I heard the scream. The stories I had been told were true. In front of me loomed a monolithic stone structure. The main floor sat on top of tall basement windows, requiring stairs to the main level. There was a second-floor and, finally, third-story dormers. The empty dormer windows stared down at me. I could feel it; this is where I will meet my first ghost.

​

I was standing outside what started as a college in the early 20th century. Later (and this is the critical part) it was turned into a Tuberculosis Hospital in the 1940s. With antibiotics in short supply, a lot of patients died. I looked around and spotted a nearby field. Was that THE field that I had heard about during my research? Okay, so my 'research' consisted of visiting local bars and asking customers for stories. Still, I listened to some pretty interesting tales, and a few beers helped me prepare for a night of wandering around old buildings, asking inane questions to nobody in particular.

​

One of the stories an old man told me was that so many people died of T.B. at the hospital; they dug a trench in a nearby field where they disposed of the dead. He claimed that after the epidemic, the farmer who owned the field grew some of Idaho's largest, best-tasting potatoes - UNTIL - that fateful year. The farmer was harvesting. In those days, a harvester dug one or two rows of potatoes, carried them up a chain conveyor and dumped them on rollers across the back of the harvester. A platform hung off the back, and up to four people stood on the platform, picking out clods and rocks as the spuds went by on the rollers.

​

The old man at the bar said that one of the women reached for what she thought was a large rock. It turned out to be part of a skull, and when she realized what it was, she screamed so loud the echo can still be heard throughout the town. After that, the farmer turned the field into a pasture and never plowed it again. The scream I heard could have been the echo of the woman who found the skull. I suppose it could have been kids playing in a nearby park, but that doesn't explain the chill I got when I heard the scream.

***

The other ghost hunters started arriving as I stood in the parking lot. There were two vans with all the equipment and the rest of the Ghost Hunters. I had driven by myself so that I could do ‘my research.’ Maybe it was also partially due to an incident on our last road trip. A different person on each road trip got to pick the traveling music. On this trip, one of the younger members chose.

 

I had suffered through "Twerkulator" and grimaced through "Boom Boom Buns," but I could not hold my tongue when "My Baby's got Booty like Pow, Pow, Pow." After the song ended, I commented that it sounded like "his baby" needed some Beano. That started a conversation on music appreciation to which I commented something like, "Are we talking about music or that (stuff) we were just listening to?" (I may have used a different term than "stuff"). The suggestion was made that maybe I could drive my OWN car so I could listen to archaic war drums, which someone suggested I could play on my 8-track. I scoffed, since my car had a cassette player.

​

As I approached the vans, the group leader got out. ​"We are going to wait for a news team from a local television station," she said.

​

Before I could comment, another van pulled up with what could have been a death ray on the roof. Four people emerged from the van - none looked like Dr. Evil. We gathered in a sort of circle in the parking lot and shared introductions. When the chat was over, it suddenly got quiet, and we all turned toward the tall grey building. Stone steps on either side led to a portico above the basement level. Selecting the nearest steps, we trouped up to the entrance. The owner of the building had been expecting us and met us at the door. The current owner purchased the building and has started to renovate the rooms for vacation rentals.

​

We entered an office and introductions were made. The owner shared a few stories for the camera. Several times, she had heard sounds like a child. There was running, laughing, footsteps.

​

A lady who helped clean rooms was also present and recounted seeing an "angry old man." While cleaning one of the second-floor rooms (the lady was cleaning the rooms, not the angry old man) she saw the him in one of the mirrors, and when she turned around, the man told her to "get out" before vanishing. The news people were eating up the stories. I had to admit, I was impressed. Maybe this was the real thing at last.

***

As night fell, we were each assigned our first area to investigate. Jan and I were partnered with one of the news people. I wasn't sure if the newsman had even graduated high school, but I've hit an age where everyone under 30 looks like they're still picking out prom tuxes from a clearance rack. I did get the feeling he was new to the news team.

​

The three of us were assigned the attic for our first vigil. We climbed the flights of stairs that seemed to get narrower as we ascended. The attic was pretty much bare except for a few boxes and an odd-looking frame made out of two-by-fours. It was about the size of a bedroom and was covered with chicken wire. There was a frame door, also covered with chicken wire that had a hasp on the outside.

​

"What do you think this was used for?" the news kid said as he cautiously approached the structure.

​

"I'm certain that this is a ghost trap," I answered as seriously as possible. "The ghost hunters I saw on a TV show connected a wire and battery to the chicken wire to draw in the ghost. Ghosts are attracted by electricity. Then, when the spirit gets close, it is sucked into a solar panel and trapped in a capacitor."

​

"REALLY!" the reporter gasped. "That is what this was used for?"

​

I had already told Jan about the television show I had watched where they had built a ghost trap. At the time, I had expressed my disbelief in luring a spirit using charged chicken wire and then sucking it into a capacitor through a solar panel. We had a good laugh about it. But this kid was eating it up.

​

Jan decided to play along. "Just think how many spirits they could capture in there."

​

The news kid looked at both of us suspiciously, but we tried to keep our somber demeanor. It was easier to do with only flashlight beams.

​

“Say,” I said to the news kid, “you don’t happen to have a spare battery for that camera, do you?”

​

He handed me the camera and took off his backpack. “Yes, I always carry a spare. But it is only 24 volt.”

​

“That’s fine, it doesn’t have to be a lot of voltage.” He handed me a spare battery from his pack. I gave him back his camera. I got down on my hands and knees as Jan shined her light on what I was doing. I took a loose piece of chicken wire and connected it to one battery terminal. Finding a loose wire on the floor, I connected it to the other terminal and then ran the wire to another wall. “Okay,” I said as I got up off the floor, “now just remember not to touch the wire.”

​

“There isn’t enough voltage to hurt anyone,” the news kid observed.

​

“The problem isn’t the voltage,” I countered. “If you touch it when a ghost makes contact, there is a chance the ghost could inhabit your body.”

​

He looked at me skeptically, but didn’t respond. I saw a wisp of a smile cross Jan’s face.

“Shall we step inside and see what we can capture,” I said opening the door and entering the cage. The other two entered as I commented, “Did you feel that?”