HSV Para (that is, the project as a whole) is entering a season of change. Most important among these changes, I think, is a refocusing of the blog on personal encounters from our investigations. That’s not to say that I’m going to stop writing my “general-interest” posts any time soon, I just feel it’s about time we dial in a bit closer to the point of this whole thing.

I had a lot of fun, recently, writing those posts about some of my paranormal encounters. In that vein, and considering this new era the group is finding itself in, I think we’d all enjoy some stories straight from the field. These I’m sharing today are a little less serious than my normal encounter stories.

These are stories that, unless you were there with us (or you personally know me), I can almost guarantee you’ve never heard (please keep in mind, though, that you may hear these in Signal & Noise when the show releases later this year).

***

We’d been trying to ford this small, insignificant creek for a couple of months.

We could cross fairly easily on foot when the water was low (as it had been when I originally scouted the place out in mid-October) but January had brought a surprisingly large amount of rain and it was making the process difficult. On top of that, a tree had fallen across the road in (just on the other side of the creek) so our original plan of borrowing our boss’s truck and just driving across had been foiled.

*Taken on my scouting trip hence the low, calm water.*
*That tree’s bigger in person.*

Despite the cold, I’d grown tired of waiting and was hellbent on crossing that creek and getting to the house on the other side within the week.

That morning, I was supposed to meet Blake (one of our core members) at The DeeP (the comic shop we work at) and ride out. The plan was for him to bring an electric chainsaw, we’d toss it across, and then make short work of tree. Problem is, Blake never showed. I waited around an hour, realized he wasn’t going to make it, and decided to head out on my own.

This was a horrible decision.

After a half hour drive north, and some initial difficulties finding a place to tuck my car in up against the trees on the side of the road, I was there. I was hoping, I think, that once I crossed I’d find the tree smaller than I remembered and easy to move. I was wrong on both accounts. Plus, like I said, it had been raining a lot more than it normally does this time of year so the creek was full to the brim. Completely gone from view were those nice little stepping stones you see in the photo above.

I made my second bad decision of this solo investigation-prep trip: I didn’t want to get my shoes wet and be forced to walk around like that all day so I took them off, set them on the bank of the creek and (phone in hand), started my way across.

I made it about halfway before I slipped, chucking my phone towards the car as I fell. The water was moving faster than it was in October, though not as fast as I’d worried. The real problem was that, as I found myself now flailing around in this creek, the stones that made up the creekbed were too slippery to find any purchase. So, flailing and splashing, the current pushed me further down. Luckily, another fallen tree lay resting just around the bend and, using it as a makeshift ladder (as the creek had pushed me against its branches), I clambered back up onto the bank.

The wind had been completely removed from my sails. I grabbed my shoes, took off my soaking wet jacket, found my phone, and ran back to the warmth of the car, never more glad that I had seat warmers. About halfway back the absurdity, and hilarity, of my situation set in and I found myself laughing nigh uncontrollably at myself.

We ended up not cancelling and still came back that night. It took some time, but we made our way across, walked the quarter mile or so down the path to the house, and, despite a somewhat interesting Estes session (in which something present seemed to want to speak with a substitute investigator we’d brought along only to start calling them slurs), we captured no evidence.

It was a great night, though. The house, and the land it sits on, is wonderfully atmospheric. As I frequently tell people, my favorite part of any investigation is getting to spend time in these places. There’s just something about summer nights spent waiting and watching for something unexplainable to happen.

In the summer of 2023, for example, I was explaining this very opinion of mine to a friend who’d tagged along for their first ghost hunt. We were investigating a fairly large and storied property, so I’d brought a larger crew with me than I normally would (six vs. my now standard four, myself included). This was the first of two mistakes I would make this night. The second? I had forgotten to tell the neighbors what we were up to.

So, about three hours later, I’m sitting upstairs with this friend, explaining the virtues of being in creepy, quiet places on a warm summer’s night when a beam of light struck the door frame of the second story bedroom we were in. This beam of light played across the door and slowly slid down the hallway. I remember saying to my friend, “… that was either something we need to pay attention to or someone just shown a flashlight in the window at the end of the hall.”

I walked around the corner and peaked out the window, craning my neck down to look to see if anyone was walking through the alley below. Of course, there was — a police officer.

The investigation was over, I packed up our stuff, told my friend we ought to start making our way down, and walked downstairs to meet the rest of the crew (who had already been lined up against the wall on the back porch and were being interrogated). We’d accidentally left our spirit box running the whole time. A previous member of the group claimed it said, “You are found” and “Sorry sorry sorry”, as we spoke with the officers.

I assured them we had permission, showed them as much, and offered the property owner’s phone number to them if they wanted to verify my story. They did after a time. First, though, they lined us all up and walked us out front. Eventually satisfied with our explanations (after speaking with the owner of the property who backed up every claim I’d made up to that point), they let us go but, believe it or not, we weren’t quite in the mood to continue our investigation that night.

We packed up, locked the house up, and headed home.

I’ve never forgotten to inform the neighbors (or the police) since.

Stay weird!

-Scott

P.S. This totally doesn’t make us seem unprofessional, right?