April Slaughter (16 page)

“We had set up our audio to record on the third floor, and while none of us heard it at the time, we later discovered what sounded like a baby cooing in the background.”

“Were there any children with you on the night of your investigation?” I asked.

“No, only adults were there,” answered Brian.

I silently wondered why a baby would have been heard on tape, and then thought it may have something to do with the families that had once lived in the building to take care of the jail and its prisoners—but there was more to the story.

“This is where it gets strange,” Brian continued. “Anna Marie was about twelve weeks pregnant with our son Ashlind at the time. We listened to that baby vocalization on the recording dozens of times before Ashlind was born, and we really didn’t know what to make of it.”

The Byers’ baby boy was now about eight months old, and when I listened to his voice and compared it to the recording, they sounded identical. Granted, a lot of babies would probably sound very similar on a recording, but in listening to it myself I could not make any distinction between Ashlind and the disembodied voice.

There is no record of a small child dying in the jail, so finding a more plausible explanation for the recording is difficult. I couldn’t find an answer, but it certainly sparked several more questions. Could it be Ashlind’s voice on the recording? If it is,
how is that possible? He hadn’t even been born yet. And what did he have to do with the jail? It just goes to show you that when you create a theory on how the paranormal might work, you really have no clue and you have to begin looking at things from completely different angles.

As fascinating as this occurrence was, it was not the only thing the Byers and their team encountered that night. Anna Marie had been sitting on the third floor when she saw a shadowy figure move about the cells.

“Are you the sheriff that used to live in this jail?” she asked, hoping to elicit some sort of response from the apparition.

She received one. Immediately following her question, an EVP was captured of a woman’s voice saying, “No . . . please help. Someone is burning!”

A recorder left alone in the fourth floor solitary confinement cell had also recorded an EVP of a very deep voice saying, “It’s burning.”

Who were these people, and were they talking about the fire that destroyed the original jailhouse building in 1858? No one knows.

My long-awaited trip inside finally came, and both Brian and Anna Marie were there to see if any of the phenomena they had experienced would repeat itself, or if we would encounter something new altogether.

Allen and Brian thought it might be a good idea to use “ghost box” devices that had not been previously attempted in the jail. Brian and Anna Marie brought what is known as the Shack Hack—a small, portable modified radio from Radio Shack that can be used much in the same way as the Frank’s Box or MiniBox devices. After running the Shack Hack for several minutes on the third floor and not hearing anything significant come through, Allen suggested we use Frank’s Box #37 in solitary confinement upstairs.

We all took turns asking questions, hoping someone would give us a clear answer. Nothing came through at first, until I turned questions into statements.

“If any of you from the past are still here, we’d really appreciate hearing from you,” I said.

Much to my amazement, a clear and consistent male voice was heard over the constantly moving radio band.

“We don’t like it here, April,” he said.

“When will you be released from the jail?” asked Brian.

“Oh, we’re not,” the radio responded.

Nothing else came through, though we kept asking a barrage of different questions. Whoever had been speaking to us through the Frank’s Box wasn’t talking anymore. After a few more minutes with no response, we thought we would try again on the floor just beneath us. Allen set the box up on one of the empty cell bunks and hung the antenna wire close to the nearest window to ensure a clear radio signal.

Several minutes passed, and we were not hearing anything we believed was relevant. As a group, we began talking amongst ourselves while the box kept running in the background. We were anxious to hear anything more that might come through.

“Is it hard talking through this radio, guys?” asked Brian.

“Can’t control it,” responded the box.

“Is it the box you have a hard time controlling?” asked Brian, hoping to clarify the response.

“Yes!” said a voice emphatically, and then the box fell silent.

Two distinctly different investigative experiences occurred in the Caldwell County Jail, both equally active and impressive. When I try to describe events such as these to people, they often ask me, “Why don’t the spirits just tell you their name and story outright? Why are there usually only bits and pieces that come through?”

My theory is this: While the living may occasionally occupy the same space as the dead, our process of communication may work well for us, but not for those on the other side of the veil. Their reality may be entirely different than ours, and I am not convinced that it is any easier for them to overcome obstacles than it is for us. Finding a way to use our environments and the avenues for communication available to us isn’t always easy.

We can set up as much technical equipment as we like, and document everything we can perceive to the very last detail. Does that mean we have covered all of our bases? No. For every genuine paranormal experience I have, I often wonder how many are happening around me that I am not yet able to detect.

When we concluded our investigation, we all left with the impression that we definitely had not been alone while wandering around the jail. Someone, quite possibly several “someones,” had tried to reach out and communicate with us. Overall, it was a pretty amazing experience.

Allen and I thanked Brian and Anna Marie for their time and assistance with our visit, packed up, and headed for home.

As I learn and progress in my search for the unexplained, I will continue to visit those places that have consistently proven to me that there is life beyond death, and the Caldwell County Jail
Museum is right there on my list of places to continue the work. Whether it is haunted by the tormented souls of those who once served their sentences there, or by the families who did their duty in taking care of them and the community, I’ll be back to talk with them again and to witness their stories unfold.

“WHERE ON EARTH IS SCHULENBURG?” asked Allen.

“You’re a native Texan and you’re asking
me
?” I replied.

Thank heaven for technology and our ability to plug any city or address into a GPS system to help us find our way around. Where would we be without it? Lost. Schulenburg, Texas, isn’t a huge thriving metropolis like Dallas, Austin, or Houston, so Allen and I needed all of the help we could get in locating it.

The Von Minden Hotel had long been on my list of “must see” places, and finally making my way out to it was an adventure all its own. Its haunted reputation and lack of modern amenities was a huge draw for me. Here I was depending on modern technology to get me to a place where time had virtually stood still for so many years. Go figure.

The building was constructed in 1927 and first opened its doors as a theatre. The hotel portion would open just a year later
with forty guest rooms. Today, it remains the only surviving hotel in Texas that houses an operating theatre.

When we pulled up in front of the hotel, Allen pointed out the old neon sign reading “HOTEL” with only the “O” and “T” lights still functioning. A slight flicker made me wonder if those last two letters would soon be on their way out as well. The entrance door was wide open, so we walked into the lobby where several people sat watching television. I glanced over to the check-in counter and noticed that no one was there.
Maybe they were helping a guest
, I thought.
Surely they’ll be back soon
.

We introduced ourselves to the guests in the lobby, and learned that they were regulars who stayed at the Von Minden every year during their participation in the Multiple Sclerosis MS-150 fundraising bike ride from Houston to Austin. Deborah Kurc had been coming here for the past six years, and found the hotel eerily charming.

“By the time we arrive here at the hotel, we’re normally exhausted from the ride, but today was the first time in twenty-five years that the ride was cancelled due to the rain, so we’re just waiting it out,” said Deborah.

“In all of the years you’ve stayed here, have you ever experienced anything strange?” I asked.

“Yes, actually. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night around three o’clock in the morning because it sounds like someone is dragging heavy furniture around,” she said. “By that time, everyone is asleep and there would be no reasonable explanation for sounds like that. I never have figured out what’s going on with that.”

Deborah asked if we would like to see her room, and escorted us up the stairs to the next floor of the hotel. As we walked down the hallway, I noticed that several of the rooms were closed up or stacked with storage. Old sections of wallpaper were slowly peeling away from the walls, there were cobwebs aplenty, and if
you wanted to capture a picture full of orbs, this would be the place to do it as every step we took produced a small cloud of dust around our feet.

There was nothing fancy about Deborah’s room, but I could definitely see what attracted her to this hotel year after year—it was an adventure! Every nook and cranny of this place had unique character and fun little things scattered around to discover. Allen was eager to see the upper floors as well, so Deborah took us on a short unofficial tour.

A locked door stood at one end of the hallway, and just above it a sign read “HARD TIMES.” Apparently, this had been a restaurant and bar in the not-so-distant past. I wondered where it got its name, but decided that I probably already knew. I was sure it was a place that people went to have a drink and perhaps numb their sorrows, at least for a little while.

“I wonder where Bill is,” said Deborah.

“Is Bill the owner?”

“Yes, Bill Pettit is his name. He’s one of the nicest people you’d ever meet. I am sure he is wandering around downstairs somewhere.”

As we descended the staircase, I wondered if Bill would be back at the lobby desk. No such luck. Twenty minutes or so passed as we spoke with the group still watching television, and an older gentleman outside walked just in front of the open entrance door.

“That’s Bill!” said Deborah.

I grabbed Allen’s hand and we quickly walked outside.

“Hi, are you Bill Pettit, the owner?” I asked.

“Why, yes I am, young lady,” he said.

First, I was grateful for the “young” comment, as I had just turned thirty years old the day before, and I was not at all happy about it. Second, I had finally pinned down the owner and I was excited to talk to him and learn more about the Von Minden.

After brief introductions and a bit of explanation for our visit, I overwhelmed Bill with a great deal many questions.

“How long have you owned the hotel?” I asked.

“Since 1979,” he replied.

I asked if he lived in the building, which he indicated that he did not. Several members of his family did, however, in three separate apartments inside. He did have an office on one of the upper floors, but he no longer used it.

Bill told Allen and me that he was a retired criminal defense attorney who had often defended those on trial for murder. I mentioned that I would imagine that to be difficult, but Bill saw it as just a job and nothing more. He couldn’t afford to become emotionally involved or it would have consumed him. The hotel in which he had spent so many years since his retirement was haunted; could some of the resident spirits be tied to his past as their lawyer or the victims of those on trial? I didn’t see why not. Spirits are not bound by the physical world. Maybe some of the paranormal activity here could be attributed to those involved in his courtroom past.