Finding the Orbs of Asheville

“Now before we get started, I like to know where you are on the paranormal.”

Ellen and I are sitting with our tour guide, Pepper. She asks us if we’ve ever had experiences (maybe) and if we believe (yes). Then she gives us a lesson on orbs—illuminated circles that show up in photographs—showing us a collection of images captured by her, acquaintances, and individuals on her tour.

“If it looks like a maze or has a face in it, it’s not a spirit,” she says, noting that dust, moisture, and bugs cause orbs. With our new found knowledge in tow we walk downtown Asheville and I try my hand at catching spirits with my flash. Pepper’s stories range from mild to chilling, including Depression-era suicides, murder, and an unsolved child disappearance. I use my camera and quickly learn that attempting to catch spirits in the dark means blurred, non-pretty shots. But not too far into the tour orbs start to show, starting at the Basilica of St. Lawrence. 

 

Before we walk away I say “one more shot,” to which the spirits were apparently listening.

Later, outside an abandoned building in the middle of renovation, I capture a bizarre series of shots.

“You got something!” Pepper declares when I show her.

I should feel accomplished. Instead, uneasiness settles in.

Zelda Fitzgerald & The Ribbon Dance

It’s newly dark and slightly stormy—the perfect cocktail for a ghost story. Ellen and I weave our way up a steep, hilly mystery drive to find the site of Zelda Fitzgerald’s last moments. In 1948 she was one of nine women who perished in a fire at Highland Hospital in Asheville, N.C., where she was staying for psychiatric treatment. 

Around the curve we’re greeted by the lit, stately columns of today’s Highland Hall. And surprisingly, we’re not alone; we’re face-to-face with a LaZoom tour bus.

We get out of the car and up the steps to the building. Suddenly a man runs from the bus and onto the lawn. The tour guide declares to their crowd they will now witness an interpretation of the fire that claimed Fitzgerald’s life. The bus begins blasting music and the man, armed with rhythmic gymnastics’ ribbons, begins his artistic masterpiece.

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Last night @ellsnell21 and I went to find where Zelda Fitzgerald and a group of other women died in a fire at a psychiatric hospital. We assumed it was probably haunted, and when we pulled in a comedy ghost tour was there, doing this interpretive reenactment of her death, complete with a ribbon dance.

A post shared by Sarah Eutsler (@seeutsler) on Jun 20, 2017 at 11:45am PDT

I grab my phone as I begin to process what’s unfolding. After a minute he dashes back to the bus and they disappear into the night. The show is the perfect introduction to Asheville’s haunted scene. Scary tales live alongside humorous flair I haven’t quite seen before. It’s a different way to interpret and tell the stories, and, based on the laughs Ellen and I share in the few minutes we witness it, makes quite the impact.

Scares Meet History in Old Louisville

Old Louisville residents are invested in their haunted homes. As one of the largest historic preservation neighborhoods in the country, “you can’t go more than half a block without encountering a haunted house,” explains David Domine, my tour guide for the night.

“People wear it as a badge of honor,” he says, noting many residents’ embrace of the stories lurking under their creaky floorboards. They also celebrate the title of America’s most haunted neighborhood.

David isn’t what I expect for my first official ghost tour. He’s polished, a writer and educator, not theatrical. His storytelling is conversational as we stroll by the mansions south of Louisville’s downtown. David fell into the paranormal through experiences in his former home, a large red-brick house where he starts the tour. There he tells us the tale of footsteps in the hallways, his animals’ bizarre reactions to the unseen, the smell of coffee and laundry greeting him in the home.

As the tour continues David notes that he sees telling ghost tales as a form of historic preservation, a statement I find striking. Ghost stories have always seemed reserved for those looking for a good scare, but they pack a punch of history. Keeping the stories alive keeps the places, people and oral stories of generations alive, too. I find a new side of the paranormal world to appreciate.

Getting Spiritual at Camp Chesterfield

It’s 80 degrees, and I’m trying to find God in a rock maze.

The labryinth walk is laid out in a shadeless corner of Camp Chesterfield, the historic Chesterfield, Ind., Spiritualist community near my hometown. By the end I don’t feel inner peace or God’s presence–unless you count the relief of shade as I hide under a tree afterward.

Camp Chesterfield had long been a mystery to me, a place I envisioned the movie version of psychics and mediums spread out across its grounds—crystal balls, ancient tarot decks, older women in kooky gypsy attire. Instead I find a quiet retreat near the banks of the White River with historic cottages where its residents live, worship and give readings.

As I walk the grounds I’m most intrigued by the odd mix of religious iconography. Christianity sits front and center—literally in the case of the Trail of Religion—but other religious figures are represented alongside the Native American spiritualism.

From totem poles to Virgin Mary statues, they seem to embrace aspects of all belief systems. After stepping into a tomb-like worship space that feels like somewhere Indiana Jones would hang out, it becomes clear that the Christian faith is key—the most surprising part of my visit. Mediums and psychics have an occult status in popular culture, but practicing Spiritualists incorporate that into a solid faith foundation that welcomes an exploration into the spirit world. Perhaps it’s the faith system of the paranormal.