Ravenswood

Fuelled by her observation, we hastened down the corridor, our night vision cameras scanning the darkness. As we neared the room, the door abruptly slammed shut, stopping me in my tracks, my heart started racing wildly.

Disbelief etched on my face, as I watched Tom courageously open the door. I approached and peered in. “Who’s in here?” I asked, my voice echoing in the quiet room.

I entered the room, my gaze darting around, searching for any hint of a crew member or an explanation. Our torches cut through the gloom, revealing a room cluttered with debris and decay. The walls were stripped bare, the damp had claimed the old paint. There was no place for anyone to hide, no alternative exits. The windows were barred and sealed shut; the wind was not the culprit here. How had the door slammed?

Carl stepped into the centre of the room, his expression grave. “There is an angry presence here,” he announced, scanning the space as if seeing beyond the visible. “It doesn’t want us here.”

Fiona, ever the professional, took out her own voice recorder. “Is anyone here with us? ... Do you wish for us to leave?” The air turned frigid, the temperature dropping rapidly.

Fiona played back the recording. Her voice echoed eerily in the room, a disruption in the dark void. “Is anyone else here with us?” She replayed the segment, our anticipation palpable. Suddenly, a hoarse, raspy affirmation broke through the static, ‘YES!’ It was unmistakable. She replayed it, and again the same ‘YES!’ resonated.

Fiona was unable to conceal her excitement. “This is amazing. We’ve never had responses this quick or this clear before.”

But my scepticism, as always, planted a seed of doubt in my mind. Could this have been pre-recorded? I needed to be sure.

“May I try?” I asked, the rational part of me seeking to debunk any trickery. “It would help eliminate the possibility of any pre-recorded responses.” My suggestion was met with nods of agreement as we all stood enveloped in the chilling mystery of the room, each of us pondering the reality of what we might be facing.

“Here, have a go,” Fiona offered, her voice tinged with a hint of mystery. “Press here to record and here to stop.”

“Thank you.” I took the recorder with a slight tremor in my hands, mustering as much courage as I could, I attempted to stop my voice wavering and spoke into the device. “Is there anyone in this room who does not want us here?” I paused, allowing the silence to fill the space before stopping the recording and handing it back to Fiona.

We huddled together, listening intently to the playback. My voice echoed in the room, “Is there anyone in this room who does not want us here?” Then, amidst the hiss of static, a loud, raspy voice shattered the silence, ‘GET OUT!’ A chill coursed through my body, goosebumps erupting along my neck and arms. At that same moment, the door slammed shut behind us with an ominous thud. 

“Whoa! What the…” I rushed to the door, and straight away my palms became slick with sweat. Grabbing the handle, I tugged desperately at the door, only to find it immovable. Tom joined me, his attempts equally futile. A strange, muffled cry echoed from the other side, causing us to recoil. The door shook violently in its frame, its creaks resonating through the room like a scene from a gothic horror movie.

Carls’ voice broke the eerie stillness, “She killed herself. She hung herself in this room. I don’t know who she was but I can feel her presence.” 

As abruptly as it began, the rattling of the door stopped. Tom cautiously opened the door revealing a silent, empty corridor.

My heart pounded against my ribcage. “Incredible! How on earth did you orchestrate this? That was impressive. You certainly had me going there.” I gasped, half in disbelief, half in awe.

Tom’s face was ashen, his eyes wide with genuine shock. “I swear… we didn’t stage any of this. It’s all real.”

He grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Tom to command centre… anything on the first-floor cameras? We’re heading back. We need to examine any recordings.”

We regrouped at the command centre where Mark and Janet had been reviewing the footage. They played back the moment the door slammed; the sound echoing through the speakers. The video showed us heading towards the room, and a short time later a dark silhouette fleeting across the screen just before the door slammed shut for the second time. No one seemed to tamper with the door as the corridor appeared deserted.

My gaze fixated on the screen. “You mean this actually happened? It’s a genuine supernatural event?”

Excitement rippled through Fiona, Tom, and Carl as they pored over the footage again, searching for any discrepancies. They turned to each other, all slapping high fives with shouts of “Yes!”

Tom turned to me. “So, what do you think now?”

I hesitated, my scepticism at war with what I just witnessed. “I’m... I’m not sure how you did that. But it was certainly impressive.”

Tom’s smile was confident, reassuring. “You really are a sceptic. I promise you; we didn’t fabricate this.”

“And the voice?” I asked.

“That wasn’t us, either,” Fiona affirmed, her face beaming with delight.

As I watched, Carl became captivated by the audio, his attention fixated on the headphones, his eyes widened. “Whoa! Everyone, listen to this.”

He passed the headphones to Tom. “Check this out, mate.”

I stood there, a part of me still rationalising the recent events, while another part of me was teetering on the brink of belief. The night was still young and already the asylum was unveiling its haunting secrets. What else lay in wait in those shadowed halls and desolate rooms? Only the night would tell.

Tom settled the headphones over his ears and nodded excitedly. He heard sounds, disembodied sounds, coming from the corridor, particularly a soft voice which happened right before the doors started rattling violently. As the clip concluded, he turned to me with an urgency knitting his brow. “Steve, listen to this.”

I took the headphones, and closed my eyes, immersing myself in the auditory world of the spectral recording. Moments later, my eyes flew open, a look of disbelief etching my features. Not fully comprehending what I was listening to, I passed the headphones to Fiona.

“Did you hear that?” Tom’s tense whisper cutting through the atmosphere.

I nodded, my voice barely audible. “It was like a voice pleading, ‘Let me in.’”

Tom’s excitement was infectious. “It’s genuine, I promise you.”

Janet, her curiosity piqued, fished her mobile out of her pocket to check the time. “It’s still early. Let’s continue. We can’t stop now. This place has to be the best place we have ever researched. There’s got to be so much more for us to uncover. This could put us up there with the best.”

Despite my initial scepticism, I couldn’t deny the unexplained phenomena we’d encountered. My logical mind was battling with what my eyes and ears had just witnessed. This cannot be real. I had to figure out how they, or someone else, was manipulating the situation. Carl, however, leaned back, a grin spreading across his face, relishing the thrill of the hunt which drove his passion for the paranormal.

“Right, everyone, you heard Janet, let’s get back to it,” Tom declared, stepping out of the van. “We’ve got more evidence to gather.”

Back in the building, the aged floorboards groaning under our feet, we could hear what sounded like their mournful cries echoing like forlorn wails of the long departed, woven into the very fabric of the asylums’ abandoned halls. It was as if it was mocking our mortal fears with subdued, ethereal laughter. 

Fiona halted abruptly; her posture tensed. I sensed her apprehension, imagining she’d glimpsed something sinister lurking in the dark. The group gathered closer, peering into the darkness where Fiona was pointing. It was a rat, scuttling across the room from out of the shadows, prompting a wave of relieved laughter. 

The group settled into the next phase of their investigation, their equipment at the ready to receive any ghostly signals. 

“Let’s try the spirit box next,” Fiona suggested, as we made our way upstairs.

Tom nodded, his determination to uncover the supernatural was evident. Meanwhile, I was still grappling with my scepticism. “What exactly is a spirit box?” I asked.

Tom explained, “It’s a device used to communicate with spirits. 

“When you communicate with a spirit, they can’t articulate like a living person,” Tom explained. “Spirits use the energy of various radio frequencies to make their presence known. The Spirit Box scans through AM and FM channels, attempting to capture any spectral voices.”

As the spirit box crackled to life, scanning through frequencies, we listened intently, waiting for a voice from the other side to break through the static. Anticipation charged the air as each member of the team was poised on the edge of discovery, collectively holding their breath in suspense.

“So there’s a chance we’re just picking up a local radio station’s broadcast, then?” I interjected, my scepticism rising again.

Tom shook his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Not exactly. The theory that spirits can use radio waves to communicate, though not entirely proven, is widely accepted among investigators. The Spirit Box is programmed to cycle rapidly through the frequencies. This reduces the likelihood of coincidental broadcast voices. If we hear a consistent voice across multiple channels, it’s a strong indication of a spiritual presence.”

“Hmm, I remain unconvinced. Any device capable of receiving external signals is subject to misinterpretation.” I argued, my arms crossed, subconsciously taking a defensive stance.

“We’re meticulous in our approach,” Tom assured. “We carefully examine and filter all pieces of evidence, and just like you, we don’t accept things at face value. Although, I admit we do get excited when things happen, a lot of our evidence we debunk when we sit and examine it properly.”

The spirit box unleashed a torrent of hissing white noise into the room. Fiona and Tom took turns asking questions. Occasionally, a fragmented sound, possibly a word, pierced through the static. usually incoherent utterances. Carl’s gaze intensified as he looked down the corridor. “There’s a strong entity here, lurking just out of sight. Keep the questions going, let’s see if we can get it to engage with us,” he urged.

“Fine, I’ll give it a go. What is my name?” I asked, a tremor in my voice betraying my apprehension.

My heart stalled as a distinctly masculine voice replied, “Steve.” It was as clear as day. I continued, feeling an odd sense of connection. “What is your name?”

Silence followed, so I repeated, “What is your name?” 

This time, a faint, childlike voice whispered, ‘Susan.’

Surprised at hearing a child’s voice, I asked, “How old are you, Susan?”

“Eight,” replied the voice instantly.

Carl nodded at me encouragingly. “Carry on.” His hands waving, motivating me to continue.

My face contorted with thought as I asked, “Why are you here?”

A soft, forlorn voice answered, “Afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?” I pressed.

“Him,” came the cryptic response.

Tom was visibly animated. “Fantastic, keep it up.”

“Who frightens you? Does he have a name?” My voice shook slightly as I posed the question. The room was tense with anticipation, the spirit box humming with static. The voice had disappeared.

“Are you convinced yet?” Fiona inquired. A twinkle of excitement in her eyes.

I hesitated. “It is an intriguing experience, sure, but these voices could be interference or external influences on the equipment.”

“I assure you; we don’t manipulate anything. What we’re all hearing is as authentic as it gets,” Tom said earnestly, still trying to convince me.

“I wasn’t accusing you,” I clarified. “I’m just wary of the technology’s vulnerabilities.”

Fiona nodded understandingly. “That’s fair.”

“This is an entirely new experience for me. I admitted. What about all of you?” 

“We’ve had our share of encounters,” Fiona replied. “But every investigation is unique. This one, so far, is the best we have ever had. Intelligent answers to our questions. Doors slamming shut in our presence. It’s fantastic.”

Tom looked at me. His face betrayed an ominous thought. “How about a sensory deprivation session?” he suggested. “As the response with the spirit box was so good, I feel the spirits are eager to communicate with you.”

Fiona looked at me. “It might heighten your experience.”

“What’s involved?” I inquired, curiosity taking hold, despite my reservations.

“As the sceptic, we’d sit you in a room alone and blindfolded. Headphones are connected to the spirit box. This isolates you from our questions and any external noise. I won’t lie, it’s intense. People often report feeling a presence or even physical contact during the session,” Tom detailed.

“Alright, I’m game. Let’s see what happens,” I consented, a mixture of apprehension and intrigue coursing through me.

“Excellent! Let’s get everything set up. Fiona, will you assist Carl, please? I need to fetch some more batteries from the van.” 

I offered to go fetch them while they set the apparatus up. I hurried out to the van, returning swiftly with a handful of AA batteries. The four of us stood on the first floor outside the room where the door had previously slammed shut and rattled violently within its frame. As I stood in the ominous space of the corridor, I couldn’t help but wonder what awaited us over the next few hours. Would this experience sway my scepticism, or would it reinforce my disbelief? Only time would tell. I realised I was no longer certain of what I might or might not believe.