of the once darkened graveyard. I didn’t exactly notice at the time but it was almost as though it was some type of natural metaphor for an awakening within the both of us. Within weeks, our home and dispositions became brighter than ever before. It was as though the darkness in which our relationship was built had gone away to reveal to those around some type of new and improved couple that was altogether unusual to the both of us. Without so much as even a thought towards our achievements regarding the paranormal research field or the non profit work we had accomplished towards the forever residents of the forgotten cemetery, we walked on eggshells hand in hand towards the sun with squinting eyes in the direction to an unknown future. Nature again covered the lonely headstones of Hopewell Cemetery and the PRINT organization sat covered in dust on a book shelf in the form of two published novels below the monument of wedding and honeymoon memorabilia in our now cheery living space. Together, the two of us became simultaneous strangers with nothing much to talk about. In our desperate search for normalcy and illumination, the two of us became nothing more than a symbol of the spirits we had so recently searched for and the historical markers cleared from the hiding spots in a forgotten forest. Technically, we were beginning to die. Why, I now ask myself, did we try so hard to change who we were regardless of the fact that it altered the individualism that the two of us had fell in love with in the first place? In the end, the people we were trying so hard to impress and begging silently for acceptance will end up the inevitable victim of death itself. On a quest for greatness always lies the possibility of endangering your true self at the hands of outsiders. I personally believe that change is the reason why so many marital unions are destined to fail. Most people shoot for bigger things, more money, and social acceptance…forgetting the true reasons why they fell in love in the first place because they’re blinded by the ultimate goal of perfection. In our case, the unusualness of our lives and the darkness that surrounded us was the true attraction towards one another and the adhesive that bonded us together. Ultimately, what does it matter if anyone else in this crazy world ‘gets you’? As long as the one that loves you understands where you’re coming from…who cares what the neighbors think…or your extended families or the general public for that matter? They’re not the ones you lie in bed with, cuddled up for protection against the cold night, or the ones that will sit with you on summer evenings in recollection of youth on a porch swing swapping false teeth and wondering why your children can’t stand to be around you. With this epiphany in mind, we knocked the cob webs off of the equipment and accepted an investigation. A day later, we were fighting the elements so that one more misplaced soul’s marker could again see sunlight and reveal it to a world that had long forgotten them. A darting shadow in a creepy room and a few dodged copperheads later, a sense of normalcy began to sink into my welcoming soul once more. I love my life, my wife, and the future that lies before me…even though it may be in ways that most people could never imagine. My advice to anyone who would listen is to never deny who you truly are regardless of how many attempt to convince you that you’re denying yourself of what you could be. The destination that they’re speaking of is through their eyes only. Your own eyes are what matters. Not everyone is suited to live in the light or be journeying towards it. Sometimes, you yourself may be the illumination in the darkness that is so feared by those that shun and persecute you. Right about now…some of you may be saying to yourself that you don’t understand where I’m heading with this or where I came from to begin with. That’s okay. You’re not supposed to. Now…if you’ll excuse me…it’s May…and my wife and I have some Halloween decorations to dig out of storage. It’s beginning to feel a lot like home again. Our home…