We live in a place rich with history. Pilgrims come to the South from all over the world just to walk in the shadows of our past. This does not seem strange to us. We know that this bit of the globe is so very interesting. Most of us never tire of the beauty and many fascinating tales.
Travelers often say to us, “Oh, it is too hot, but, of course, you live here and are used to it.” We never really get “used to it.” Most Southerners go from an air-conditioned house, to an air-conditioned car, store, theater, or whatever — all air-conditioned. We live with it and adapt.
The Civil War, The Underground Railroad, epidemics and the wrath of Mother Nature have all left their marks on our psyche. Those sorts of scars never heal completely. They are a type of echo, unseen, but present. Like acclimating to our oppressive summers, adjustments are made. We modify our behavior and move on.
Most Southerners are in love with our past, and probably more guilty of ancestor worship than other Americans. We tell and re-tell stories of long-gone predecessors. Sometimes we even live with them.
This was the case last week when GEMS (Ghostly Encounters of Mississippi) was invited to spend an evening in a very haunted house on the northside of Columbus. Chris and I are members of this group, which is led by experienced ghost hunter, Monica Adams.
GEMS is similar to ghost hunting groups that have television shows. The main differences are that we are more adult and less tattooed than many others.
Our approach is to speak quietly, respectfully, to spirits in the venue being investigated. We always remember that they are the permanent residents. We are only guests.
Our group moved from room to room, watching and asking questions. A disembodied male voice said, “Hello.” We answered, “Hello,” but got no further response.
This night, we entered a sweltering attic. The beams were charred black from a fire many decades ago. Chris photographed a small baby doll seated under the eaves, because there was something hypnotic in its expression. (The home’s owner later told us that she has moved the doll often, but it always returns to the same spot.)
In that location, the K2 meter fired up in a flash of blinking lights. The K2 is a device that measures electromagnetic fields, an indication that there is a presence near. We also captured photos of orbs, another sign of paranormal energy in the house.
We moved down from the attic and sat in a bedroom, where the residents have experienced activity. A teenage boy, who once lived in this house, claims that he awakened to see a Confederate soldier hovering over his bed.
While we were in this room a dark shadowy shape stood in the doorway, as if investigating us. We followed him down the hall. He evaporated as quickly as he appeared.
I hope this does not sound too frightening. The presences in this house, like most that we encounter, are benign. Perhaps they are as curious about us as we are about them. Our goal is to discover why they have not moved on, and perhaps guide them into the light.
Many Southerners live comfortably with spirits of the dead. We lure them with bottle trees; erect altars of sorts with photos and mementos; place flowers on their graves. Our ancestors are a part of our lives, and a visit from one can be as comforting as an unexpected rain storm in July.
Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina. Email reaches her at [email protected].
Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina.
You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 43 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.