I have a copy of another article, apparently from a rotogravure section of the Buffalo Courier-Express. I’ll let the last few lines say it all. “The house had won. Father T said he could not find any simple normal explanation for what took place. ‘It was really a haunted house.’” Finis, I hope!
AN EPILOGUE
September–1999
It has been over twenty-five years since we left the House in Hinsdale. In that time, everything has changed. I am writing this addendum from the home in Florence, Oregon, that I share with mum. So much has happened in that time that it’s impossible to bring the record up to date. Nevertheless, I will give you a short synopsis.
Phil and I moved to California in April of 1975. After he got a job in San Jose, I returned to New York and picked up Laura and Mary with two of our dogs, Peanuts and Lassie. The three cats, Fluffy, Jinx and Tish were flown out later. In October of 1975, I started working for the City of Santa Clara. However, Phil and I could not sustain our relationship. I finally divorced him in 1980 and, shortly thereafter, resumed my own name. He is now remarried to a woman named Jan and they have a 20 year old daughter named Christine. I remain happily single.
In spring of 1984, I converted to Judaism which seemed to fill the hole left by the ravages of the House and, in 1986, I even made my Bat Mitzvah. I now call myself a free-spirit and espouse no organized religion. During the Christmas season in 1984, my mother and I became very ill with what appeared to be severe flu.. The trouble is....my symptoms never fully left me. In February of 1985 mum had a cardiac arrest after I’d taken her to the Emergency Room because she didn’t feel well. She had to take it easy for a long time after she came home but recovered fully, which I hear is unusual. My fatigue and muscle aches continued and I was at the doctor for “flu” 18 times in one year. Finally, on my doctor’s advice, in December of 1990, I was forced to take a disability retirement from my job as Assistant City Clerk/City Auditor for the City of Santa Clara. It was a few years before my problem was diagnosed as Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome. In spite of a wonderful retirement party, I deeply regretted leaving my job. Since living is expensive in California, we moved to Oregon. Now we live on the coast in a lovely immobile, mobile home. It is only a short walk to the ocean and a mile drive to the nearest beach. The scars inflicted by the house, however, have never totally disappeared from our family. In a way, I believe that all our subsequent actions were influenced by what happened to us there. I have never said and do not say now that all our problems were caused by the house. That’s a cop-out.
Incidentally, to answer a question often asked of us: since our family moved out of the house we have been entirely free of “spirit influences”. Hinsdale was our last experience with “ghosts”. So, it wasn’t we who were haunted. It was the house.
An update on our family (in 1999): Michael’s marriage to a very nice girl named Katie is in the process of being dissolved. The demands of his job as a medical equipment repairman for Lab Performance Specialists were too much for her. He now lives in Carlton, Oregon with their three children: Abraham (17), Peter (15) and Michelle (11). Happily for us, they visit as often as they can.
Beth and Tim live in a lovely home in Lompoc, California. Believe it or not, Tim has retired from the Air Force and is now the Director of Engineering for Spaceport Systems International. It’s hard to remember him as the tousle-haired, goofy-hatted young man who patrolled our yards at night now that he’s busy sending satellites into orbit. Beth wears many hats. She is the Armed Forces Emergency Services Director for Vandenberg Air Force Base and the District Operations Director of the Santa Barbara County Chapter of the Red Cross. She also teaches International Humanitarian Law and CPR. I don’t know what she does in her spare time! She and Tim have two children: Erin (21) who is now in her Senior year at the Air Force Academy and Davey (18) who has just graduated from High School and is attending Junior College preparing for a career in the computer field.
Mary was married in 1989 to a fine young man named George. They now have two sons–George Jr. (9) and Brian (4). They live in a house they recently purchased in Tracy, California. Mary decided, wisely, to take time off from her office manager job to care for the children. George is the Service Manager for Rollins Leasing Corp. in San Jose.
I have left Laura for last. Unfortunately, the prediction of an early death she made in August, 1973 came tragically true. She died on September 1, 1992, just 18 days short of her thirty-second birthday, leaving a husband, Marty, and two sons: Christopher (20) and Jeremy (19), both of whom live with their father and his new wife in San Jose. Marty is retired and the boys are working hard to find themselves. Of all of us, I think Laura was the most affected by the house in the long run. Since we left New York, she had been plagued by bad health and mental problems. It is still undecided whether her overdose on prescription medication was accidental or intentional and it matters little either way. Laura had always been a firm believer that if one pill helped, two would help more and four would be even better. I was never able to persuade her otherwise. Now, perhaps, she’s at peace. And maybe she even knows what happened in the house.
Of the rest of our cast of characters: my beloved, gentle father died of a pulmonary embolism on June 6, 1979. He had great dreams of coming to live with us in California but never made it. My mother and brother, Gordon, arrived out west in December of 1979.
My brother, Martin, died of cancer on January 3, 1996. His wife Mikki, still lives on Grand Island, New York. Their daughter, Michele, is married and has a daughter, Ashley, and a son, Nicholas. She and her husband, Ron, are in the Air Force and are currently stations at Minot, North Dakota. My sister, Cathie, is divorced and lives with her boyfriend, Dave, and two children, Gary and Karen, in Morgan Hill, California. Gordon, after spending a few happy years with us in Oregon, died from complications of Myotonic (Muscular) Dystrophy on May 17, 1996, just short of five months after Martin.
My girlfriend, Shirl, still lives in Buffalo. Although, a country apart, we still have a very close friendship; in fact I stayed with her when I recently attended the fiftieth reunion of our grammar school graduating class. I have lost track of the other Shirley.
Father Al is still a very close friend. We exchange letters, cards and phone calls frequently. I visited him on my recent trip back east for the above-mentioned reunion. He still receives requests to investigate hauntings and fields questions regarding our house. The Rochester diocese frequently consults him. Despite problems with his health, he hasn’t lost one bit of the good-humored vitality that is so much a part of him. A few years ago, he informed me that Alex T, the psychic who had helped us had died (on July 7, 1990). I’m truly sorry because he was a very special man.
Of Michael’s friends, I know little. Dave lives near him in northern Oregon. Clarke tried living in California but finally returned to southern New York. Mike N is married and still lives in Hinsdale. Randy also tried California but returned to Hinsdale. The last time I heard about Keith, he was supposedly married to the daughter of an official in Montreal. Debbie and Paul were married and subsequently divorced. Paul called me at work in 1976 but that was the last I heard of him. Beth keeps in touch with some of her friends but I know little of them. As the years pass, circumstances change and people with them.
As for an update on the house: Soon after leaving we learned that the people who had lived in the house twenty-three years before us had asked a priest for help because the house was troubled (I still don’t like the word “haunted”). I told a researcher for the Human Dimensions Institute and he checked it out. It was true.
The woman who held our mortgage refused to allow researchers from the above-mentioned Institute, a highly reputable organization affiliated with Rosary Hill College, to go in and see if they could help. Like many people in the area, she apparently thought we had concocted the whole story. In fact, she accused me of holding “drug parties” at the house!! I can’t imagine anyone being that foolish. If I
did make up a story, I assure you, it would certainly make more sense than this one does. The ideal fate for such a house is to become a center for research.
The house has had several families in it since we left. The first, after making much fun of us, moved out and went to Florida within a year.
In the summer of 1978, Ann T, a friend of ours who had a campsite on the corner of the camp road, had a very strange experience. As she sat peacefully reading in the sun, she saw three women pass by. Waving hello, she turned her head back to her book. Suddenly, it dawned on her that she and her husband were the only ones camping in the area. Quickly, she rose and followed the women who disappeared right in front of her eyes as they neared the house. Ann is a practical, down-to-earth person who does not have a vivid imagination. I believe what she saw. When I last spoke with her, she was talking about selling their camp since their two children were grown.
Years after we left the area, I found out that Ann’s daughter had a bad experience in their pond. She had been swimming with her twin brother when something grabbed her ankle. The only thing growing on the bottom of the pond was a type of grass so I don’t know what it could have been. She swore it was a hand. Her brother had to call her father to pull her out.
Ann also expressed fears for the second tenants to move into our house because they could have been a mirror image of our family. As she watched, the family disintegrated. Soon the wife and children had left and the man was alone in the house. So maybe this story isn’t over.
I thought you might be interested in a fascinating tale I heard about the house. Mike was talking to some Navy friends and found out they had lived in Portville at the time of the “haunting”. On their leave, they decided to go to the house. They drove up about dusk (remember–the umbrella) and the car quit about half way up the road. They got out and decided to walk. Just as they reached the curve in the road (near the camp road) their car lights turned on and the horn started blaring. They set records getting back to their car and going home.
I remember another incident which I didn’t mention in the book. Since I find it amusing, I will relate it here. One day (the date totally escapes me) one of our camping neighbors pulled up in our driveway. I had never met him before but I had noticed that, when he and his family visited their campsite, he was often driving a different car–all of them just one step ahead of junk. This day he was driving a decrepit old Chevy which had seen better days. He was slow spoken and seemed very puzzled.
As far as we knew, he did not know what was going on at our house. He asked if there were something funny about the area in which he camped. Phil asked why and he said because when he had been up at his camp suddenly all his car lights came on. Phil said he probably had electrical problems. Scratching his head, he admitted that was possible but it was still funny since he had no bulbs in any of the lights! He was only puzzled!
Shirl and I visited the house while we were in Olean (in 1999) and it looked sad and neglected. The new owners had painted it brown and the siding and roof were in bad repair. I wouldn’t hesitate to go back there to live now that I don’t have to worry about the kids. I really loved that house and the type of living it represented.
I would really like to know what happened. I can see, in reading the book, various places that events in the house caused decisions which shaped our future lives. I don’t believe our divorce had anything to do with whatever happened there. Phil and I were two entirely different personalities and were bound to split.
There are many things I have omitted either inadvertently or because they made the tale seem even more incredible. I am not at all sure of some of the dates since all my records have disappeared in our many moves but if my friends notice discrepancies, I hope they will forgive me. If there are any errors in the dates they in no way alter the story.
One of the episodes for which I have no date was one of the most enlightening I’ve ever had. Father Al brought two friends to the house. One, he introduced as a talented psychic with whom he proposed holding a Ouija board session down by the pond. Thank God, he didn’t ask us to take part. The other was the man’s uncle, a minister. He was a happy looking man and radiated joy. I liked him immediately. He passed on the Ouija session and said he’d just stroll around. I let him.
When he came back, he was laughing out loud. He said the house must be a convention center for ghosts....that he’d never seen so many spirits assembled in one place in his life. He proceeded to describe many of those we’d seen and many we hadn’t. He said there was a man near the camp road holding a rifle. He was angry at all the trespassers and wanted to keep them off his property. I really wish I knew how to get in touch with him because he impressed me deeply. As for the Ouija board session...nothing happened. I guess the spirits were more interested in the minister.
Of the unbelievable Polaroid snapshot, I have no news. Nor of the film of that strange weekend. The snapshot supposedly disappeared on its return from the Institute for Psychical Research to Alex. In a letter from Alex asking permission to use our name in his book, Beyond Coincidence, he said he had put a tracer on the documentary but had heard nothing about it. A letter to Dr. Osis from the Institute for Psychical Research got me no information at all about the picture. When I tried, I could reach no one connected with the movie and was almost tempted to think I imagined it. Alex, too, was baffled by the silence from all parties concerned. At least the mention of that weekend in Beyond Coincidence assures me that the film was made.
I hope you have enjoyed my little tale. But I must warn you–I have not made up one thing in this book. It is all true. I, myself, still find it hard to believe but it’s all true. I’m always willing to discuss it with anyone hoping they’ll come up with a clue I lack. For instance, there was a Regression I went through–but that’s another story. I’ll leave well enough alone, but I’m always willing to listen.
I wish I had some wisdom to impart as a result of this experience but I don’t. I wish I had some insight into the next world but I don’t. I can give no answers–only questions. What was in the house? I wish I knew. Is “whatever it was” still there? Time will tell.
When pressed, I will say that I do not believe in ghosts. First of all, I think the word is misleading and inaccurate. If a word can carry a lot of baggage, that one does. It conjures up a whole load of preconceptions and puts people immediately on guard. On the other hand, I do believe in power. And that’s what I believe was at the house. One of the first questions Alex asked me was, “Have you had any UFO sightings in your area?” The query startled me. We had, of course. Did it have anything to do with what followed? Or was it part of the problem? Who knows? I certainly don’t.
I have been warned that people will regard this book as fiction. If it pleases them to do so, fine. Or if it makes them feel safer. If you believe our story–congratulations–you have joined a select group. For those in the middle–maybe I’ve planted a few doubts!
Epilogue to the Epilogue
I don’t know if there is really such a thing as an epilogue to an epilogue. If not, I just invented it. I don’t know if this news is reassuring or appalling: the house will not die! I should have known that all along. Maybe people need it. There is a deep-seated desire in every human heart to know what comes next. I don’t know. It’s possible that’s why the fascination with so-called ghosts and haunted houses. They assure people about an afterlife without having to espouse any one religion.
Things have changed rapidly since I wrote the epilogue. Mike lives in McMinnville, Oregon with his girlfriend, Linda. His three children live nearby: Abe and Jenny in McMinnville, Peter, Erika and their daughter, Summer, in Yamhill and Michelle and Mike (her Mike) with their son, Logan in Siletz.
Beth and Tim are living in Virginia. Their daughter, Erin moves around with her husband, Charles and sons Connor and Timmy since he’s in the Air Force. Davey and his wife, Christal, live in California.
Laura’s son, Chris lives in Santa Clara while Jeremy, his wife, Alici
a and their daughter, Chelsea, live in San Jose.
Mary and George are moving back to Tracy with their sons, George, Jr. and Brian after an unsuccessful attempt to adapt to the faster, noisier pace of San Jose.
They’re all grown up now and life has moved forward. I think, though, the effects of the house in Hinsdale will never completely fade.
Several years ago I received a call from Mike R (the world is full of Mike’s). He said he was a medium and I almost hung up. Now I’m glad I didn’t. I’ve never met Mike or his wife, Sheila, yet I consider them close friends. Mike has researched the house and found out many things we were never able to. I’ve had many calls over the years from people who’ve read my book but this call was providential. I wish Mike had been around when we needed someone serious to look into what was happening. It’s nice to know it’s finally happening.
Not too long ago, I also got a call from my old friend, Paul. He was back in Olean and was writing his own book about the house. I welcomed the addition of another testimony and, when I read it, realized it filled in a few holes in my memory and told me things I hadn’t known. It’s called You Know They’re Here. The title is in reference to something Laura said to Paul when she realized he knew there were spirits present in the house. As I said, I always called Laura my fey daughter.
Finally, through a series of serendipitous events, I “met” Roger M. Though we met by e-mail and talked on the phone, I consider him a friend as well. He, too, is seriously interested in the house since an early exposure to the place when he was a student at St. Bonaventure University. He, too, filled in some blanks for me. He’s now a reporter in Chicago but hopes to assume a teaching post soon.
Echoes of a Haunting - Revisited Page 19