Ghost Box Read online

  I returned to the main room where the group was standing and set up the ghost box on a small table. This was the second-generation design, and while it was smaller than the first, it was still large and cumbersome. The device was black and had a handle on it, but I still had to use an extension speaker so that we could hear the machine. Everyone stood around the table, as I got ready to turn on the device. I could see that the students were anxious and uncertain about what was about to take place.

  I flipped on the power switch and within seconds, voices started to come through the speaker of the machine. The reality of the situation affected the group deeply and I could clearly see that some of them were scared. My mother walked throughout the group reassuring them with a smile. As the voices started to become more clear, I said, “Lizzie, are you there?” In my haste to communicate with Lizzie Borden, I completely forgot the protocol of connecting with a Spirit Technician first, and put myself in great danger.

  Several seconds went by while gibberish came through the speakers before a dominant male voice made itself heard. While the voice didn’t make much sense at first, it quickly became clear enough to understand. The entity learning to use the machine was extremely strong and independent. Before I could utter another word, the entity began to curse me out in a deep New England accent in a way that I had never experienced. I was stunned by what was coming through the speaker and when I took a step back and looked at the group, they were even more shocked than me. The language was so coarse that several people stepped back and some even left the room. All at once, I realized the entity I was communicating with was, in fact, Andrew Borden. I mistakenly assumed he thought we were there to disrespect him, so I started to speak over the top of him. I said, “Mr. Borden, I’m so sorry. We are not here to disrespect you in any way, we only want to find out what truly happened that day and hopefully bring you peace.” He immediately resumed cursing me out in an insane barrage of profanity last heard circa 1900.

  I was dumbfounded and didn’t know what to say. I called on the Spirit Technician to assist us and, while she did become part of the conversation, she was unable to take full control of what was taking place. Mr. Borden remained a fixture in the background. Fortunately, we were able to communicate with Bridget the maid, as well as Lizzie Borden herself. The reason for Mr. Borden’s rant soon became clear as the facts came to light.

  According to the spirits speaking through the device, Mr. Borden’s miserliness was the least of his crimes. Apparently, he’d been sexually abusing both of his daughters for a good part of their lives. He wasn’t feeling disrespected. No. He was concerned the truth was going to come out through Frank’s Box! He was still trying to protect his dirty secret! Hearing this, and being a father myself, I became enraged. While I preach being respectful to all spirits, I was completely unable to control my anger and rage. I began to argue with Andrew Borden and eventually it turned into a screaming match. Those that remained from the group stood by in shock as Andrew and I exchanged verbal blows back and forth. As things became heated, my mother calmed me down enough to end the session. There I stood, with my hand still on the power switch of the device, in complete disbelief at what had just taken place.

  There was silence in the room for quite some time, as no one knew what to say. We packed up the equipment and went back upstairs to the kitchen where we discussed what happened to the remainder of the group. My mother and I were deeply disturbed at the exchange that taken place, but some of the people who witnessed it seemed charged from the interaction. Everyone who was there that night was able to hear an account of the atrocities that had had taken place in the house from the actual spirits who had lived it. As each person left, either to their rooms or back to their homes, they were left with an experience they would never forget.

  My mother and I decided it was time to get some sleep. It was late and the museum opened early the next morning and we would have to be out of our room when it did. We said good night to the manager and her friend and made our way up the stairs to Andrew Borden’s bedroom. I was completely drained of energy and just wanted to get a few hours of sleep before we had to leave. As I closed the main door to the stairs, my mother looked at me with exhaustion and unease in her eyes.

  I said, “See you in the morning. Oh wait, it’s already morning.” We both laughed as I made my way to the dressing closet. I flipped on the light and closed the door behind me. I was so tired. I quickly got ready for bed, turned off the light, and got under the covers. As I lay there in Mr. Borden’s room in the Lizzie Borden House, my eyes quickly adjusted to the dark. Streetlights illuminated small aspects of the corners of the room. I stared up at the ceiling and felt complete shock and disbelief at the rage and profanity-filled exchange I’d had earlier that evening with Andrew Borden via Frank’s Box.

  After a while, fatigue took over and I tried to get comfortable in the bed. As I rolled over onto my left side, I clearly heard a man’s voice whisper: Don’t turn your back! Once I started breathing again, I tried to calm down, attempting to convince myself that it was my imagination. I thought about where I was, the site of a double axe-murder homicide—not to mention the disturbing, emotionally charged confrontation I’d had with Mr. Borden downstairs and in whose room I was now attempting to sleep. After a few minutes of lying there, I decided to attempt sleep again, this time on my right side. As I was drifting off, I felt a cold breath on my ear and heard a more emphatic warning: Don’t turn your back! I slept on my back that night.

  At some point during the night I woke to my own desperate gasps for air. Something tightened around my throat, cutting off my air supply—but when I reached out for whatever it was, there was nothing. Panicked, I sat up and started lashing out at the air around me, falling out of bed in my frantic attempt to breathe …

  I was losing consciousness when something clicked, and all at once I convinced myself I was having a waking nightmare. Suddenly the pressure released from around my neck and I took in a long, deep breath, gasping and choking for a few more moments. Drained of all my energy, I fell forward into the bed in front of me and slept until the alarm went off. When I opened my eyes, I saw sunlight shining through the window and I thought, “I didn’t think I was ever going to see that again!” As I lay there for a few minutes, I attempted to rationalize what happened the night before. Since I was looking for the most logical explanation, I assumed it must have all been a bad dream.

  I eventually got up, dressed, and made my way out of the room. As I opened the door, I was startled to see my mother standing right in front of me. Her eyes were dark and it looked like she had gotten less sleep than I had. I asked, “What happened to you?”

  She replied, “All night long somebody just kept saying over and over: Don’t turn your back, don’t turn your back!”

  Stunned, I exclaimed, “Oh my God! I had the same experience. That’s the same thing that happened to me!” As we discussed our shared experience, she suddenly stopped talking and a shocked expression took over her face. I asked, “Are you okay?”

  She continued to stare and suddenly raised her arm and pointed toward my head. In an extremely stern voice, she asked, “What happened to your neck?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Louder and almost angry, she again asked, “What the hell happened to your neck?” At this point she began to push me toward the back of the room toward the bathroom. She pushed me in front of the mirror above the sink and I was mortified to see there was a rope burn all the way around my neck. Apparently Andrew Borden decided he was going to end the argument and the use of Frank’s Box once and for all.

  We don’t sleep at the Lizzie Borden House anymore.

  [contents]

  CHAPTER · FIVE

  The Bereaved Mothers Club

  My mom and I were on what we called the “Spirit Phone 2010 Tour” that spanned from Colorado to Minnesota and all the way down through Georgia and Florida
when we had one of our most memorable Ghost Box experiences. At that time, we had been on the road for nearly a month and it had been a long drive that had started in Colorado, us stopping and performing at countless metaphysical centers along the way. At each stop we would do a presentation, which would later be known as the Moon Family Psychic Experience. We discussed our hereditary psychic history before doing a public psychic gallery reading, which included tarot cards, psychic counseling, and a demonstration of the Ghost Box where attendees could pose a question to either spirit guides, angels, family members, or anyone else on the other side.

  At these events, people signed up for private readings with both my mother and me for the next day. The tour had been extremely successful to that point and we were both very proud of the work and healing we had done. On this particular warm winter day in Florida, we were driving down the highway toward our next tour stop in Fort Myers. Now you have to understand, when I booked this tour I spoke to metaphysical centers and had to determine, sight unseen, if their location would be suitable for our event. Fortunately, most of the stops we made had very nice, clean locations while a few were a bit more questionable.

  We never could have imagined what we were going to run into when the GPS directed us to the Fort Myers location. My mother and I looked at each other, completely bewildered, as we drove up to a tall chain-link fence complete with large spools of barbed wire across the top. Behind the fence there was what appeared to be an extremely dingy salvage yard with junk and debris strewn everywhere.

  Almost in a daze, I got out of the car and walked up to the fence to find a large padlock protecting all that was inside. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back in pure disgust as if asking the heavens, “Why?” I slowly walked back to the car, got in, and shut the door. I took a moment to collect myself before speaking. “Yeah, the place is locked up.”

  My mom, always trying to defuse a situation, said, “Well now, let’s try not to get upset. Maybe the GPS brought us to the wrong place.” Once again we checked the address we had for the center and discovered we were indeed in the right place. I attempted to call the number I used when booking the tour and kept getting voicemail. Even though my mom and I were both upset, we decided to go to the hotel we booked for the night and regroup. We made the decision that we would get ready for the show and hope that a miracle happened. We drove to the location that night and were extremely surprised to find that the gates were open. We drove into the dirt lot and saw there were lights coming from the building off to our left. I parked the car and got out, not knowing what might happen next. As we stepped out of the car, a woman emerged from the building and said, “You must be Chris and Paulette!”

  Stunned, we replied, “Um, yes, that’s us!” The woman was very friendly and explained to us that the owner’s husband had suffered a heart attack and that she was tending to him in the hospital. That was the reason the shop was closed when we arrived earlier. While we both felt terrible about the tragedy that had taken place, we still couldn’t quite figure out why the place looked the way it did.

  The woman then asked, “Do you have anything you need to bring in?” I explained to her that I just had a small black roller bag in the trunk and other than that, we were ready to go. Interestingly, I noticed there was a fairly large black cat playing with a rooster near the doors to the building. Now this is something you don’t see every day and I have to admit my attention was focused on this odd pair. I went to the back of the vehicle, opened the back deck lid, and pulled out my black roller bag. As I extended the handle to start rolling into the building, I was shocked when the black cat jumped on the bag to go for a ride! We all laughed and the woman explained to us that the cat and the rooster were best friends and were kind of like the mascots for this center. I felt like I was in the twilight zone.

  When we entered the building, my mother and I were both taken aback at how elegant the retail shop was. The store had a variety of crystals, dream catchers, candles, and other items you find in a high-end metaphysical shop. Though the store was very nice, I didn’t see a space where we could perform. I asked the woman where we should set up and she said, “Oh, you’re actually going to be upstairs.” I didn’t even realize there was an upstairs to this location.

  We climbed a flight of stairs to the second level and were led into a beautiful, large room that was filled with chairs and sitting pillows. She told us we could set up anywhere we felt comfortable and explained that with the owner’s tragedy, she hadn’t been able to advertise the event as intensely as she wanted. She said there were only twenty people attending and they were all part of the same club. We completely understood the situation and decided to make the best of it. About twenty minutes later, several older women began to arrive. One by one, they introduced themselves before finding a seat in the chairs we set out. We presented that night and all the women seemed very interested in what we had to say. My mother did her tarot card reading demonstration and several of the women participated, seeming to genuinely gain comfort from the readings. While everything seemed positive that night, we had a distinct feeling of despair within the room so I decided to take a break before doing the Ghost Box demonstration.

  While we were on break, one of the women from the group approached me and asked, “Are you aware of what our group is?”

  I said, “No, I’m sorry; I’m not.” She told me they were a support group for bereaved mothers and that all their children had died in horrific and violent ways. My heart sank as I could only imagine the pain each of them had suffered and then realized how tough this gallery reading might be. I attempted to ground myself to the best of my abilities, gave the group instructions of how the session would work, and then proceeded to turn on the machine. I connected with my Spirit Technician and could sense that he, too, was aware of how unstable the situation might be.

  Once I established contact, I reluctantly pointed my finger at the first woman in the group and asked that she state her name. She did and the voice through the machine replied, “Okay, got her.” I then asked the woman to give us the name of the person she wanted to reach. She turned her head downward toward her lap and with every ounce of strength and energy she possessed, raised her head and said her deceased daughter’s name. There was a few moments of static and radio fragment before a faint young female’s voice pushed through the speakers and clearly to all in the room, it said, “Mama?” The mother’s head dropped as her tears flowed. The woman next to her gently placed her hand on the sobbing woman’s shoulder as if to provide a source of strength and compassion. The woman raised her head to the ceiling and said through tears, “I love you so much.” The emotion was felt throughout the space and I don’t believe there was a dry eye in the room, including mine.

  One by one, I repeated the process for each of the mothers. Each woman had their own unique experience as their children’s voices came through the speakers of the Ghost Box. When the last woman communicated with her child and I told the Spirit Technician we were closing down the session, I felt a distinct sense of relief. Never before had I experienced so much raw emotion during one of our gallery readings.

  As I sat in the chair with the device on my lap, my mother went to each of the women to provide comfort and reassurance that I believe only one mother can provide to another. I was exhausted and though the room was cooled by air conditioning, I was sweating profusely. I felt I had exhausted all of my energy connecting these lost children with their physical world mothers.

  Now in most cases, our hope is that people will have such a great experience during the gallery reading that they want to have a private reading that night or the next day, providing us the money we needed to support the tour. However, on this night we weren’t at all interested in conducting private sessions, as all of our energy and emotion had been drained. Hesitantly, I announced that if anyone was interested in a private reading, they could let me know now so we could make arrangements. I was surprised when all of
the women in the group said they would like to do private sessions, but they were only available to do it right then and there. They also insisted that the sessions be done in a public setting much like the gallery so they could support one another. My mother gave me a knowing look, as if to say this was something the universe was insisting we do. Without saying a word to each other, we both realized how important this was for these women as well as the spirits of their lost children.

  We reassembled the group and the room fell quiet. As I reluctantly flipped the power switch on the device, I called out to my Spirit Technician and he immediately replied. Once again, one by one, we went down the line of women and connected each of them with the spirit of her child. Each communication lasted twenty to thirty minutes. This time the women were able to have full conversations with their kids. Some of the most distinct questions and responses replay in my head to this day. At one point, the third woman in line asked her murdered daughter, “Did you know who he was?” (referring to the despicable killer who took her life). Without hesitation, the girl replied, “Yes! You know him! It was …” The mother’s expression hardened and her mouth fell agape. She quickly explained to the room that this was a friend of her daughter and she always felt he was responsible for her death.