Strange Beginnings

Sometimes it's odd how you simply fall into an experience in life, how all of the forces of nature will work to bring you to a certain point in existence when you look back down the path you've traveled, scratch your head and ask, "Damn. How did I get here?"

There are also those times in life when the forces of nature work against you, and no matter how hard you work to make something happen, you can't even take one step toward that goal. It isn't meant to be.

As a young woman with determination that borders on stubbornness, that is exactly what happened to me. I wanted something so bad that I could taste it. I spent almost 20 years pursuing it. Twenty years of my life wasted. I figured that good things come to those who wait. Right? Well, not always. Sometimes what seems good isn't, and it doesn't matter how long you wait, you ain't gonna get it. In retrospect, I'm grateful that I didn't get it because I wasn't seeing things clearly, wasn't thinking clearly.

The pursuit of the paranormal, though: that's one of those things that was meant to be. My father's interest in the paranormal, my travels down the back roads of Virginia on my father's motorcycle, and my desire to join an investigation team after years in an oppressive relationship, all were stepping stones along the path. 

Now here I am, an investigator with the greatest paranormal team in Virginia. I travel to some of the creepiest places in the U.S., eager to meander through the dark, damp basements of those in need, eager to venture down shadow-filled paths through haunted woods, eager to find the truth about life and death. Because let's be real, here. That's all it is: a quest for truth. 

In the 7 years that I've been a paranormal investigator, I've lived more than I ever lived in those 20 years I wasted wishing, wanting and praying for something that would never come to fruition.

People are always surprised when they ask me, "What is the scariest thing you've ever seen?"

My answer is always, "The living." (Although the numbered streets after midnight in the city of Richmond run a close second.) Hands down, living people are about as scary as it gets. Sure, I was scared of ghosts when I was a kid, but after a year or two of living in a very haunted house in my 30s, I quickly became desensitized to the whole scary ghost thing. And demons? Well, I'm a Christian, and the Bible teaches that if you are a saved Christian, you have authority over demons. They have to do what I tell them to, so why should I be scared of them? 

No, the living are the scariest. That's not to say that everyone we encounter is scary, though. I've met so many people from all walks of life. I've met hundreds of people that I never would've known existed if it weren't for Virginia Paranormal Investigations. Wonderful people, horrible people, really funny people, people that leave you scratching your head, people that leave you speechless, drunk people and drug abusers--so many different kinds of people out there who experience the paranormal and who subsequently seek our help.

Each week, two or three more people will contact us to ask about things they are experiencing and to get us to investigate a home or a business. We try to always do a video about the investigations and post them on our YouTube channel. For those of you who somehow manage to find this blog before finding our YouTube channel, you can find it at YouYube.com/VirginiaParanormal. Still, there are other people like myself who appreciate reading a good story rather than watching it. This blog is for those folks. 

The purpose of the blog is to bring you along on some of the more noteworthy investigations we have had, to give you some insight into what it's like to be a paranormal investigator, and to show you a bit about who we are. 

So buckle in. Get the grub ready. The boring this-is-me posts are coming to an end and the rest is pure madness. (That last picture in this post is a hint to what lies ahead.)

The Foundations

People often ask how I got into investigating the paranormal. So perhaps this is where I should start this blog.

The answer is: It's in the blood.

That's it, summarized into a four-word sentence. So if you want to return to watching TV or working (like some of you should be doing), then you got your answer and can move along your merry way.

For those who like being bored out of their gourds by long, often unnecessarily detailed stories, here is a little something more to satisfy that masochistic desire...

As the youngest of two girls, I worshipped my father. And rightly so. He's a great man. "Now, I never went to college. But...." he will often say in his slow, southern drawl before revealing something that even the college-educated often do not comprehend. 

He was an extremely talented man, able to craft anything out of wood, to invent and engineer the most amazing things. He was a man of strict, Christian morals and values, despite being raised in a poor family with an alcoholic, brick-laying father with highly questionable morals. 

Daddy and I beside an ancestor's grave

As a young girl, I was like my father in so many ways. I was a tomboy, hanging out in my father's workshop, happy to be the son that he never had. I was raised around grease and sawdust, happy to be listening to the forlorn voice of Hank Williams, Sr., the depressing songs of Patsy Cline and the banjo-picking of Ricky Skaggs. I watched CHiPs and Nascar with Daddy because we loved to watch the wrecks. We went to the shooting range and became connoisseurs of barbecue sandwiches. He taught me to fly fish on the banks of the reservoir where my grandmother lived. 

Perhaps the most memorable thing about my father is when he took me along on his motorcycle rides--the kind where you get up at the crack of dawn, climb onto a Lazyboy recliner on two wheels, and spend the day cruising the back country roads without returning until dinnertime. We went in search of the heat of Summer, the sweet smell of Honeysuckle patches that we passed, long-forgotten graveyards, rolling green battlefields, and the broken and dilapidated, grey remnants of long-abandoned homes that were slowly being overtaken by nature.

We would marvel at some of these magnificent homes, and wonder why someone would ever abandon such a place. We would also wonder about what mysteries and secrets these homes would hold, and if spirits from their past still lingered inside, perhaps watching through broken windows as we passed. 

One of the many abandoned homes we encountered

When we weren't riding the motorcycle, my father kept the subject of the paranormal in my head by telling me stories of haunted places, U.F.O. sightings and abductions, and Bigfoot sightings that he'd read about. I would listen in wide-eyed wonder at the stories, and soon found that the paranormal was a fascination that would last well into my adulthood.

I wasn't your typical teenager. Instead of finding interest in things like friends, sports, social gatherings, or the latest TV shows, I was drawn to philosophy, theology, and researching subjects like the paranormal. I wanted to know the truth about life and about all of its mysteries. So, of course when a friend suggested that we go visit a place that was rumored to be haunted, I was eager to go along. 

Our outings gave me first-hand experience with spirits and other things that science could not explain. I can remember trekking through the woods on a bitterly-cold December night, hearing the crunching of footsteps in the fallen leaves beside me when no one was there to make them. I remember the red orb of light, hovering at about shoulder-height, that tried to conceal itself behind a tree while still getting a glimpse of us. And I remember an electric-blue flash of lightening inside the car, just in front of the rear-view mirror, as a friend and I drove past a Civil War battlefield cemetery. 

College brought more paranormal incidents. The girls on the hall in my dorm decided--for some ridiculous reason--to take an Ouija board to a nearby cemetery one night. When they returned, they brought something back with them that wasn't too nice. The brand-new dormitory had to be cleansed by a Catholic priest that Spring before any of us could rest at night. 

When I became a young adult, life dealt my a couple difficult hands, and I wasn't able to pursue the paranormal quite as much as I wanted to. However, in my late 30s, after a nasty separation from my ex, I decided to do something for myself. I sat down and Googled paranormal teams in my area. The first video that popped up was a YouTube video from Virginia Paranormal Investigations. And after watching the video, I decided that this is the team I wanted to join. I emailed them immediately and was lucky to soon be a part of the team. I haven't missed an investigation since, and am now living with the director, Jeff.

Jeff and I, investigating Fort Mifflin

It's been one hell of a ride, and this blog is about the experiences we have along the way. You never know what we are going to encounter next. So stay tuned...