The world is a tough place to live. The dropping economy was forcing people who would never dream of doing anything wrong to turn into criminals out of sheer desperation. Do you know what it would be like on Christmas morning to have a child and have to tell them you had nothing for them? The social pressure the holiday puts on struggling parents can be immense. Think of how many times we are confronted with the picture of the happy, perfect family during the holiday season? You see them gathered around tables in front of feasts. You see them gathered around Christmas trees, handing out presents. You see the images of children, happy and excited. You don’t see the other side of it. You don’t see the family that is having a bad time of it, trying to struggle to make things happen out of nothing. I love hearing the phrase “remember the reason for the season.” These families cannot even afford the luxury of going to church, because they might not have the clothes to wear or the shoes to put on their child’s feet. Now, you tell me how you would react if you saw this type of family walking down the aisle of your church on Christmas morning? Would you greet them? Would you accept them? Be honest with yourself, because facing your own actions is the only way you can change your reactions. What about a bum? A drunken bum who decided to come in and get out of the cold, and it happened to be at your Christmas service? I would like to think I would be open and caring. But do you really know until it happens? There was that phrase a few years back that asked, “What would Jesus do?” I have seen some people wearing those bracelets and exhibiting the most horrible behavior. I saw a young man once in the movies who was loud and obnoxious. He was making fun of people who entered. What did that saying on the bracelet really mean to him? Or was he just wearing it because it was the current thing to do? Compassion and understanding is not a religion. It is a way of life. A way we should all behave, no matter what we believe or what time of the year it is. I learned this from my father, whom I have seen give someone money for food or gas, without question. He did it without hesitation or thought, and he never would talk or brag about it afterward. He did it and it was done. I knew what my parents’ reaction was going to be when I told them what had happened at work that day. And I was ashamed when I told them, because I did nothing to stop it from happening. I could have offered to pay for the shoes. Or I could have suggested they let her go with a warning. Instead, I stayed quiet. I did nothing.
It was another step in the loss of my humanity. Another step we all are forced to take deeper into the darkness because of either our lack to care about another person or our inability to stand up for the wrong we see before us. We all open the door for evil to step in. It is as simple as not standing up for right when the moment is presented to us.
December 2006
December 21, 2006, started out as a pretty good day. I got up and got ready for work. The boys were going to stay home that day. The day before, they had put up the Christmas tree by themselves. It looked God-awful. They thought the last thing you did was put the lights on. So the tree actually had the look that it had been wrapped in barbed wire when the lights were off. This was one of the most horrible, yet memorable, Christmas trees I have ever seen. I looked at it on my way out the door and I laughed to myself. I went to work and when I got there, it wasn’t very busy. I was enjoying the walk around the mall, talking to different people I met along the way. It was a good day and for a moment I had forgotten all of my problems. About two hours into my shift, I got a call from the office to call home. I was told that there was an emergency. I hurried downstairs to the phone and I called home. Michael answered the phone, “There is nothing to worry about, Dad. The fire guys are here now and they just need your insurance information.” I listened to what he had said, but all I heard was “fire guys” and “insurance information” and I knew that something serious had just happened.
“I am on my way home,” I said. Without even listening to his response, I hung up the phone and headed out the door for home.
When I got there, the firefighters were already gone. Both of the boys met me at the car when I pulled into the driveway. “It really isn’t that bad,” Matthew was saying, following me as I headed for the door. My kitchen had caught on fire. The cabinets were charred black and the ceiling, where the fire had tried to spread, was a dark, smoky black and the house smelled of burned . . . well, everything.
“What happened?” I asked as I surveyed the damage.
“I was cooking French fries like they do at McDonald’s, when some girl I knew came to the door,” said Matthew, sheepishly. “I was standing in the door talking to her and then she told me, ‘There is a lot of smoke behind you. It looks like you might be burning something.’ Well, I turned around and there was smoke everywhere, man. I looked and I could see flames in the kitchen shooting up to the ceiling. So I tried to put some flour on it and it just got worse. Then I started throwing water on it from the sink. While I was doing that, Michael called the fire guys and they were here in no time, but lucky me, I had already put the fire out. They told me what a good job I did and everything,” he said, trying to convince me he was a hero in the situation.
I took a deep breath and then I spoke, “Everything is not all right. You could have burned down the house and you could have killed yourself and your brother in the process.”
He looked at me with big eyes and replied, “But that didn’t happen, Dad. They said if I had not thought to put it out, the house would have been a goner.” I could not believe he was going to justify this to me. I could not believe what I was hearing.
I looked at my burned and charred kitchen, and then I turned again to speak with him, “You burned down my fucking kitchen. Do you not see it for yourself ? Because if you need me to give you the damn grand tour I will be more than happy to do it, but my suggestion to you right now is to run and I mean run and find a fucking place to hide.” He looked at me with shock because I was not getting his point and he obviously was not getting mine, because I had to say once more, “Run and fucking hide. Do you hear me?” He started to head outside and I stopped him, “Not outside. You are grounded for the rest of your damned days. I think going to your room and shutting the door might be a better idea, because that way I do not have to drag your ass back inside.” He went to his room and shut the door, and I was left in silence to look at the damage. I just sat down on the couch because at the moment there was not much else I could do.
Saturday night, the night before Christmas Eve, came quickly. My friend Bill and I were booked at a bar in Illinois to do an event for a no-kill animal shelter. The event was going to have a Misfits tribute, as well as pole dancers. We knew the crowd was going to be somewhat Goth even before we got there. We had put together a great presentation, filled with plenty of evidence and footage. It was exciting to do something in front of a young crowd. We were on at about eight in the evening, and it went great. The crowd was full of questions and interest. I have spoken to a lot of crowds in my career, but this was probably one of the best. We got a beer from the bar after we were done, and sat down to watch the remaining acts.
Christmas Eve came and there was no stopping it. I had finished my Christmas shopping and I was on my way home. I was not sure if Lydia was coming home for Christmas Eve or not. But when I got home, the boys told me she had called and was coming. I was a little nervous, but I could not wait to see her. It was the longest time we had ever been apart. She came in that night and headed for the kitchen. She laughed when she saw the burned kitchen and commented on how the house still had that charred smell––and it did. I was not sure how long it would take me to get it all cleaned up and to get that smell gone. Most likely longer than it took me to clean the house after Matthew chased his brother and sister through it with a bag full of powdered Ajax swinging in the air. Have you ever cleaned Ajax up off of everything you own? Not an easy thing to do at all. You can’t get it wet or it becomes a bigger mess, and this particular kind of Ajax had bleach in it. So needless to say, if you did get it w
et on the carpet, it was going to be ugly. I imagined that cleaning the kitchen was going to be a longer process than the Ajax incident, but at the moment, I had been working so many hours, it was impossible to get to even begin it at that moment. So Lydia got almost the same impact upon seeing the kitchen as I had.
It was a good night. She stayed for a couple hours and then she was gone again. I found out she with her boyfriend’s sister, in her basement. I was glad she was someplace safe, however, I was angry with the both of them for harboring her. This was a woman who had children of her own. I wondered what she would do if this was one of her children. Then I thought about it and decided she would be glad her child had someplace to go. I had taken many kids in off the street; I still do. I provide them a place to stay. I would not be in my right mind to let a kid sleep somewhere like the park or in a car. I felt this was God’s way of paying me back for all of that, maybe? But I was not going to show it. I was still going to make her think I did not approve, in the hope it would make her come home and do the things she needed to get done to prepare for her life. I know many people had to think I was the biggest asshole to walk the earth, but when it came to the welfare of my child, I didn’t care about the opinion of others. That night went by without any arguments. I was just so happy to see her, but when she walked out the door to leave, I felt empty again. I never knew it was going to be so hard to let go. But I wasn’t letting go completely until I knew she was going to be safe. Also, this boyfriend of hers needed to do the right thing by her.
Lydia also came to my parents’ house for Christmas. It was okay. Everything was going just fine. She came and she left. My mother was telling me I had to let Lydia go as she walked out the door. I still was ready to fight for her. It is so hard to explain. It’s not a feeling I have felt before or since. That feeling that she was in some kind of danger—even though she was safe. The difference was, she was not home, safe under my roof, and I missed her so much. I had never missed someone so much in my life. We were way too close for this. This did not make sense to me. Why would she do this? Did she not love me anymore? Did I do something wrong? The questions just kept churning around and around in my head. Why did this happen? I was being forced to let her go. She did not cut the apron strings. She had ripped them out.
It was a few days after Christmas when I got a message from some lady I had never heard of before, directing me to this blog site. There was something there she wanted me to read. I went to the site and I could not believe what I was reading. There, on the blog, was post after post from my stalker, and he was talking about me and my family.
December 24, 2006
I was at an event where Steven LaChance was last night. I was so close to him I could have stabbed or shot him in the back and no one would have ever known. He would have been long gone before anyone knew what had happened.
December 26, 2006
I know where Steven LaChance lives in Union, Missouri, and I know where his kids go to school. I want to get one of the kids and kidnap them. I think the daughter would be best. I would like to capture her and put her through a Forensic Psychological Interrogation to try to break her down. We can discuss this more when we all meet on January 29. Just tell me what to do and I will move forward with it.
I e-mailed the woman and asked her about what they were planning on January 29. That is when she told me they were gathering at some bed and breakfast to discuss how to handle me. Handle me? Who? That is when she started giving names, and at the head of the list was a woman I knew all too well. It was the woman who Helen had asked not to come back to the Screaming House, because she was harassing Kelly and spreading lies about her. But to go this far? This seemed ridiculous to me. It wasn’t until I started doing research on the man who had been leaving the harassing notes in our yard. Research revealed to us that the man had worked for the FBI and that he was also in the military at some point, as well. There were also big gaps in his life that could not be filled in by research. Regardless, this guy did have the knowledge and ability to pull off some pretty bad stuff. Then I looked up Forensic Psychological Interrogation. That was the moment I knew I needed some help, and if the police were not going to give it to me, then I was going to have to find it for myself.
Article after article came up with same thing. These articles talked about practices that involved detention and psychological or physical pressures that blurred into torture. The articles also mentioned the CIA and prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. That was enough for me. I knew at that moment I could not take the chance. I was actually grateful that Lydia was not living at home and that maybe this nut did not know where she was living. I called her immediately and told her that she needed to keep a very low profile. She asked me why and I had to tell her why. I could hear in her voice that she was scared, and I tried to act as calm as I could about it, but the truth is, when someone is threatening your children—I don’t care how old they are—the guard goes up and the guns come out.
The first thing I did was make a public announcement about what was happening. I did this for a few reasons. I wanted some type of record out there in case anything happened to any of us. I also wanted the stalker to know I was on to him and that I was ready to turn the tables on him. I talked to a friend of mine, and he collected all the research he needed on this guy—and the process was started. I also got myself a bodyguard to accompany me every time I went out in public. The ex-cop, with the lethal feet and hands, was the perfect choice for a bodyguard. It did not take long to get a description of the stalker from my friend. Someone had made a visit to him, and when he answered the door, they said his full name and added, “We now know where you live.” My e-mail friend was able to come up with the location of the bed and breakfast and I immediately put the information out to the paranormal community. It was going to be very hard for them to meet when the paranormal community knew the location, time, and purpose of the gathering. I had covered all bases.
January 2007
January was a long month. I called in sick one day in January with the flu. All of us had it at the same time. If I had not called in that night, I would have had to handle a call where a woman’s leg was cut off when a car hit her in the parking lot. My friend, the ex-cop, answered the call that would have been meant for me. I just couldn’t go back there. It was too much to even consider. I could not have made it through something like that, and I understood at that moment that I was in the wrong kind of profession. I left the job and started interviewing for a management position with a convenience store and gas station. I got the job and it paid well. So, I found myself driving back and forth through the snow and the ice, which seemed to continually fall that year.
During that time, my friend Bill and I also met three people who were going to help change my life, and become three of the best friends I have ever had. The Booth Brothers were twin brothers from England who had made a documentary called Spooked. It was critically acknowledged and received a warm reception on the Syfy Channel. The main plot revolved around Keith Age, who would later star in the film they were getting ready to make called Children of the Grave. The Booth Brothers and Keith Age had seen a photo that one of our team members, Tom Halstead, had taken of the shadow people of Zombie Road. They also heard about the stories of the things we had experienced, down that dark and deserted road. For five miles this road had been closed off to traffic and went down through the thickest of woods you could imagine. It was also very dangerous. They wanted us to take them down to Zombie Road for their new film. Well, of course when someone comes to you and asks you if they could put your work on film, you don’t usually say no. It was a way for us to show the world some of the things we had accomplished. It was also an honor to work with some of the best filmmakers at that time.
We would have these long phone meetings discussing exactly what we were going to do and how we were going to film it. These meetings were so detailed we even discussed what we would wear. Not one aspect was over
looked in those conversations. Everything was planned out, completely. The only missing item was whether the paranormal were going to perform on film or not. That was not something we could plan. During the course of our conversations, one of our team members came up with a haunted building that had been used for many different things during the years. One of those things was an orphanage. The building was called the Pythian Castle, and was currently being used for weddings and banquets. It was also put on the list for filming. It was decided we would meet at the haunted hotel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, where a paranormal convention was being held at the beginning of March 2007.
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Chapter 19
February 2007
The last week in February was rough. I had not seen Lydia since Christmas, and for the most part I did not talk to her either. Most of the time when we would talk, we would fight because I was doing everything I could to have her reconsider marriage and go away to college instead. She wasn’t having any of it, and she started planning a wedding. She was going to get married in June, right after she graduated, right out of the frying pan and into the fire. She would not listen to me. Her response was I didn’t like her boyfriend. That was far from the truth. The fact was, I really did not know her boyfriend because she rarely gave me the chance to get to know him. She called me an education snob because all I wanted to do was to discuss her college plans with her. I was not against her having a boyfriend. I even told her they could still see each other while she went to school. There was nothing wrong with a long engagement; it happens all of the time. If it was meant to be, it would be meant to be—four years down the road. She would have nothing to do with the idea or even consider it. She was 18, and I had no clue what I was talking about in her book. She was pushing her independence and in doing so, to her satisfaction, she was pushing me away.
Blessed Are the Wicked Page 17