6
One warm summer evening after another grueling day at work, I came home at around seven o’clock. It was still light outside, and Nicole was already at home, making dinner for us both as she did most nights. After we had eaten, we both flopped ourselves down on the sofa, intending to relax and talk about our day.
Music was playing in the background, and the mood was light. Nicole and I were chatting away quite happily, chilling out and laughing, when something strange caught my eye. It was a glimmer of light, high up in the air and very near to the ceiling.
Frowning, I looked up and saw what I can only describe as a collection of tiny, twinkling lights, much like the flickers that come off the sparklers on Guy Fawkes Night or the Fourth of July. They were incredibly bright, dancing around one another very excitedly like a swarm of fireflies. I was totally captivated, and my attention stayed riveted to them as they steadily increased in number. What had started out as perhaps six or seven lights soon grew to twenty, then fifty, and then what seemed like thousands. I had lost count long before then.
As the lights multiplied, they began to fill up the room, losing height and drawing nearer to Nicole and me. We watched them in a trance-like state for what can’t have been more than four or five minutes. I managed to drag my attention away from the lights for a moment and slowly turned toward Nicole, who was staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. I could see the lights reflected in those eyes, which were hardly blinking. Softly, I asked her whether she was seeing what I was seeing.
“If you mean all those dancing lights, then yes, I am,” she answered without taking her eyes from them for an instant.
To this day, it is something that neither of us has forgotten. We both just sat there in silence, hardly daring to breathe and utterly transfixed on this magical light show, the likes of which neither of us had ever seen before … and probably never will again.
I’m not sure exactly how much time passed, but after a while, the dancing sparkles slowly began to shrink in number, before finally dispersing into the same thin air from which they had come. For a few moments, I reveled in the warm fuzzy feeling that the lights had brought with them. I didn’t know why they had come and had no idea of their purpose, but they were accompanied by a feeling that I can only describe as being good and peaceful, even tranquil.
Looking back on the experience now with the benefit of hindsight, I can’t help but wonder if they came that day from the spirit world as a kind of protection or some form of reassurance—perhaps a case of, “Don’t worry too much, Vanessa, because we’re watching over you.”
If that really was the case, then this show of support couldn’t have arrived at a better time … because events were soon to take a terrible turn: a turn that was both terrifying in its intensity and impossible to ignore.
Between us, Stephen and I had somewhere in the region of fifty years’ worth of paranormal investigative experience under our belts. For the remainder of our team, we had decided to go with a pair of complete newbies, two ladies who had never done anything like this before in their entire lives.
Our rationale was a simple one: they would be full of enthusiasm for the hunt and also refreshingly free of the biases and prejudices that tend to build up after one has spent a lot of time in the field of paranormal research. An infusion of fresh blood might be just what the doctor ordered.
The ladies traveled together and parked their car outside the Cage early on Sunday afternoon. Stephen and I were still somewhat bleary-eyed, despite having gone off-site for showers and a hot meal, but we were raring to go. Hugs and introductions were very much on the cards, as neither Lesley nor Caroline had met Stephen before.
Lesley was fifty-three years old and made her living as a pawnbroker’s assistant. Although she didn’t work in a scientific or technical field, she brought a wealth of life experience to the table, and had always wanted to learn more about what might lie on the other side of the veil. She had been asking me repeatedly for the chance to accompany me on a paranormal investigation, and now she was going to get her wish.
Caroline, Vanessa, and Lesley.
Our investigation team.
Down to earth and always ready with a pragmatic solution to a problem, Lesley would prove to be a willing and capable volunteer. She also made a mean cup of tea, which biased me enormously in her favor when it came down to deciding who would come on board for the investigation. She would go on to experience several inexplicable things within the walls of the Cage that would permanently change the way in which she viewed the world.
Caroline (or ‘Caz’ to her friends) was notoriously camera-shy. It was a rare thing indeed to catch her unawares in a photograph. She was forty-one years old and worked as a nurse in the community. I liked the idea of having a fellow medical professional on the team, as such people tend to perform well under pressure and are often the go-to people in a crisis.
“I’ve never really believed in the paranormal, to be honest,” she told me during an interview, “and unless I see something with my own eyes or experience it for myself, I don’t think that I ever will.”
Perfect, I thought to myself on hearing that. An absolute skeptic without any preconceived notions from other paranormal investigations. She’ll be the one that keeps us all grounded if our imaginations start running away with us.
Stephen is a red, white, and blue-blooded American through and through, whereas I am an Englishman born and bred, albeit one who had relocated to the United States and earned dual nationality—I’m fiercely loyal to and proud of both countries. Lesley and Caz are also both Brits, making it a very Anglo-centric team.
It would prove to be a week that none of us would ever forget.
Considering that 75 percent of the team was British, the first order of business was an obvious one: make a cup of tea. Although everybody would take turns making tea over the coming week, Lesley seemed to make twice as much as everybody else—one of the advantages of her stellar reputation.
After giving them a tour of the Cage and passing on much of what Vanessa had told us, I suggested that we all take a seat in the front room and begin devising a game plan. Although a full working week sounded like plenty of time to unearth the mysteries of the Cage, both Stephen and I knew from past experience that the time would soon fly by once things started happening.
Lesley chose the armchair just to the left of the main window. It had seen better days, but it was comfortable enough. Stephen and I dropped down onto the couch (my bed for a portion of the night before) and Caz leaned against the wall.
“I’m bored,” Lesley complained, only halfway seriously. “I wish something would happen. Something paranormal.”
It was her first ever paranormal investigation, and Stephen reminded her of the fact that 90 percent of the time spent during an investigation involves sitting around fruitlessly, either waiting for something to happen or trying to stimulate it through experimentation.
Because of its status as a historic old building, the Cage isn’t particularly well-insulated, which probably explains why it is always cold, no matter how balmy the weather might be outside. However, one soon gets used to the small drafts, which are usually very minor in nature. In fact, shortly after Lesley sat down in the window seat, a heavy eighteen-wheeler truck rushed past outside at a worryingly high speed. Despite the buffeting of air that such a massive vehicle would kick up, Lesley experienced nothing more than a minor breeze, barely enough to rustle the hair on the back of her head. It certainly wasn’t cold.
The team quickly became engrossed in a discussion, laying plans for the evening ahead. What goals did we want to accomplish over the coming week’s investigation? How much attention did we want to devote to each room? Which research methods would work the best … Ouija boards? K2 and Trifield EMF meters? The human pendulum? EVP digital voice recording sessions? Scrying? Dowsing? There were a lot of options spread across the entire spectrum from the more esoteric metaphysical and spiritual techniques to the high-tech gadgetry and gizmos that seem to be the hallmark of the twenty-first century paranormal investigator.
There was no single approach that worked best. Sometimes the electronic evidence came thick and fast, while the planchette (pointer) on the Ouija board obstinately refused to move. At other times, the planchette would fly around the board at the lightest touch from the participants, but absolutely no anomalous voices would be heard when the digital recordings were played back. It was simply impossible to tell which would be true at any given location, and so the four newest inmates of the Cage were going to run the gamut.
It was all too easy to forget the most obvious paranormal research tool of them all: The human senses themselves. Whether we are skeptical, true believers in the paranormal, or somewhere in-between, we can all agree that most human beings have five basic senses: sight, smell, touch, taste, and hearing. Others claim to have additional senses that allow them to perceive different realms, such as the world of spirits. Vanessa claims that she possesses such abilities, as does Stephen, to a certain degree.
We reminded one another that one of the best “spirit detectors” (if not the best) was often the human body itself.
The team had been talking for the better part of thirty minutes when suddenly Lesley let out a cry. Leaping to her feet, she turned around to face the chair. The other three investigators sat bolt upright, all of them staring at Lesley with quizzical looks upon their faces.
“What is it, Lesley?” Caz asked.
“Bloody cold!” Lesley exclaimed, hugging herself in the manner of somebody who was outdoors in the middle of a winter snowstorm. “I’ve suddenly gone ice cold!” She took several steps backward and shot the chair an accusatory look. It was completely unoccupied, as far as the human eye could see, at any rate.
Stephen reached for a digital thermometer and used it to test the ambient air temperature just above the chair. It turned out to be one and a half degrees cooler than the rest of the room, which is hardly significant, and certainly couldn’t explain Lesley’s disproportionate reaction.
Nor did Lesley’s body measure any colder when we checked it with a thermometer. Yet over the course of the next fifteen minutes, she reported feeling chillier and chillier. Finally, she began to shiver, and her teeth began to chatter.
“I give up,” Lesley muttered, reaching for her heavy winter coat. It was only after she had slipped her arms into the sleeves and zipped the coat up to her chin that she began to feel warmer once again.
“You’re the one who wanted something to happen,” I smirked, less than graciously. “I’d say that your challenge was accepted. Wouldn’t you?”
Lesley shot me a look that would curdle milk at fifty paces.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Stephen added with a distinct twinkle in his eye.
Caz, Stephen, and I all took turns sitting in the same chair for a while. None of us experienced anything even remotely similar to that which spooked Lesley, and so we were forced to conclude that her experience was either psychogenic in nature (essentially a product of her own mind, rather than an objective temperature drop) or was a genuinely inexplicable experience … possibly an interaction with one of the spirits of the Cage.
Lesley pointedly stopped expressing her feeling of boredom after that.
“Do you know that feeling you get when you say, oh, somebody just walked over my grave?” Lesley explained afterward. “Well, that’s exactly how it felt. But it was quick … so quick. A freezing cold sensation that shot right through my chest and then all over my body.”
It looked as though another cup of tea was in order, if for no other reason than to help warm Lesley up a bit. After roughly fifteen minutes had passed, she was back to feeling like her self again and felt comfortable enough to take off her jacket.
The team began to discuss the possible causes of Lesley’s unusual experience. It would be foolish to ignore the psychological aspects: after all, when you are spending the night in what is reputed to be one of Britain’s most haunted houses, there is a very real tendency for the brain to interpret every creaky floorboard as a ghostly footstep and every moving shadow as a spirit form. Could Lesley have suffered some sort of panic attack, brought on by what she knew of the Cage and its fearsome reputation?
Choosing my words carefully and remaining as tactful as I possibly could, I asked Lesley about her medical history. Completely up front about it, Lesley said that she had never experienced a panic attack before and had never been diagnosed with anxiety or any other similar conditions—nor had there been any apparent emotional stressors at the time. The whole team had been relaxed, chatting casually with one another and settling into their new environment.
The mood was one of general optimism and healthy camaraderie, and Lesley reported feeling absolutely calm. While this did not absolutely rule out the possibility of her experiencing her first ever anxiety attack in that chair, it did make it extremely unlikely. At the time of writing (September of 2016), Lesley has not experienced anything even remotely like it.
The episode had struck like lightning out of a clear blue sky and resolved itself fairly quickly. Although Lesley’s symptoms were all entirely subjective in nature, and her experience could quite possibly have had an entirely rational explanation, it did make for an intriguing start to the week.
Just as Vanessa had told us when we first arrived, welcome to the Cage.