The 11 page tome that was my research on the Briar Witch took up a fair chunk of my week, so I really didn’t have the energy or time to write a personal update since Emery’s investigation results. Sometimes personal updates are no fun; it’s more enjoyable to give you the research, or the artifacts, or the spooky stories. It’s more fun to think of Rose Red as still being here, because that’s where I’m sure Nick is, somewhere or another.

Truth is Rose Red is still here, just not in the same way. Life here in my Rose Suite has to go on, even when it gets weird. My friendships, like plants, need nurturing to grow. I knew Steve would be upset with me, you may recall I wrote about it a couple days ago. He did call me, though he wasn’t as angry as I expected. We arranged dinner out, which we did yesterday. Chill. Nice. The sort of thing completely normal friends with completely normal ties to each other do. Except the tie that binds him and me is losing our significant others in a haunted house eight years ago…

Far from normal, wouldn’t you say? (Continue reading…)

Unraveling Rose Red: Piecing together the puzzle of history and “coincidence” in Rose Red.

The winter of 1814 was particularly harsh in Dutchtown, Tennessee. The small, young community of modest farms - at the center of which was a tiny village hub consisting of nothing more than a general store and a church - was in danger of dissolution. Starvation was a very real possibility and by late February one third of the town’s population had moved away, primarily relocating to family elsewhere or wandering further afield to seek a new, more forgiving life.

Normally the people of Dutchtown would survive a winter with their stores filled with grains and other staples. Most farm owners had at least one cow and several chickens. The majority also owned pigs for pork. But a terrible harvest in the fall of 1813 left many with their pantries bare of all but what goods they’d preserved in jars, and smoked meats. Any oats and wheat they did have they sacrificed to their animals. It was often in vain; more livestock perished that winter than any other, frequently due to slaughter for food, even if they weren’t fattened. Elsewhere in Tennessee a drinking song containing the lyric “Lock your barns boys, gather round / no horse is safe near wee Dutchtown”* (referencing the fact that the most desperate people in Dutchtown killed and ate their horses) became cruelly popular.

The devastating winter of 1814 set into motion two extremely important events in the history of Dutchtown, events that would make it legendary, and eventually lead to its demise. (Continue reading…)

Rose Red enthusiasts will remember Joyce Reardon periodically referencing a mid-60s investigation of Rose Red by a group of scientists. Four accomplished Washington area scientists teamed up and wandered the mansion in the last days of 1964, trying to debunk some of the claims of paranormal activity in the house. While there they heard the house scream on multiple occasions. They were able to catch the screaming on tape (although they concluded it wasn’t screaming that they heard…), and I’m very excited to reveal to you the audio clips of Rose Red screaming, sent to me by the last remaining scientist from the 1964 group!

I’ve included his e-mail in full here, and it’s worth a read. The audio files are contained therein. First, here’s a photo of the four scientists. The one who sent me the clips (and photo) is Jeffrey Wright.

(Continue reading…)

This site, by the very nature of its subject matter, is no laughing matter. But even the most terrible tragedy has some comic relief. Nick has a wicked, dry wit, and can crack jokes even under the greatest pressure. So he’d appreciate me giving a little “time out” to show you something that, now that I look back on it, is absolutely hilarious.

You may remember the publication Weekly World Digest, which was sold mostly at supermarket check-out lines and newspaper stands. It was a black and white rag that was even worse than a tabloid, because tabloids at least attempt to convey something like the truth (they have to, it’s illegal not to…). Weekly World Digest preferred to tell tales of babies born with bat wings, demons possessing ball machines at church bingo nights, vampires feeding off the First Lady, etc. All of these stories were accompanied by usually terribly unconvincing photoshopped pictures – ringing any bells now? Unfortunately, Weekly World Digest went out of business, so I can’t link you to a web site with samples. But I’m sure it’s well logged in the annals of most people’s memories.

Well, Weekly World Digest got wind of the aftermath of the Memorial Day Rose Red trip and printed what may have been the only WWD feature ever to have some basis in reality, even if the details in their version are – to say the least – highly inventive.

(Continue reading…)

I’ve been somewhat at a loss for words since I received word from Mary Ashwood, Emery’s fiancée, with the results of Emery’s study here in my condo the weekend before last. Since no dramatic events took place during his stay, I didn’t think a lot would come of it.

I was wrong. Rose Red is nothing if not totally unpredictable.

Let me preface this by letting you know Mary has started a blog for her & Emery’s investigations (they work as a team now – a psychic and a forensic scientist, what a combination!). She also talks about some aspects of personal life, as I do here. In fact, she wrote a fantastic biography about Emery which you can (and should) read here…replete with family and childhood photos (definitely check them out). The introduction to the blog, called “Rose Red: A Haunting” can be found here. For convenience, any references to Emery will now automatically link to their blog, so you can remember to check often.

When I first read Mary’s report, I think I was mostly numb. It didn’t frighten me initially, it was almost as if I was reading something about someone else’s life. Like one of my articles about the curses surrounding Rose Red. They’re not about me, or Nick. They’re not personal, so to speak. I think my initial defense mechanism was to read the results very clinically.

But now that I’ve read them about fifteen or sixteen times, and examined the evidence Mary kindly posted for us to experience, I’m feeling a little freaked out. Read on to find out why. (Continue reading…)

What a mad rush of a weekend it was. Not in the way I’d typically mean – typically I’d mean running around doing errands, or scrambling to finish a pile of reviews, or managing a spectacularly long string of social outings (something that hasn’t happened in a very long time, and I don’t much miss it). This was by all outward appearances a quiet weekend. I simply had a friend over for a visit, right?

But time flies when you’re terrifying yourself, and that’s precisely what I did. I don’t think Emery was a fraction as worried as I was. For all my calmness in my previous post, I started working myself into a tizzy in the hours between then and when he made his way here. After all, it wasn’t a housewarming party. I didn’t just invite him over for drinks to finally see my “new” place after all these years. He came because I was capturing shadows in photographs and cleaning up ectoplasmic goo off my kitchen counters.

I wasn’t frightened for myself, but frightened of what being here might stir up for Emery, both emotionally and in adding fuel to a paranormal fire. I didn’t want too much to happen at once, that’s precisely the sort of thing I vowed to avoid when I “disappeared” back in 2002…when I tried to lure Steve here. At least this time my motives were pure, and Emery kindly volunteered the visit anyway.

But as it happened, well…not a lot happened! Surprisingly little, upon reflection. I guess part of me expected the walls to suddenly swallow him up, or his mother to come springing out of the bathroom mirror. No signs of his mother, fortunately. Nor of Nick, unfortunately. But his stay wasn’t fruitless. (Continue reading…)

Unraveling Rose Red: Piecing together the puzzle of history and “coincidence” in Rose Red.

Hotel Bremen, like Pinafore Lodge, was a very popular resort destination in the late 19th century and early 20th century. It resided on the cool, calm waters of Lake Chincopee in northern New Jersey.

After the last of the local Indians were driven from the area by white industry - primarily ice, cut in large blocks during winter and shipped around the area for storage in ice houses - the beautiful lake was prime for spring, summer, and fall retreats for middle and upper class travelers from around the country.

While one might suggest the brutality of the way the indigenous Indians were driven away could be enough to curse the entire area, their treatment was not entirely without justification. The local Indians sided with the British in the American War of Independence, as part of a confederation led by the Mohawk. They met their fate at the hands of New Jersey militia, and the rest who remained on the lake for several more decades were derided and finally shoved out of the way by the relentless forward momentum of industry. Between the ice businesses, the numerous iron mine operations on the lake’s surrounding mountains, and the growing tourism, there was very little undisrupted land left for the Indians to live on. Eventually their tribe dwindled and was absorbed into the larger Lenni Lenape nation, and descendants are rare. They are all but extinct. (Continue reading…)

Last week I proposed the idea for this post to Steven Rimbauer, and while he was naturally hesitant at first, he soon adopted his usual laissez-faire stance. That is to say when it comes to stories, he tends to let the storyteller have his or her way…and sometimes ends up butting in and telling the story himself!

There’s no chance of that happening here, since this is my blog. But after he agreed to let me talk about this “taboo” subject, he drew up notes of everything he remembered from his and Joyce’s private conversations over the course of their relationship. I’d say that’s participation in the story. And as it gives interesting insight into Joyce’s fascination with Ellen Rimbauer, and indeed her relationship with Steve, I thought it worth presenting to you for your consideration.

It must be noted that everything I am about to divulge has been approved for publication here by Steve. Even the most intimate details. Otherwise, I wouldn’t write them—his friendship is too precious to me to sacrifice over a good tale.

Warning: this post contains adult content, or at least adult references. (Continue reading…)

It’s true. I did disappear for six years.

But it’s not quite what you think.

You may recall there was some drama back in the spring of 2002 when I went “missing” and my friend Jenn posted the story of my disappearance to my old journal. Unfortunately, because I’ve lost some of those pages, I can only remember bits and pieces of what she said. But based on what I do recall I’ll reconstruct the scene and explain why I am in fact not gone, as is probably obvious from the fact that you’re reading this!

I met Steve Rimbauer for dinner one evening, which is not an unusual occurrence. I’ve seen Steve quite regularly in the years since the Rose Red expedition. I’ll catch you up on that in another post another time. But suffice to say Steve and I having a night out was becoming par for the course, after the initial awkward period when I moved into the condo. What wasn’t par was the massive argument we had about my continued residence in the TechStar complex and my tireless search for Nick…

Steve is understandably terrified of Rose Red, more than he even was as a child, and refuses to come near the property. Even to this day he hasn’t visited me here, and that was what sparked the confrontation between us that night. You may remember I was experiencing some really odd phenomena, particularly with my computer, that I felt related to Joyce…or Joyce’s spirit. As time passed and I got more and more caught up in trying to find what little may have been left of Rose Red and bring it back to life, I grew more desperate. I guess you could say I was a little like Joyce by the time I had dinner with Steve that night.

And I would have stopped at nothing to achieve my goal. Ultimately to find Nick, but at the time I felt the only way to do that was to bring through anyone and anything I could, to rouse the very essence of Rose Red. I knew, and still know in my heart of hearts, that Nick is here to help the spirits Rose Red claimed. And believe me. Just because the house is gone doesn’t mean Rose Red is gone.
(Continue reading…)

Archived from the old site circa 2002.

Terribly sorry for not writing in two weeks! It’s been a fairly boring time actually, and I haven’t had much to report.

I’ve been working on book reviews, I had four to finish and just put the polishing touches on the fourth a few minutes ago.

Jenn came to stay with me last weekend, and though nothing out of the ordinary happened, she told me that from the moment she pulled into the drive until the moment she left, she had a sort of “electric” feeling that made the hairs on her arms prickle. I have read that sensation is commonly associated with hauntings.

I took a trip to the Winslow Library to beg access to the original copy of Ellen’s diary on Thursday. Since I’d already spent some time with the diary last month and didn’t cause it harm, they allowed me about a half an hour. I knew what I was looking for, so it was easy to find. (Continue reading…)

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