Scooby Boo and other bumps in the night
Written by Ronnie Lathrop/Kansas City Paranormal Investigator
Above me there was movement. At about
the same time a voice over the ghost box insulted a former
acquaintance, there was the sound of furniture moving above me. Of
course, my first thought was so stay put, but still I went upstairs. A
skeptic doesn’t necessarily mean an unbeliever. It just means we need
more proof than those who hear a knock or an exhaled breath. I don’t
think I was always a skeptic. When younger I wasn’t a skeptic at all.
Raised on Night Gallery and Scooby Doo, I believed in all things spooky
and unsettling. I am convinced to this day that the voice I heard in
the basement was real. I had a diorama to make for school, so a shoebox
was needed, and they were kept there. My skeptical mind now knows that
it was probably a squeak of floorboards from my grandmother moving
about, but to a six year old the exhaled moan from the dark corner of
the basement signaled something evil.
A mask revealing Old Man Withers
who ran the haunted library pulled off by Shaggy? No. It had to been a
dead relative from beyond the grave. Scooby Doo lessons be damned.So
what happened between that boy who believed in it all and the man
listening to the drag of furniture above him? I suppose a lifetime of
religion squeezed into 30 years did part of it. While I’d never
disparage my upbringing and my faith or it’s influence on the man I am,
it’s still hard to reconcile its influence on my believe in the
paranormal and the skepticism I feel at times. Perhaps that comes with
all faith, the skeptical way it all comes down. I was raised in a very
paranormal religion with heavy spiritual connection that translated into
lots of speaking in tongues, slain in the spirit passing out from the
influence of the Holy Spirit. I never really bought into it much
probably because of my initiation into it via a family trip to a place
called Christian Retreat. During the children’s church portion, I was
surrounded by children and the leader and told to repeat a phrase that
sounded a lot like the hook from “Lady Marmalade.” Still the constant
exposure to the supernatural via church services twice on Sunday and
once on Wednesday nights kept me immersed in this spirituality that was
real. My modern influence on the supernatural was my introduction to
ghost hunting shows and how phony they seemed. And how real they
seemed as well. The natural explanations these shows used to explain
the reality in order to narrow down the supernatural, that’s where it
was. A little research and a few meetings later, I was a part of a
team.
Walking upstairs was terrifying, but at the same time I knew
that answers to my skepticism were somewhere up there with the moving
chairs or what is a table. It was hard to tell amidst the commotion
and ghost box downstairs static and DJ snippets. The voice coming
through was threatening, using very harsh language towards women. No
one was upstairs. I led the way. The room. Cold. It had a feeling,
but as a skeptic I must discount certain emotional reactions to
creepiness. The only sound was from the radio static and questioning
still going on downstairs. A flashlight crosses the room. I ask, “Is
there anyone here with us?” Silence. Nothing. “Hello?” I sweep the
room again. Chairs and tables. A crate next to two cardboard boxes
full of papers. “Was that you downstairs, your voice calling-“ No more
silence. A chair moves into the edge of my flashlight and all of those
lessons from Scooby-Doo come into play. I levitate into the air, run in
place, and poof- all that’s left in the room is a cloud of dust. No
skepticism tonight. This place is haunted.
I guess this was needed.
My place in an awesome group who listen for the bumps in the night and
the voices coming through the static. This guy who says, “Ok. Let’s
step back. Think about this. What else could it be?” I love my spot
in this new team. I’m excited for what will come. The ride will be a
lot of fun, and I look forward to sharing it with all of you.
Skepticism and all.