Who ya gonna call?
My Dad Got Tired of Running a Free Airbnb for Spirits So He Hired a Ghostbuster
He probably got a bad review: ‘Sent my best friend to the other side without me. One star. Do not recommend.’
Read to the end and answer this question: Do you think the ghosts were real?
“Did you watch Ghostbusters?“ my dad asks.
Of course I watched Ghostbusters! I’m Gen X. Watching Ghostbusters and Goonies was a rite of passage.
I just didn’t know anyone who had actually hired a real-life ghostbuster. But then again, my dad is the eccentric sort.
“I’m hiring one for the cabin. The ghosts are out of control,” my dad says, a very serious look on his face.
I try not to laugh.
Wait, is he serious?
He believes he's running a free Airbnb for spirits.
Dad is convinced there are numerous ghosts in his weekend cabin. The cabin (which is in the middle of nowhere) is newly built, so I’m sure it is in his head.
I don’t believe in ghosts anyway.
I cross my fingers and hope Dad will keep the stories to himself.
He doesn’t.
My embarrassing father tells outrageous stories at the barber, in the grocery store, at the golf course and even to his legal clients.
“Sir, I need some important legal advice.”
“No problem. I have a few sources on the other side who can help.”
There are tales of loud tromps up the stairs, noises of items falling when nothing has been disturbed and eerie music playing in the basement.
Come on now, really?
Dad and his best friend even tell me the dog once said, “Hey you.” I decide it isn’t the dog, but rather the dog’s friend, Jack. Jack Daniels, that is.
Fortunately, he knows a good ghostbuster.
Person after person tells Dad to call the local ghost whisperer to solve the problem. Apparently, this guy can see and talk to spirits. He even has footage to prove it.
Dad shows me the videos the ghostbuster has taken at other jobs. There’s the requisite flying chair, the mysterious grayish object in the corner and the unexplained bumping and banging sounds in the background.
The thing that intrigues me most is the place where this guy films, a now-torn-down mental institution from the early 1900s. We snuck in once in high school — but I only reached the rickety first floor before I got scared and left.
The ghostbuster swears the hospital’s patients never exited the grounds. And he swears my dad’s cabin has visitors of its own.
None of them ever paid to stay there, either.
Dad meets the legendary ghostbuster.
The day finally comes when the legendary paranormal investigator — something of a celebrity in my area — visits the cabin.
I expect elaborate equipment and a team of outlandish folks with fancy digital audio recorders and large two-way radios.
Wrong.
There is no elaborate equipment like you would see in Ghost Hunters. Just a friendly, seemingly genuine man and his nervous assistant (who, by the way, got creeped out and quit after the cabin investigation).
“We can’t get to work until it’s dark so I can see the ghosts,” the ghost whisperer matter-of-factly states.
He needs just two things for his after-dark fiesta: a Bible and the small cross that he routinely wears around his neck.
He pauses to think and decides to stand in one specifically chosen place near a dining room table, which surprises my dad.
“Shouldn’t it be the basement?” Dad asks. After all, that’s where the action has been.
The ghostbuster ignores Dad.
He has a more important conversation to attend to.
“You have to go to the other side,” he says, speaking patiently as if he were talking to a child who is afraid to go to kindergarten. “Your friends and family are there. You have to follow the light.”
It looks like a one-way conversation to my dad, but the ghostbuster is definitely talking to someone.
“There are two spirits who have been roaming this land since the days of the Native Americans,” he says, looking around as if he were talking to a group of people. “They are friends.”
Native Americans once occupied the region. Dad’s hunting crew regularly discovers arrowheads in the summer. So does the farmer who lives nearby.
The ghostbuster shoots a look of concern in Dad’s direction. The job is only half done.
One spirit gets stuck.
“One of the two spirits has now crossed over, but the other spirit is upset because his friend is gone.”
The paranormal investigator looks at what seems like nothing and says, “Follow the light. Your friend will be waiting for you.”
And with that, the investigation ends. His job is complete.
Or so we assume.
The footage creeps us out.
When Dad views the footage from this moment, it looks like a meteor shower has descended upon the camera. It doesn’t make sense. There was no odd lighting and the camera lens was clean.
We see strange round objects fly over the camera in beautiful, lighted bead formations, reminding me of a fierce summer thunderstorm with a magical rainbow at the end.
The ghostbuster would later tell us this was ectoplasm, or ghost energy. To Dad, it was proof that his cabin had unauthorized guests.
Perhaps, we hoped, the two friends we can’t see found peace — and each other.
Months pass. Dad believes the ghosts are gone.
I am still skeptical of the existence of ghosts in the first place.
For now.
And then, it’s a beautiful August day. My cousins and I spend a weekend at the cabin. We wonder why my dad has to be so loud.
“Who moves furniture at nine in the morning?” I ask, and then I yell at Dad to keep it down.
He continues to rearrange the bedroom furniture upstairs, bumping into things loudly.
“Stop it, Dad! We want to go back to sleep.”
There is no response. He ignores me and continues rearranging the room.
“Seriously, Dad! It’s been 20 minutes. Will you please stop?”
Finally, I get out of bed to go upstairs. “Dad!”
I’m shocked when I reach the bedroom. No furniture has been moved. It looks exactly the same.
I search the cabin, but Dad is not there.
In a last attempt to locate him, I open the front door.
Dad smiles and waves as he walks toward me.
“How did you get out here so fast? I didn’t even hear the door open!”
“I’ve been out here working since 7:30.”
“No, we could hear you moving furniture upstairs,” I say.
“Why would you think I was moving furniture? I’ve been outside the whole time.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck rise. For the first time, I’m terrified.
I never go upstairs again. In fact, I rarely return to the cabin.
