by Erin Gilbert
Following the end of World War II, Maureen Kemp’s parents emigrated from Scotland to Chicago, where they raised their only child in a posh two-story manor on the North Side. Today, Kemp maintains a vivid recollection of her childhood in the evocative, almost gothic residence.
“Up until preschool, my nana used to bounce me on her knees for hours,” she told Newsweek last year. “It was actually quite painful, because she had bony knees as if she were no more than a skeleton.” Her grandmother would regale her with stories of back home in Scotland. Kemp’s favorite stories were about the legendary sea serpent said to live in Loch Ness.
Figure 7.3.
Maureen Kemp
Kemp’s parents were as down-to-earth as they come—real Midwesterners, who’d taken to their adopted homeland. They’d discarded the mystical ways of the old country. So when their otherwise intelligent four-year-old daughter casually mentioned the Loch Ness monster one afternoon, they asked where she’d heard such nonsense.
“From Nana,” the child replied.
Her mother scoffed. “Tell us the truth, child. Where d’ya learn about Nessie?”
“I already told you,” Kemp said. “From Nana.”
Her parents exchanged troubled glances. “That’s impossible,” her father said. “Both of your grandmothers are dead. We put ’em in the same pine box, sixteen years past.”
“’Twas to save on burial costs,” her mother added, glancing nervously away. “We weren’t so well off in those days. We never should have done it, but we did. If we could apologize, we’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“But if she’s dead . . .”
Kemp didn’t have to complete the sentence. She’d been speaking to a ghost—she knew it. Her parents didn’t believe her, though, and they chastised her for making up stories. (At least they didn’t put her in therapy.) The old woman never materialized again. Perhaps the apology for her improper burial was all she’d been sticking around for; perhaps her time was simply up. Perhaps she had sinister intentions, but wasn’t able to act on them now that Kemp’s parents were wise to her. Who is to say?
While Kemp believed she’d been conversing with a ghost, she had doubts about her grandmother’s stories about Nessie. The likelihood of a single, long-extinct plesiosaur roaming the waters of a small lake in the Scottish Highlands was remote. It was more plausible that her nana had seen a school of fish, or an eel, or perhaps the surfacing trunk of a bathing elephant.
It was exactly this same level of scientific reason and inquiry that Maureen Kemp would bring to the paranormal some years later. While Kemp was completing her doctoral work in psychology, a colleague turned her on to a fringe branch of academia: parapsychology. “I hadn’t thought such a thing existed,” she wrote in her autobiography, Never Lonely: A Life Amongst the Spirits. “Suddenly, my whole worldview transmogrified. Studying the living is so drab compared to studying the dead.”
Her parents weren’t happy with her change of career, but Kemp knew she had to follow her heart. The study of the paranormal isn’t just a career; it’s a calling. You don’t stumble backwards into it. You charge headfirst—as fast as you can—until you make it. Kemp made few friends along the way, but made a name for herself with diligent research and impregnable results.
After earning her Ph.D. in parapsychology from the now-defunct program at the University of Northeastern California, Kemp began her ambitious life’s work: Kemp’s Spectral Field Guide, a comprehensive taxonomy of specters for the modern world.
* * *
* In the eighteenth century, wheaties were partial-torso apparitions that haunted fields. There’s no connection to the breakfast cereal Wheaties . . . THAT WE KNOW OF. (Cue ominous music.)
Chapter 8
Vengeful Spirits and the Dangers of Their Return to Our World
Case Studies of Malevolent Entities
Published in 1984, Kemp’s Spectral Field Guide coincided with a brief resurgence of ghosts in popular entertainment. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video was in constant rotation on MTV, and a bevy of paranormal-themed movies debuted that summer. Kemp’s book rode the temporary supernatural wave and became an immediate sensation both with the public and with discerning paranormal investigators.
Today, it is widely acknowledged as the most accurate taxonomy of paranormal entities, spanning in Heiss-like fashion from the lowest levels of malevolence (Class I) to the highest (Class VII). So, without further ado . . .
Okay, Erin wants one last “ado.” So there it is.
Good?
Yes, thank you.
Now let’s move on!
Class I
What Kemp says: “Undeveloped ghosts with indefinite form. Includes partial ectoplasmic manifestations such as vapors and mists, as well as other sensory stimuli (disembodied voices, enigmatic knocking sounds, spectral orbs, etc.). Ability to physically manipulate objects in this world is extremely limited. Non-sentient. Usually harmless due to their physical insubstantiality.”
What we say: Until an ectoplasmic manifestation occurs or sentience is somehow detected, hauntings are generally considered Class I until proven otherwise. True Class I ghosts are difficult to verify at times. Unless somebody sees a vapor, mist, or spectral light, a random knocking noise could be anything, from mice in the walls to water pipes (or—ewwwww—mice in the water pipes).
Case Studies
Will-o’-the-wisp: According to Peter Haining, author of A Dictionary of Ghosts, there’s a long history of will-o’-the-wisps (Figure 8.1) throughout the United Kingdom and Europe. These spectral lights appear primarily in swamps and marshes as glowing white or blue orbs. They have been known to take on a more flame-like quality and glow red, orange, or yellow, as was the case for one Blaydon gentleman on a fox hunt in the spring of 1987. After seeing several of the spectral lights about a hundred yards into the woods, the man gave chase. Unfortunately, following a will-o’-the-wisp is a foolish proposition—no matter how long you run after the specter, the “foolish fire” remains just out of reach, as he learned.
Figure 8.1.
Class I: Will-o’-the-wisp
Ghostly Mist: Ghostly mists (Figure 8.2) are vaporous states of ectoplasm that often precede further materializations, but sometimes appear and disappear on their own. Vernon Heiss tells the tale of a prototypical Class I mist in The Heiss Guide to Frightful Entities, wherein a concentrated, luminescent fog rolls across an Iowa cornfield and passes right through a transfixed farmer.
Figure 8.2.
Class I: Ghostly Mist
Direct Voice Phenomena (DVP): When Rhonda Kazdin heard the whispering children’s voices in her attic, she did what any of us would do: SHE CALLED THE COPS. She assumed some neighborhood rapscallions had broken into her house. The policeman who arrived heard the whispers too, but discovered the attic was empty. What they heard was likely direct voice phenomena—disembodied spectral voices (Figure 8.3). Not all DVP is considered Class I. Evidence of sentience usually means some form of unseen ectoplasmic manifestation is either nearby or eminent, which would require reclassification. True Class I vocalizations may still include speech, snippets of songs, or, if you’re particularly unlucky, slam poetry.
Figure 8.3.
Class I: Direct Voice Phenomena (DVP)
Class II
What Kemp says: “Ghosts with partial human form or behavior. Examples include spectral hands, animated lips, and other substantial physical compositions created out of ectoplasm by spirits. Unlike Class I entities, Class II entities are capable of physically manipulating objects, including levitating tables, chairs, and bedsheets, occasionally in the absence of visible ectoplasmic manifestations. Sentient, but lacking the willpower and strength to do major physical damage.”
What we say: Most entities of this type appear to be a “bridge” between specters of the first and third classes. For instance, entities may appear first as a vaporous mist, before gaining the stren
gth in this world to slowly take shape as a Class II manifestation and finally as a fully humanoid Class III ghost. Then again, there are still plenty of reports of ghosts that never progress past this stage. To which we say, don’t worry. Difficulty manifesting completely is nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to plenty of ghosts.
Case Studies
Disembodied Hand: A disembodied hand (Figure 8.4) makes a frightful appearance in the story of a house haunted by a Class II apparition in Joseph Glanvill’s Saducismus Triumphatus, first published in 1681. Following several days of knocking noises and flying furniture, a spectral hand materialized—swinging a hammer. The hand chased the homeowners and disappeared, taking the hammer with it! Class II hauntings are among the most disturbing for parapercipients. Spectral lights and full-bodied ghosts are one thing; floating, disembodied hands are quite another. Some paranormal experiences are just too bewildering for our brains to comprehend. Unless, of course, they’re within the context of a network sitcom. Looking at you, Thing.
Figure 8.4.
Class II: Disembodied Hand
Animated Lips: Ectoplasmic lips (Figure 8.5) and vocal cords may actually be behind many reports of Class II DVP. Animated lips are also capable of doing . . . other things. Ahem. Case studies are a little too graphic to include here, but we’ll point you in the direction of Eleanor Fisk’s Fiends with Benefits: True Stories of Paranormal Love for further reading.
Figure 8.5.
Class II: Animated Lips
Tipping Table: Tipping tables (Figure 8.6) were often reported during spiritualist séances. Occasionally, tables were even said to levitate—a frequent occurrence at séances conducted by Eusapia Palladino, the medium investigated by the Curies. Paranormal investigators and skeptics alike have panned the phenomenon of table tipping, believing its seemingly supernatural effects to be the result of subconscious muscle movements (similar to what happens when planchettes zip around Ouija boards). In some cases, table tipping may be the result of the intervention of Class II specters. In most, however, it is just a cheap trick—blatant manipulation by unscrupulous mediums and con people. Table tipping shouldn’t be confused with table dancing, which is something else entirely (and not paranormal, unless the dancer is Class III or IV).
Figure 8.6.
Class II: Tipping Table
Class III
What Kemp says: “Ectoplasmic manifestations with distinct human form or behavior. Former identity not established. Significantly more developed than Class II entities, though may be missing body parts (legs, arms, head, etc.). Once a spirit’s mortal progenitor has been positively established, it is automatically reclassified as Class IV.”
What we say: Unlike Class I and II entities, Class IIIs are fully formed manifestations. The defining feature is (usually) a humanoid torso. Most have heads as well, although in some cases the head will be detached from the body and carried by the ghost (or simply missing). Other appendages may be missing as well, although this is usually for purposes of expedience rather than a failure to fully manifest—it’s just more feasible to float around without legs (even if those ectoplasmic legs aren’t 100 percent solid-state). Possessions also fall under this class. Importantly, once the former identity of a Class III entity has been identified, it is reclassified as a Class IV entity.
Case Studies
The Night Man: The mildly annoying Night Man (Figure 8.7) is the ghost of an anonymous sailor who perished in a shipwreck off the coast of the Isle of Man. According to folklorist Dora Broome, this “strange and nameless figure” is often seen watching the clouds, and will toot his bugle when a storm is on the way. Perhaps he provided townspeople with a useful service back in the day, but we have meteorologists now, Mr. Night Man. Time to hang up the horn.
Figure 8.7.
Class III: The Night Man
Byron’s Monk: Poet and gadfly Lord Byron once saw the full-figured ghost of an unknown monk at Newstead Abbey (Figure 8.8), inspiring him to write this little ditty: “A monk arrayed/ In cowl, and beads, and dusky garb appeared,/ Now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade,/ With steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard.” It doesn’t quite rhyme, but we’ll let that slide. Byron fired his pistol at the apparition, which he feared had come to claim his soul. The bullet went straight through the monk’s ghostly figure and shattered a skull the poet often used as a wine goblet.
Figure 8.8.
Class III: Byron’s Monk
The Blue Man: Unrelated to the Blue Man Group, although both can make quite the racket. This full-bodied humanoid apparition haunts the twelfth-century Arundel Castle in Sussex, England. The Blue Man (Figure 8.9) is said to be that of an anonymous man in a blue silk suit—a dandy, in British parlance. Attempts to uncover the apparition’s former identity have failed. While the Class III entity might dress impeccably, it is incredibly destructive and has no respect for personal space.
Figure 8.9.
Class III: The Blue Man
Class IV
What Kemp says: “Ectoplasmic manifestations with distinct human form or behavior. Similar to Class III ghosts, except the former identity of the spirit has been positively established.”
What we say: Class III and IV ghosts are closely aligned with one another. In fact, the only differing characteristic is that Class IIIs are considered “anonymous hauntings,” while Class IVs are positively identified as spirits of specific previously living beings. At first glance, this may seem like a quirk of Kemp’s classification system, but trust us—it’s like calling a spirit from the Minor Leagues up to the Majors. For ghost hunters who provide banishment or removal services, determining the mortal progenitor of a ghost is invaluable in choosing the best approach to resolving a haunting.
Case Studies
Arthur Conan Doyle: Just minutes after Doyle’s death, his spirit allegedly alerted his daughter that he had died. Mary Conan Doyle was at her father’s library when a blank look came over the cleaning woman’s face. The woman, in a trancelike state, announced that she was possessed by Doyle’s ghost (Figure 8.10). He was using the woman to pass along news of his death—certainly not the conventional means of passing along such a notice, but one perfectly in line with Doyle’s spiritualist beliefs. Not really malevolent behavior, unless you consider the traumatized cleaning woman who couldn’t set foot in the Doyle household again.
Figure 8.10.
Class IV: Arthur Conan Doyle
John Belushi: The Blues Brothers star’s mischievous ghost is said to haunt the Chateau Marmont in Hollywood, where he passed away at the age of thirty-three. According to an anonymous thread on the World Wide Web, a family staying in Belushi’s former bungalow reportedly found their two-year-old son giggling to himself in the middle of the night. They asked him what was so hilarious. “The funny man,” he said, much to their bewilderment. Years later, the grown child identified John Belushi (Figure 8.11) as the Class IV specter that had entertained him throughout the night.
Figure 8.11.
Class IV: John Belushi
Abraham Lincoln: A president’s work is never done. The ghost of Abraham Lincoln (Figure 8.12) has appeared with such frequency at the White House that it’s come to be known as “the White House Ghost.” Teddy Roosevelt is among the many who have seen the Class IV entity: “I think of Lincoln, shambling, homely, with his sad, strong deeply furrowed face all the time. I see him in the different rooms and halls.” Lincoln’s ghost has also assumed control of mediums such as Leonora Piper and manifested in multiple locations (including Ford’s Theatre), indicating the specter is of the free-roaming variety.
Figure 8.12.
Class IV: Abraham Lincoln
Class V
What Kemp says: “Ectoplasmic manifestations with definite, non-human form. Thought to be composites of residual PKE, these entities have no recognizable connection to their former lives in physical shape, thought, or behavior.”
What we say: Cla
ss V entities are fully formed, but, unlike Class IIIs and IVs, the form is distinctly non-humanoid and tends to be more violent and powerful. Investigations into the history of a haunted locale with a Class V specter may reveal a multitude of sudden, violent deaths, which have led to a build-up of residual spirit energy. Battlefields and sites of natural disasters are common sites for Class V hauntings. Class V entities may also be the result of ritual summonings or other human meddling with the barrier.
Case Studies
The Zugspitze Terror: Accompanied by a small army of reporters and photographers, ghost hunter Alexander St. Pierre marched to the top of Germany’s highest mountain peak at midnight on July 6, 1908, with a goat and a bag of chalk. He planned to perform a ritual summoning from The Big Book of Blasphemy that would turn the goat into a young maiden. Inside a magic circle drawn with chalk, St. Pierre read the incantation aloud. The resulting manifestation ripped everyone to shreds, including the poor, innocent goat. A dying victim’s description of the Zugspitze Terror (Figure 8.13) is all that remains.
Figure 8.13.
Class V: The Zugspitze Terror
The Hastings Fountain: A spectral fountain of blood (Figure 8.14) thought to be a residual composite has been seen northwest of Hastings in Sussex, England. Those who get too close to it are liable to be drowned by its overflowing ectoplasmic “waters.” Paranormal historians believe the fountain represents the mass amounts of blood spilled on the battlefield where William the Conqueror fought the Anglo-Saxons in 1066, a battle that resulted in 15,000 to 20,000 dead.