It was the autumn of 1983. A local farmer was on his tractor, pulling a big harvesting combine. The sun was low in the sky, his eyes squinted against the light. Suddenly, he caught something the harvester. He’d say later, “Sounded like I hit something big.”
Turned out to be his son.
The farmer moved his family away, unable to handle the horrible memories of looking into the combine and seeing naught but a shredded pair of Osh-Kosh-B’gosh. The lot stood vacant until it was bought by a housing development. The ‘Sunrise Lakes Presidio’ was finished a few years ago and offered middle-class families a slice of the American dream-pie. Unfortunately raising your kids in this wholesome environment has come with a price: your firstborn!
Since the first family moved in there have been two children who have died in tragic accidents and a third severely injured. Ed first noticed the pattern with a well worded Google search and the GhostFacers hit the public library. If I recall correctly Ed gestured with his pencil, Maggie took off her jacket in what seemed unnecessarily slow (some might say sultry) fashion and I began explaining the fine intricacies of the Dewy decimal system before Spruce pointed out that we could just use the computers.
He was right, of course, but I must admit that I found the expediency disappointing. With the modern convenience of computers we finished our research in record time, enough to know what I’ve shared with you above. After the initial boy in the combine there was one girl who drowned, one boy who fell from the rafters of an unfinished home and another boy was found deep in an abandoned well shaft. He had been missing for two days before they found him almost dead. They all seemed like accidents and the homeowners of the Presidio had, in fact, filed a class action lawsuit against the builder, claiming the development was unsafe. But four kids? All first-born? In ‘accidents’?
Ed and I were certain of one thing: something otherworldly, something preternatural was in play and before we packed up and left we felt we owed the Greater Appleton Area the benefit of one more good ‘Facing.
Our first task was to figure out what we were up against, and there were a number of possibilities. Spruce suggested the housing development might’ve dug up an Indian burial ground, a classic trope still worth considering. Indian land curses weren’t unheard of in Wisconsin, but Ed and I were fairly certain it would be some sort of water spirit. Maggie’s lower lip was pinned under her teeth and it as it came out of her mouth it gleamed in the pale light of our HQ. “All these kids were outside of their house when these accidents occurred. You think our ghost is luring them outside somehow?”
Ed decided we needed some recon. He and Maggie were going to see if they could talk to the surviving kid while Spruce and I were to scout the surrounding woods. I offered to escort Maggie, seeing as how Ed was wearing shoes that were far more suitable to walking through the woods but Ed seemed adamant about going with Maggie. I’m sure he had his reasons.
Spruce and I tromped through the woods. Winter was fast receding but our breath still hung in clouds about us as I peered intently about. We didn’t find anything of note, but Spruce recorded some excellent footage of me moving aside branches and scanning things for an EMF signature, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time. (Actually, Spruce reported noticing that the birds had stopped singing, remember? -Ed.)
When we returned we rendezvoused with Ed and Maggie then debriefed at a nearby Bob Evans. Maggie and Ed had initially posed as the victim’s classmates but the mother had pointed out that there was no possible way they could be given their obvious difference in ages from her son’s. Maggie deftly replied that they were, in fact, teacher’s aides who had come to give the child his homework. When the mother asked to see the homework Ed presented his copy of Tales of the Unanticipated Magazine, which led the mother to send them away, claiming they were a part of some kind of shenanigans.
They hit upon the strategy of throwing rocks at the kid’s window. He opened it and Ed asked what he was doing way out in the woods. His chilling reply: “I thought I heard something out there”. He was about to elaborate but then his mother pulled him back into his room and told Ed and Maggie she had called the police. They were already feeling the heat from our Morton House case, so they high-tailed it back to the drop point.
At Bob Evans, Ed brought his finger to his chin in a manner I’ve grown accustomed to. It conveyed the general sense that he was thinking, internally analyzing the raw data and breaking it down into the requisite parts. This is a skill I’ve always admired, one I find lacking in my own suite of skills; I’m action-oriented, think on my feet. But Ed can take in information and figure out what to do next and in this case we all remained silent while he thought (until the waitress happened by and Spruce ordered a round of onion petals for the table). He concluded we should head back to HQ and take a look at the footage Spruce had recorded in the woods.
We returned to HQ and reviewed the tape. Spruce ran it through a number of filters and EQ modifications. He sat for what seemed like hours, making adjustments and watching the footage while he listened with his headphones on. Suddenly he sat bolt upright in his chair. Spruce pulled off his headphones and turned on the speakers. ”Guys, check this out,” he said as replayed the footage, “I’ve isolated a really narrow bandwidth, one humans can’t even hear.”
Sure enough, although I was on-screen explaining what we were doing in the woods my words were inaudible. What we could hear, however, gave me those familiar goosebumps. A girl’s voice crackled in the Eagle’s Nest speakers, whispering: “Help me… help me!”
~ To Be Continued
