Something Paranormal Happened During A.S.Santos' Radio Interview

On Halloween morning October 31, 2012, DJs Vince & Lexi interviewed me on the their radio show called The Wake Up Show at the Manila station Mellow 94.7fm.

DJ Vince didn't believe in the paranormal but was very open-minded, while DJ Lexi had experiences of her own. As we talked about the four kinds of ghosts, though, we were experiencing something strange in the booth, too.


DISAPPEARING CALLERS

At first, it was very trivial.

We were inviting our listeners to call in with their ghost stories, but for the first hour we didn't get any calls.

Correction: the station phone was always ringing, but whenever DJ Vince picked it up, we found that the call had been dropped.

Now, this wasn't so extraordinary. A lot of people try calling up radio shows and then chicken out at the last minute. But the fact that it was happening consistently was a bit strange.


THE NEXT HOUR

The next hour was different, because the calls were finally getting through.

But then the conversation would get cut midway (like the caller would be talking, and then there'd be that unmistakable pot-pot-pot sound telling us the caller was no longer there). Sometimes it happened before we even had the chance to put the caller on air.

Still, a lot of the callers did make it to the end of their short personal experience stories about the paranormal, and things were going well.

Until...


THE SPOOKIEST THING HAPPENED

An interesting call came through; the caller was an Engineer, and he was telling us about how his college professor introduced him to the concept of "white noise," and how spirits can supposedly contact us through it.

For those of you who don't know, white noise is that static we get on the radio while we're flipping in between stations; it's also the video and audio static we get on our television sets.

The theory is that white noise is a source of energy and a possible open channel through which human beings (with our normal senses) can receive messages; therefore, it's an ideal tool that spirits (which are made up of energy) can use to manifest and communicate with us.

(There was even a 2005 film about it titled White Noise, starring Michael Keaton.)
 
But this is the call where it happened.

As I was explaining all this energy and white noise stuff to the caller, a sudden loud burst of WHITE NOISE filled all of our headphones, and our entire show went off the air for about 2 seconds.

The burst of static was so loud that DJ Vince jerked back on his chair with a rather loud "Whoa!" while DJ Lexi jumped up from her seat, jerked off her headphones, and looked at us with wide eyes.

Two seconds later we were back on air, and I continued talking to the caller, who was still on the line.

Meanwhile, the show's Twitter and Facebook pages suddenly lit up with messages, with people asking "What just happened?!" and "Was that a prank?"

It was totally not.

The sad part is we didn't get to record what happened. I told DJ Vince it would've been interesting to listen to and review that burst of white noise, since it might have contained an audible message.

DJ Vince laughed nervously, and said since he was a senior deejay, he'd simply assign DJ Lexi to do the reviewing.

Later, he told me that what had happened really couldn't have been because of something technical. The only thing that could've caused it was a "blackout," and if it was a blackout then we couldn't have returned on air for at least an entire minute.

Also, a blackout would've just created a quiet "ssshhhhhh" sound in our headsets as the connection disappeared; it wouldn't have cause the loud burst of sound that we actually heard.


CAN YOU HEAR THEM?

The first book in the SPRG Trilogy is called Voices in the Theater, and deals precisely with paranormal phenomena that we can sometimes hear. You can get it from Amazon.com and instantly read it on your laptop, tablet, or Kindle.

Just click on the cover photo to check it out.

When Grandmother Said Goodbye

Our grandmother died at 3am on January 1, 2010. She had just finished celebrating the coming of the New Year, and a few hours later she was gone.

After her funeral we adopted and brought home her favorite dog, "J," a cute brown shih tzu, because everyone thought we could take better care of him.

J was friendly, toilet-trained, and became instantly protective of the kids; he stayed wherever they were, and usually slept in their bedroom.


One night--about a month after grandmother's death--something strange happened.

It was a Saturday night and the kids were allowed to stay up late. They were in the living room watching a movie, and J was on the floor near them, looking like he wanted to go to sleep.

According to the kids, "all of a sudden J's ears perked up, his tail started wagging, and he started bouncing around joyfully, running and barking at an empty wall." 

A few times he even excitedly stood up on his hind legs, like he was reaching up to someone he loved.

The kids were too weirded out to react or move (it was a quiet night; the adults were reading in their rooms). It really seemed to them that J was playing with someone/something they couldn't see.


After five minutes of this strange behavior, J just as suddenly settled down, returned to his spot on the living room floor, turned around a few times, then lay down and curled up to sleep.

To this day we believe it was our grandmother who came to our living room that night. 

The kids couldn't see her, but J could... and she stayed around to play with him, until she had to say goodbye.

After all, J was her favorite dog.

I'm now writing Book 2 of the SPRG series...

...and for some reason we've been having a kind of manifestation in our own house.


It started last December 2012, and it's happening about twice a month.

It's a very simple manifestation, and it's pretty consistent: 

We would hear movement inside empty bedrooms.


Thud Against The Wall
The bedroom belonging to our house keeper L has one wall made entirely of wood; outside her bedroom that same wall lines our hallway, and it's the wall where we hang several pictures.

While I was alone in the house one day (everyone was out) I distinctly heard a thud against the inside of L's bedroom wall, like an adult body had just slammed against it. It was so distinct that some of the pictures hanging on the hallway shook.

But when I opened L's bedroom door, there was no one there; I was still alone.

I didn't tell anyone about this.


Chairs Moving
About a week later, when L was alone in the house, she distinctly heard chairs being moved around inside F & D's bedroom; the chair legs could be heard scraping across the floor, all the way from the kitchen where L was. 

When L went in to check, there was no one there. And she couldn't be sure if the chairs had been moved (F & D don't always leave stuff in their proper place).


More Chairs
Just yesterday, C & I left the house and locked our bedroom door behind us, the way we usually do.

We were gone for about 3 hours, but when we came back D reported that they heard the chairs inside our bedroom moving around in our absence.


It's nothing alarming, just interesting.

And since I'm usually writing about the paranormal at night, I just hope it doesn't turn into more than that.




Read Book 1 of the Student Paranormal Group
(SPRG) Series Here:

Ghost Photo

Tagaytay, Philippines

A friend sent me this photo from when she was in Tagaytay, Philippines.

She and her companions had been taking pictures from themselves in a scenic "vacation community" there.

In this photo she was leaning against a railing, and the friend who shot the image wanted to capture as much of the background as possible.

They didn't see the figure behind her until much later, when they were going through the files in the camera.

It was the figure, apparently, of a little girl, hiding behind her head and pointing at something.

If that little girl had actually been there she should've been floating about a foot above the ground to reach my friend's height and hide directly behind her head.

EMF Meter for Ghost Hunting

In the SPRG series, our Student Paranormal Research Group uses EMF Meters to help them with their research and documentation of paranormal phenomena.

EMF stands for "electromagnetic field," and they affect paranormal investigations in 2 ways:

1. Research has found that locations with high levels of EMF (like buildings near cell sites for mobile phones, or locations that use electromagnetic generators for power) increases the incidence of hallucinations in people in the area. This includes visions of "ghosts."
   
   This is why it's important to find out first if a location has a normally high EMF reading.
   
   Besides the fact that it makes people see things, it can't be good for their brains.
   
2. Meanwhile, in locations where the EMF levels are normal, it's been found that EMF "spikes" (sudden high readings on the EMF detector) often indicate the presence of a paranormal entity.
   
   This is based on the theory that spirits / ghosts are made up of energy (since they no longer have bodies), and one form of energy they use is electromagnetic energy.

In Voices In the Theater, you encountered Migs and Aris using an EMF detector, which they actually put together themselves using these 2 videos:

This detector uses lights to let you "see" the amount of EMF.

This detector translates EMF levels as sound, and allows you to record them.

Voices in the Theater - Chapter 4

Names & Places

Fortunately, it turned out that Karen only wanted to get the research team together to discuss how we would divide the work, "...so we can cover the most material in the shortest possible time."

Even more fortunately, Vanessa told her she had another report group meeting to go to, while Richard just shrugged (a barely visible shrug, considering that Chynna had slinked arms and... arms all over him). So Karen said we would just meet on Monday, 5:00 PM, at the Conservatory.

I almost wanted to stay and talk to Sir Julius, but Migs and Aris already had him cornered. They seemed engrossed in a discussion of energy and light and frequencies and waves. It also seemed like their conversation was going to take more than five minutes, so I decided to duck out of the room before they noticed. Still, I felt Migs' eyes on my back just as I disappeared out of the door.

It was 11:15 a.m. I took the Metro to Buendia Station, then a bus to "Fairview, Ortigas Ilalim." I actually had no idea what those last words meant. All I knew was that if I took this bus, I'd be home in about 15 minutes.

"Home" these days was a three-bedroom apartment in this two-building complex called The Columns, which was right across the building where Dad works. This was also what brought us here to Manila in the first place: Dad had been assigned to manage his company's customer care center in the Philippines, and because it was a five-year assignment, he had the option to relocate and take us with him.

It was an easy decision for him to make, since Mom was Filipina and she really missed the place she grew up in. It wasn't such an easy transition for me. I had to leave behind the only friends I'd ever had and the only home I'd ever known. The home that held all my memories of Grandma Marie. But of course, none of my concerns really mattered to him. So about halfway through senior year they pulled me out of school, sold our house, brought us to this place, and had me home-tutored for about two months so I can get into university.

De La Salle University: the place where I felt like a freak, where most of the girls wondered if I'd already learned to shower every day, and where most of the guys assumed I was easy.

Until maybe this morning. This morning, the people I'd met seemed to have other things on their minds.

It was surprising. In a good way.

By 11:45 I was still on the bus, so I decided to text my mom that I'd be having lunch in Greenbelt instead of at home.

As soon as I saw the waterfall staircase of the Peninsula I prepared to get off. From Rustan's, I walked straight to the underground pass, emerged on the other side of Makati Avenue, then walked two more blocks towards Greenbelt.

The day was humid and sticky, the midday sun mercilessly fried my head, and I knew the brisk walk would further drench my cotton shirt with sweat and make it cling to my back. But I knew it would all be worth it.

Greenbelt, Makati was my real home here.

I remember reading this quote somewhere before:

"A place is nothing, not even space, unless at its heart a figure stands."

Back in New Jersey home was where Libby and I had sleepovers since we were nine, and Grandma Marie baked us cookies and smiled knowingly when we whispered and giggled about boys, and where I spent countless nights writing about dreamy Eric Taylor in my diary... only to find out he was such an asshole.

Here in Manila I was alone and displaced, the freak that everyone looked at and whispered about just because I looked slightly different. Many of the people were warm and welcoming, that's for sure. But a lot of them also held unfair stereotypes that often made me feel I was being judged.

Except here in Greenbelt, where about 50% of the regulars were just like me.

Here the shop names were more familiar, and most days—especially in the middle of the day, when people were still in their offices—the trees and plants, duck and fish, plus the waiting water combined often outnumbered the people. My head was quieter when there were more plants than people. And even when I could hear people's thoughts here, most of them were in a language I easily understood.

I went into Café Breton and took one of the empty 2-seat tables near the window. Before the waitress could give me the menu, I ordered my usual mozzarella cheeseburger and mango shake; the mango crepe would come later for dessert. I smiled as I thought about how this great meal was just gonna cost me five bucks.

In Greenbelt people's thoughts were also more relaxed, and it wasn’t as much of a headache having to listen to them.

Of course, it wasn't accurate to say that I had to listen to them. Thing is, I still don’t really understand how this thing worked. All I know is that most places I go to, I often hear people's thoughts.

There were times when I heard them clearly, there were times when the thoughts sounded muffled, and there were many times when I didn't hear anything at all. I had no control over it; it was just the way it is.

But what happened at that SPRG meeting during Eartha's story was something else. Something that never happened before, and something that I wouldn't wish to happen again.

Listen.

I automatically looked up at the sound, wondering why it was so clear. Usually it meant someone near was directing the thought at me. I looked around, but didn't see anyone looking in my direction.

Listen.

This time I swiveled around my chair to scan the whole restaurant. A man and a woman who both sounded French were sitting near the doors that led into the mall. A small family with an English dad, an Asian mom, a toddler, and an infant were crowded at a table near the counter. Several waiters and waitresses milled about, and two staff people were standing near the register.

None of them were looking at me.

But the voice was so clear. And strangely, I couldn't tell if it belonged to a male or a female.

LISTEN.

I actually jumped in my seat; the voice sounded so urgent. "Listen to what?!" I whispered involuntarily into the air. No one in the restaurant noticed. But the strange voice responded.

The voices. Listen.

Now this was really freaking me out. First that thing in school, and now this.

But unlike my experience this morning, this new situation didn't feel frightening at all. Of course having this strange voice coming out of nowhere and, like, talking to me felt creepy, but it wasn't scaring me the way those other voices did this morning.

Those other voices.

There it was again. But this time I began to understand. I was supposed to listen—to remember—those voices I wanted to forget.

"Why?" I whispered again, into the air.

Listen.

I sighed and closed my eyes. No, I didn't want to remember. But right now I felt like I was supposed to. Like there was something about what happened this morning that I needed to pay attention to.

No, I didn't want to remember. But I did. So easily. Too easily. And then I realized something...

There had been something in those whispering, sinister chorus of voices. In the middle of all their hissing, they were saying something else...

"Something important...?" I asked, as I scrunched my forehead up in concentration.

They were names.

My eyes flew open, startled. There it was again, that strange yet non-threatening voice, and it was answering my questions. Looking around, I still didn't see anyone who seemed particularly interested in me or even glancing in my general direction. I took in another breath.

"Names?" I whispered into the air.

Remember, the voice replied.

By this time I was 100% sure it wasn't coming from anyone around me. At least, not anyone I could see.

Taking out my phone, I searched for an available WiFi network and started browsing. When the Google search box finally came out, I reached out with my mind and tried to grasp at those distinct words—those names—that the genderless chorus of voices had been whispering when Eartha was telling her story.

Katrina Manuel.

I wasn't sure if that was a name. For all I knew, I could have been making it up. But I typed the name into the search box, enclosed it in quotation marks, and added “+ Manila.”

The search results were few, but to the point.

Katrina Manuel's body had been discovered by her roommate, her neck hanging by a rope that was tied to the ceiling beams of her dorm room in the University of the Philippines. The year was 1989.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. When I opened them again I found myself moving more slowly, thinking more slowly. My mind reached out half-heartedly for another name in the memory of those whispers, while wishing I wouldn't find any.

Joseph Yumol.

I typed the words slowly into the box and added “Manila” again.

Three search results.

Joseph Yumol was 47 years old. He'd been working at the same bank for 20 years, climbing the ranks until he reached a VP position, but the bank had to downsize and let him go. His marriage was failing, his kids were still in college, and he still had 10 years' worth of car and house payments to make. One night he shot himself in the mouth, and his wife had a nervous breakdown when she discovered his body in their room.

I pressed "Exit" on my phone, and while it was erasing my browser history I looked away from my phone screen, wishing I could forget the words I'd just read.

"I can't do this,” I whispered, to no one in particular, to the air.

The waitress placed the mango shake in front of me, along with utensils and a napkin. The sight of the shake's thick yellow froth made my stomach churn. Not in a good way.

Names.

It was the voice again, but it sounded slightly gentler, like it knew I was upset.

"I can't.” I whispered back, shaking my head.

Listen...

I wanted to put my arms on the table and bury my head in them, but I would've toppled the shake. So I just turned my head towards the window, where the yellow sunlight seemed to wash every dark shadow away. "Please leave me alone."

The voice didn't respond.

A few minutes later the waitress served my cheeseburger. And when I'd finished my meal almost an hour later, she gave me my mango crepe. Still the voice didn't return.

I took one bite out of my crepe... then I took out my phone. It was like I couldn't help myself. I returned to the Google homepage, took a deep breath. When I closed my eyes another name was already there, waiting for me in my mind.

Mitchie Borja.

After typing in her name and hitting "search," six results instantly appeared.

Mitchie Borja was part of De La Salle University's theater group. In 2005 during her second year in college, she entered the empty Little Theater with a fan knife in her pocket. When her best friend found her, Mitchie had already slit her left wrist in the backstage area and was slowly bleeding to death. He tried to help her. But Mitchie's last words to him were: "You can't stop me… It’s too late, no one can help me."

After which she used the same knife to stab her own throat.

I went straight home after my long lunch. I almost missed my stop, because even though I was staring out of the bus window the whole time I really couldn't see anything... couldn't feel anything.

I refused to.

It was around 6 PM. when mom asked me what I wanted for dinner. Her simple question had me running and throwing up in the bathroom. She looked concerned, but before she could act all parental I told her to leave me alone and locked myself in my room.

Shit! I thought, as I dabbed a moist towel all over my clammy face. I don't want this. I really don't want this.

But at around 9:30 PM, when everything was quiet—which meant dad had gone to his office, and mom was probably asleep—I flipped my laptop open and went online.

There was one more name, I knew. One last name, one last story. After this I could let this go. I wouldn't have to do any more research; I could just tell Karen and the group what I learned about Mitchie Borja, and maybe this last person I was going to look up... but only if he or she died in the Little Theater too.

I closed my eyes, and tried to remember...

...ssppsssttspssttssspssspspspsssttspssttkatrinamanuelsspsppsssttspssttpspppjosephyumolssspssssppsssttspssttssspsssmitchieborjapsppssspssppsssttspssttssspsspssssandrewdavidsonspsssppsssttspssttssspss...

My eyes flew open, and they seemed to automatically lock on the building across our apartment, the building where dad worked.

Andrew Davidson.

That was the last name, the name in the whispers.

"What does this mean?" I asked the air, hoping for an answer but terrified that I would be heard.

Why was my dad's name in those whispers? Why did his name get lumped together with all those other names, all those other suicide cases... all those dead people?

Not knowing what else to do, I typed in "Andrew Davidson" and “Manila” in the search box, thinking it might just be someone with the exact same name as my dad.

Three results, all having to do with my dad and his company—which had lost three major U.S. clients in the last six months due to the worldwide economic slowdown.

"Davidson was expected to increase profitability by the second half of this year," the reports said, "But his deadline has passed and targets haven't been reached. Stakeholders are now on a holding pattern of 'wait and see.'"

"What does this mean?" I asked again, this time with growing anxiety.

Remember.

The voice was back again. Its timing was perfect; it was even calming, in a way. But I didn't know what else I was supposed to remember.

"Remember what?" I asked as my eyes searched for dad's office window, counting the levels by the lights on at each floor. When I finally found his office window, I realized he wasn't there.

Remember the voices.

I closed my eyes against the anxiety, and tried to remember.

The memory that came at me was frightening in its clarity.

...spsssppsssttspssttssspss... ours... ours... ours... hahahahahahaha!!!

My eyes flew open; I felt like I was drowning again. But this time I understood.

Those horrible voices were after my father.

After more than a minute of hesitation, I picked up my phone and called his mobile number.

Voices in the Theater - Chapter 3

Do You Hear Them?

It was like being underwater.

Everyone was moving so slowly, and even though they were opening their mouths, I couldn’t hear their voices. Except for the ones in my head.

Get out! said the first voice. It belonged to a distraught young woman.

No! Don’t do it… pleaded a guy.

Get out! This time the girl was hysterical. A sob caught at the end of her scream.

I looked around the room, at the faces. Every one of them was still riveted on Eartha, who continued talking.

I still couldn't hear her.

You can't stop me… It’s too late, no one can help me. The girl's voice was resigned and sad.

Please don't do this... There was love in the guy’s voice now. Please don’t… Nnoooo!

She's ours... she's ours... she's ourrsss...

The last words were cold, strange, a chorus of many voices that had no gender. I shuddered.

...oursss... oursss... ourssss...

They sounded gleeful, in a sick sort of way. I shook my head, wishing I could get their voices out of my head. But now their many voices merged into a sinister low chorus of whispering and hissing.

...ssppsssttspssttssspssspspspsssttspssttkatrinamanuelsspsppsssttspssttpspppjosephyumolssspssssppsssttspssttssspsssmitchieborjapsppssspssppsssttspssttssspsspssssandrewdavidsonspsssppsssttspssttssspss...

The hissing sounds were overwhelming. They filled my head until I felt like I was drowning. Stop, please! I thought desperately. I suddenly had a horrible image of myself tearing my ears out of my head with my bare hands. Please stop!

...ours... ours... ours... hahahahahahaha!

"...and so we ran out of there as fast as we could,” Eartha ended.

I looked up at Eartha sharply, and when I realized it was her voice I heard I gulped in a huge breath of air.

The hissing voices were gone.

Everyone was moving normally now, and I could hear their soft breathing. My own breath was ragged, but no one noticed, thanks to Eartha's hold on everyone's attention.

More importantly, my ears were still intact.

Eartha now flipped her long honey-colored hair. "Of course we still have to go there sometimes, but now we always make sure to go in groups. And we bring crosses and rosaries."

"What's a rosary?" I asked.

The heads now turned to me. Part of me wanted them to stop staring, but another part of me wanted this new situation, if it meant I wouldn't have to hear the chilling chorus of voices again.

"It's a Catholic thing," Lana told me, squeezing my hand gently again, in her familiar, friendly way. "They're beads that we use as a sort of guide when praying."

"So guys, do you think this should be your first case?" Sir Julius was suddenly all business, promptly ending the staring fest and getting everyone excited at the same time. I wondered if he knew I needed this distraction.

Migs was nodding thoughtfully. "Definitely. Especially since we already have witness accounts."

"Alright.” Sir Julius sat back in his chair, assessing us. "So imagine you are a professional paranormal research group. Your objective is to create a body of research that will help you formulate theories and test hypotheses about paranormal phenomena. What would you do?"

"Interview the witnesses,” said Aris, a half-smile on his face. "Not just for this incident, of course, but for the other, similar incidents that happened in that theater."

"Good, good." Sir Julius was nodding. "What else?"

"Wait, we have to question them separately,” Migs said. "We can't talk to them in groups. I want to see if their accounts are the same."

"Yes. And we should have standardized questionnaires, not just for this incident, but for future ones as well,” said Peter.

Intake sheets, he said in his mind. I had no idea what that meant, but I was glad I was hearing normal voices again, normal thoughts.

"I can come up with a questionnaire based on the intake sheets we have at the hospital,” Peter continued. "It can help us separate the subjective experiences from the objective observations."

"Cool!" said Lana beside me. She giggled a little. "This sounds so professional."

"Oh, and I want to find out the real history of the place!" said Eartha. She seemed especially stoked, maybe because her story was getting so much attention. "We can check the records, see if anyone really died there."

"What kinds of records?" asked Richard, his head cocked slightly towards Eartha. This gesture seemed to increase Chynna's pout.

"I dunno... student registrations maybe? Find out if we lost any students there in the past years?" Eartha shrugged.

"How about tabloids?" suggested Karen, and Peter nodded beside her. "A death inside a major university isn't something you'd easily find in respectable papers."

"Right,” said Aris. "We can Google for stories in the major papers... but I doubt if local tabloid stories ever make it to Google."

"Unless they're in blogs!" said Lana. Her face brightened. "I remember seeing a friend's note on Facebook; he’d typed up this whole tabloid article about a shootout that supposedly happened in his subdivision. He shared it with everyone because the news report had so many errors, and he was really mad."

"Good, this is really good." Migs was half-smiling now. "So we Google and do Facebook searches for our university's name, the theater's name, and the word death."

"Suicide," I said, before I realized I was going to say it.

The heads turned to me. Expectant, excited. There was no backing out of this one. I took a deep breath.

"The cause of death was suicide. It was a girl, freshman. In 2005."

Six jaws dropped.

"Are you... sure?" Lana was looking at me with a hint of alarm. "How do you know this?"

I was quiet for a beat. "I hear things," I said, simply.

I waited for them to react. For about five seconds.

Aris was the first to recover. "Wow! You must have some really good connections!" He laughed a bit. "I've been in this school for two years, and I'm totally clueless about what goes on around here.”

I sighed quietly in relief.

"You're sure it's 2005?" Karen asked.

“That’s what I heard.”

“This is incredibly helpful. Really narrows down our search.” Migs gave me another of his indecipherable looks.

“Good job,” Sir Julius said, and caught everyone’s attention. I wondered if this was his gift—knowing when someone was getting uncomfortable from too much attention, and how to quickly divert it. “Let’s clarify the assignments now: Peter will give us a standard questionnaire by… next Saturday’s meeting? You’re okay with that? Good.”

Sir Julius started writing down notes; so did Peter and the others.

“Now, while we’re finalizing the questionnaire format, Eartha sets up interview schedules with the witnesses, and maybe get the necessary permits for us to visit the Little Theater on official org business. You’ll be working with Aris, Migs, Gary, and Lana—they’ll be the ones conducting the interviews, so it’s best to make the introductions as early as possible.”

Eartha smiled. “I can do that, sure!”

“Karen, Samantha, Vanessa, and Richard… you guys do the background research, give us a more solid story by Saturday. Now this is important. I need you to find out as much as you can, but you need to separate fact from fiction. Verify, clarify, and keep tabs on sources and references.”

“Got it.” It was Karen who spoke.

Sir Julius glanced at his watch, smiled, then closed his notebook.

“Congratulations, team. I think we had a very successful first meeting. See you Saturday, I look forward to your updates.”

There was a spattering of claps from the group, along with a few Yays. Then there was the collective shuffle of notebooks and pens being returned to their bags, and chair legs scraping softly against the wooden floor.

I sighed quietly, glad it was over.

The experience I had while Eartha was telling her story never happened to me before, and I had no idea why it happened now. Maybe because this building was really old? Or maybe that story was special in some way? Or maybe it had to do with the fact that the people who surrounded me now seemed to believe in the supernatural more than regular people did.

I had no idea.

I still wasn’t even sure if joining the group was the right decision.

But being around them now made me hope that maybe one of them could help me find the answers I needed… as long as no one asked me too many questions.

“Samantha?” said a low yet feminine voice.

I looked up and saw Karen, blocking my path towards the door. Uh-oh.

“I need to talk to you.”