The ghost holds a unique place in the world of the supernatural, As capable of scaring us senseless as they are of inflicting us with the deepest of melancholies, they also come in many forms. The ghosts that we carry with us in our daily lives, memories of those we have loved and lost, or perhaps even wronged, thoughts that sit in the deepest parts of the psyche, straining to
become manifest. But what of those apparitions that seem not to have been brought forth from the subconscious, those that have no connection to the observer, but instead seem to be reaching out to us from a seemingly timeless space. For some, to witness a ghost, particularly that of a relative, might bring a certain comfort, a reassuring glimpse of a life beyond death. Historically, however, the ghost has rarely been something to celebrate. For the ancient Sumerians, death was an
act from which there was ordinarily no coming back. The souls of the dead left to dwell in cur the land of no return. It was a place where all were equal, regardless of their actions in life, no matter how rich or poor, a place where they would remain for the rest of eternity in dreary unlight, watched over by Irish Kegal, the dark Queen of the nether world.
It was said that the oppressive conditions of kur could be alleviated for the dead if their surviving family made offerings of food and drink, which they could then receive in the nether world. A failure to do this would see the ghost of the deceased return to punish their uncaring and callous relatives with misfortune and ill health. In ancient Japan, the appearance of a ghost or uray was
especially ominous. Urae was sometimes said to transform from souls or racon in fits of explosive emotion, often motivated by vengeance. A violent murder or suicide would almost always presage the arrival of a urae intent on retribution. Until the disturbance was settled, they would be fated to haunt the living indefinitely.
Urae are traditionally portrayed as women with long black hair, wearing white burial robes, with hands hanging loosely from their wrists, an image that fans of the character Sadako Yamamura might
recognize from author Koji Suzuki's petrifying Ringo series. Yamamura's betrayal as a traditional yura with a ponchon for climbing out of TVs and video monitors, as realized to devastating effect in Hideo Nakata's terrifying nineteen ninety eight adaptation of the first book in the series, is for me the most nightmarish betrayal of a ghost in cinematic history. Often, a ghost or apparition is said to be inexorably linked to a specific location. For those of us living in the
United Kingdom, there are allegedly many such ghosts. Both the Great Tower of London and Edinburgh Castle, for example, are claimed by England and Scotland's tourist boards respectively, as among the most haunted destinations in those countries. However, I've always found such a notion problematic in a very literal sense more than anything else, for reasons laid out with great
mournful and affecting beauty. In David Lowry's twenty seventeen film A Ghost Story, there the eponymous ghost, having chosen to remain behind on Earth, is fated to drift through time as all the world changes around him. Although Lowry slips the ghost back into his original corporeal timeline. I've always wondered where such a ghost might end up were it not so easy to escape the seemingly ceaseless arrow of time.
Just where exactly might a ghost be left to haunt tens of billions of years from now, when the planet has long since been obliterated by the sun, which is to say nothing of the fact that Earth is moving continually through space. So should such a thing as a ghost exist as a conscious entity with its own agency and ability to move around? Would it even be anchored to the planet at all? When it comes to the
sheer terror of the supernatural? For me, there are a few more disturbing notions than the fabled knocking ghost, otherwise known as a poltergeist, malignant spirits of wrathful agency, seemingly dead set on singling you out for often inexplicable and
therefore deeply frightening reasons. Though some consider supposed poltergeist activity to be the result of the extrasensory projection of troubled teenage minds, it is surely in the betrayal of it as an active spirit that the notion is most potent.
I've always felt a little haunted by this idea. Doubtless, there are many of my generation whose first experience of such things came through Toby Hooper's mesmeric nineteen eighty two film Poltergeist, which many forget was actually written by Steven Spielberg.
Perhaps it is simply nostalgia that draws me back to this masterful movie, hypnotic in its luring fusion of slick Hollywood with a less familiar place that seems to call out silently to us from somewhere between the frames, although there's little telling which was cause and which was effect. As long as I can remember, since seeing this film, I have had a recurring, terrifying Poltergeist nightmare, always occurring
in that liminal, lucid space shortly before waking. It begins with me standing at the top of the stairs of an old childhood home, while friends or members of my family are gathered at the bottom. As I walk down to join them, something catches me in its grip, something of unfathomable malignance from which I know I cannot escape.
As I kick and scream, it pulls me back closer and closer towards something or somewhere of which all I know is that it is a place of obsidian darkness from which I will never return, and then I wake up. Every time it is exactly the same. I understand this is a common dream trope, and was once advised that the way to do away with it might be to try and turn around and face this unseen manifest fear. I've not yet been able to achieve this in the nightmare, though,
I'm sure there's a good lesson in there somewhere. So it always fills me with a particular sense of caution and no little excitement when I learn of new alleged poltergeist events, particularly those of a seemingly malicious nature. You're listening to one, explained, and I'm Richard McLane Smith. Jackie opened her eyes, knowing before she even looked that it was midnight, sure enough. Turning to the alarm clock beside the bed, there was the familiar four zeros glowing pale
green in the darkness. It was the fourth time in a week that she'd woken in the stifling heat at precisely that time. It was the summer of nineteen eighty nine. At that time, the twenty six year old mother of two was living in a small bungalow in Sampedro, an area of Los Angeles, located on the Pacific coast right next to the Port of Los Angeles. In years gone by, the area had been home to a thriving fishing community, which, having been in steady decline since the Depression, had become
almost non existent by the eighties. That night, Jackie pulled off the covers and was just about to make her way to the bathroom when she spied an unfamiliar shape in the kitchen. Although she couldn't quite tell in the it looked as though someone was sitting at her kitchen table. Jackie froze, thinking first of her two young children asleep in the next room, then of all the permutations of
what having an intruder in her home could mean. But as her eyes slowly adjusted, she realized with increasing terror what it was. And it wasn't the first time she'd seen it. The first time was a week or so previously, when, after walking into her kid's bedroom one evening to check they were asleep, she looked up to see it sat on the lower bunk bed, dressed in a checkered shirt
and gas station overalls. It had stared at her that night too, with the same malicious expression on its elderly, grizzled and almost translucent face that it was giving her. Now paralyzed with fear, she is then said to have jumped back onto the bed and pulled the covers tightly over her head, and for the next six hours that is how she stayed pinned down on the bed, whilst taking periodic peeks out from under the duvet through the
adjoining doorway into the kitchen. Each time she was met by the terrifying sight of the silhouetted figure sat completely still at her kitchen table. Only when the soft light of dawn broke through the bungalow's windows did the apparition finally vanish. At least this was how she relayed the story the next day to her neighbor and good friend,
Susan Castanada, who lived just a few blocks away. Susan had listened previously to similar stories of the growing concern for her friends well being, not quite sure what to make of it all, until one day she witnessed something bizarre at the bungalow herself, a small table lamp untouched by anyone present, being seemingly hurled to the floor whilst
she and Jackie sat talking meters away from it. The latest developments, however, suggested to her that something increasingly malignant was plaguing the family and it was time to get help. TV producer and director Barry Comrad had long been fascinated by the possibilities of the paranormal, but had never considered pursuing it in a professional capacity until he was introduced by chance to parapsychologist doctor Barry Taff in nineteen eighty seven.
Taff had come to prominence in the nineteen seventies due to his involvement with one of the most famous poltergeist investigations of all time, in which Culver City resident and mother of four, Doris Bother, claimed she was being sexually assaulted by ghosts. The subsequent investigation and media attention of the case, later made into the nineteen eighty two film The Entity, propelled doctor Taff into the limelight as a
leading investigator of supposed parapsychological phenomena. In late nineteen eighty seven, doctor Taff approached Barry to film an investigation into the apparent haunting of the ship the RMS Queen Mary, moored in Long Beach California since nineteen sixty seven and considered by some to be one of the most haunted locations
in the United States. Though the investigation failed to yield any significant results, Comrade remained in touch with doctor Taff in the hope that they might find something similar to investigate in future. So it was with no little excitement when one night in that summer of eighty nine, Barry received a call from doctor Taff detailing the terrifying and strange goings on that had been afflicting Jackie Hernandez and
her children. As doctor Taff explained, he himself wouldn't be able to contribute to the degree he'd done before, but he offered to meet Barry nonetheless at Jackie's bungalow to help initiate an investigation. It was shortly after seven pm on the evening of August eighth when Barry set off from his home in Studio City with a van load of equipment bound for sam Pedro. Joining him for the
ride was his good friend Jeff Wheatcraft. Though not especially interested in the paranormal, Jeff had offered to operate as Barry's video assistant and production photographer for the evening a decision he would soon come to regret. A soft peach haze mingled with the smock over the distant towers of downtown Los Angeles as they dropped down from the Hollywood Hills along the one ten South toward the coast. Just over an hour later, they arrived at the corner of
eleventh and Grand in central Sampedro. Then, after finding a spot to park and unloading the van, they squeezed themselves down a narrow alleyway between two streetside houses into a small garden space beyond backed by two squat bungalows. Then the porch light of one of them lit up, and
Barry headed toward it. An exhausted looking Jackie greeted them as they arrived and introduced them to her two closest friends, Susan and Chrissie Zivkovich, and then led them through to meet doctor Taffe, who was already waiting for them inside. Though not much had happened so far that night, the facade of calm soon faded once Jackie took her seat in front of Barry's camera and attempted to articulate just what exactly had been occurring over the last six months.
Jackie had originally moved into the bungalow, built in the early twentieth century as a fisher's home with her husband Awl, the year before. Sadly, however, the couple, who by all accounts had a rather tumultuous relationship, had separated soon after. It wasn't long after that when Jackie first began to feel a presence in the building. At first, it wasn't something she ever saw directly, just the peculiar sensation that
she and her children weren't quite alone. One afternoon, while a friend was visiting, the pair were chatting in the living room when a crash rang out from the kitchen. Rushing through, they found a picture that had only moments before been hanging on the wall, was now resting on
the kitchen counter five feet away. Soon after, a cat bought in the spring of eighty nine was said to have started hissing and chasing and unseen assailant, And not long after that came the terrifying sightings of the ghostly elderly man, often seen after waking up precisely at midnight. As the hauntings had continued, with Jackie convinced they were becoming evermore sinister, she started to fear for the safety
of her children. As Jackie and then Susan gave their interviews, Barry could see that Jeff was growing bored when they explored the property afterwards. It was clear that something was bugging him. You don't believe any of that, do you, he said, as they moved into the children's bedroom, finding nothing untoward. Her fear seemed real, don't you think, replied Barry. I don't know. It doesn't add up for me, said Jeff, as they made their way through to the bathroom. Then
both of them stopped. Did you feel that? Said Barry. Jeff guarded his friend for a moment, equally surprised by the sudden, peculiar feeling in his head, as if there'd been a sudden shift of air pressure. That was odd, replied Jeff. Having seen everything they thought there was to see, they just returned to the galley kitchen when their attention was drawn to a blue curtain hanging up at the
back of the room. Pulling it aside, they discovered a cramped space behind, taken up almost entirely by Jackie's washing machine. Looking above it, Barried then noticed the square hatch in the ceiling, which presumably led to the attic. That's where I saw the head, came Jackie's voice from behind them as she pointed toward the hatch. As Jackie had recounted in her interview earlier, one of the odd occurrencies that had been plaguing her was hearing what sounded like scratches
coming from the attic. It had all started one evening when Jackie decided to see if anything useful had been left behind by the previous resident. Just the week before, a friend who lived in a similar property nearby had come across a significant amount of money while cleaning out her own attic. After carefully prising opened the hatch, Jackie pushed the cover to the side and pulled her head
up into the space. No sooner had she done so, she had apparently found herself confronted by a disembodied head bearing down on her from out of the darkness. She had not been up since. Barry looked again to the hatch and then back to Jeff, you want to check it out. After waiting for a moment, as Barry settled the camera on his shoulder, Jeff grabbed a milk case from the back of the room, and placed it on
top of the washing machine. Then, with the time now approaching midnight, he draped his thirty five millimeter camera around his neck and climbed up onto the crate. Then he dislodged the hatch and pulled himself through into the darkness beyond. Once up inside, with the faintest of light shining up from the laundry room below, Jeff could just about make out the contours of the space, which measured roughly twelve feet square and had a series of slanting beams down
the middle of it supporting the roof. Not knowing exactly what it was he was looking for, Jeff set the camera to a low shutter speed to see what he might pick up. Bringing it up to his eye, he pointed it toward the darkest corner and reeled off a series of photographs. With each click, Jeff made sure to hold the camera perfectly still as he waited in the silence for the lens to click back shut before moving
on to the next shot. Holding the camera to his eye once more, he peered through the viewfinder, almost willing something to appear from out of the dark. Just then, something flittered out of the corner of his eye. Jeff turned sharply to look at the spot, staring at it for a good few seconds before he was sure that there was nothing there. Again, he raised the camera to his eye and clicked. There it was again, he thought,
spinning round the other way. This time, he kept his eyes fixed on the spot and took a step toward it. Moments later, down in the laundry room, Jeff's head appeared through the small gap in the roof. There's something here, I'm sure of it. Something's moving around. Did you get a picture, asked Barry. Hopefully that's just the thing. Every time I try to, it's already gone. Barry suggested trying again, only this time he should take the pictures over his
shoulder before he turned around. Though not entirely convinced it would make any difference, Jeff agreed to give it a go, while the others, who'd all gathered in the kitchen now watched from below as Barry filmed. A pained cry from above was followed by the sight of Jeff hurriedly dropping down through the gap, minus his camera and with his
face completely drained of blood. After taking a moment to compose himself, a startled looking Jeff turned to the camera and proceeded to explain how his camera had just been grabbed from right out of his hands and flung to the back of the room. Though worried for the safety of his friend, it was impossible for Barry not to feel a tinge of excitement at this revelation. There was nothing for it. They would have to go back up there and see if they could get something on a film.
After grabbing a spotlight from the van, Barry and Jeff pulled it up to the attic and switched it on. With the place now completely lit up, Jeff soon spotted his camera lends in a far corner of the room, but strangely, there was no sign of the camera. Then a short time later, Barry spotted an old wooden crate in the opposite corner and went to investigate. Jeff look, he said as he pulled the rest of Jeff's camera out of it, Relieved to find that his twelve hundred
dollar camera appeared to be undamaged. Jeff reattached the lens and, after switching off the light again, continued taking pictures while Barry picked up his video camera and prepared to film the space. When he pressed record. However, the green battery light on the camera began to flicker suddenly before turning completely red, despite having just recently charged the battery. He took it off and called for another to be handed
up from below. Having attached another fully charged one to the back of the camera, he tried again, but still it refused to work. It was then that he noticed the pungent smell that had suddenly engulfed the room, as if something was rotting near by. It's behind me, yelled Jeff. Suddenly, Barry span round, just in time to catch Jeff falling forward onto one of the rafters with a look of complete shock on his face. Let's get out of here,
he screamed. The others watched with shot from below as Barry and Jeff scrambled through the hatch, practically falling down into the kitchen. Doctor Taff demanded to know what had happened, but just as Barry was about to explain, Susan put a finger to her lips and pointed at the ceiling. The room fell completely silent as all of them strained to hear the peculiar noises now coming from above them,
just where Barry and Jeff had been moments ago. It sounded like the heavy tread of footsteps moving back and forth cross the room. Then another much fainter sound was heard, as if a man and woman were having a conversation. You've been listening to Unexplained, Season six, episode thirty one, Every Story is a Ghost Story, Part one of three. Part two will be released next week on Friday, April seventh.
This episode was written by Richard McClean smith. Unexplained as an AV Club Productions podcast created by Richard McClean Smith. All other elements of the podcast, including the music, are also produced by Richard McClean smith. Unexplained. The book and audio book, featuring stories that have never before been featured on the show, is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase from Amazon, Barnes, and Noble, Waterstones, among other bookstores.
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