The marsh and tidal creek lay just out front from the large plantation house, with its majestic oaks draped with Spanish moss . It’s a beautiful setting for a low country wedding, and a place I fell in love with and could stay forever. With the price of beauty comes the side of darkness of its past.
Last year I went there from a request from the owner to see what was there. I primarily concentrated on several areas of the house and got lengthy Evp’s from the still lurking around owner from the 1800’s. This year, it was different.
I asked to speak to the kind man I engaged with last year. A voice came back to me over Evp’s that said, “He’s dead.”
My reply was, “Do you know you are dead too?” I was irritated that a spirit decided to screw with me as a medium and thwart my endeavors as to why I came.
“What do you mean he is dead?” What kind of spirit says that? Not a good one that is for sure. I had to dig deeper. I asked for a name and I got it. The next day I went to the library to get information and found out that the name given to me over evp by spirit belonged to the man who was ruthless, making this estate the richest during his lifetime for the area. He lived during the 1700’s. It was him I heard. It only got worse from there. The night time cameras catching us sleeping showed our project manager sitting on the edge of the bed rocking back and forth in an unusual manner around 2-3 am and all of sudden the footage showed his back contorting into a balloon. It was not humanly possible to do so unless you have helium to blow your back into a bulbous round shape. His did. Then you see the same spirit come over to me when I was sleeping and yank the covers from my feet and lay down beside me. I was not about to sleep alone in that house and he was my best friend. For three days I watched my friend turn into a 80 something year old, a man I did not know. Even his voice changed and his eyes narrowed, shutting for most of the time. Who was he? Not my friend Joe.
Later, his back hurt so bad that I took him to the emergency room. The doctors came back in and said his back had a compression fracture and a cracked rib. I know what caused it. He kept saying he wanted to go back home. We were home and now over 500 miles away from the estate. Apparantly, this home was not the one he intended.
I asked out loud over an evp session when we were at the estate “Who is the evil entity here? Can they hurt someone?” I never heard the answer at the time, and it was “Yes”
After we arrived back at the house a few states away, having gotten home from the hospital, Joe’s phone turned Siri on, by itself, and a message came across the front screen, “You don’t know true evil yet.”
After I left the estate last year, I got a message on my phone that said, ” What do you call a slut in the ground?.”
Pure evil lurks behind the beautiful sometimes.
