seven

Ghosts in the Laboratory

Of all the alarming national news stories about autism and abuse, perhaps none have created such uproar as those in which children with autism were deemed “possessed.” An August 2003 incident made headlines when an eight-year-old boy was restrained and suffocated during an exorcism ceremony at a Milwaukee strip-mall church. The church’s bishop justified his actions stating, “We were asking God to take this spirit that was tormenting this little boy to death. We were praying that hard, but not to kill.” (Those with epilepsy and Tourette’s Syndrome were once identically perceived.) One might think such a radical formality as exorcism would be exempt as an option in this day and age given what we are learning about autism. But this case shows how very blurred the lines can become between parental desperation, best intentions, religious influence, and inexcusable ignorance.

Like my earliest encounter with Kyle, I became embroiled in another situation—albeit an extreme instance—in which an individual with autism may have been at great risk of being labeled psychotic or even possessed had his experience not been validated by others. It is a cautionary tale that implores us not to jump to conclusions but to be thorough in exploring all possibilities, exhausting all avenues, and truly listening to what someone is telling us. Remember, oftentimes the person with autism is so very literal in what they interpret and communicate.

At the onset of winter 2003, I had been asked to consult with a team supporting a twenty-one-year-old young man with autism named Josh. Josh is well over six-feet tall and rail thin with piercing blue eyes, short red-gold hair, and elegant, refined features. So sensitive is he, that if Josh wears anything other than cotton against his skin, he breaks out into red welts. Josh resided in a residential school for children with autism and had lived there for the past ten years; but because he was no longer of school age, Josh was not eligible to continue receiving services at the school and needed to transition to another living arrangement. It was decided that he would move across the state and return to his home county, where his family still lived. I led Josh’s parents, school team, and receiving professionals in thoroughly assessing all facets of his life; we created a plan of support for Josh in order to meet his hopes, needs, dreams, and desires.

As part of my services to Josh’s team, I trained them in using Facilitated Communication in advance of his move because Josh does not speak fluently. Josh presently used FC with his mother and had used it at the school initially; but it was dropped there early in his tenure in favor of using a picture system, which Josh refused. Paper keyboards were now plastered around Josh’s new house and his staff was prepared to engage him when he was ready.

Also prior to Josh’s move, I conducted an environmental assessment of the house that had been selected as most suitable for him. It was a brick, ranch-style home built in the 1960s and positioned on a rural hillside but sandwiched between two highways. I liked the home very much, especially for its hardwood floors and woodsy setting. Josh would have his own bedroom and would share the house with another man (without autism), already living there. I soon learned that the house was nicknamed “Laboratory,” after its address, Laboratory Lane.

Josh had been living there a few weeks when he began to have trouble sleeping during the night. Shortly after Josh moved in, I presented an autism sensitivity training for his staff. It was at this training that they raised their concerns for Josh. When one staff member had asked Josh what was upsetting him, Josh had typed the word “ghost.” They wanted to know what this meant and what they should do about it. From our previous assessment of Josh’s records, his current psychiatric status, and interviews with family and staff, we knew there were no outstanding mental health issues. So, we entered into a dialogue explaining how exquisitely sensitive some people with autism can be in perceiving things others do not. We followed that up by acknowledging their responsibility to not sensationalize what Josh was reporting, to keep it confidential, and to accept what he was telling them as the truth. They agreed to do so and would continue offering him their assurances that everything was okay.

But everything was not okay, and after about a month, Josh couldn’t get through a night without waking up screaming, rushing down the hallway and, on occasion, grabbing staff around the throat. When he was calm, Josh would type that there was no longer one ghost in his bedroom but several. And he was naming them. Samuel was twenty-one, and was the first to keep him up all night; Edward was a bearded man. Another was named Sarah. And a “woman” had taken up residence in the spare room across the hall. Josh indicated that, in all, there were five of them, and they were originating from the small cemetery that was adjacent to the property. (In my assessment of the house, I had never seen the graveyard, which was very small and hidden behind some trees.) Remarkably, when staff checked the names Josh had given them against the 1800s-era cemetery headstones, they matched even though Josh was always within the sight of his staff and had never been in the graveyard. Specifically, there was a Samuel who had died at age twenty-one.

With each passing week, the situation seemed to deteriorate as the entities set up root in the house. Now their number had jumped to nine according to Josh, and things were beginning to manifest in real time. One night a staff person heard a little girl talking and giggling in Josh’s room; someone else glimpsed her reflection in a window. Another person was preparing a snack of cookies and orange slices, set out on separate platters. Upon returning to the room, the foods were all mixed together. On another occasion, a staff person went into the basement office to retrieve a stack of papers from the desk of a locked room. Instead of being where they should’ve been, the papers were now scattered to the other side of the room. Two others saw green flashing lights in Josh’s room that were not outside reflections. Intermittent blasts of cold air were felt. Most dramatically, in two photographs taken of Josh, the face of a bearded man could be clearly seen hovering in the air at floor level; when digitally enlarged on a television screen, its features were distinct.

Amy, Josh’s case manager, called me in desperation. Josh’s mental and physical health was being significantly compromised and, while his staff was hanging in there, they were understandably freaked out, and one person had already quit. The more I heard, the angrier I got. It was clear to me that Josh was the innocent in all this, and I was upset that he was being taken advantage of. His sensitivity was being used as a “way in” for the others. That is, his elevated frequency was the conduit or conductor that they rode in on. This did not seem entirely improbable to me; one mom whom I interviewed told me that her son was at risk of being mislabeled with mental health issues because of his inappropriate “behaviors,” which ranged from spontaneous mirth to mortification, until he conceded he was picking up radio frequencies and reacting to the broadcasts. This was verified when the family confirmed his news reports.

Amy next confided to me that she was very sensitive herself, and, as a child, could see Spirits. In fact, Josh had recently typed with her, “U C ghosts,” indicating that he could perceive this about her as well. We made a plan to visit Laboratory when I was next in town in a couple weeks. Amy would clear everything with Josh’s agency so that everyone in the house could take a ride while we attempted to “clean house” by praying and firmly telling the entities to release their hold on Josh. It was ambitious and possibly dangerous but, other than having the house formally blessed, I didn’t have any fast and easy solutions.

You may be wondering where Josh’s parents were in all this. Both have longstanding, solid reputations in their community as staunch advocates, not only for their son but on behalf of the children of others. They were also witness to several of the very unusual incidents that occurred in Josh’s house, and they are open-minded enough to discern that the forces influencing their son were external and not the internal workings of autism stereotypes or mental illness. Nor were there any conspiracies contrived to unhinge Josh. His staff is a dedicated and caring group of people. Josh, himself, did not deliberately concoct a ruse either; it was, for all intents and purposes, quite real to everyone concerned.

A couple Sundays before Amy’s call, I saw Josh and his parents at a meeting. Josh was gaunt and tired and extremely agitated as well. My heart broke for him. In talking with Josh, he didn’t realize that he had the authority to resist the presences plaguing him. He didn’t realize saying “no” was an option and he agreed to try. Later, when I had the chance to privately interview Josh again (with his mother supporting him to type), I asked him if he knew what the presences wanted. He replied that he didn’t know because they “talk too fast.” This is consistent with the high-pitched frequency “chatter” from Spirits described by some spiritualists.

My friend Izzy was also at the same meeting. Izzy shared his empathy with Josh and advised that Josh have faith in God. After Josh left, Izzy’s concern lingered. He asked his mother Roz to give me money to buy Josh a statue of a saint. When I asked which one, Izzy typed, “St. Patrick. He’s good at looking out for kids.” Roz handed me a twenty-dollar bill, and I pledged to try finding Josh a St. Patrick statue for my impending visit.

Just before leaving home for my trip to see Josh, Amy called again. She had been talking to a staff member named Jerry about what was happening for Josh and how anxious everyone was feeling. Jerry told Amy that his mom, Delores, had been very sensitive all her life. Amy and Delores got in touch with one another and hit it off. They went out to the house together and walked in the tiny graveyard. Given her accuracy, Amy thought it best if Delores accompanied us on our visit. I was glad for the added support and welcomed Delores’ wisdom. The three of us combined would be a powerful force.

When I got into town, I heard from Amy again. Delores wanted to meet and her daughter, Carolyn, wanted to come along too. What I learned was that Carolyn was also gifted and, since early childhood, had the ability to see Spirits. For a time, Carolyn blocked it out as too unnerving, but she was beginning to open herself to the visions once more.

We got together that same evening and met in my hotel room to craft a plan. I immediately took to Delores. She was about sixty, full-figured with dark hair and black eyes that radiated warmth. She was like granite, solid in her sense of self and in her gifts to aid others. She had found missing children for the FBI, and some years back, she had given her husband, then a New York City cop, tips that proved accurate in the capture of David “Son of Sam” Berkowitz. Carolyn was a very young-looking forty-one, demure, and soft-spoken.

Dialoguing with them, I was still in irritation mode and my first allegiance was protecting Josh. After all, the presences were stuck clinging to the 1800s—didn’t that make us more progressive and wiser than they were? By the same token, I wanted to be helpful to them if at all possible. Delores was able to temper my feelings. Her sense was that, in order to alleviate Josh’s angst, we had to determine what the presences wanted. She and Amy had been doing some local research. The markers in the graveyard represented two different families. The dates on them were from the early to mid-1800s. What they learned was that a number of family members died from tuberculosis. The two women also got the sense that there was a murder or suicide—at the least someone died from something other than natural causes. We decided that, the following evening, we would walk through the cemetery, walk the grounds, and then survey the house room by room. We would adopt an attitude that was open and diplomatic but firm and determined. We all joined hands in prayer before parting that night.

Throughout our discussion, Carolyn took notes but was mostly silent and sometimes seemed distracted. What I learned from Amy the next day was that Carolyn had seen a figure cloaked in a white veil standing behind me. She knew it was a benevolent, protective presence intended for me. I wept. At this point, not knowing what we were up against, I welcomed all the help I could get. With as aggressive and out of control as things had become, I anticipated some kind of confrontation. That night I slept fitfully, my mind preoccupied with a million unanswered questions that refused to be assuaged.

The following day, Amy and I met about an hour before our trip. I was still on a mission to find Josh the St. Patrick statue that Izzy directed me to purchase. Amy was only aware of one such religious store in the area and we decided to stop there before driving on to Josh’s house. I figured if St. Patrick wasn’t to be found, I’d simply turn the twenty dollars over to Josh’s parents and ask that they take the lead from there. We got out of the car and entered a building that essentially looked like a Goodwill thrift shop had exploded—junk was piled and scattered everywhere. Surreptitiously inching along the obstacle-course aisles, we saw many things but no figurines of any kind. Just to be certain, I finally inquired and a clerk redirected us to a showcase we apparently passed at the front of the store; any keepsake figures would be there. Amy and I wended our way back through the clutter toward the showcase, an old department store cast-off. We quickly discovered that the shop had just one statue of one saint priced at exactly twenty dollars. Sure enough, silently awaiting us was St. Patrick, resplendent in his flowing green robes and mild-mannered countenance. It was a good sign.

The sky was darkening as we headed back down the highway en route for the hour-long trek to the house. Amy and I would meet Delores and Carolyn there. I was a bit apprehensive but had been praying for guidance and support. In my mind, Josh’s well being came first, my personal concerns were secondary.

Pulling up the steep, winding driveway, I fully expected to experience an ominous or foreboding sensation. I didn’t. Instead, I felt strong and confident. The house looked just as it always had, and I sensed nothing untoward. But when I walked inside, I found Josh literally bouncing off the walls with nervous anxiety. Various staff members tried to engage him in FC, but he was too agitated to focus. Finally, he sat with me and began to calm. He started by typing standard small talk, “Hi Bill. How are you?” Then he cut to the chase, “Love me as you love Christ.” I leaned to kiss him on the cheek and vowed my commitment to him. Josh then typed, “Ghosts in my room. Can’t sleep. I’m scared. Help me.” I assured him that I would do everything in my power to help.

In a short while, Josh, his roommate, and the remaining staff filed into the agency van and took off for a community outing, leaving Delores, Carolyn, Amy, and myself alone with the house. Carolyn had brought a camcorder to document the proceedings and capture anything we might miss in real time. She kept the camera running throughout most of the evening. For added protection, all four of us wore crosses or rosaries that had been blessed. Standing in the parking lot, we joined hands as Delores led us in prayer.

We started with the cemetery. As I hadn’t previously noticed it, I could now understand how it was overlooked. It was a tiny, narrow plot of land camouflaged in underbrush and relegated to a far corner of the property, across from the long driveway. All told, it couldn’t have been larger than fifteen feet square.

In addition to the graveyard’s miniscule size, what struck me was its total disarray. Headstones and grave markers seemed to be scattered randomly, many askew, propped against trees, turned in directions opposite from one another, or toppled over completely. They were also packed like sardines, so tight it looked impossible for any caskets to be realistically aligned beneath the numerous, compacted headstones. Then I saw them—three of them together in a row: Edward, Sarah, and Samuel, the names Josh had identified. Something unexpected happened next: I wept for them. I surprised myself to discover that—instead of feeling anger and defiance—I was overcome with love and compassion for them all. It was a pitiful memorial to real people who had lived real lives, some of whom passed before their time. It was like putting a face with a name. A sense of peace and tranquility washed over me; we would be fine and no harm would come to any one of us that night. Once the women had departed the graveyard, I went back alone and said a prayer for the three for whom I now felt human warmth. We were strangers no longer.

We next walked the outside perimeter of the house. Carolyn kept the camcorder running and photographed all the windows as we passed by. The house was situated on a great, wooded hillside with a gorgeous view of verdant mountain ranges. Immediately we all understood the obvious: this was the original site of the cemetery, not the haphazard sliver of land in which everything was dumped. The house was built over the original graves, of this we felt certain. Standing on the hill, Delores felt that someone was shot or stabbed simultaneous with my reporting a pain in my chest. We came around the other side of the house and noticed a crucifix had been placed on the inside ledge of Josh’s bedroom window.

We then entered the house. The yellow paint of the kitchen felt buoyant but Delores and Amy both experienced a choking sensation in their throats and Delores felt pressure on her chest. Delores felt this again when we walked into Josh’s bedroom. Then it hit me: some of the deceased had died of tuberculosis, which would’ve created a closure of the lungs and airway, like being choked. Josh had been grabbing people by the throat. It all crystallized—Josh’s actions didn’t constitute an act of violent physical aggression, it was a symbolic communication. At the height of his anxiety, he was attempting to communicate to others the sensations that had been invisibly impressed upon him, the same sensations that Delores and Amy now experienced and could articulate feeling!

We completed our tour, ending in the basement where I felt it more difficult to breathe and “saw” my nostrils and mouth fill with earth. It was also in the basement that Josh’s parents had felt a drastic drop in barometric pressure manifesting in a blast of cold air.

Throughout our survey, we would bounce things off of one another, “Do you feel this?” or “Are you getting anything over here?” At one point, I noticed that the pendulum on a wall clock slowed to a near stop and then picked up momentum after awhile. The clock did not lose time though. Carolyn took the camcorder alone into the spare room, lay still on the bed, and silently fired the lens in the direction of a closet. During this time, the camera malfunctioned; its focus blurred significantly before restoring itself. But this aside, nothing spectacular occurred. We watched Carolyn’s video of the entire event twice and noted nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, given the big build up, it was somewhat anticlimactic. What was really going on? Was it authentic? Legitimate? If four highly sensitive people got little to nothing, how was it possible that so much had come undone in our absence?

We wrapped up the evening by returning to Josh’s room to again join hands in solemn prayer. Delores acknowledged the presences but asked that they find ways to communicate their needs other than by using Josh. She then suggested that they cross into the glorious white light of the Creator. After saying “Amen,” Delores looked at me and asked that I bless the room. “I don’t know how,” I replied in surprise. “Say what you need to,” she calmly directed. I summoned all my thoughts and feelings and prayed that God would protect Josh and keep him safe from harm. I asked the presences to release their hold on Josh, explaining that he was worn thin with exhaustion and that it was unjust and unfair to continue tapping his energy as they had. As I concluded my prayer, I was again weeping profoundly, optimistic that Josh would find relief.

Early the next morning, Amy and I were scheduled to meet back at Laboratory with Josh, his parents, and his staff to review the recommendations I had originally written during his transition to acclimate him in his new home. In the adjustment period, and given everything that had been going on, some things had been overlooked and I wanted to support them all to get back on track.

As we pulled into the driveway, Amy’s cell phone rang. It was Delores with important news. After we had parted ways, she and Carolyn went home and played the video for Delores’s son (and Josh’s staff member) Jerry. At one point when the camera was scanning the house’s exterior windows he said, “What was that?” and asked Carolyn to rewind. He had seen a flash of something but wasn’t sure exactly what. With the tape rewound, he played it back but paused it frame by frame instead of running it at normal speed. There in one of the windows—cloudy-gray and opaque—was a person’s face, formed full and complete, it appeared to be that of a bearded man. This was not a reflection; when compared against the static reflection of tree limbs and leaves in the adjacent glass panel, the face image moved and shifted and even seemed to blink.

There had been at least one presence with us the entire time and we never knew it! Did this phantom keep its distance because it knew we were unafraid? Did it maintain a low profile because we were so well protected or because it didn’t know what to make of us? One thing rang true for me in that moment—we are all just people, no matter our incarnation. And all people desire to communicate, be heard, and be valued. They were not to be feared, instead they deserved our empathy. The presences in the house may have been dormant or may have always been present since the house was built. They just may not have had the opportunity to communicate through anyone as sensitive as Josh before, and they seized the chance to be heard.

Amy, Delores, and Carolyn would continue to research the property and the deceased families. I would continue to be a resource to Josh and his team, aiding them to empower Josh with the self-advocacy to resist unwanted outside communications. It would be a process that would take some time, sensitivity, and patience.

That morning when I met with Josh, the first thing I did was to ask about his night. He responded by typing, “I slept OK. I love you Bill.” I also wrote a story for Josh about his gift similar to those found in this book. After about a month, he was sleeping well every night. He told me, “Story helped me not to be afraid. They will not hurt me. Thank you Bill for understanding.” Here is Josh’s story:

I was in the right place at the right time, and I thank God that I was involved to the degree of supporting Josh, his parents, and his team members to discern the truth of what was driving his behavior. I am also grateful that Josh had a way of communicating his experience and that those communications were received as his own; otherwise, he was at risk of being unfairly stereotyped, medicated unnecessarily with antipsychotic drugs or, worse yet, physically restrained—all of which could have been aversive and damaging to his own self-image and relationships with the people in his life. This most surely would have led to a downward spiral for Josh instead of a path to upward mobility and self-advocacy. Because Josh’s chosen mode of communication is honored, he has begun using spoken language more and more, especially with those in whom he places trust.

The situation was not completely void of humor, though, and there was one synchronous footnote to this eventful trip. Despite Josh’s circumstances being extremely serious and intense, my initial visit came with an absurd twist that offered me a whimsical welcome and farewell. On my way into town, the place I usually stop to gas up was full so I drove a bit further down the road to another station. As I was filling my tank, a van pulled up across from me, its business name prominently painted on the side: Ghost Flooring Services. Driving home, I was immersed in thinking of all that had transpired over the past two days and, looking up, passed Spirit Car Wash.