Ghost Hunting for Fun

This blog is probably giving the wrong message because my readings are about connecting with the higher realms rather than deceased loved ones. Nonetheless, just for fun, I am sharing the following journal of myself accompanied by my daughters as I psychically explored the area of Melbourne and surrounds. We were ghost hunting!

What an enormous drive we had to arrive at Yarram. Time for a break and the start of our ghost hunt. I had seen a spirit force at the Court House and I wanted to check it out, but first I am drawn to the clothing store in front of us. I explain to the owner that we are ghost hunting as we forage through her wares. She says that they have one there, and though she is smiling, I see her face pales a little at the thought. She leads me out the back and shows me where she feels the presence. I feel nothing in the room, at first, and then the unmistakable rush of a strong presence is there. My face flushes as energy seems to rush upwards. I call my daughter (fellow investigator) to ‘come and feel this!’. She reports cold shivers down her neck.

The communication starts in the monosyllabic stage, before I can hear his sentences properly. He’s male, seventy(ies)’, (was he seventy, or alive in the seventies?). I tell him that the owner feels scared when he opens and shuts the doors. Then he does a long spiel that I get a gist of: he really cares about the owner and doesn’t want her to be scared. He has a gentle nature. I trust his intentions are kind, perhaps on the side of too ‘sticky-beak’ish, as people sometimes are when they want to help. Then I follow him as he suddenly walks out straight through the toilet wall for a smoke. I think he is a little moody. I tell the owner there used to be a door there. In the owner’s presence, he turns up again in the shopfront to repeat that he thinks she is lovely and that he basically cares about her and the business and her success. I am embarrassed a bit to be repeating his words again. The lady seems a little uncomfortable too, so we thank her and leave.

Later, as we wander past the old graves in the Dandenong Road Cemetery, I feel Jane. “I’m dead!!” she says. ‘Really’, I laugh, wondering if the spirit is playing a game. Then she shows me her tallish slim frame curled up in near fetal as if sleeping, with her sleek, black, straight, short hair in a 20’s bob. She reminds me of a wide-awake child, late at night stating that they are asleep just because their eyes are shut. I think perhaps that she thinks that this is what dead should be. As with a child, I suddenly feel my heart swell with enormous love for her, which seems to swell further to merge with the love of the waiting spiritual Guides. I coax her gently, ‘It’s safe to go with them, come on darling.” Then she is gone. That was easy! I am surprised!!

As we went through the Anzac memorial and down the stairs into the crypt, I felt the presence of a soldier ghost. Immediately as I felt him, the light went out above us. I peeked up later and it was on again. My nervous eldest daughter definitely did not want to go back that way!

We went into the renowned old haunted pub opposite Flinders St Station (picture). I had seen a spirit in the upstairs window the evening before from across the road. I hadn’t really seen him but strongly felt him as I scanned the building. In the daylight I was keen to find him, but when we drank hot chocolates in the upstairs room I felt nothing much.

We headed for the Old Melbourne Gaol, a sure treasure chest of ghostly presences (check out the orb). I scanned room by room and encountered dozens of energies. Some of these were residual energies, etheric impressions created by years of continual human trapped frustration and desperation. Those cramped little cells had contained people in great anguish, and the emotional and mental experiences that they had were still resonant in the walls.

A tour guide there was telling ghost stories to a large group of tourists: a worker there had been followed by strange audible footsteps in the dark crossing the hall as the light switch was at the opposite end to the exit. This worker had run out, and on returning in the morning, the workers found every door bolted shut (instead of left open). This lovely story-telling tour guide was fascinated by psychics who were attracted to the place. She joined our family on our tour, and there was a lively exchange as I told her what I sensed and she told me what she knew. She also measured it against what other psychics had said. She was a very positive, open person and it was fun to hang out with her.

In one room, I saw a very, very tall man (a residual energy in this case) on his knees, perhaps 7 foot. His trousers were ripped right along the length of his calves to reveal long sinewy limbs. His hands were clasped before him, and he rocked constantly as he fervently murmured prayers. In another room, I heard ‘Watch your head’, as I entered from another tall male ghost. One room was larger than the others and I psychically saw bunks. A man in an Australian army slouch hat cheerfully swung a full circle around and told me that ‘there isn’t even room to swing a cat in here’. I was surprised to see him in that setting, but my tour guide explained that there were many prisoners of war held there during WW2.

In another large room, I saw the room was filled with women all sitting in a circle and doing some sewing or knitting or something. My own daughters said that someone touched them. I immediately became cross and warned the spirits that they shouldn’t frighten children, but my daughter came to their defence, saying that she felt no harm intended.

There were two entities that stood out powerfully in that gaol. In one room there was a female spirit with a reputation for pushing men physically out of the room and stroking women’s faces. My tour guide would not tell me which room, but I had no trouble feeling the woman’s energy as we approached her cell. It was unmistakable. I told my guide immediately, this is the cell you are telling people about and her name is ‘Maria’. She nodded. Other psychics had heard this name but there were no records. As we entered, I saw Maria, shorter that I am, in her black full buttoned-to-the-neck dress in the corner of her room. Her emotions danced through me. She grabbed my neck, and I let her. ‘They grab my neck, look out, they’ll get you too by the neck’, she was just warning me, ‘and they will tell you you will leave, but they will NEVER let you go’. She was extremely panicked and upset. I spent a great deal of time trying to calm her and help her see that she was dead and that she could leave, that she was free. But her Spirit was too full of anxiety to be able to focus on my message. She explained that she was a good girl, but they had pulled down her drawers. She was ashamed, her dignity defiled. She was very disturbed about her state of uncleanliness and her human waste in the room; a poor, troubled woman. She hated the smoke and smells that came up through the window and filled her room. My tour guide confirmed that the food was cooked below her window.

I sat on the floor, holding her hand as she curled over and sobbed. Other tourists definitely thought I was odd. She had dark brown eyes, and she was intermittently calmed as I sat there, though she interrupted to fly at any man who entered the room. She told me she had not committed any crime, she was no criminal, no thief, and she was a good Christian woman. They had lied. No pardon ever came, though she waited. They kept her there, isolated from the other women, though she knew they were there in another room. She showed me herself hitting a guard very harshly over the head with a bit of hard wood. I fear the repercussions for this were fatal for her. She told me that they had come and bashed her head in and that she had died in the cell. She showed me her body being carried out of the cell, limp. Later, a spiritualist at the Spiritualist Church told me that I should have been firm with her and told her to leave. My talking to her was only encouraging her to stay. But I have also heard people tell me not to pick my baby up when she cries… I never listen to that and I will not believe that I should not comfort a suffering spirit.

We encountered the second entity staring down at us from the top balcony. His presence was so strong and controlling that it interrupted our conversation and I looked up to immediately experience horrible chill sensations. He was a uniformed prison guard, with large, gingerish moustache and from the balcony he had the vantage point to view the whole prison. He watched with the energy of one who is always looking intensely out and is unable to be in his own being. I felt that he had found some sense of belonging and purpose in that prison that he didn’t want to let go of. I found my courage and walked up to him and began a conversation. He engaged tenuously and guardedly. His nature showed through unbending and dominating. He had arrived from Scotland as a child, and I believe his last name was Steward(?) His father, who had died, had been a commissioned military officer who had instilled a strong sense of duty in his son. This guard felt that the prisoners were lowly and he showed them no mercy. He was climbing the ranks of his profession. He had not been accepted into the military, and so he accepted this less honourable post in the gaol as it was military-like. His life outside of the prison was devoid of relationships. He was a spirit that wanted to have to unnerve with his intrusive energy. Every stare reached into me and challenged me, seeking piercing supremecy. I really thought that it was he who had bolted all the door.

I was searching the pictures of the Old Melbourne Gaol, and I couldn’t contain my excitement when I saw him. I can't reproduce it here, but check it out!

http://www.bonzle.com/c/a?a=pic&fn=xr3fc7u0&s=3

He is second from the left in the hanging of Ned Kelly. See how he stares at the artist.

A far more pleasant spirit was Annie, who was thin with thin fair hair. She explained that she had been both a teacher and a maker of lace. She had a skill with thread weave, so they put her to work mending the garments with holes. She would go on an excursion to wash the garments up behind the gaol (she pointed out where). When I explained to the tour guide where Annie had pointed, my tour guide confirmed that the laundry had been there.

Another prisoner talked of an excursion to ‘mass’ but he wasn’t referring to Catholic mass. It was a word that may have been common to his time. It seems to be a military word and I feel that the guards had a lot of culture borrowed from the military. That spirit chatted with me. He said he had kicked his bucket (of human waste) over in exasperation one time and the stench of it was terrible and all the flies came into his cell. He chuckled. He also told me that the guards beat people, he had heard them. I think he meant unofficial beatings in the cells, rather than official beatings and whippings. He said it was as quiet as a morgue in there.

Speaking directly with people from another time is such an interesting experience when you love History.

As we drove home, we stopped at Bruthen for lunch and I scanned the land about. In the pleasant rotunda there was a spirit woman. I went over and sat beside her. She dressed in rather fancy, darkish, olden attire, with a high neck, corseted waist, a large hat and a bussle. I wasn't expecting a well-dressed woman in that country town. I asked her why she was there and she said with her almost blunt quips, ‘why not’. Truly the sun was shining at it was indeed very pleasant day to sit at the rotunda. As my family straggled over to us, she popped her chatty comments in: asked why my male friend was not wearing a hat, commented on the children, made quips into our family discussion. I asked her where she lived, and she pointed to the street behind vaguely and unhelpfully. It was fun, and it occurred to me that I need never be lonely!!!