Paranormal State: My Journey into the Unknown (8 page)

Looking back, I realize that there was a level of fear. Openly being a part of a paranormal investigation is perceived as career suicide. Even as a journalism student I’d encountered intense disdain from professors who felt that I had a lot of promise but should drop that “silly little paranormal hobby.”

Joyce, with a PhD in neuroscience, was the only candidate who was open to the idea. At the time, she wasn’t employed by the university, but she later became part of the neuroscience staff as a full-time researcher. She was also a complete atheist. By that I mean that she was not simply a skeptic. She didn’t believe in God at all and likely never would.

I tried debating that with her. “If there were irrefutable proof that God existed, what would you feel? Happy? Sad?”

To her credit, she looked as if she was seriously entertaining the question. I couldn’t help but feel there was a sting of panic, as if the idea that a God existed was frightening. After all, if there were absolute proof God didn’t exist, it would shatter my world. Likewise I thought the opposite would shatter hers.

We didn’t come to any agreement, but I liked Joyce as a person. We shared a major obsession with the Joss Whedon TV series,
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
, and we both enjoyed dive bars. It became clear quickly, though, that there was a wall between us. As Joyce traveled with us, scouting cases, she was quick to discount every paranormal claim. She was like Scully on steroids.

One day during the trainee interviews, a vaguely familiar woman walked in. She introduced herself as Katrina Weidman and said we’d met before. Years ago, at a PRS meeting, she’d told me how her young brother died at an early age. On his deathbed, he described heaven to his parents. The experience shook Katrina. She also claimed she grew up in a haunted house and felt she might have psychic/intuitive abilities. As she grew older, they seemed to be getting stronger.

When she started talking about psychic powers, I was turned off. At the same time, it was obvious Katrina knew the paranormal culture, and had her own experiences.

As we talked, she impressed me. She answered my questions honestly and questioned her own abilities. When I asked if she wanted to be a full-time psychic, she laughed. “And be a Miss Cleo? No, I don’t think so.”

Exploring her abilities wasn’t even the main reason she wanted to join. She just wanted to learn more about the paranormal.

I also asked if she wanted to go on a demonic case (which seemed to be fascinating to a lot of people, as if they expected it to be an amusement park ride).

“I don’t think I’m qualified to handle a demonic case. And, like, who would
want
to go on a demonic case? It doesn’t sound like it’d be fun, you know?” she said.

My thoughts exactly.

As for why she’d originally dropped out of PRS, she explained that at the time her life got too complicated. She’d had a bad semester, sprained an ankle, had a bad breakup, and someone broke into her apartment. Now she was a senior, very excited about learning more, and ready to take on the responsibilities. As we wrapped up, Katrina added that she was fine to just be a part of the organization, with or without the documentary show, if we’d give her a chance. That also made an impression, and in the end I agreed to give her that chance.

Four others were admitted as trainees; one was a film student sophomore named Heather Taddy. Like Katrina, she’d attended a few PRS meetings, but was always in the background. She wore bright punk-rock kind of clothing, huge earrings, and hair all over the place. To my experience, the people who tended to stay with the club were more low-key. Heather’s appearance screamed, “I’m crazy. I’m in a rock band!” She seemed like the kind of person who got involved with ghost hunting as a thrill.

Once we sat down, she seemed more interesting. She didn’t have much of a paranormal background, aside from playing with a spirit board with her cousin, and occasionally ghost hunting for fun, but she was genuinely fascinated. She’d even kept a PRS flyer she saw in Altoona years back and brought it to the interview.

I remember the producers being very excited about her. She did have a personality unlike any other I’d encountered at Penn State. She was unique, which is exactly the kind of person we like in PRS. She was also an aspiring filmmaker interested in documenting the paranormal. That especially excited me. In the past, PRS had tried, unsuccessfully, to have a team documentarian record our findings for a future archive project. So, I agreed to let her in.

Training was to start in two weeks. Given that the program had an overall 70–80 percent dropout rate, if we started with ten, we expected two or three to stay. Most don’t realize how tough we make the classes. They think they’re joining a college club that will take them ghost busting. When they find out it’s a serious effort to study the paranormal, most either lose interest or can’t take the workload.

Once, a trainee wrote a scathing letter about how stupid our requirements were. He argued it should act like a
normal
college club.
Anyone
who was interested should go on investigations. Instead of requiring essays, we should focus on socials and fund-raisers. Needless to say, he dropped out to pursue something else.

I never understood that train of thought—to do things like everyone else. How can you do anything extraordinary by doing things the usual way?

Much as I had my biases about who wouldn’t work out, I was wrong about Heather. Training began in conjunction with our fifth annual paranormal conference, UNIV-CON. Out of the five trainees, all of whom were expected to volunteer, only one showed up—Heather Taddy. I wonder if she remembers the look of shock on my face as I saw her guarding the entrance door to a lecture, wearing a UNIV-CON staff T-shirt. At that moment, I decided that I shouldn’t underestimate Ms. Taddy. She showed up as needed and worked the entire four-day conference.

A P
SYCHIC
B
IAS

Viewers of
Paranormal State
may think I have great faith in psychics, but the opposite is actually true. Succeed or fail, as an investigator I work to follow strict rules of evidence. Psychics trust their abilities, some to an unreasonable extreme. While their answers seem definite, they often can’t be proven. That makes it too easy for a charlatan to take advantage of the vulnerable and emotionally distressed.

On principle, I have no problem with someone claiming to have an ability, but many of the psychics I’ve encountered also seem to have a huge ego, and an unwarranted influence over people.

In my experience, those who charge exorbitant fees tend to get belligerent if you question their abilities—even politely. My feeling is that if you walk around claiming to speak to the dead, you’d best be used to—and even welcome—some serious scrutiny. Doctors and lawyers are always under scrutiny. They have governing bodies that handle matters of training and malpractice. Psychics do not. Unfortunately, many people come to them baring their souls and ready to empty their pocketbooks just to hear what they want to hear.

To me, if someone has an ability, a gift, he or she has a responsibility to share it. It’s not a right, but rather a privilege. I understand the need to make a living, but I’ve seen psychics charge upward of one thousand dollars for a reading, and, worse, to my mind, offer to cross loved ones over to the other side—for a price.

Overall, I don’t believe in 99 percent of the psychic claims I hear. Since the show has come out, I’ve met many self-proclaimed psychics, or mothers hailing their children as the next Chip Coffey. In order for me to believe in their abilities, they have to drop hard, undeniable testimony, and prove without reasonable doubt, that they had no prior knowledge. I also refuse to let psychics perform readings for me.

That said, there are a rare few I do trust as human beings. Yet, even today, no matter how many times I walk through a house with a medium like Chip Coffey or Michelle Belanger, no matter how much I enjoy their company as friends, I question them
every time
. They have to prove themselves again and again. And any information they intuit is always taken with a grain of salt—until tangible evidence can be found to back their claims.

Chapter 4
Triple-Time

Even my sister is haunted.

After UNIV-CON in mid-October, production went into full swing. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Normally we’d spend two weeks preparing for a case. Club rules required that at least one or two secondary witnesses be screened before a case could even move forward. There’d be preliminary interviews, a psychological evaluation, and interviews with any medical and psychology experts the clients had been working with. Then our tech, research, and occult departments would evaluate the case. In the process, we’d come up with a battle plan. We’d even try to get photographs and blueprints of the house in advance.

Then, of course, we had to raise money for car rentals, gas, hotel rooms, and other supplies. Typically I’d work extra shifts at a restaurant. Much as I despised the work, it was fast cash.

Now I had a team of producers and filmmakers bringing back video of the clients and the location. Anything I needed, they provided. Plus, for the first time, PRS had a few thousand dollars for equipment. To an organization that operated with a few hundred dollars and rented university equipment, it was a huge sum.

The shooting date for our first episode was pushed back to mid-November, giving us ample time, I thought, to pick the first case. Previously, PRS received a few dozen inquiries a month. Among those, one or two piqued our interest. In the past, it was a sufficient case flow. We took our time working on one case. We could go back and revisit a site if need be. In some instances, we’d go back three or four times.

Now that was a problem. As much as production wanted to honor our work process, the network expected thirteen episodes by March. That gave us four months to do thirteen investigations, an average of three a month, tripling what we were used to covering. There was some definite pressure to find a pool of interesting cases.

Taking advantage of the Halloween spirit in October, we put out flyers and press releases all over Pennsylvania. Dozens of calls and e-mails came through. Suddenly PRS was operating full-time. Every member had to pull extra shifts to sift through the responses.

Meanwhile, coexecutive producer Alan LaGarde, along with other crew members, had moved to State College to get things prepared for the series. It was already strange knowing we were going to be followed around by a documentary crew. It was even more bizarre knowing that ten to fifteen people would be living nearby for four months because of us.

I first met Alan at a restaurant in downtown State College. He originally came from news broadcasting, which reassured me that they were looking for authenticity. I learned later that in his early twenties, he’d run an entire news station. That was something I could identify with. I’ve often found myself reminded how young I am to be an authority figure. After all, there I was, a twenty-three-year-old among seasoned filmmakers, producers, and crew in their forties. Alan had a professorial air and a genuine ability to listen. I felt like I had a mentor in him, someone I could go to for honest advice.

As for the cases, most didn’t pan out, but we did find a few that seemed worth hitting the road to examine further. A scout team went out, consisting of: Alan; our “test” cameraman, David Miller, now a coexecutive producer; our new adviser, Joyce; and me.

At one point we thought we had our first case. It involved a woman and her dilapidated home near Harrisburg. When she called us, she was crying, really frightened. There was an empty apartment in her house, where she heard footsteps and voices. I think it was a blessing that she eventually got cold feet and dropped out. It was a pretty dull case. Looking back, we easily explained most of the phenomena. At the time, though, we were under the gun and really upset.

Next we scouted a case in Pittsburgh. The woman, who’d attended UNIV-CON, was very cool, but while the activity had been intense about ten years ago, the most recent was minor, and months old. During our last conversation, though, she said she felt her house was haunted because her entire family was cursed.