Looking Back at My Australian Adventure...

Australia definitely didn't disappoint me when it comes to the paranormal. Although I didn't set out to make my trip all about dead people, I did find a little time to seek out the bizarre, the otherworldly, and the creepy in the land far away. But first, a word on jet lag. I haven't traveled across this many time zones in a decade, and even then it was only a five-hour difference. This time, it was 14 hours. After a whole five days back in the states I still can't get myself sleeping normally again. My mind is awash with thoughts, memories, and reflections on the two weeks on the other side of the world. And no amount of caffeine can get me feeling human (and alive) quite yet.

Still, I plod on. And there are so many wondrous things to tell about Australia. For those of you who wonder, no I didn't meet Oprah nor did I even cross paths with her entourage. Thankfully. That's no disrespect for her or her audience. But the experiences I had were vastly different from the McCafe-drinking, Outback-hiking, "G'day mate" schlock tossed around in a tourist-driven tour. This was the "choose your own adventure and get lost several times in the process" type of travel that I've grown to love. It's being out of your element and often a bit fearful of what could happen. Stepping out of your comfort zone and into the reality of a city, far from the tourist maps and beaten path, can be the best way to see a place for the first time. There's not much room for illusions and false pretenses. It's not wandering around the rim of the volcano, it's diving in head first and hoping you aren't burnt to a crisp.

Sydney was my first stop and where I wearily landed on the first day of December. It is the wettest December in 20 years. Seeing my friend Joel waiting at the airport did improve my mood but there wasn't much time to waste. The journey was on after a long bus ride to the hostel. Rain or shine, when you only have a few days in a city you have to make the best of it. We did quickly realize that there wasn't any feasible way to see everything on my list in three days, but I did get a good taste of the city. And I can mark another item off my Bucket List: walking across Sydney Harbour Bridge. And it turned out to be a beautiful day for it too! Still, Sydney did leave a mark on me. The sun is a lot stronger there than I'm used to so on the ferry to Manly I developed a rather nasty sunburn that peeled off during the remainder of my stay. Somewhere in Sydney, there's still part of me floating around undoubtedly.

Another day went by picking up Joel's car, stopping by a few out-of-the-way spots including Campbelltown (home of the Fisher's Ghost Festival), visiting the lovely Sam and Deb for lunch in Wollongong, and a treacherous foggy drive to the capital Canberra. Another three days went by quickly visiting the sights and museums and staying with Joel and his boyfriend Brett. I want to thank both of them for their gracious hospitality and good company. I'm forever in their debt for everything. I met even more fascinating people during those days and learned about a few tragedies from the past. A very helpful staff member at a museum even took the time to give me a detailed account of all the ghosts and paranormal happenings in and around the building! I'm not even sure if it's mentioned on any ghost tours so I felt quite honored to get a taste of haunted Canberra.

Following that leg of the journey, there was a while day of travel in store. Unfortunately, navigation doesn't always go according to plan. Somehow on our attempt to take the scenic route along the ocean via the Princes Highway, we found ourselves lost in the Snowy Mountains. We passed through part of Kosciuszko National Park (home to the tallest mountain in Australia of the same name) and caught several glimpses of mountain snow still clinging to the highest points of land before getting directions and taking the shortcut toward our destination. This meant taking a terrifying drive on a stone-and-dirt mountain road through the Snowy Mountains for a few hours before returning to civilization. We reached Inverloch at nightfall where we stayed the night before heading to suburban Melbourne the next day. In light of our adventure I felt a day of shopping would be better than more long drives and sightseeing.

Melbourne went by the fastest. I'm not sure if it was the overexposure to ideas, restaurants, places, and people flooding me at the speed of light or the fact that the trip was nearing its end. I met up with the curator of Melbourne Museum (and we exchanged signed books), stopped at the Haunted Bookshop, and saw some remarkable old buildings. Given the tight budget I was on the final leg had its moments. And tensions did run high at times. For anyone who has ever spent two solid weeks with a friend, traveling or not, you know that nothing is ever all sunshine and lollies. Perhaps it was just my own perspective but I felt that toward the end, Joel needed a break from me. I know I needed some solitary time myself and my emotions went rampant a few times along the way from the lack of quiet alone time. But I like to think that there wasn't any permanent damage done to the friendship. Even if things had gone smoothly the entire time, I'd worry. It's just my nature.

I took a bus back to Sydney to give Joel a break from the insane amount of driving he did during the trip. Then it was a matter of catching my three flights back to Cleveland and arriving six hours after leaving Sydney. Hence the jet lag. When you travel for 24 hours and only six hours actually pass, it's natural for your internal clock to pop a few springs. I landed wearily at Hopkins International with a head full of experiences and thoughts as well as luggage filled with souvenirs, pamphlets, and mementos. And a new hat. And a zillion ideas on reviving a novel I started years ago only this time set in Australia. And don't forget the bit of uneasiness about possibly leaving with unresolved emotions between myself and my dearest friend. Not in that way; I mean emotional casualties of too much time in close quarters combined with a frantic, fast-paced sojourn.

Overall, it was an incredible experience. Seeing so much of Australia in two weeks was amazing. Having that time together with Joel did more for me than I ever thought too. And it wasn't exactly how I had imagined it all going. For one, there were fewer iffy moments than I anticipated. And secondly I actually enjoyed meeting his boyfriend! Perhaps that's all I really needed. Seeing Joel in person for a change, having some good and not-so-good moments together, and watching them both interact together to see that yes they both were happy together and life was good. though all that realization did make me feel awkwardly in the way on my final day in Canberra before going to Sydney for my departure. I wanted them to have some time together and felt a bit guilty about Brett's non-involvement in the whole experience. Yes this was to be my first true vacation in as long as I can remember, but the last thing I ever want to do is be "in the way."

I know this all seems like an abridges version of the trip, and it is. But I wanted to give a short version of events and not go in-depth on every day, every moment. It would simply take too much time... not to mention become too dangerously close to being a diary instead of the blog I intended to have. I did see plenty of haunted places but during daytime hours. This was intentional, though. Ghost tours weren't in the budget (not would there have been much time for them) and I wanted to photograph several places in good light. I will be sharing a lot more about the hauntings in the future, though. Australia is still my favorite place in the world. And on March 1, 2011 I'll be giving a presentation at Cuyahoga Falls Library at 7:00 PM regarding many haunted places, famous and obscure, in the land down under. I'll also toss in a few moments from my trip, share a few souvenirs with the audience, and fix some of the misconceptions and stereotypes about Australia. But for now, let's just try to survive the holidays...

Touring It Up to My Bloody Valentine's...

Welcome everyone from the Be My Valentine Blog Tour and Liquid Silver Books, as well as my other regular (and perhaps bewildered) readers. Some of you may be wondering why a nonfiction writer is partaking in a blog tour dedicated to mainly romance authors and books of that vein. Well, for one I have many friends who write fiction (especially m/m romance) and I do indulge in a wide variety of reading. Secondly... well, being an author of a book dealing with LGBT-related paranormal phenomena, it seems most people aren't quite sure what to classify my work as. A book like Queer Hauntings has never before been written, so I seem to be caught in limbo hovering somewhere between New Age and Gay Fiction.

And in some cases, truth really does meet fiction. Author Jeanne Barrack and I became friends not long after she wrote The Sweet Flag about a gay ghost hunter and civil war spirit. For her, it was a surprise to find a real-life gay paranormal investigator (though I hate too admit I bare no physical resemblance to her character) after creating a fictional person with so many similarities. Had she known about me before then, I'm sure she would have picked my brain for her research. And there are a few other romance books chronicling the queerer side of the paranormal. Author Ally Blue writes a series involving Bay City Paranormal Investigations, a fictional paranormal troop headed by a gay paranormal investigator, Sam Raintree. And that's not even including the many other romance writers who tell tales of ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and other supernatural beings with a gay slant.

While we often think of this as a "time of love" with the approaching holiday, it is also a time of lust. And generally-speaking, the two can easily become intertwined. And now, to appease that lustful side of many of you, here are a few of the more interesting images I've run across (click the photos to enlarge, they will open in a new window):

Supernatural Spotlight: Jeffrey Justice

Well over a year has passed since my last post highlighting someone in the paranormal field. And it was my intention to write about Jeffrey over 4 months ago, but as they say better late than never. In the past year, I have come to know him as a good friend and fascinating individual, regardless of his various talents. But as with everyone I've written about on this blog, whether I know them personally or not, I do my best to set aside any personal bias I may have and give those I deem worthy of some praise a bit of the limelight.

Honestly, I have known several dozen psychics and mediums in my life and they have run the gambit between truly talented and complete frauds. From my own experience, Jeffrey Justice falls into the former category. A Massachusetts native and direct descendant of those disturbing people called the Puritans who landed off Cape Cod nearly 400 years ago, Jeffrey comes from a long lineage of people with some form of psychic ability. While his parents wished for him to have a normal life and avoided discussing any strange experiences he encountered as a child, his grandmother helped him better understand the nature of what people often describe as "the gift."

Although he has received some press coverage for his talents as a medium, Jeffrey is widely unknown outside his native New England. Yet perhaps that is as he would prefer it to be. Although mediumship is his profession and full-time business, he doesn't wish to find fame and fortune in his supernatural abilities. He does offer his services as a medium, tarot reader, channeler, numerologist, and much more to the public and can be found at certain events in and around Salem (founded by his ancestor Roger Conant), yet doesn't wish to spend his entire life being "The Mayflower Medium", as he is often dubbed. His greatest ambition is pursuing a literary career... and perhaps living in a warmer climate.

Wherever his life may take him, there is no doubt that the paranormal will always haunt him. It's difficult to entirely turn your back on the supernatural once it's in your blood. But at least for now, people from New England and beyond can contact him and explore his talents of the metaphysical variety. Whether or not you choose to believe in psi abilities or the ability of a living individual to contact the dead, Jeffrey is a fascinating individual and worthy of a bit of praise and notice.

Hitting the Frozen Air Waves...

Ohio winters can be unpredictable and depressing... and this year has failed to disappoint in those respects. Snow, rain, sleet, freezing rain, fog, bitter cold, mild warmth. We've experienced it all in northeast Ohio just within the past few weeks. And the dismal gloom of it all weighs on my mind far too often... yet I have managed to keep myself preoccupied occasionally.

For one, I've been getting some enjoyment out of my new iPod Touch (thanks to Yahoo and their Year in Review contest). I can now listen to podcasts anywhere I go, including my previous interview with Beyond Ghosts Interactive Paranormal and my recent talk with Island Ghost Radio. You can subscribe to both on iTunes and download the latest several shows. Click the image below too listen to the Island Ghost Radio interview (I'm in the second half hour).

And the radio show season seems to be kicking in for me! This coming Sunday, I'll be returning to the Kode n' Nyte Show on Nyte's Realm Radio. So be sure to tune in at 8:00 PM EST for all the alcohol-fueled insanity. And don't forget to have your teleshots handy! I'll be sticking around DJ Kode and DJ Nyte for a few days, hopefully to accomplish that investigation of their house without any glitches this time as well as a possible overnight investigation of a residence east of Cleveland. And who knows... I might be dropping by a haunted Cleveland gay bar on Saturday too!

I do have one other bit of good news to share. My book was reviewed in the winter edition of the American Library Association's GLBTRT Newsletter. I'm all for more libraries carrying Queer Hauntings, especially since buying isn't always an option for people in our dreadful economy. And if you wish for your library to carry it, just fill out a patron request at your nearest branch so they know to see about obtaining a copy.

This year could very well turn out to be an interesting one. I'm still in pursuit of more stories for the sequel to Queer Hauntings, so I welcome any input from anyone worldwide. And there is a good chance I might be doing some traveling over this year once more, but I won't go into detail until anything is definite. Of course, I have set my sights on making it to Australia in the not-too-distant future, so I'm making it my goal this year to at least have plans finalized before the year is over. It's a trip overdue for 15 years now... sometimes, life is too short not to throw caution to the wind and make all your dreams a reality. Yes, money is definitely an issue, but I do believe that with enough work and determination, you can accomplish anything.

A House of Cards...

Today is just... odd. Yesterday's plans dissipated. And I'm feeling a bit strange about everything. I haven't heard from my friend in over 36 hours.

I canceled on Monday night with a bad stomach ache and some slight uneasiness. Perhaps I nodded off for a while, but I swear I heard the muffled sound of someone calling my name three or four times around midnight, but I could chalk that one up to arguing downstairs neighbors. Last night, I decided, for old time's sake, to drag out the old tarot deck. I pulled three cards at random.

Of the 78 cards in a deck, odds are slim that the first card pulled out would be one specific one. I felt a prolonged and uneasy "oookay" escape my lips. Half of me says, "It's just a tarot deck," while the other half thinks back to the several times they've been dead-on. The point of me bringing it up in the first place isn't some "believe... believe in the tarot..." rant or anything like it. I just would rather mention it ahead of time, just in case. If I said anything after the fact, it could lose its charm. Not that such a word is a good choice.

In some ways, "it's all a bunch of hocus pocus". Anyone who has ever read tarot can tell you that it's wide-open to interpretation. No card says any one exact thing. They give a variety of choices. You arrive at your own opinions from them, and see what happens. Deep down, I have two scenarios for the disappearance of my friend which won't go away. But I'll wait until something definite is said before I assume anything.

Sometimes, not knowing is a bad thing. But knowing can be worse. Ignorance is bliss, while those who are aware of everything tend to be more miserable from having such opened eyes. For now, I don't know anything about the past two days. And until I do, I'll try my best to be blissfully ignorant.

Saturday Night's Alright...

Saturday evening was a reunion in so many ways. And old friend, Steve, and his new boyfriend came in town, so we had an opportunity to catch up on the past several years. I haven't seen him since... oh it must be over six years. Needless to say, there was a lot of catching up to do.

Overall, it was a fun night of revisiting the past and old haunts. Along our sojourn through Akron, I saw many old faces and caught up with several people. Some haven't changed, others have gone through serious overhauls. For old time sake, we stopped at a nite club for a short time. As we were getting ready to leave, Steve stopped to chat with the owner. Perfect timing; I ran into another friend from the more recent past (Dan) and had a chance to catch up briefly, yell at him for reading emails but never replying, and exchange a few hugs.

I am a bit of a nightowl, but nothing really prepared me for being out that late. It was after 4:00 AM when I made it home and crawled into bed. I was supposed to go out last night late and meet up with a few other ghosts of my past, but my stomach just wasn't in the mood. I was a walking billboard for Pepto Bismol. I still feel quazi-sick, but I'm not going to let that cancel any plans for a second day in a row. As long as my nose stops running and my stomach isn't tied in knots, I should fair well.

Tonight's jaunt will be to Cleveland. I'm assuming dinner, drinks, and a show, but I'll find out for sure what's happening a little later this afternoon. Meanwhile, I have a bit of catching up to do with a few odds and ends. And then I could use a little down time before getting wrapped up in a few other things later in the week. March has been flying by... some of it, I'll be gllad to be done with while the other, more enjoyable things will be over before I know it.

White Landscapes and Wite-Out®...

As the snow begins falling on the cold ground here, like powdered sugar sifted from some ethereal source, I'm once again dashing off for another interesting weekend. In a few hours, there's a brief investigation with Western Reserve Paranormal at a private Cleveland residence followed by dinner at Union Station. I have this unshakable feeling that I'll endure another drag show.

It's been a busy week otherwise. I'm slapping on my editor's hat and working diligently on a book being written by a friend. I'll be cracking down on my brainstorms more this coming week. Plenty of notes, outlining, and rewriting to tackle, but it'll be a fun project nonetheless. I'm not abandoning my own manuscript at all. It's been a semi-exciting week again, but fearing I may jinx myself I've kept tight-lipped about it. I'll just say this: 31 minutes. Some of you already know what I'm talking about... the rest, well, you'll find out eventually barring any unforeseen disasters or writer's blocks.

To avoid another dull, lonely New Years, I'll probably be finalizing plans with friends this weekend as well... since no one else has stepped forward with an offer. *cough*

But I must run now. Too much to do and never enough time in the day.

Gobble, Gobble...

To sum up the last few days:

Wednesday was a visit to an allegedly haunted home in East Cleveland (which I shall refrain from commenting on at this time). Thanksgiving was spent with friends at a fiercely non-traditional gathering hosted by my friend Bill. Friday was spent in the kitchen making pumpkin cheesecake and my special stuffing/dressing for family. Saturday was another long trip to visit my sister for a post-Turkey Day celebration before returning home and collapsing from exhaustion (not literally, mind you).

Thanksgiving is one of the many holidays I can take or leave. Considering it's an American holiday dating to the one time when Puritans and Native Americans were on good terms with each other, there isn't much to celebrate in my opinion. Native peoples saved the invaders from starvation only to be persecuted and slaughtered for a few centuries... how utterly American to dress it up all pretty like some Rockwell painting of togetherness and joy. I would think a candlelight vigil would be a better homage...

After recovering from sleep deprivation, I pulled my three-foot Christmas tree out of the closet today, but I'm still trying to figure out where to set it up. It's too small for the floor, too big for my desk, and no other piece of furniture seems fitting for it. And then there's the issue of choosing an outlet that isn't in use. This could turn into an all-day project. And yes, I resurrected my Amazon.com Wishlist in time for the holidays. I need to get my hands on a few of the books to get back into the habit of regular reading again.

Tomorrow, I'll be writing about an author who combines his scientific background with parapsychology, so for those of you looking for hard science backing up paranormal research, you won't want to miss this one...

You're as Cold as Ice...

The most tumultuous thing about this weekend, fortunately, was the weather.

Yesterday evening was an interesting dinner in Cleveland with a few friends and the paranormal troop during monsoon-like weather. Rock Bottom Brewery may be an allegedly haunted place, but the only frightening part about visiting the Powerhouse in the Flats is the $6 parking fee for the building. Wind whipped rain off Lake Erie after earlier thunderstorms, adding a bit of mystique to the illuminated building... and puddles to dodge as you run back to the parking lot.

The temperature plummeted by nightfall in anticipation of today's snow. I stayed up a tad bit later than normal to catch some Doctor Who on BBC America. A relaxed morning gave way to wading through junk email and plotting out the coming week. Snow began to coat outdoor surfaces this evening and it isn't expected to let up for the next week. Winter has arrived in northeast Ohio, just in time to curtail outdoor plans and remind me of the unpredictability of Mother Nature.

It might be a good week for a coffee shop meeting with friends after all...

Back to School...

Another busy, chaotic week draws itself to a close. Research, query letters, catching up on email slowly...

Tonight, I helped out two friends with an adult education class dealing with paranomal topics. It felt somewhat strange setting foot in a former-high-school-turned-community-center and not because of any possible ghostly happenings. There was something eerily odd about the rows of empty lockers. Everything seems so different after years away from the scene.

The class itself went quite well (far better than anticipated) and I actually had a chance to speak quite a bit throughout the night. As is often the case with these things, it ran over time-wise, but no one complained. There is always too much to talk about and not enough time in a two-hour slot to fit everything in. Still, there is next week when I'll be filling in again...

It was nice having an excuse to wear a shirt and tie, but exhausting nonetheless. And if I plan on being conscious for tomorrow, I should hit the hay while I still can...

A Long Day's Journey into Night...

The past several days have been so jam-packed with things to do that I didn't have time to write about each day as it happened. I will, however, do my best to recap last week and this weekend in a more condensed version.

Wednesday marked my first experience traveling Greyhound. I've always been the "don't knock it 'til you try it" type, so I kept an open mind. The first leg to Columbus was definitely better than I had expected from word of mouth. Few passengers made for a quiet trip, though it was what could be described as a teeth-rattling journey. Every bump on the road seemed exaggerated by the bus, sending a ripple of rattling metal and intense vibration throughout. At times it was a scenic experience, but I was grateful to get off for my brief wait in one of my old home cities.

From there, it was on to Dayton in a packed bus, sitting with a motley mix of people. A younger man sat across from me in a sweat suit, carrying a brown paper bag. Having known a diverse range of people in my life, I knew he had recently been released from prison. He talked on a cell phone, along with a dozen others, while the tinny sound of music escaped from head phones nearby. After more than an hour of journeying, we touched down in Dayton. My friend Earl was there waiting. I met his partner Chuck and unwound at their house near Germantown. After a long day of traveling, much of Wednesday is but a blur. We had ourselves a lovely meal of stroganoff and watched a few old films before retiring for the long day ahead.

Thursday became a day of exploration. With the pleasant weather, we took a bit of a haunted tour of the Dayton region, based on a few notes I had taken prior to departure. We stopped at the old Sorg Mansion and Sorg Opera House to snap some photographs and marvel at the beautiful architecture of the old neighborhood. Sorg House loomed over the skyline like the House on Haunted Hill, with its intricately carved stonework and wrought iron gates. It had recently been sold to an unknown owner, so getting a peek inside was out of the question. We did stop at the local Obama headquarters to chat with the volunteers packing up before heading out for a bite to eat. Later, we went through Woodland Cemetery, home of dozens of fantastic haunted tales, and wandered among the tombstones. The Wright Brothers rest there along with many notable names. And I was quite pleased to see the famous stone of young Johnny Morehouse had been repaired (a vandal had removed the dog's head from the old stone, but it had apparently been recovered and reattached). Back at Earl and Chuck's, I put my culinary skills to work and made chicken paprikash. Even without authentic Hungarian paprika, it turned out splendidly.

Friday was a dreary day, but we managed to wander Germantown Cemetery and have a conversation with the groundskeeper (who debunked the majority of the hauntings) before setting off for Dayton again. Given the shift in temperature, we stopped at a store so I could buy a sweater (I hadn't packed for cooler weather since the forecast I glanced at claimed warmer weather would prevail) before stopping to visit the Patterson Homestead. The museum was open so we had an opportunity to take a tour of the house, given by a nice and (extremely) bubbly guide. Through her torrent of historical information, we did manage to ask a few questions and she was very open to telling her personal experiences of the hauntings and invited me to investigate the place when I return. We grabbed a late lunch near the University of Dayton before returning to their home for some photography and a bite to eat. Earl and I headed out to Miamisburg to pay a visit to Library Park, a former cemetery with a documented ghostly legend from the late 1800s, and stood for a long spell on the steps of the old Carnegie Library chatting about everything under the sun.

Saturday was a more relaxing day. We met with Earl's photographer friend Rich for lunch at Brio in The Greene, chatting about the paranormal and eating what can only be described as a delicious and very filling meal. We spent some time browsing the nearby bookstore (unfortunately, none of the books I was looking for were on the shelves) before Earl and I returned to the quaint countryside near Germantown to get ready for dinner with a few of his friends. There were problems making reservations, but we managed to get a table thanks to the quick thinking of Tim and Trent. We had a splendid time at Tim's birthday dinner, though my shyness did rear its head. Tim and Trent were wonderful people: intelligent, witty, and at times hilarious. I did receive a few jibes for being the youngest one there, which came out more so later at Tim And Trent's house during a brief tour of their abode (Trent pointed out various celebrities in photographs who had been famous "before I was born" and smartly commented with a smirk that I could Google the names later). We munched on ice cream and cookies and chatted about spooks (they believe their house is haunted) and politics before returning to Chuck and Earl's to hit the sack.

I bid farewell to Chuck and Earl on Sunday before heading back north on the packed Greyhound bus. During my three-hour layover in Columbus, I had coffee and pastries with clairvoyant Rebecca Muller and her husband. The were both very nice people great to converse with regarding hauntings, orbs, and everything else. They noted how dead downtown Columbus has become and grumbled about the stupidity of the city's drivers as we weaved around closed roads and orange barrels. We spoke of famous hauntings and TAPS blunders before I returned once more to the station for my final bus... and not a moment too soon, for they began boarding only minutes after I arrived. A few hours later, I found myself in rainy Akron again, headed north and grabbed a quick bite to eat before collapsing into bed.

Overall, it was an incredibly wonderful experience. Both Earl and Chuck were gracious hosts and excellent conversationalists. The friends which I had the pleasure of meeting were all just as witty, fun, and whimsical. Of course, as is often the case with travel, there never seemed to be enough time for everything, but I know it won't be my final visit. Yes, Dayton is an imperfect city, but it has its gems. I took from it some very fond memories and plenty of things to contemplate. The tarot readings Earl and I exchanged on Sunday morning were quite interesting and enlightening as well. It may take me a while to digest the entire journey, but it was a welcomed break from the monotony I sometimes find myself trapped in.

But now, it's time to get back to work...

Indiana Jones and the Thespians of Doom...

Last night was a reunion of sorts; the (very) few of us from an old ghost hunting group reunited for an evening in an old theatre facing demolition. At 8:00 PM, we were locked inside the partially-renovated structure to begin our vigil. Of course, we spent a good portion of our time reminiscing and laughing, recalling funny moments from the past and laughing at the occasional mindless remark spoken without thinking of the consequences. Needless to say, we all have an overabundant sense of humor.

Amid heaps of dismantled theater seats, we explored each floor of the structure. In the basement, I noticed some old bits of history: old signs from the facade, doors for the entrances and rooms, and broken stained glass. Dust filled the air. I wished I had brought anything to drink with me. Both the laughter and stale air prolonged the headache which plagued me all day.

We heard a few faint noises, some of which could be explained by outside traffic. Occasional knocks came from far corners, but with the echo in the auditorium, it was impossible to locate a source. While exploring the projection booth, a bang came from the cutting room. While the woman I was with quickly headed the opposite way, I ventured in to explore it. There seemed to be no known source of the sound.

Being the history buff that I am, I couldn't leave the 80-year-old structure without a souvenir or two. It was, after all, expected to be demolished if possible plans to salvage it didn't go through. I found a wooden arm from one of the old seats with a brass number plate (lucky number seven) and placed it with my things. And while exploring the projection area, I couldn't help but notice a set of old cast iron, hand-cranked reel rewinds (judging by their appearance, original to the building) bolted to a makeshift table. Lacking the necessary tools, a washer made a decent screwdriver to remove them.

I'm a film and history buff. I couldn't resist.

We left after midnight, failing to make any definitive contact with "Elizabeth", a spirit who may dwell there. I headed out the front door, lugging my antiquated (and quite heavy) cargo. It wasn't until I made my way home and had a very late supper that my headache finally abated.

I did get a little flack for removing artifacts from a haunted structure. I did get permission to take the objects, mind you, but one person in particular asked me about any concern I might have taking something ghostly along with them. Bollocks. "Nah, I'm not worried. I've taken things before over the years. Nothing has ever happened," I said. And it's true. I've never had anything odd happen after removing something from a haunted place. Perhaps it's because I've always had good intent when removing anything. They have always been "souvenirs", but with the mindset of preserving a bit of history that would otherwise be destroyed. It has never been "because the place is haunted". It is always "because it'll end up in a landfill and no one gives a darn about preserving these sorts of things".

I think any spooks appreciate that.

Atlas Shrugged It Off...

Almost 48 hours after helping a friend move to a new apartment, I feel like the upper half of my body has been beaten repeatedly with a stick. The move itself only took two hours, and I'm feeling it. Once again, I'm finding bruises I can't remember getting. My shoulders, back, arms, and chest all give slight protests in response to any action.

To say that I worked up a sweat Saturday would be a gross understatement. After the first 30 minutes, I could feel the beads of sweat running down my face, dripping off my nose like a passing summer shower. Yet I couldn't take too long of a break. When there's a task to be done, idleness is not in my vocabulary. There were moments when I was pulling the cart filled with furnishings down the long corridor when I imagined the similarities to a work horse tied to the plow in a field. Too tired to think or object. Hard work can be its own form of tunnel vision.

Afterward, we relaxed before heading out for dinner and then on to a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Though it has been nearly a decade since I first watched the stage performance to accompany the movie with the 69th Floorshow Company, it seemed very different this time. I had forgotten most of the lines, yet many audience members seemed to know less than I did. I remembered the days of sitting in a smaller audience, closer to the screen and the action, surrounded by enthusiastic people shouting out a chorus of one-liners.

Listening to someone yelling at the people to be quiet and another college-age man behind me giving an in-depth psychoanalysis of the performance and people took away from the carefree atmosphere for a moment and made me realize how much things change.

As we spilled out of the theater, an intoxicated man emerged from a nearby building (presumably a bar), shouting and threatening to annihilate one of the young, skinny boys from the audience. His friends held him back as I lost sight of them in the parking deck. What an angry place this world can be at times.

I have much to accomplish this week, yet I still feel utterly exhausted. Luckily, some things will have to wait until a few books arrive from other libraries. My research work has been going by rather slowly. Obtaining old maps to discern past lives of buildings is never an easy task. Still, I am finding a wealth of fascinating information about history and people. I will probably share a few little tidbits as time progresses.

I realize too that my usual Friday "road trips" have fallen to the wayside. This hasn't been for lack of enthusiasm. I do have my reasons, but I will try to indulge those who miss the tales with something comparable. There is so much to say and share, yet there is only so much time in the day...

A Queer Spirit Among Us...

As I closed my eyes last night, drifting off to sleep, a shadow passed through the moonlight in my bedroom window. Even with my eyes closed, I could detect the change in brightness. Instantly, I somehow knew who it was. In all my research for gay ghosts around the globe, I had forgotten one.

I forgot what time of year it was. July 8th had slipped my mind.

Chris.

I still remember the first day I met Chris. I was killing time in the office of the Lesbian Gay Bisexual Union on the campus of Kent State University. My conversation was interrupted by an intruder. A tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed creature stood in the doorway, dressed in the deep blue uniform worn by drivers from the Campus Bus Service. He introduced himself hurriedly, not having much time. He would return later to meet everyone and have a proper conversation.

He was a new, returning student at the university. After living for the previous 5 years illegally with his boyfriend Marcel in Germany, he had returned to the States and decided to continue his education. He was a very interesting person with a certain wit and sarcasm to him that came across in a humorous way. I was still quite painfully shy in those days, but gradually he worked his way into my circle of friends.

Our friendship took an odd turn one evening. I visited him at his apartment in Cuyahoga Falls. Marcel was very moody and after a few sharp words in German, left for bed. Chris and I stayed up and watched Victor, Victoria on laser disk. We both needed a bit of an escape, so he pulled out a bottle of vodka and some cranberry juice and we each had several cocktails. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but one thing lead to another. I had a bit of a crush on Chris so I couldn't resist crossing that invisible friendship line in the sand.

We talked about it days later. He told Marcel what had happened. I felt incredibly awkward. We stayed friends, though I did distance myself. Months later, he called me out of the blue. It seemed like casual conversation, but I could tell by his voice something was wrong. He apologized for sounding so quiet. He and Marcel had an argument. Marcel had thrown him down a flight of stairs and broken a few of his ribs. It was the first time I began to worry about him.

We became casual friends after that point. The only time we really would see each other was when we crossed paths at his usual hangout, a small bar in Akron called Adams Street. We would catch up, joke, laugh, and drink, letting all the trouble go away for the moment. We never really discussed the bad things in our lives. One of the last times I saw Chris there, he told me that his life had taken a turn for the better. He had found the courage to leave Marcel, found a new, wonderful man, and moved to Tonawanda Avenue in Akron. He gave me his phone number and I said I'd keep in touch.

I'm infamous for being lousy at calling people.

Quite some time passed before I found myself in Akron again, back at Adams Street in hopes of running into Chris once more to catch up on the latest news. I remember sitting down at the bar, feeling someone step up behind me so close it made me jerk around. There was no one else within arm's length of me. I couldn't think of what to order, when a very loud voice inside my head told me 'vodka and cranberry juice'. I sat back, contemplating whether or not the bar was haunted and struck up a conversation with a friend of mine.

That was the night I learned of Chris' death. Almost six years ago to the day.

From what I was told, Chris has battled depression quietly most of his life. He was alone on the night of July 8th (his boyfriend worked nights). He hit his low point and didn't spring back. His boyfriend found him the following morning. He had hanged himself with a telephone cord.

It took me a while to grasp his death. I spent over a year telling myself I should've been in better contact. I could've prevented it somehow. Slowly, the pieces fell into place from that evening. Had it been Chris who stood behind me when I heard the news? The coincidence was too uncanny. There have been several times over the passing years when I believe his presence was around. A friend of mine with psychic abilities whom I trust told me he does linger around occasionally, even giving me ideas for my writing. It has been years since I've visited his grave, but I don't believe in that tradition. I know he's not actually there anyway. It's just his body.

Chris was the first person to tell me about any local ghost stories, which began my interest in the Cuyahoga Valley. In some ways, he was another first: the first gay ghost I ever encountered.