I’ve always been somewhat of a skeptic. Sure, I believe in God, but there are just things that aren’t real. The people who believed in ghosts, spirits and the dead haunting the living always seemed a little ridiculous to me.
Until the ghost hunter came to campus.
Chris Moon stood at the front of the Old Chapel’s lecture hall and told the crowd of 90 students his best stories, starting from when he was seven. He’s been shoved up against walls, used as a way for spirits to give themselves shape and he’s even been choked with an invisible rope.
He’s seen people scratched, shoved and thrown.
Moon has even been possessed. Three times.
He has devoted his life to finding the supernatural and investigating it. He goes to places with paranormal activity, brings along his trusty “telephone to the dead” and helps the no longer living transition to the other side.
This whole part of the presentation, again, was a little shaky for me. Pictures can be manipulated, stories can be altered.
But that’s when he opened the Old Chapel on the edge of campus for spirits to come forward and talk.
The temperature dropped. A breeze periodically brushed the faces of the living in the room. They weren’t the only ones there anymore.
Moon pulled out a night vision camera and let students look through it. There were white flashes across the screen.
If that wasn’t enough for people to believe, Moon then pulled out what looked like an old radio with magic marker on it, and asked the room for silence. Static came through on the machine.
Moon opened it up for questions from the crowd. “Is Penelope here?”
More static. Then a clear “yes”
“Where did Penelope live?”
A few seconds passed. “Ellis.”
Goosebumps smashed through my skin. Is this guy for real?
A few more questions were asked before Penelope and the other spirits in attendance got hostile. Through the radio came, “Leave. Get out.”
Moon quickly listened and shut the machine off in fear of something negative happening. The lights were turned back on and sighs of relief echoed in the room. That was intense.
If that didn’t convince me, the next part did. He turned the machine on and told the crowd to talk to our loved ones who have passed.
Needing to know if this was real, I spoke up.
“Grandpa. Vincent Dow.” I could barely get the words out.
Static on the machine until a very faint, “Yut.” It was his voice.
I started shaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Tears were pouring down my face. Those around me grabbed my hands and touched my back. I was frozen.
“It’s okay. No problem.” He sounded happy.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Many others talked to those they lost too soon. Tears flowed and hugs were given.
There may have been some whose minds were not changed after the event was over, but mine was.
I finally got to say goodbye.