Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Dream Journal Entry 1 (9/17/2013)

I was outside in a gray stone courtyard, the sky was a heavy gray with bits of white swirled in like a marble. There was heavy  amounts of ambient light, but no sources that I could see from where it could come from. I could feel that I was totally alone there. There were massively  built stone gray walls, they were taller than me, but not by much. They were massive in width and seemed to be structured like a maze. On the stone walls were vibrant green vines as thick as ropes, with thorns as big and as sharp as daggers. On the vines lining the stone walls  were giant red flowers, they looked like they had been dyed a scarlet red with caked on blood.  I have on a white day dress, I am barefooted, a silver dagger on my hip. I have a white blind fold on my eyes, it's covered in old blood and new blood. My white dress is spotless. My left  hand is sliding and running against the thorns as a walk through the maze, never once lifting my left  hand. My hand is torn up pretty bad, bleeding profusely, but I never get a drop of blood on my hand. I keep thinking to myself, " I have got to get this right, I have to get this right, get this right, before the moon gets up." I feel like what I am doing is suppose to be a spiritual experience and I am trying to find something in the thorn vines blindly.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Vintage Visions

For nearly a week now I have been having dreams and waking visions of the same person in the same place.

The first one was of a young woman's arms bound together by fraying rope at the wrists. A silky dark off white sheet under them.

Second one is of a man in a black and white victorian dinner suit. He's on a brass framed bed, with dark off white satin sheets. He is forcibly kissing a young woman in a baby pink rough lace victorian dinner gown. Her arms bound together at the wrists with fraying rope to the brass headboard.

The next one the woman is tied to a wooden chair with the same fraying rope from the bed. Her wrists are bruised and rawly bleeding. The man is bent over her talking angrily to her. He is fair skinned, average  height, slender muscular build, thick black mustache, deep set expressionate eyes, strong nose, black hair curling around his ears. He looks like he's in his mid 20's. Has a top hat on. He's pointing at her while yelling and on his wedding finger is a thick gold band with a big spherical onyx.

My last one so far today, was the vision (while dreaming this morning) of him and her in bed. Him trying to force himself on her while she's bound to the bed. I realized in this one I am the young woman. My hair is to my shoulders, in my natural ringlets, my hair is strawberry blonde, I have a welted purple bruise on my cheekbone. The room is cheap looking wood from floor, wall, to ceiling. Everything is dusty. There' a cube like wooden vanity next to the bed, with a white lace table runner, teal washing jug and basin, and an old oil lamp burning. I can feel his weight, breath on me, and the roughness of his mustache, and I could smell his sweat. I felt terrified , angry, but most of all disgusted.

I had to get up and get my children to school. I wake up, get out of bed, seemy husband still asleep. Go to walk away from the bed and BAM! I am back in the dusty, wooden room with the man, but this time I'm running while lifting up my dress. I feel dizzy, nauseated, my head is exploding, I lose my footing. I wake up and I am hurtling towards my bedroom door, lose my balance and smack into.

I did wake up. It was not a dream within a dream. Something pulled me back in. All day I have had the name Richard Henry stuck in my head.

A few friends said I had a past life occurrence or I am picking up on a tramatic imprint. What do you think?

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

My Open Letter To The Paranormal Community (September 10th, 2013)

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

I would like to talk a moment with you all. It has to do with division among teams, societies, organizations, solo researchers/investigators, and enthusiasts involved in the paranormal. Every single day as of late (not exaggerating) when I log onto social media, see one of you in person, or answer my phone....I hear about:

I hate so n' so in the field.
Their work has no validation.
OMG! They're horrible at this! They'll never make it.

^It has nothing to do if your point/opinion is substantial . It has to do with the selfishness, snobbery , and plain hatred that comes with it. I have seen teams in the past and lately tear eachother to shreds over the most trivial and pitiful things. It mostly stems from "my method and theories are absolute. You don't agree with me your works garbage and you're a fake".

Number One, everyone has a different belief system. Whether it's theological or scientific or both. They're belief system is going to influence how they investigate  It doesn't make their system for investigating anymore correct or incorrect to yours. Vice Versa. Then you have to take into account are they studying the more scientific /analytical aspects or the spiritual /metaphysical side or compounding both aspects. Neither aspects  are wrong and that is what's mainly harped on.

Number Two, "I don't like so n' so. So I am going to  say my work is superior and there's is flawed." Just because you don't like someone does not in anyway, shape , or form discredit the merit in their work. No matter how badly you want it to.

Number One and Two, largely go hand in hand. Which isn't much of a stretch nor a surprise.

There are plenty of people in this field I don't like. Iam also guilty of the things stated above.

This field isn't a high school clique. We need to band together, set aside differences, and put our noses down to nose level. Quit being stingy with locations , clients, but mostly quit being greedy with knowledge. We need to quit being paraunity or whatever you choose to call it in name only and be more pro active in what we preach.

No I am not the ambassador of the paranormal, but something has tobe said among the people I know .


Destiny "Dez" Gonzalez

101 Ranch Campout (June 1st, 2013)

Bill Balcer and The Old Timer's Association  were kind enough to let us campout overnight  on the grounds. We have investigated there several times and never tire of it.

Stephanie and Jared Henning, Brenna and John McCaun, Bob Sorg, Cory Bell, and I all went out there. We were originally going to stay all night excluding Bob and Cory. But John hurt his leg, and bad weather and coyotes drove the rest of us.

We received communication from Joe and Zach Miller like we usually do. Though this particular   time we were contacted by Maggie also at the pavilion. She told us Zach killed her for insurance money, but we have no substantial claims to back this up. Zach told us he loved his wife, but ultimately killed her and no regrets. Once again there is nothing to solidify this.

Later in the evening the horses in the neighboring field went mad . We searched for signs of coyotes to no avail, but we're not dismissing it could have been coyotes. At one point we saw a painted Native American, charge at a bucking horse, as soon as he was on it's back ( the horse went into complete hysterics at that point), the Native American disappeared.

Undisclosed Abandoned School

Very few and I mean very few locations have scared me to my core. This place is intimidating, physically a behemoth and it is not a place you want to get lost in. Every single second you feel as if you're being watched, the phantom steps behind you, and inaudible whispers only strengthen what you know. You are NOT alone. Stephanie Henning and Donald Secrest were with me at this location.

We heard footsteps following us, teen girls whispering, upstairs two grown men carrying on a conversation, classroom door slamming. It was almost like school was still in session.

The most creepy part. We were in the gymnasium, sitting in the middle of the bleachers. It was  Stephanie, me in the middle, and then Don. Stephanie heard it, but Don and I felt it. Something sat on the otherside of Don.

We were creeped out so bad. We barely stayed 2 hours. We plan on going back as soon as possible.

Eskridge Weekend January 2013

If you haven't noticed, the Eskridge Hotel and Museum is our upmost favorite place to investigate, along with the Historic Miller Mansion/101 Ranch. There quite a few haunted gems in Wynnewood, Oklahoma and touches of aesthetic beauty. On our agenda was investigating the Eskridge, Wynnewood Police Station, the building connected to the Flower Bin, Wynnewood Cemetery, the library, and the Joy school. We never got to the library or Joy school due to bad weather making cut our venture a day short.

With us was Stephanie Henning, Kerry Chadwell, Hildreth "Hildy" Overcash, Cathy Nance-her daughter Jordan and her friend Dakota of those who stayed the night in the Eskridge. Logan Correli, Dale and Marleena joined us later on and we were accompanied by Wynnewood historian Chris Walker.

After arriving and getting settled in. We decided to do a short EVP session while waiting for Cathy at the Eskridge. Kerry is a borderline skeptic, Chris had the heat off and we were all freezing. Kerry said, "We're cold can you warm us up?" No sooner had she said that the heater came on. We looked the thermostat was on "off" and to top it off that part of the heating unit for that room doesn't work. Not too long after Cathy showed up with Jordan and Dakota. So we headed to the police station.

We got the police station around 11pm-12am. They gave us a short tour and told us they heard the piano playing upstairs. Sure enough there was mice nesting inside and it was so clogged with nesting the keys won't even budge. The most active place is the holding cells, that are no longer in operation. We did live EVP and heard conversations. I was walking from one cell to the next doing live EVP, I heard walking behind me, stopped, and heard an electronic man's voice say, "What do you think you're doing?" After awhile we switched places with team B and went upstairs. They have these props up there that look like scarecrows, they're so eerie looking in the dark Jordan and Dakota swore they were moving at certain points. The only activity I received up there was being groped and around that time Jordan felt a smack on her bottom. We had to have a talk with the too friendly spirits.

Sidenote: The police department use to be the town fire station.

When we finally decided to call it a night we went to the war memorial to rest, Hildy slept on the chaise lounge in the ballroom at the Eskridge. About an hour after laying down, I hear someone walk down the staircase, the door to the memorial open, more footsteps, and a woman with a dignified Victorian accent say, "Who are all of you? What do you think you are doing here?" The next day I found out I wasn't the only one who heard her.

The next morning we got breakfast and headed to the cemetery, looked around, saw the graves of the Eskridge's, but it was too windy to investigate.

Since the librarian cancelled due to bad weather coming in. We met up with Logan and his crew. We decided to head to Konowa, Oklahoma and head to Sacred Heart Mission. It was raining and the priest told us the buildings were locked up. He wasn't going to go unlock them in the rain, and if we could find a way inside on our own, then to go for it. We didn't capture anything, it was very beautiful and peaceful. So it made up for it. Kerry and I were fascinated by the priests headstones in the cemetery.

Kerry and Stephanie decided to head home after Sacred Heart. The rest of us went back to Wynnewood to the Flower Bin. We really didn't capture anything there either. Although we did see shadow people, I saw a boy in a red knitted wool sweater, Jordan-Dakota-and I heard a woman and man whispering.

Sidenote: Keith the owner of the Flower Bin, his grandfather rebuilt that building. The part we investigated was once a small hospital and dentist office. You can still smell the flouride in the air.

We would like to thank the Wynnewood Historical Society and the town of Wynnewood for beng so friendly, gracious, and hospitable. It is a very charming respite. We hope to continue having the opportunity of working with everyone there. Thank you!

Eskridge Hotel and Museum Revisited

Our team had a residential case in Wynnewood, Oklahoma. So we decided to let our good friend Chris Walker (Wynnewood, Historical Society) join us (Stephanie and I) . I can't say much about the residential case, but here is a list of things that happened:
phantom footsteps
bedroom door opening/closing
knocks on backdoor

The weirdest part of it all, a flash of neon purple light that filled the whole room, with no reasonable explanation.

Even with the few interesting occurrences, activity died quickly.

We decided to stop by the Eskridge, before we did we stopped by Chris's house. I had a cool experience there. Stephanie was in the entranceway of the living room, Chris was in the kitchen, and I was in the middle of the living room looking around. I saw the shape of a cat behind one of the curtains, swaying it's tail back and forth. I told Chris, "I thought you only had the one cat, Crook?" She peeks out of the kitchen, "I only do have Crook, he's shut up in my room." I look back and the cat in the window was gone. I really didn't believe her, I was in shock, she had to prove to me she only had Crook,. However she did say it explained parts of her own activity.

At the Eskridge upon entering it felt uneasy, uninviting, and heavy. Which is unlike it's usual atmosphere even in the dark it's moderately peaceful even with activity. The building just felt angry that night. We all felt it and at one point discussed leaving, it was that intense. Besides Stephanie being touched a few times, Chris having her beanie tugged, it was all directed on me. I had my hair pulled several times, Stephanie and Chris saw my ponytail in the air and drop one of the times. Stephanie and I had something with ice cold breath breathing on us. I was pinched a few times. Near the end we were in the barber shop doing an EVP session, we heard someone pound down the staircase-like a bat out of hell, and the front door open and slam. Thankfully the Wynnewood police station is across the street. We went over, and came back with the police to check things out. They didn't find anything, except one officer. He and I were standing at the end of a hall facing a windowless brick room talking. A limbless torso, just shoulders and a chest in a black shirt, came out of one brick wall, floated across, and went into another brick wall. The officer's eyes got huge, he turned to me, "This is your area of expertise, I think Iwill be going now".