“Go to the Rolling Hills Asylum Ghost Hunt,” they said.
“It will be really fun,” they said.
“I got pushed down the stairs by a ghost there,” my hairstylist said.
She continued, “Yeah, I got to the top step and just felt pressure, like two big hands shoving me. Next thing I knew, I was at the bottom of the steps. I don’t even remember landing there. I went back up to the top of the stairs—and it happened again.”
Oh blah blah blah, Sarah, you and your stories, I thought to myself at the time.
But by the time I had talked about the ghost hunt with Sarah, Mike and I had already bought our tickets to that infamous Ghost Hunt at Rolling Hills Asylum for Halloween weekend. Mike and I worked at the same employer, and asked around the company to see who else was interested. Joe, Maria, Cheryl, and Chris were all in.
Rolling Hills would open its doors at 9pm that Saturday night, and the entire group of about 40 people would be locked in until 5am.
Yes. Locked in.
We were all very stoked about such a unique adventure. We drove in a few separate vehicles, and stopped at a country diner on the way out. Foreshadowing Alert: three of the six of us ordered the same meal—Mike, Joe and I had the cheeseburger and fries.
It was very exciting as the crowd gathered outside the door. Listening to their chatter, I realized that most people were taking this ghost hunt pretty seriously. That surprised me a bit. Our group was taking it seriously, too. The participants in our group were sensitive and open-minded. Well, all of us but one.
Me.
I was scared to death. I’d already had a ghostly encounter there with Shadow Man (see previous blog post, “Ghost Hunt Prequel,”), and it was during Christmas! What the hell was going to happen to me at Halloween?
I’d read that ghosts only reveal themselves when you are open to them. If you do not want them around, you tell them, and they back off. So before we’d even gotten out of the car, I decided to close my mind. I’d already begun to chant inside my head: “Ghosts, stay away from me. I am not ready. Ghosts, stay away from me. I am not ready.” I didn’t want to sabotage my friends’ experience, but I had to keep my head on straight. You know?
Promptly at 9pm the owner, Grace, opened the door and let the large group into something like a holding room. We scrambled in and stood together in the tight space as we were read the rules of the hunt, which included:
- We encourage you to take photos, even when you don’t see anything to take a photo of. Something might be there. Spirits are energy. Keep in mind that you are more likely to capture a photo of an energy “orb” than the outline of a person.
- There are certain rooms in Rolling Hills Asylum that are “hotter” than others in terms of spirit activity. These include the “Piano Room” where the Warden would play the piano for entertainment; the Christmas Room where they would hold celebrations; and the Mausoleum (no explanation necessary).
- You will have the most luck experiencing a spirit if you are quiet, hold hands with others, and focus on sending your collective energy toward the spirit world.
- Feel free to speak to the spirits and ask them to make themselves known.
- However, if you say anything bad about them, the spirits may get angry. We do NOT recommend doing this. Foreshadowing Alert: this will be relevant later in this story.
The holding pen then opened, and the group spilled out into the asylum.
Rolling Hills Asylum was a sprawling hospital-like former orphanage/poorhouse that was nearly 200 years old. When all 40 of the group were let loose in it, of course everyone ran directly to the “hot rooms.”
This “Survivor”/Easter Egg Hunt mentality caused a bit of a disruption in the chill vibe our group was trying to cultivate. Our group of six went from hot room to hot room to hot room, only to find others had beaten us to them. So to kill time until the good rooms opened up, we went to “less hot” rooms and took photos, hoping to see orbs after the photos were snapped (we did).
Eventually, we settled into the Christmas Room, which had finally emptied out. After 20 minutes of sitting there alternately being quiet and saying everything enticing we could think of–no response.
After deciding the Christmas Room was a bust, we lost a little steam. We were frustrated we hadn’t seen any action yet. We wandered back out and down to the coffee shop on the first floor to take a break and re-set.
A couple groups were in the coffee shop comparing notes. A young guy was in the middle of telling another group, “And a ghost touched her leg (he pointed at a girl, and she nodded vigorously), and then my baseball cap got knocked off and FLEW ACROSS THE ROOM!”
“What room?” asked Mike.
He replied, “The Warden’s Piano Room.”
The Warden, the owner had told me (see previous blog “Prequel”), was the Shadow Man I had experienced. He already seemed to like me, or maybe just wanted to kill me. But either way, there was a higher probability we would see some action. I wasn’t quite as scared about him. He’d already had his chance to kill me and had chosen not to, so probably wouldn’t try to kill me on the ghost hunt. I rounded my group up, and we raced to the Piano Room on the fourth floor.
Luckily, it was empty. While I still had mixed emotions about having a ghost present itself, I had a lot of money and time invested in this, so was not opposed to seeing some action that did not involve being hurt; and to my understanding ghosts did not hurt people.
We all sat in a circle and held hands. We tried to make ourselves quiet and receptive but also I was really scared, and again alternated between being receptive and chanting in my inner voice, please stay away I am scared, please stay away, I am scared.
Something felt different in this room, compared to the other rooms. I know I sound like a whackjob, but if you’ve felt it…you know what I mean.
The most spiritual person in our group, Cheryl, said something gently such as, “Spirits, if you are open to joining us, please do. We are open to you, and we are not here to harm you.”
I half expected the piano to start playing ragtime.
But, nothing. Not even Chopsticks.
Just the Sound of Silence.
After what seemed like an interminable ten minutes, but really was probably only two minutes tops, the BIG MISTAKE HAPPENED.
THE UNRETRACTABLE, MOST HORRIBLE MISTAKE THAT NO ONE IN OUR GROUP WILL EVER, EVER, EVER FORGET.
Mike shouted, “Come on out, Warden. What are you, GAY? You’re GAY, aren’t you?”
This was back when Gay, and calling people Gay, wasn’t even really a thing. This happened more than several years ago.
Anyway, regardless of that, the rest of us looked at Mike, and each other, in horror. Almost in unison, we yelled at Mike, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU CAN’T MAKE THE GHOSTS MAD! THEY TOLD US! DON’T MAKE THEM MAD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!”
I added, loudly, as if the ghosts needed us to speak more loudly to project across the spirit world, “Warden, we’re so sorry. Mike was just joking, he gets nervous. He has a lot of gay friends. He reverted to 1982 8th Grade vocabulary. Please forgive him.”
We all braced ourselves (and, frankly, sort of wished) for Mike to get punched in the face by an invisible fist, but no such luck. We stayed a little while longer, but nothing happened ghost-wise.
We then made our way down to the mausoleum, in the basement.
But this time, it was already 3am. We went from room to room in the mausoleum, but there wasn’t much to see, and it was too cold to sit down.
Suddenly, Mike pulled me aside. He was upset. He said, “Jane, I feel really sick. All of a sudden my head hurts really bad, and my stomach’s upset. I think I have to go out and lie down in the car. You guys keep going.”
We were all exhausted from 6 hours of ghost hunting, but no ghost catching. We all agreed to ask if we could leave a couple hours early, and graciously, they let us.
Our group had three cars, and we followed each other through the dark country roads back to the expressway. Mike and I drove together.
Mike didn’t look well at all, and when we finally hit a small town, he said weakly, “I need to pull over at this gas station and buy some Tums.” We and our friends all pulled over so we could stay together. Mike and I pulled up to a gas tank, and our friends parked alongside the convenience store building.
So…I didn’t see what happened next, because the gas station’s tanks blocked my view…but the others saw it.
Mike ran toward the front door of the store, but wasn’t able to make it.
[SPOILER ALERT: DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU HAVE A SENSITIVE STOMACH]
My friends watched as Mike leaned against the outside of the store and projectile vomited multiple times. (I later asked them if his head spun around like Linda Blair’s character “Regan” in the Exorcist, but they just looked at me funny, so I guess the answer was no.)
When he was finally done, Mike went inside to clean himself up. When we were all sure he was OK for the time being, we all went our separate ways. Mike stayed at my house, and didn’t get sick again.
So.
Of note, if you were paying attention earlier in the story—
Mike ate the same thing that Joe and I did.
Joe and I were perfectly fine.
And, Mike projectile vomited 9 hours after we all ate.
Projectile. Wouldn’t you consider that a bit unusual? If something is going to upset your stomach in such a major way, it’s going to be fairly soon after you eat it.
So, the next day, I told my sister about the incident.
She said, “That’s weird. Today’s there was an article in the local paper about how when ghosts are ‘mad’ at you, they sort of possess you, and can make you sick.”
My sister added, “Did you know that ghosts can also follow you home? It talked about that in the article, too. They don’t just haunt a location. They ‘attach’ themselves to you. They can end up haunting your house, versus where they used to haunt.”
AHA. Remember someone put doorknobs and dishes inside my walls (see Money Pit blog post)? Now that I think about it— it was probably that friggin’ ghost that Mike brought home from Rolling Hills Asylum. It’s certainly a plausible explanation.
Well, as long as the ghost doesn’t try to push me down the stairs, it can stay. I wonder if it knows how to clean, and/or fill a dumpster. I could use the help, and what do they have to do all day while I’m at work? Let’s use our time efficiently, ghosts!
Do you believe in ghosts?
