© 1, October, 2026 Levite
http://themediadesk
1.
One thing that writing my journal of unusual cases has done is to help me keep track of them. Not only after the case is closed, or at least is no longer an active investigation, but while I am actively working on the case. Something will happen, or somebody, or sometimes, some Thing will say or do something, and I'll think "that'd be good in the writeup", and I'll jot it down or enter it into my notes on my laptop, or whatever, and then see it later and it will, usually, help with the case in some way. Or even, "that happened before at 'such and such'" and I'll look it up in my journal, and, sometimes, that helps.
Those notes helped with a substantial advance in the case of the Irishman's House.
I had been there alone, and with Derek, with the Sheriff and Trooper Stewart, and once with a couple of other paranormal researchers, and we'd all experienced things, sometimes quite different manifestations, but it was consistently active, and often, unpleasantly so.
Last week I got an email from a city employee that was one of those that had been using the house to store files that they needed to keep, and didn't need access to immediately, but didn't have room for.
"... I was looking for some alley right of way records from three to five years ago when I heard what sounded like somebody in the other bedroom. I thought maybe somebody else had come in so I said 'hello'. But instead of somebody answering I heard the most awful shrieking howl you can imagine. It hurt my ears and I had to run out of the house. It was still screaming when I was out by my car. I didn't go back in the house that day, I tip toed up to the back door and pulled it shut quietly and locked it, and went back to the office."
I wrote back to her and asked for the specifics about the files she was looking for, and said I'd go find them for her and see if I could get whatever was there to howl at me.
So I went to look for the utility construction reports for the part of the Farmingdale villages that were in Suffolk County, and the parts that were in Nassau county, and the parts that were somewhat confused until I found the records my contact needed.
I had one digital recorder running on the kitchen table, one of my directional recorders was sitting on a stack of recently added tote boxes full of business permits in the front corner of the living room, the last one was in the back bedroom with me. I made sure I had tagged them by saying the place and date, and where it was in the house after I'd turned them on and sat them down as to where and when they were. Then I put out a couple of cameras.
After I'd found the files she wanted I left the equipment in place and running while I walked around the house and asked whatever was there why it was being disagreeable.
While I was there I got no response, there was no sounds, no haze or mist, nothing. Which, for that place, is almost unheard of.
I dropped her construction files off and said I had audio to review and I'd let her know what I found.
As I ate lunch at my desk in the office I brought up the file of the audio from the recorder in the kitchen. I could see on the trace my tag, my walking away, and then the tagging of the living room recorder. I could even see where I had spoken to the one in the bedroom.
And then, at the fifty-three minute mark there was something else. It looked like it was close to the microphone and spoke clearly. I played it.
".... just. Leave.... me. Alone."
Four words, by a male voice, with no slurring or breathing, but a slight accent that was still recognizable. All four words were clear and distinct. And the 'leave' and 'alone' were emphasized.
I saved it and checked the rest of the recording. Nothing. So I checked the one from the living room.
At just over fifty two minutes into its recording, and by the time stamp exactly when the voice had spoken in the kitchen, it recorded the same four words. As this recorder had the directional feature I could see where the sound had originated. From the file the speaker had been right in front of the machine and was speaking directly into it. Which was what it sounded like they'd done in the kitchen.
So I saved it and went to the one that I'd had with me in the bedroom. This recorder picked up my shuffling file folders and reading dates and locations to myself, and then, forty nine minutes into the recording, "... just. Leave.... me. Alone." And again, it sounded like they were right next to the recorder.
On all three recorders, at the end of the files, I could hear about ten minutes of my walking around and asking questions. You could tell I was in another room, some of what I had said was somewhat muffled on the recording in the kitchen, and the directional said I was some distance away, in front of, and to the left, of the unit. Which I was. But there was nothing else from the house on any of them.
I have had other EVPs that were audible on more than one recording made when something had spoken during an investigation. But it would always be somewhat weaker on the device furthest away. Or it would be clear on one, and much less so on another, even if they were only a couple of meters apart. This time, the recorders were in different rooms, a long way from each other, and one wasn't even in the line of sight of the other two, around a corner and down a hallway. And you simply cannot move the recorder quietly enough to not leave something on the trace to indicate that it had been picked up and sat back down, especially onto a hard surface like the kitchen table.
There is no way that I know of that somebody else could have planted the same words on those recorders at the same time, without my knowing it. Well, nobody alive could have that is.
It was unusual enough that I sent an email to Trooper Stewart explaining what had happened with copies of the audio files and a, rather roughly drawn, map with their locations on it and asked him what he thought about it.
A couple of hours later he wrote back and told me to call him when I had a chance.
After a friendly bit of catching up he said, "Detective Elaine, whatever is in that house is beyond anything either one of us has any business trying to deal with. But, I know, it's your job to make sure that your city admin doesn't have a problem when she's in there. But I would still recommend tearing it down and salting the ground where it was. Well, after you've had every priest on the Island bless the site. I wouldn't want to be the guy that tried to tear it down otherwise."
I sighed, "It may come to that."
2.
But then my research into the Irishman's House came to a standstill because of a call from a county facility that had reported something odd in an official incident report that was forwarded through channels until it got to me, so I called her...
Then I made her say it three times.
She wasn't kidding. It wasn't a practical joke. And it wasn't a hoax as far as they could determine.
The facility was reporting a ghost dog. And they were asking me to come see if there was anything I could do about it.
The Sheriff had read the incident report the agency had sent in before it got to me. So, of course, that morning he had to stop by and smile at me.
I just sat and looked at him for a moment until he said something.
"So now I guess we can add another title to your name plaque," he tapped the sign on the wall of my cube.
"Not until I solve and close the case, sir."
"Fair enough," he answered.
I thought to myself if somebody did add 'ghost dog catcher' to the sign I was going to leave it there and maybe even order new business cards with it.
I did some quick research about every sort of animal spirit, including those from local Native American traditions, and then I wondered if what they thought was a 'ghost dog' was something else entirely, including possibly a force of nature like I had met at the Sunken Meadow Golf Course. And, there was always the possibility that what they saw as the spirit of a dog was something like an over-achieving orb or other more or less mundane energy release that moved like that. And, of course, there was also the chance that instead of a ghost it was a coyote that had gotten too close to some wet paint and now had an odd hair style.
With all of that information in mind, I checked my kit bag, replaced some borderline batteries, and headed out to someplace else I'd never been in the county. The Kings Park Sewage Treatment Plant. Somehow in my travels and duties, I'd missed that one.
It was obvious that they wanted to keep this all too necessary and important facility as nondescript and unobtrusive as possible. I had the full address of the place off St. Johnland Road, but as I drove along in a line of slow moving traffic through what seemed like an endless residential area off the highway, I almost missed it. At the last minute I saw the small white sign at the intersection and made the turn.
My contact, Miss Mary, had told me where the office was, and, as this is one of the smaller facilities in the county I had no trouble finding it. And when I walked in, she was right there at her desk. She smiled, and thanked me for coming out and offered me a cup of coffee.
I thanked her and said that after that drive I could use it.
"We actually managed to get a couple of good pictures of him with one of our security cameras last evening after I went home. Usually he runs through so fast all we get is a blur, but last night he was just walking, which he does sometimes." She said. "Here, I can pull them up for you. I've saved these and the others to this thumb drive for you."
"Thank you, that's great." I answered.
And there it was. A somewhat blurry light gray image that was about the size and shape of a dog with the time stamp of twenty-three seventeen and Camera Two on it. Photos two and three, taken a few seconds later, showed a bit more of the moving form. And in photo three, I could clearly see enough detail that I could say that it wasn't a coyote who had a close encounter with a freshly painted fence. Then in photo four, he was moving out of range.
"Well, Miss Mary, I have to be honest, that looks like the ghost of a dog, and I've never seen anything like that before."
From what she said, and the positioning of Camera Two the dog had come in from the St. Johnsland Road side, down the area of the plant where I'd come in, and then, according to Miss Mary, he would always cut across the property to down by the two huge clarifier tanks, and then he'd disappear through the fence line bordering the Nissequogue River.
"We've checked that fence. It's secure, but he always goes through it."
I nodded to Miss Mary, "Do you always see him about the same time?"
"Usually in the evenings, but not always. Once in a great while we'll see him running down that way from over by the old house in the afternoons, and once in awhile in the morning."
"Does he ever come back? I mean, going the other way back up the drive toward the house?"
She thought about it for a moment, "No, not that I know of. You can ask some of the guys, maybe they've seen him do that."
"Thank you, I will."
Outside, Mister Mark told me more than I ever wanted to know about sewage treatment. And then he said that, no, he'd never seen the dog come back.
"We see him so often that we call him Sammy."
"Does he ever react to anybody, or a truck or anything else?" I asked gesturing to a service truck that was coming in.
"Not really. Once in awhile he'll stop and look around, but that's it. And there's been a couple of times when a driver will see him and hit his brakes to not run over him. Sammy will look at them, and either keep going, or vanish."
We stood and watched as the utility box truck parked and the driver got out and went into a shop building.
Then Mister Mark asked me a question, "Do you think Sammy is a real ghost dog?"
"I don't know. I suppose it could be something else that is manifesting as a canine. And while I've never heard of it, it might even be what it looks like."
Mister Mike was just looking at me, "You really do know about this stuff. Mary said you did, but I just thought...." He stopped and shook his head, "I don't know what I thought."
"It's OK, this isn't something most people run into every day."
"And you do?"
I smiled, "Since I started doing this sort of investigation, I run into something like this about once a week."
Mister Mike nodded, "It's all yours. I'll stick to sanitary waste."
"And that is all yours." I said as seriously as I've ever said anything.
Miss Mary had given me a key to the Mariner Road entrance gate, and the office where I could use a corner table, and the office alarm code, and the wifi password, and asked me if I was OK parking my car where it was....
"It'll be fine, ma'am. Thank you. I've investigated in much worse places I assure you."
I had passed 'the old house' when I came in. I saw the historic marker sign, but since I had been looking for the sewage plant I didn't pay any attention to it. Now I went over and checked it out.
I'm sure I had been told about, or perhaps read about, Major Richard Smythe, the famous Bull Rider from the Colonial period, and assorted members of his family, including the owner of 'the old house' on the edge of the treatment plant's land which had been owned by Obadiah Smith, the Major's grandson. I drove over to it and found out that the place had been built around 1700, so it really was 'an old house' and that it was currently owned by an historic trust, but not the county's historic office.
I decided to go in and see if whoever was there had any knowledge of a ghost dog that liked to run down to the river from this general direction.
"I'm sorry ma'am, we're not open to the public at this time," a gentleman said from the far end of the house as I walked in.
I took out my badge and ID case and showed them to him as he came into the room, "I'm not the public, this is an official investigation and I'm here looking for a bit of information for something that involves the sanitary plant next door."
He stopped walking and looked at my badge. "Oh, OK, in that case, Detective Elaine. My name is Steve Bannon, I work for the Smithtown Historic Society. I'm just here waiting on the exterminator who's going to check to see if our carpenter bees have moved on. They were doing some damage to the ramps out back."
"It's not about carpenter bees, but the sighting of a a mysterious dog that's seen running from here, through the plant, out to the river."
"Oh, you're THAT Detective Elaine. I love your work. But, yeah. That's Obie. I've seen him out back a time or two. We're not sure who he is, but he's been seen here a lot, and some of the contractors have reported seeing him in the house since the renovations were started."
"You call him Obie, they call him Sammy."
"We don't know the dog's name, but the original owner of the house was Obadiah Smith, so we call the dog Obie."
"Were there any reports of him before the renovations started?"
He shook his head, "Not that I know of. Nobody's said anything."
My next question was whether or not the Historic Society would mind if I spent some time checking out the back of the property over the next couple of nights to see if I could figure out what was going on here and at the treatment plant to the north.
"No ma'am. As it is an official investigation, and your work with the County Historic Properties is a legend. And, if you don't mind, we've got a couple of other places that would be right up your alley."
"Let me work on this one first. You can have somebody from your group send a message to my office and I'll see what I can do later." I said and gave him one of my cards, which, for the time being, didn't say 'ghost dog catcher'.
Now I had two locations to cover with what I had. Fortunately, I could put cameras on the ramps on the back of the Smith House and cover most of the hillside that led to the treatment plant's property. From on the other side I found locations along the route they said the dog took on its way out to the river.
When I looked through the other images Miss Mary had saved over the last year or so I wasn't looking for the images of the dog, of which there were several that may have been him, and may have been everything else, including a coyote. What I wanted to see was exactly what path he usually followed across the area. Then I walked his usual route and put out three more cameras set for motion activation.
Then I retreated to the office and waited until well after dark to go out and slowly look around.
The night shift of the treatment plant had been warned that some strange woman would be wandering around looking for a ghost, so once John and Cory told me that they see the dog they call Sammy several times a week, they stayed clear of me.
"We'll see him more nights than we don't," Cory said, "sometimes we'll see him come through the brush over there, like you said, from the Colonial House, and sometimes he'll just appear over by the pools."
"Have you ever seen him going back toward the old house from the river?" I asked.
They looked at each other, "No ma'am, now that you mention it, no."
"Yeah, that's odd isn't it? But no. He only goes that one way."
"It is odd, and something I hope to be able to figure out. And you guys have helped a lot. Thanks."
"If you need anything else, we'll be around all night."
I nodded and said that was good to know, and went on my way with my camera on a tripod to set it up on the north end of the property near where the fence came in from the river, where, according to most of the information I had, was just beyond where the dog went through and out to the riverbank. I aimed the camera back down toward the big round tanks and the lane in front of them.
After that I did a quick background sweep just to see if there were any EMF readings that might cover the several hundred yards from the back of the old house to out by the tanks. I did get some interesting readings near the metal pipes and some of the monitoring equipment, but they all dropped to background once I moved a few steps away. Overall, it was less interesting than some offices I'd investigated.
I settled into a routine, which I kept up for the next three nights. And I caught some video, and several still images, of what appeared to be a medium sized dog, that on the second night, about an hour after sunset, appeared behind the old house about halfway up the hill. Then he faded from view there only to reappear in several images on a still camera I had set up near the office and shops.
He did look like what Miss Mary had recorded, and the others had reported. And seemed to do what they said he did.
On my two video cameras he could be seen loping along, minding his own business, and then on the camera on the far end by the tanks, he turned sharply and went toward the water. Then I checked on their security system and found similar images, although I will say with some pride that the quality of the images I got with my equipment was quite a bit better.
And my camera's time stamps were more accurate as well.
That was my recorded evidence. My personal experience was different.
On that first night, early in the morning, I saw a glimmer moving near the fenceline between the two properties that might have been him, but it didn't show up on any of my cameras.
After he showed up on the second night I had a plan for the next night. I took my recorders up to the back of the old house and sat on the ramp and waited until everything got quiet around me before I started asking questions.
First I took out my badge and ID and identified myself to whoever, and whatever, might be listening. Then I waited a couple more minutes in the quiet and dark.
"Are there any members of the Smith or Smythe, did I say that right, family here?" Then I waited. "Does anybody know anything about a dog that's been seen running from here out toward the river?" I gave it another minute. "Nobody's in trouble or anything, and the dog is fine, I was just looking for information about him to tell them next door, they want to make sure he's OK." And I waited again.
Then I picked up my recorder and listened through my headphones.
There were two answers to my questions and then something else... make that, two something else's that solved, if not closed, the case.
I set up my reveal briefing with Mister Steve from the historic group that were taking care of the Smythe house in the old house, with Miss Mary and a couple of the others at the sanitary plant in attendance. And then I contacted Manager Marjorie from County Historical to see if she was interested, and she was, and then, because everybody else was coming, the Sheriff did as well.
So when I set up my 'show and tell' in the big room in the old house, it was quite the crowd that arrived.
I did a quick round of introductions, and Mister Steve introduced the lady that was with him as the city's property manager, and then I gave a bit of history of the old house and how the sewage treatment plant came to be next door.
"And so everything was quiet and normal for over fifty years. Until the renovations on this house were begun. And they were needed, this old house was getting to be in a sorry state."
"A very sorry state," Mister Steve agreed.
"But that's when things were stirred up that resulted in Miss Mary and her coworkers next door seeing what they called Sammy every so often."
Manager Marjorie raised her hand instead of just speaking, I nodded and she said, "That's the way it works isn't it? Renovating an historic property seems to activate things."
"All too often it does. Even a minor disturbance to a space that has been left all but untouched for a long time can start activity of all sorts. And in this case, the activity began here, in the house, and then, as it involved a memory from ourside, it extended away from the house. I have some photos and video, and a very interesting set of EVPs that I recorded on the ramp that extends to the second floor on that end. I'll start with some footage from the treatment plant's system."
I showed them the best of Miss Mary's security camera footage and paused it on the best view.
"It does look like a dog," the Sheriff said to nods from several of the others.
"It is a dog. A very good, well behaved, and protective dog. And I have a name for him. Listen to this."
I played my recordings. When I asked if there was anybody from the family there I got the first answer.
"... yes. ... me..."
"I couldn't hear that at the time. But the voice seems to be from closer to the house, maybe right at the door at the top of the ramp. Then I asked about the dog and got this."
".... oh... that is... Caesar.... he checks - boat landing..."
I played that one three times.
"So it really makes sense. I went through some of the historic records and people did tie boats up in the Nissequogue River, although I couldn't find anything about a dock down there, but that's not surprising, it may have been a pull out for a small boat, a temporary or even floating dock. So Caesar, is just doing what he did for whoever this is from the Smythe / Smith family. And then I got this...."
You could hear my speech about nobody being in trouble and that I just wanted information and then. "... good. .... we are - doing ... well..." and then in a second there was a distinct 'woof' that sounded like a happy dog.
"I don't have a name for the man that answered. He's a member of the Smith family, and sounds like a very well spoken older man as well. Maybe a future investigation can get a name, but I'm not sure it's important. And once the renovations are done, he may fade into the background again, and Caesar will go with him."
The Sheriff raised an index finger at me the way he does, I said "yes, sir."
"So is this all, what you call residual?"
"No, sir. The answers and statements I got from Mister Smith, whoever he is, are direct intelligent answers. But yes, what you're seeing of Caesar is residual. The gentleman was probably very attached to his dog, and when he said Caesar checks the boat landing, he probably did that at his request, and may have done it for years. So Mister Smith still has him do it."
Miss Mary caught my eye, "So the dog, Caesar, isn't really a ghost?"
"That depends on what you mean by 'ghost'. Is what you are seeing, and what we have photos of, the spirit of a long dead animal? I don't think so. But it is a manifestation of a memory from the energy of whoever is still attached to this house. Mister Smith is still here, and he thinks about sending Caesar down to check the landing." I gestured to the northeast, "And that energy is amplified by the moving water and metal pipes and structures of the treatment plant."
"Your laws of thermodynamics again," the Sheriff said, "energy can't be created or destroyed."
"That's why I said once they're done rebuilding this house, and it all settles down again, it will fade into the background for another hundred years or so. Maybe until the next time they renovate the place."
One of the workers that had come with Miss Mary shook his head, "Well, at least I know when he ran under my truck I didn't kill him."
"No, he was already dead." The Sheriff said next to him.
"Yeah."
"Any more questions?"
In a moment Mister Steve stood up, "Well, since we talked about it. Would you all like to see the place and the renovations we've done so far?"
The tour was interesting, and we saw some of the mud and straw that had been packed around the windows, three hundred years ago.
"We were able to get a date off the material," Mister Steve said showing us the old filler around a window that had been leaking, "it is original, and we were able to save a lot of it. The leak has been fixed from the outside, and the original trim replaced, we'll restore most of this wall, and leave this part exposed to show how it was constructed."
Several of the questions some of those that had been at the reveal asked me were as interesting as the tour and I answered as best I could as we continued walking.
Afterwards, as had become his custom, the Sheriff invited everybody out to lunch. Which was also interesting.
3.
I was going back through my notes about the Irishman's House when I noticed something. I had taken notes and wrote out ideas about the male voice before.
I went back and found some of the recordings that I had made in the house, and on a couple of them, including when he asked why he should talk to me, it appeared to be the same individual.
And then there were other voices, including one an audio analysis program used by other law enforcement agencies, and who may not approve of what I was using it for, said was not related to any other voice it had record of.
But it was the primary male voice I was interested in. To me, he had a bit of an accent, and if I didn't know better, I would think that perhaps the gentleman who wanted me to leave him alone was The Irishman himself.
I spent several hours going back through all of the audio I'd recorded in the house, listening for that same voice, including when he was speaking while others, living or 'otherwise' were talking. And then I did the same with the other voice that I was certain had never been human. As to whether or not it was a card carrying demon I'm not going to say. Yet.
Finally I had what I was reasonably sure of everything I had collected with his voice on it. And then I listened to them in sequence. And took notes.
And as I went through it again and began to link answers to questions with other answers, and unprompted statements, and even some of what That Other Voice said as well, now over the course of nine full investigations, as well as a handful of other visits, in nearly four years.
To verify what I'd found I braced myself for another investigation.
Fortunately, Derek was going to come with me on Friday, but he had a meeting on Saturday, so I planned on just simply going in and sitting in different rooms and seeing if anything in the house had any objections to my being there that night.
Derek said he would supply a surprise supper at the Irishman's House and he'd meet me there.
And that's what he did carrying in a large rectangular box.
"Whatever is in there smells wonderful," I told him, "kinda, pizza-y, but not a pizza."
"That's exactly what it is. The new manufacturer's rep brought it in the other day to celebrate our having sold ten vehicles, except by the time he got here, we'd sold twelve and had two more sales pending, so it really was a celebration." He opened the large foil container inside the box with a flourish, and the steam from the thing made my eyes water. "They paid a chef from Europe to come over and teach several American cooks how to make a special dish that they claim they invented in their factory cafeteria and that they serve every Friday to their employees. And one of the cooks was from a resort over in Southampton. I got his number."
I was staring at the contents of the pan, "What is it?"
"I'm not even going to try to pronounce the name, but it is an Austrian version of an Italian pizza casserole. Instead of using fancy dried ham, they use a ton of garlic sausage, and a lot of cheese."
"I'm all in favor of that. How do you eat it?"
"Carefully. And. With weapons. And this is beyond napkins." He said and reached into a bag to bring out a roll of paper towels and a handful of heavy plastic silverware.
The casserole was the messiest thing ever, even with knives and forks we ended up with sauce running down our arms and dripping off our chins. But it was delicious.
"Elaine...." Derek said as we ate.
"I know I've got it all over my shirt."
"Well that, yes, and the proximity sensor in the living room is blinking."
As soon as he said that the sensor began its urgent beep that indicated that something was basically standing on top of it.
"Maybe they want some pizza - thing," I said and turned to look behind me toward the living room.
"We don't mind sharing, do you want a plate?" He asked the living room.
The tone warbled as whatever the unit was sensing moved, then it went silent, but the light stayed on letting us know that something was still within range.
I happened to look at the recorder on the counter on the other side of the door, it was registering a sound that we weren't hearing. In a moment, it stopped.
"If you don't like pizza, that's OK. I'll be back tomorrow and I can bring something else," I said, but the recorder didn't pick up anything else.
I waited for two more drippy, garlic infused, cheesy sausage bites, then I got the recorder and my headphones.
I saw Derek's face as I listened to something I never expected to hear.
"What?" I asked him.
"Your face just went totally pale and you've got tears in your eyes."
I nodded and took a deep breath. Then I held the headphones out to him. "Listen." He did.
" ....oo... keep coming here, d - tect ive Laine. ... why?"
Derek handed me the headphones, "It knows your name and job."
"It's the voice that I think is the Irishman." I answered, "and this confirms a couple of things about the primary spirit that is here." I looked around, the sensor on the floor in the living room was dark and quiet, and there was nothing else going on in the house. "The first that at least he is intelligent, and isn't hostile."
"Then what else is in here that is hostile?" Derek asked.
"Something that he asked to be here. I'll explain it later. In fact, since you're involved, I'll invite you to the reveal."
"As long as it isn't here."
We spent the rest of the night sitting in the various rooms, taking turns asking questions and watching the proximity sensors, but other than the occasional blip or random noise, nothing else happened. Well, a return visit to the pan of pizza-casserole-apocalypse happened, but other than still being amazingly messy even when cold, it was fine.
Then Saturday afternoon I was back.
I set up every piece of equipment I owned. Then I had a reasonably normal dinner of some take out fried chicken and watched the sky outside grow dark. Finally I just went into the back bedroom and sat in the old folding chair and just sat there watching the screen on the recorder.
My small proximity and vibration sensors told me that something had moved into the hallway, and then into the room where I was sitting, but the one in the center of the room stayed dark and quiet. I heard the motion activated camera that was sitting on some tote boxes take several pictures. Then I saw the screen on the recorder indicate that it was picking up a sound besides my breathing.
I spoke softly and gently. "If there is anything else you want to say, anything you want me or the historic society that owns this house, or the ladies that work for the city that come here with files to store, say it tonight, and I'll hear it, and pass it on. There's other recorders all over the house, talk to any of them."
After while I went into the front bedroom. But while I was there, nothing activated in the room. Then I moved into the living room.
While I was in there the sensor in the hallway activated, as did two of the cameras I had set up at opposite ends of the room. Now I was holding my oldest, and favorite, digital recorder. I held up up and out, "If there is anything else, anybody that is here wants to say to me. Now is the time. Speak to this."
I know it's a cliche, but I know something, or somebody, or perhaps both, were watching me later as I went around and made sure I had all of my equipment.
I stopped at the back door. "Thank you, I'll be back."
And I know I heard somebody sigh from inside the house as I turned to leave.
I spent the next two days reviewing all of the photos and recordings from the weekend, and then comparing what was there with the earlier evidence.
And then I made a trip down to see an old friend about some of the information, as well as a few other emails and phone calls about the place.
Then I scheduled the reveal to be in our conference room, with Manager Marjorie, Derek, several of the ladies from the city, and certain other interested parties.
"You've got an answer on that place?" Trooper Stewart asked me after I'd sent him an email saying I had come to a conclusion about at least part of it.
"Yes, sir, I think so."
"Your email said the reveal was Thursday."
"Yes, that's when everybody was available, I was hoping you could be on a video call."
"Video hell.... I'm leaving this afternoon, I'll be there. Save me a seat."
And he was here, sitting between the Sheriff and Derek, and directly across the table from Father Irving from the Our Lady of the Island Shrine.
I had known I was out of my league with this one when I heard what was on the recorder. So I made a call and then went down to the Shrine and spent some time with the old priest. He did some research on his own, and then agreed to come to my meeting as a, reluctant, subject matter expert.
I did an extended round of introductions, then asked if everybody was familiar with the house.
"Oh, yes. I've only been there once, and I'll remember that place for the rest of my life," Trooper Stewart said. Which was the consensus of most of the people in the room.
"And I think I can explain why. If you'll humor me for about ten minutes."
"You've got the room booked for the rest of the afternoon," the Sheriff said to some laughs.
"I thought maybe somebody would have a few questions and comments...." I answered. Then I said, "I made a compilation of all of the EVP statements I have of a voice that I believe is the Irishman himself. I've collected these over the course of several years and multiple visits to the house. You'll hear me, or somebody else, ask a question, and then the answer. I'll just run it, some are a bit hard to understand, but I'll play it again and tell you what I think it says."
I started the audio and watched them as they heard the question and answer, then some of the other comments, including the one from when I was out there with Derek and his special pizza casserole, which got a question about whether or not that was for lunch from Father Irving.
"No, but it can be, in fact, let me put in the order. I'll get one of the one we had and, one each of the other options, that should do it." Derek said as most of those in the room nodded in agreement.
After that I played the recording that left me, according to Derek, a bit pale.
When the recording finished second time the Sheriff shook his head and said, "I don't like the idea that anything in there knows your name and title."
"That's what I worried about that night," Derek said, "and that was after whatever was speaking came in from the living room."
Manager Marjorie seemed startled by that, "you saw it come in?"
"No," Derek said, "the sensor in the living room started going off, then it stopped, that's when the recorder in the kitchen caught that statement."
"Oh, my, that's good enough," she answered shaking her head.
"That's one thing that I have observed, that the Irishman himself seems to stay in and around the living room, then he'll move into other areas of the house. OK, I'll play the next one and I'll stop it and we'll go over what was said."
It played and everybody listened intently.
What surprised everybody the most was that there was never an answer to any question about the Irishman's name.
I asked, "tell me your name so I know who I'm talking to." I had asked at one point.
" ... I do not ... have - name... any more."
And then in another one when I asked why he was still there he said, "... this... what I. ... wanted. ... now."
"Oh, my," Ms Janie from the city said with her hand over her mouth.
I played through everything I had collected in turn. Some were more distinct and direct, others sounded like the Irishman was trying to talk over some other background sounds, including one that was in between some rather sharp tapping or light knocking that seemed to come from several places at once.
" ... 'tap - tap' I did ... ask 'tap' ... for this ... to 'tap' hap 'tap tap tap' happen..."
I had played another recording of the Irishman saying he wanted to stay in his house when Trooper Stewart asked me to play it again, "And turn it up as loud as you can get it, I thought I caught a word right behind him."
"OK," I said, and fiddled with the controls on the laptop and on the presentation equipment. "Let's see how loud it is." I said and played the previous clip about him saying he didn't know everything that was there. It was loud.
"That should work," the Trooper said.
"... I made ... a decision...." and then a low voice that had I thought was background noise breathed something chilling that was just audible even at that volume until the last word, and then there was the rest of the Irishman's statement.
I played it again after adjusting the settings slightly.
"... I made ... a decision...." and then another very soft and hard to understand voice "... yououse agreet ta beee ... Mine!" and in a moment the first voice answered, "... I did... it. .... ... I know." And then a breath that was a long Irish sigh.
Two of the ladies gasped and they all exchanged looks of fear.
"Wow." The Sheriff said blinking, "That second one sounded like every demonic voice I've ever heard in a horror movie."
"I think that's exactly what it was," Trooper Stewart nodded, "except it wasn't from a movie. Unless Miss Elaine is pulling our legs."
"It's no movie, but it explains everything that is going on in that house."
"That was worse than the one you played for me," Father Irving said, "I've got chills, and tears in my eyes." He said taking a deep breath.
"Me too," a couple of the others said.
"And that was really....." the lady from the city trailed off.
The priest continued, "but that does confirm what we're dealing with. Which is what I thought when you played the other ones for me. We have a case of what is called Perfect Possession. When the subject willingly and knowingly becomes host for a demonic entity. And accepts all that that entails in this world. And the next." He said and crossed himself.
"And that is why the good father is here," I said, "and thank you for coming."
"I've heard of perfect possession, but I thought it would end at death." Trooper Stewart said, and several around the table agreed.
"So did I," Father Irving answered, "and everything I could find after Detective Elaine brought me this evidence indicates that it should. That, when they die, the possessed move on to Hades, and await their final fate there. But this." He gestured to the screen. "Whatever, the Irishman made the deal with is still in our world. And it must be keeping him here as its host. And to have that sort of power over a human, it has to be truly demonic in nature."
The room got eerily silent for a long minute.
"I'm never going to go in that house again," Manager Marjorie said quietly.
"Go in?" One of the city ladies said, "I don't even want to drive by it now."
"What do you think he asked for in return for his soul?" Derek asked the priest.
Father Irving shook his head, "There's no way to know unless he tells us in one of these recordings. And from what I can find, even an Exorcism isn't going to release him now, even if we could expel the demon. He's ..." the priest frowned and shook his head sadly, "he's stuck. Until GOD Himself releases him." He said and made the sign of the cross toward the rest of the room.
The room got really quiet again.
Then in a minute Derek's phone beeped. He looked at it, "Lunch will be ready by the time I get there to pick it up."
The Sheriff had another idea, "Do they have a side room?" he asked and Derek nodded, "Reserve it for us. I don't know about anybody else, but I'd like a change of scenery before we listen to any more of this. You do have more, right?" I nodded. "Anybody else want to go?"
"I'd like to take a break." Father Irving offered, and it was seconded by almost everybody. "Can I ride in a police car?"
"I think I can arrange that," the Sheriff said with a smile.
4.
Lunch was a blast. Derek explained how the dealership getting a new model line ended up with all of us having casserole all over our shirts.
But one thing was certain, that while the three steaming messes that came out of the kitchen were absolutely delicious, there was no way to neatly eat them without a bib and gloves.
After we all laughed about that, Trooper Stewart kept the mood light by telling a story about an investigation he had done at a place that had been a boarding house, "and it had had a turn as a house of ill repute back during prohibition, serving homemade booze and other treats." He said, "I don't want to upset a priest."
Father Irving laughed, "It's OK Trooper. There was a working cat house not far from my last church's rectory. A couple of the, ladies of the evening, would come to bingo and community dinners."
"Were they looking for more business?" Ms Jeanie asked him.
"They had plenty of customers, they didn't need to find more. But, we are told to bless those that need blessing, and they needed a good meal and an evening out once in awhile, so they were welcome."
And we all laughed, then the Trooper continued his story about how the noises and flashing lights in the old house turned out to be a stray cat that had moved into the attic and the back stairwell that had been sealed off that led up to it. He showed us a couple of photos on his phone of where the cat had been calling home.
"The light on the ceiling in the hallway below stayed on, and made a warm spot on the attic floor between the rafters, so the cat had made that its home, and when the cat did cat things, the light would blink."
"So the place wasn't haunted?" Manager Marjorie asked.
"Oh, no. There was activity there. There was a strong residual presence in one of the old bedrooms that kept setting off a motion detector, and I got a couple of interesting female EVPs in that room. And there was something downstairs that kept knocking on one of the doors. But the main thing was the cat. And that stopped being a problem when they sealed up the place where it had been coming in." His face lit up in a big smile, "Instead of a ghost hunter, they needed a carpenter and an electrician."
But then we had to go back to the office, and back to the conference room, and then I played the final few recordings and showed the video of various sensors going off and then presented some other information.
"And this sequence tells the story about what happens to batteries in the house." I said. "This camera takes a still picture every ten seconds."
"She told me to leave all the spare batteries out in the car, and I'm glad I did," Derek said as I began playing it as a slide show.
The camera was focused on the screen on one of the digital recorders. In the first three photos the battery indicator showed four bars indicating a full charge. Over the next few photos the fourth bar blinked on and off a few times, then it had three bars.
"Look at the time stamp, that was two minutes," I said.
There were a few more photos, and then the meter showed two bars.
"If I remember right, that's been five minutes since the first picture," Father Irving said.
"It was, keep watching," I said.
Over the next few pictures the meter dropped to one blinking bar, then the screen on the recorder went blank. And, as we watched, the low battery warning came up on the camera itself, then it stopped working.
"Whatever it was killed both in less than ten minutes," I said.
"How long does a set of batteries in the recorder and camera last. Usually?"
"With new alkaline batteries the recorder will run for over eighteen hours. I usually replace them when they drop under half a charge. That's about twelve hours." I held up the recorder in question, "This is the same unit. I put new batteries from the same package in it this morning before we started, and its been running ever since, that's been over seven hours." I showed it to Manager Marjorie who was sitting next to me.
"It's still showing four bars," she said, "and by the timer, its been on almost eight hours."
"And with the rechargeable in the camera, it'll run for.... several days and hundreds of pictures. I don't think I've ever run one down just from using it. Even taking video it lasts a long time."
"And the house killed it in minutes," the Sheriff said.
"Not only that," Derek said, "it killed my phone from an almost full charge to stone dead, just like that. In less time than it took to eat supper."
"I don't doubt it."
Miss Kim spoke for the first time since the introductions. She had been the one looking for the utility diagrams, and been screamed at, that started all this. "That's happened to me a few times. I started leaving my phone out in the car when I went in to do things."
"Good idea," somebody answered.
I held up a finger, "I've got one more set of audio recordings and a couple more photos. Ready?"
The Sheriff looked around and then answered for everybody, "No, but go ahead."
Manager Marjorie let out a sigh, "I, for one, am really glad there's priest here." She said looking at him.
Father Irving smiled and patted the back of her hand.
"These are a sequence of shadows, and two odd orbs, or one orb that goes and then comes back, you'll see it, it's an odd shape and color. In the hallway outside the bathroom in the house. They were taken with the motion activated camera, at the same time as this audio, and this is what made me go down and see Father Irving."
I played the audio, it was the inhuman voice, ".. sss... sshhheeeee. Will Not. ... st aayy... stayya way..." there was a long pause, then the same voice continued, ".... tell her.... to Go."
That sounds like the same voice that was screeching at me that day, Ms Kim said.
I played it twice more and stopped it, and held the best image of the elongated dark red orb that was low and somewhat to one side of the hall, just before it vanished on the screen.
"Damn." The Sheriff said, then added, "sorry, father."
"On that one, I agree with you. When the Detective played that for me, I did the Signum Crucis for both of us." He said and made a large Sign of the Cross in the air in front of him.
"Three times each," I added. Then I changed the image on the screen. "This is the best image I have ever taken from the inside of the Irishman's house. And you can see it was right in the middle of next statement. The time stamp on that camera is in sequence with this next audio."
I played the recording that came during the time the photo was taken so they could get the entire effect.
There was a sound that sounded like somebody who was very frustrated blowing out a breath before they spoke, then, " ... I will... ask her ..." this voice was the one I thought was the Irishman.
The image in the photo was a human shape, distinct and with fairly clean edges, standing just inside the hallway door from the living room. But it appeared to be facing the living room, so we were seeing it in profile. In the next photo, just ten seconds later, it was gone.
"Is that the Irishman?" The Sheriff asked.
"I think so, we heard the other voice before that manifested. The next audio is on the recorder I had in the living room with me, after the image vanished in the hallway."
"... please... elainnne ... leave us." The voice said. " ... alone."
"He sounded sad," Manager Marjorie said.
"Yeah," Derek grinned, "I think he likes you," then his grin got wider, "He's got good taste."
"But his friend doesn't." Trooper Stewart added.
I didn't say anything to that, but went to the next audio clip.
"This is from about twenty minutes later. I hadn't reviewed anything at this point, I was just sitting in the kitchen listening to the house and waiting. It was getting late and I wanted to go home. I'll play it."
The recording started with me saying, "I'm going to get going, I've got to go into the office in the morning, so I need to get some sleep. I'll listen to all of the recordings in the morning and if you said anything I'll hear it then. OK?"
There was a pause, then the other voice said, "...... doooonnot ... com bokk."
As with all the other audio files, I played the last one twice. Then I looked around the table. "Well. That's it. What do you all think. Yessir?" I said to Trooper Stewart.
"Considering that our good Father here believes that to be some sort of demonic entity, as well as that the Irishman himself doesn't want you to come back, I'd stay out of there," he answered.
The Sheriff made it official, "I'm considering making that an order. Unless circumstances change dramatically, that one may well be off limits to you. And, this is an order, you will not go in there by yourself. Ever."
Manager Marjorie was waving her hands back and forth, "But what do we do with the city records that are stored there?"
The ladies from the city said they all wanted to know that as well.
"We could move them out to a storage unit or something," one added.
"Neither of them mentioned that," I said, "they just seem to not want me, or possibly any other investigator there, at night, bothering them. To get in and out, with a handful of files in the daytime, you should be all right."
Trooper Stewart agreed, "The Irishman and, well, whatever the other is, just seem to object to Elaine. If the city workers get in and just do what they're there to do, and don't engage with ... them..."
"Go in, do their business, and then get out in like fifteen or twenty minutes," Derek added as he trailed off.
"Yes," the Trooper agreed, "don't mess around, file their stuff, and go, they should be fine."
The city admin wasn't convinced, "but what if one of them wants to, you know, see if it's real."
The Trooper and I exchanged long looks, then I said, "If any of them want to do that, tell them to call me first."
"Tell them to call me too," he reached into his pocket and took out some business cards, "my number is on there, give it to them and tell them to call me before they try to interact with anything in that house."
Father Irving was nodding briskly, "I will add my voice to this. That for anybody else to engage either entity in that place would be an extraordinarily bad mistake. The Detective and Mister Stewart have more experience with this sort of thing than anybody I know, including my Archbishop. And if you wish, I will come and talk to those that use the house and explain to them that if they do as he said, get in, do their job, and leave without provoking what's there, they should be fine."
Manager Marjorie thought about it, "well," she said and paused. "Well, OK, can you come with me to talk to them?"
The old priest nodded, "yes, ma'am."
Before Trooper Stewart went home we made a trip to the Irishman's House with the Sheriff to, as my boss put it, "to put it behind us."
I unlocked the front door and we walked in slowly.
"I can feel it looking at us," the Sheriff said, "At first I thought it was just nerves, but it moved." He nodded toward the kitchen.
"It doesn't like our lady friend here," Trooper Stewart said.
"Its loss," he answered, "Go ahead, Detective, tell it, them, what's going on."
I took a deep breath, then did just that, "We heard everything you've said. I've explained what I can to the owners of this house. That you have requested that I leave you alone, which I agree to if you agree with what the manager for the owners request. Do you understand so far?"
I paused and looked at my boss and nodded.
He took out his badge and ID and showed it to the room, "I'm the County Sheriff, you probably saw a badge like this years ago, you know what it means. This other gentleman is a State Trooper, you know that this is official. Now answer the Detective's question with us as witnesses."
Trooper Stewart glanced toward where we all felt that whatever was watching us was situated. "I know you can make sounds in here, and even speak once in awhile. Do something now to let us know you're paying attention."
The house became totally silent.
Trooper Stewart has less patience than I do, "Make some sort of sound or I'll take my other suggestion back to the Owner and the Manager and you won't like what happens then. Are you listening to us?"
There was a pause of silence, and then a 'thud' that shook the floor under our feet and rattled the cabinets in the kitchen.
"That sounded, and felt, like a car hit the building." The Sheriff said, "Just to confirm, you understand, do it again, then I'll have the Detective explain the rest to you."
There was another long pause, then a bang that was sharp and quick, but didn't shake the whole house.
"That was in the kitchen," Trooper Stewart said, "I'll look." He walked through the living room and we could hear him opening and closing a couple of doors, "Nothing and nobody, so we can take that as a yes."
"OK," I said, "here's the deal from the Manager. I'll stay away, and nobody else will investigate this place after hours and make you make noise and talk to recorders. You'll be left alone otherwise. In return, you let those that have to come here for their jobs, to file records for storage, and to come find things needed for the city, like those blueprints over there, when they need them. They'll come in, do what they need to do, and leave as efficiently and quickly as possible, and only in the day time. Then you'll be left alone again for awhile."
Trooper Stewart was standing in the kitchen doorway, "If you agree to that, say 'Yes' so we can hear it."
We waited a minute.
"Somethings changing," the Sheriff said.
"Yeah, it reminds me of the last time I was here."
"Come on, that's a fair offer," I said knowing that it looked like I was playing the 'good cop'. "The other proposal, that the Trooper has in mind, isn't a good one for anybody."
The atmosphere in the room was almost tangible, then something said, "yyyeasssh" with a deep, almost guttural, voice.
The Sheriff looked to his left toward the bathroom, "That was from over there. Where that red thing in your photo was."
"That's where I heard it from," I said, "And it was a yes."
"OK," the Trooper nodded to the room, "We're going to hold you to it, and you know we will."
The Sheriff looked around and then sounded very official when he said, "You'll let them come in and get their property records and utility maps and bring in a box of receipts and whatever, and not bother them, and we won't bother you any more. Right?" He waited a second, "just make that knocking sound again if that's easier for you."
There was another bang from the kitchen that shook the floor.
Trooper Stewart looked to his right, "Nothing moved, so I guess we're good." He smiled, "A successful negotiation Sheriff, I think you may have a future as a union arbitrator."
"I know my limits. Let's get out of here."
I stopped at the door and turned toward the house, "Thank you. Thank you, both of you."
And I guess that closed the case. At least for my part, and for the time being.
It has been several months and while those that go there to file receipts and property records have reported the occasional odd sound, nobody has run from the building screaming.
So the bargain holds. And I haven't been back.
-End 38-
[NOTE: The above story were written as adventure fiction, and is to be taken as such. While most of the features of Long Island exist, such as the Obadiah Smith House, built in 1708, and the sanitary facility next door, the rest of the story is fictional.
Thank you, Dr. Leftover, TheMediaDesk.com]
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