Stalking Shadows (15 page)

The shadows were making no attempt at contact. I got up off the bench and walked around the building, keeping my eyes peeled for any other shadows. After I completed the rather large circle, it hit me that I was completely surrounded by the shadows.

Feeling rather uneasy about the whole situation, and silently cursing myself for not being more alert, I sat back down on the hard, wooden bench to see what was going to happen next and to think about what to do about the situation I found myself in.

Being surrounded by dark shadows normally isn’t a good thing. Due to the fact that they were standing some distance away from me, I couldn’t really pick up on their energy enough to determine if they were just curious spirits or malevolent entities, but to tell the truth, while I was very uneasy, I didn’t really feel I was in eminent danger.

Fifteen minutes later they hadn’t moved, and I was still sitting in the same place as well. We obviously were at a stalemate.

Someone once told me that the best defense is a good offense—must be a football thing. Anyway, that principle applies in almost every life situation, even when you’re dealing with the dead.

I got up from the bench and walked to the back of the building. From there, I had a pretty decent view of the entire cemetery and was quickly able to determine there were no other living people in the graveyard—at least that was working in my favor. Seeing a person walking around talking to seemingly nothing tends to raise eyebrows and make parents grab their children and rush away from you. Ah, the life of a psychic medium …

“I can see all of you,” I said, turning around in place to address all the shadows. “I’m not here to harm you in any way and I’m not afraid of you, so you can come forward and tell me what you want.”

Nothing—they gave me nothing. I know they heard me, because they glanced back and forth at each other. This told me that they were not shadow people, because shadow people make no attempt to communicate with the living, and once discovered, a shadow person will normally race faster than the speed of light to get away from the living.

This told me they were intelligent entities, very capable of communicating with the living. It also meant that they could probably manipulate objects in their environment, which could spell trouble for me, because they could throw things and move other objects that could cause me harm. There were rocks, heavy urns to hold flowers, large sticks and branches, and pinecones littering the cemetery floor. Any of those could be a weapon of some type that the spirits could use to hurt me.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had something thrown at me or been attacked by a spirit. I’ve had books, table knives, and other assorted items hurled at me, and I have also been scratched, punched, and shoved by ghosts and other types of entities. I didn’t want this situation to get out of control, because in this case I was completely outnumbered.

So far, the whole offense thing wasn’t working out the way I’d envisioned, so I decided to step it up a notch.

With a purposeful stride and my hands clenched at my sides, I began to walk toward the shadow spirits directly in front of me. I was careful not to seem aggressive, but rather emit an aura of having a sense of purpose.

This approach seemed to work as the shadow spirits began to move en mass toward the rear of the cemetery before disappearing altogether. Curious, I decided to follow them and walked down the center road, toward the fence at the rear of the graveyard.

Upon arriving at the back of the cemetery, I was met by the spirit of a Native American brave standing on the other side of the fence. His dark skin, long dark hair that held three feathers pointing in a downward direction, his ebony, smoldering eyes, and ruggedly handsome features were striking. Bare-chested and wearing a loin cloth made of subtle deer hide, he stood in stoic silence waiting for me to approach him.

In his left hand, he held a spear adorned with two feathers that had a string of colorful beads securing them to the staff. The spearhead was pointing upright in a non-threatening manner.

Slowing my pace, so as not to startle the spirit, I approached the fence line.

“Hello. Did you need help?” I asked.

“No,” the spirit answered telepathically. “I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” I responded in kind.

The brave turned to the side and waved the spear in a sweeping motion behind him. Immediately in my mind’s eye, I saw a Native American encampment where half-built houses now stood. There were many Native Americans carrying on with their daily chores while a large fire burned in the middle of the settlement.

Deer hides were stretched on frames made of sturdy tree branches and were being carefully cleaned. The women were preparing food and gathering wood for the fire, while many of the men were sharpening their spears or making new arrowheads. I saw a thick forest of trees where a field now stands—all the trees cleared to make way for a growing society.

“We were here,” the brave told me. “I just wanted you to know.”

“I’m deeply honored that you shared this with me,” I told him.

“We will see each other again soon. Walk in peace, my friend,” the brave said before all that existed in the past, along with the spirit, vanished into thin air, leaving only the subdivision under construction in its wake.

Judging by the encounter with the Native American brave, I can only assume the shadow spirits in the cemetery were Indians, however I kind of doubt it because the energy felt different than that of the Native American man.

To this day, the shadow spirits appear day and night in the cemetery, however I’ve had no further contact with the handsome brave or any of his tribe since that time. I often wonder what the real purpose of the Native American spirit was, when he showed me the settlement that once stood there. Could he have been a spirit guide trying to reassure me? Or, alternatively, did he just appear, like so many other ghosts and spirits do, because he knew I could see and communicate with him? I may never know, but I’m grateful for the moment we shared.

Fascinated by this experience, I became curious as to what other activity may be present at the cemetery. I called in my paranormal investigation team, and we spent several nights in the cemetery.

Our tape recorders picked up many EVPs that included spirits asking for help, the laughter of children, and one heart-wrenching EVP of a little girl who asked if we were going to leave her there alone. Unfortunately, I was in a different part of the cemetery when the EVP was recorded and didn’t hear the little girl’s voice until we reviewed the tapes a few days later. I went back to the cemetery in an attempt to communicate with her. I found her gravesite, but couldn’t find her gentle spirit.

One clear, chilly autumn night, the team went to the cemetery to conduct further investigations. Crisp leaves littered the ground, and a bright moon cast barely enough light to safely navigate the cemetery without the use of a flashlight, casting eerie shadows across the tombstones and ground.

The team divided into pairs, and each took off in their own direction to investigate different parts of the sprawling cemetery.

One of the team members and I headed up toward the front of the cemetery to investigate the area by the cemetery gates. As we walked, leaves crunched under our feet. We then noticed that we could hear another set of footsteps besides our own. They seemed to be coming from behind a row of tall lilac bushes that lay directly to our left.

We stopped and turned around to see if any of our fellow team members were in the area. As soon as we stopped, we heard the other set of footsteps take two or three more steps before ceasing. There were no other team members remotely close to where we were.

“Is anyone there?” I called out into the dimly lit cemetery.

No response.

My teammate walked over to the lilac bushes and peeked behind them to see if anyone was playing a trick on us, but there wasn’t a living soul to be found. I quickly looked around to see if there were any of the now familiar shadow spirits around, but there weren’t.

Shrugging our shoulders, we continued our journey toward the front gate. Again we heard the sound of footprints walking alongside us, but a short distance away. We were definitely being followed by an unseen entity.

Once we reached our destination, I turned around and scanned the entire cemetery to see if I could find out where our other team members were. I saw the bobbing of their flashlights, and the flash of digital cameras in different areas of the graveyard, but none within close proximity to our location.

Once again the footsteps had stopped, but I was picking up a small concentration of energy from the front gates, the exact area the phantom footsteps came from.

“I know you’re there,” I announced. “I can feel your energy. Make your presence known.”

A few seconds later a white, ectoplasm mist began to form in front of the gates, in the vague outline of a person. My teammate began to snap a few pictures, while I continued to try to make contact with this unknown entity.

“Who are you?” I asked telepathically.

“The gatekeeper,” the spirit replied. “What are all these people doing here?”

“Looking for you,” I giggled. “We mean no harm.”

“I understand. Carry on, but I will be watching,” the spirit replied and then dissipated into nothingness.

The remainder of that night in the cemetery was uneventful. However, a few nights later a friend of mine and I were in the cemetery in the wee hours of the morning, taking pictures.

As we slowly drove toward the front gate to leave, we saw two men dressed in work clothes shut the gate, cutting off our only exit! The men then walked down the sidewalk by the main road, and when they got under a street light they simply vanished.

My friend stopped her truck and we both looked at each other mystified. I jumped out of the vehicle and approached the gates.

The heavy chain that held the two gates together was draped through both wrought-iron gates, but thankfully wasn’t locked. I unwound the chain and opened the gates so my friend could pull out of the cemetery. I then shut the gates, replaced the chain, and walked over to where my friend was parked by the side of the road.

I never saw the two spectral workmen again, and we haven’t quite decided if the workmen were shutting the gate to keep us in, or if they were even aware of our presence.

It’s totally possible that the workmen were simply residual energy and not ghosts at all. The energy of something repetitious, such as locking a gate every night, could replay itself over and over like a video tape.

Palmdale Cemetery seems to be evolving in some mysterious way. Every time we go there, something new and exciting happens; however, a few things do remain constant.

The shadow spirits will appear and, at a discreet distance away, surround you before you even realize what happened. Around a few certain graves you will hear children laughing and dancing, like they’re playing a game. On a really good night, if you’re taking pictures, the guardian of the gate will appear in mist form in some of the pictures and, if you’re lucky, you will get a picture of him bowing a greeting your way.

I’ve yet to hear any stories or experience anything menacing or threatening. That could change though. A ghost hunting excursion to Palmdale Cemetery is always unpredictable. However, the city has stopped allowing people, even ghost hunting teams, into the cemetery at night, due to vandalism. Who knows what else is happening there now?

I have been there several times recently during the daylight hours, and have experienced some paranormal activity that includes footsteps following me, shadow spirits darting in and out among the trees and grave markers, and, occasionally, the sound of the children playing.

Just a few months ago, I caught wind, through the words of a friend, that someone had gone into the cemetery and dumped salt around a young woman’s grave. This young woman died in 1881, and I’ve met her ghost on several occasions while investigating the house she once lived in.

The only reason you would surround a grave, or anything for that matter, with salt is to keep an evil spirit or demon from crossing over the line of salt and roaming free.

To put salt around a grave would prevent the spirit, if malevolent, from being able to move beyond that point. I can speak from experience and would swear that the young woman in that grave is one of the kindest, gentlest souls I’ve ever met—living or dead, and would do nothing to harm a living human being. The rain and snow have washed away the salt, so her spirit can once again be free; honestly, I’m a little concerned for her, as I haven’t seen her spirit since this incident.

Personally I’ve never put sea salt around a grave for any reason, nor have I heard of anyone in the paranormal field that has done so either, however that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.

So, the mystique of Palmdale Cemetery lives on. Some of the people who died many years ago are not resting in peace and, in some cases, the living aren’t allowing them to.

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Chapter 11

The Haunted Church

Now, I know you’re thinking, “Churches are haunted ? Aren’t they supposed to be sacred places?” They are sacred places, and that’s exactly why they’re haunted, although not many churches will admit to it.