Memoir of a Ghost Hunter

Obsession

There are irregularities in this world that we simply don’t understand. Occurrences that happen so seldom, that when they do happen, we want to question the reality of the event. In the dead of a sweltering, hot night in Ivins Utah, one such occurrence happened. The alarm clock beside the bed was dimmed to the point you had to strain your eyes to see the numbers. The fan in the corner of the room ran on high, not so much to cool the room, but to block out other noises that permeate old homes. The steady hum usually puts me right into a catatonic slumber; that is broken only by the rise of the morning sun. In May of 2004, a soft whisper was all that was needed to awaken me to a moment that would become a fixation. An event that would turn me into a man obsessed. “Bryce”, and then the scream “BRYCE!”

I have learned never to question my wife when it comes to a mother’s intuition. The sound of fear in her voice alerted me that something was terribly wrong. It is said that in a moment of crisis, time has a tendency to slow down; in my case time sped-up. One moment I’m on my back, the next I’m standing in my child’s doorway with Suzanne adjacent to me. I was ready to perform the role of a father; I was a lion ready to pounce. Lying on his side, curled up in a tiny ball was innocence personified. The sight of my son breathing hard and sweating profusely will haunt me forever.

I was frozen unable to move. No matter how much I willed it, the muscles in my body refused to leap into action. My mouth hung open, and although I was unable to produce any sound, I could feel cold air moving inward toward my lungs. I felt as though I were in some vacuum. Audible noise was impossible for my brain to interpret. My heart was beating sporadically. My chest hurt as if I had the wind knocked out of me. My eyes were clear and focused. Even then I wasn’t sure something hadn’t gone terribly wrong with them too. It wasn’t the sight of my son that scared me, but what was looming over him that I will never forget.

If you stare into a bright light for just a few seconds, and then close your eyes, tightly you will eventually see an almost negative image of that light source. Envision that image you see, only empty of any color—black on black—void of any light. My wife and I saw not only one dark mass that night, but two of what I can only describe as shadow-people seemingly bent over the side of my sons bed. What I saw was insignificant in comparison to what I was feeling. I could feel a pit in my stomach, and numbness like when looking down over a cliff. The room was empty of peace—black on black—void of light. Whatever was in the room that night was evil, dark, unwelcomed. I could sense that both figures were male. Strangely there was a sense of familiarity about them, sort of like when you meet someone for the first time, but feel you have known them forever. These figures scared me. How do you combat something that you don’t understand? These shadows intended to harm my son and they were intelligent and aware.

Fear like pain has different levels of intensity; this was off the chart. Fear is also handled in different ways; to this day, I feel the shame of not leaping into action to protect my son. Thankfully my wife had no such handicap. I can only describe her voice as one who had the authority to move mountains. She pointed her finger at them, and in anger commanded: “Get out.” Both figures slowly turned as if to look at us. I know they saw us, neither had a face or any features that would identify them as living, but I felt pure hate, pure bitterness towards us. Again the command “Get out.” My feet, my legs, my hands were numb with the cold that surrounded me. There was no blood flow, no circulation happening within my body. There seemed to be no relief in sight, until after what seemed to be an hour-long stare-down both entities turned, and slithered towards the window. As if seeping through a portal both disappeared out into the night, and were gone.

Suzanne immediately ran to the bed and scooped up our son into her arms. I could do nothing more than stand where I was, no longer frozen, yet not moving. Bryce stirred as if coming out of a high fever, sweat soaking his face, his eyes were glazed over. My son had been attacked. My mind was flooded with questions. What or who were they? Why Bryce? Was this all a nightmare, and I’m just dreaming? No. This was real, and no matter how much I didn’t want to believe it, I knew otherwise.

I later learned that this had not been the first time my wife had experiences with the paranormal. Although foreign to me Suzanne had experienced things of this nature growing up. Maybe the things that she had experienced in her past prepared her for that night, but not me. This was personal, for whatever reason my son had been targeted. I needed to know if experiences like this had happened to other couples and why? I soon discovered we weren’t alone. The internet is flooded with ghost stories that were similar to ours. The problem was that other than the internet there was seemingly nowhere to turn for help. It wasn’t until television shows such as Ghost Hunters, and Ghost Adventures that I realized that if paranormal investigative groups could help people understand these experiences, then maybe I could too. In doing so, I began to learn and understand more about what happened in my home. The field of Paranormal Science, while growing is still a work in progress. Twelve years ago started me on a journey. A Journey in which I have been able to collect evidence that there are indeed spirits of those that have passed on all around us, and they want to communicate. I have had wonderful, exciting experiences that will warm the heart, but there is another side that opposes happiness, and goodness. I have been attacked personally both physically, and emotionally. It is an occupational hazard that comes with the work I now do in the field of paranormal research. The end goal though is knowledge and the ability for others to be able to cope with this phenonomin.

We are placed into situations that give us the experience, and the opportunity to serve others. I never would want to live through the fear and anxiety of that fateful night ever again, and I’m happy to say I’ve never experienced anything like that in my home since. Am I crazy for looking for what seems to be mystical? Maybe, but I will forever be grateful for some of the experiences that have led me to see the relief on a mother’s face when she knows she isn’t crazy, or opportunities to share voices caught on audio recordings that simply say “I’m ok” or “I’m watching over you.” The other experiences remind me that there is a battle waging today, and the more we understand; the better equipped we are to battle negative forces that live among us.

A question that I get asked quite frequently is - am I any closer to getting the answers I need? I’d have to say yes and no. Yes, I now can confidently investigate a home dealing with what a family believes to be paranormal, and help put minds at ease when it comes to experiences they are having. No, in some aspects I’m no closer to understanding why my son was a target of what I now believe to be a demonic attack. The one truth that I can now share is this: I’m obsessed