First Night at Whispers Estate

 First Night at Whispers Estate

This is the first account of a few nights spent in an old house in a small town in Indiana.

The activity in this house can be so intense that upon arrival, guests must sign a waiver with a

few ground rules: always have a source of light with you, do not bring spiritual items such as

holy water inside, and NEVER use a staircase without holding on to the rail. There have been

many accounts of guests being pushed downstairs by entities, with one girl reportedly having to

go to the hospital after such a fall. Scratches are also a common occurrence here, but I have yet

to be accosted by any negative forces. The owner, Rich Ballard, is kind enough to provide

flashlights, REM pods, and other equipment ghost hunters or curious guests may use during the

night. Safety is essential, as the windows are curiously blacked out, allowing no light from the

outside to enter. After the waivers are signed, my dad and I grab flashlights and begin the tour.

Located in Mitchell, IN, a grand house sits proudly nestled in a pleasant neighborhood

located near a church and a funeral home. Built in 1894, the home was bought by Dr. John

Gibbons with his wife and adopted children in the late 1800s/early 1900s. Dr. Gibbons was a

doctor who also specialized in surgery; part of the house was used as his office, exam room,

and surgery room with a side entrance used specifically for patients. The owner states there

were at least 23 confirmed deaths while in surgery; for the time period, this wasn’t a terrible

statistic as he had practiced for 26 years. However, this house is known for several tragic

deaths as well, with rumors of body parts being buried out back. I will describe the most

pertinent stories told during our tour as they relate to the activity in the house and the

paranormal activity I witnessed.

The most tragic of the estate’s deaths occurred when Dr. Gibbons and Jessie Gibbons’s

adopted daughter, Rachel, died from a fire on Christmas morning. It is believed that 10-year-old

Rachel snuck down the stairs early that morning to sneak a peek at her presents. Unfortunately,

her dress caught a flame from the hearth and caused the girl to suffer terrible burns. She

succumbed to her injuries and died in an upstairs bedroom two days later. On our tour, Rich

mentioned that evidence of a fire was seen in the parlor when the house was undergoing

renovations. To this day, Rachel’s room is a popular hot spot among ghost hunters and those

who wish to show respect by leaving dolls and toys for the child’s spirit. In the parlor one can

supposedly hear whispers while sitting quietly in the dark.

The only activity I have managed to experience in this room involved hearing footsteps

on the floor directly above us. It was a bone-chilling moment for me, as the owner had left hours

previously and I knew no one else was there to walk around. The footsteps stopped as quietly

as they started, leaving my dad and I to look at each other in pure shock. Understand, this was

our first night experiencing the paranormal and such things were mind-blowing to us.

Upstairs in Rachel’s room, a somewhat deflated beach ball is kept on two bedposts at

the end of Rachel’s bed. It is believed that Rachel’s spirit plays with these balls and will knock

them off the posts when asked. Some have had success in seeing a ball fall in real time, but I

have had no such luck. I have spent time alone in this room with nary a cat ball to be moved.

However, on a different night we bring an SLS camera which captures an interesting figure

appearing behind me, crawling up the wall, then disappearing into the ceiling, and two growls

can be heard before it vanishes. Of course, we heard and saw nothing while it happened.

Beside Rachel’s room is Jessie’s bedroom. Jessie Gibbons died two months after

Rachel’s death due to pneumonia. It is said she died in the master bedroom, but this room is

mostly known for the activity involving the closet. There are numerous accounts of the closet

doorknob jiggling and the door opening by itself. This closet is called “Gary’s Closet”, where a

little boy had spent time playing before his untimely death. While I never saw the door open on

its own in real time, on other nights here I witnessed the door appearing open after having left

the floor for a while. I remember coming back downstairs from the attic and, walking by the open

bedroom, stopping in shock as I saw the closet door standing wide open. The owner keeps bells

on all the doors to help investigators discern any movement, which we never heard.

I had called my dad over after the discovery, and we spent a while trying to determine

how this door could just pop open. I myself had fully closed and latched it after doing an initial

sweep earlier that night. We took turns stomping around the door, inside the closet and out, and

could not get it to open automatically. The doorknob must be turned for the door to unlatch, and

even then, it does not swing wide open by itself. This won’t be the last time I see this door open

after I’ve inspected it. Other guests report this happens several times a night, but for us the

maximum occurrence was twice in one night.

Across the hall is a bathroom, where legend has it that a middle-aged man fell, bumped

his head, and perished in the bathtub. During this time, the Gibbons family was long gone, and

the house was rented to several occupants. Records show there was a man who did indeed die

in the bathtub. However, as Rich pointed out, the autopsy report claimed no injuries, so the

cause of death was most likely myocardial infarction, or heart attack. Rich, who is a professor of

a parapsychology course at the local Ivy Tech, said he brings students to tour the home and will

ask the brave ones to lay in that tub to see if they can experience any activity. Some students

have had good EVP sessions here. However, this is the only bathroom I feel comfortable in

therefore I choose to not investigate it so that I do not suffer from a full bladder throughout the

night. I refuse to use the old surgery-room-converted-bathroom that still has the blood drain in

the floor. There have also been reports of women being touched in that room.

There are many hotspots in this house, including what psychics call a portal that extends

from the parlor up to a room in the attic. Supposedly some of this portal reaches part of the attic

that leads into the servants’ quarters. Before I knew anything about the activity that happens

here on the second floor, I immediately recognized that this was an area I did not like. I don’t

like being in this room alone, and I have felt the truly unpleasant sensation of being watched

even with the lights on while standing in the hallway.

The servants’ room is where my dad and I witnessed the most activity by ourselves

without Rich present, finally catching evidence on our cameras on subsequent investigations.

We have footage of cat toys being activated, flashing by themselves in the dark, our trip wire

illuminating when something entered the room, and a shadow figure taller than the doorframe

next to a side table. Last month we captured footage of a figure on our SLS camera attempting

to shake my hand when I asked it to (the validity of SLS cameras is to be determined, however,

at the same time this figure appeared our trip wire reflected the movement). Back to our first

night there, being led by Rich, we were listening to him tell the story of a girl who worshipped

the devil. She apparently knew his children’s names despite him being a stranger, and to this

day is still working with the church to purge whatever is inside her (all this unverified, as it was a

personal account told by Rich).

Rich, against the advice of his priest, keeps the satanic artifacts used by this girl in small

area blocked off by a church pew. This area is curtained off, but you can pull it back to see the

statues on a dresser, a chalice, an altar cloth, hanging robes, and other items spread out on

furniture. I absolutely do not like sitting on that bench knowing those things are behind me, as it

gives me the sensation that someone is standing behind the curtain waiting to grab me.

Rich said the items were cleansed by his priest, and I know it’s all in my head, but I can’t

help it. The owner also keeps Ouija boards throughout the house to encourage guests to try

communicating with the house spirits. I have spent other nights sitting on that bench and I still

don’t like it. That stuff shouldn’t be there. Rich took out his phone and played us a recording of

some women who were sitting on that bench and captured a horrific growl on their recorder. The

hair on my arms stood on end, even now as I remember it. The women could not replicate that

sound with their own voices, but they also claimed the bench shook violently enough that they

had to jump up.

While Rich is telling us this story, he gets quiet suddenly and says, “Did you hear that?”.

Oh yes, I did. There were disembodied footsteps sounding from down the hall we had just come

from. We could clearly hear the quiet creak of the weak spots on the floor as the steps shifted.

We went utterly silent as we listened to them fade away, then nervously chuckled at each other.

“Yes, I heard that!”, “Wow, I can’t believe it!!”. Rich was ecstatic that we were already

experiencing things on our first night. Not even a minute after this occurrence, we heard a loud

knock on the bench beside me. I am not ashamed to say that at this point I was almost at my

limit and moved to go stand beside my dad. Things felt calm again, Rich finished telling us the

history of this room, and then we followed him into the attic. Strangely enough, I don’t feel so

bad up here even though the most exciting things of our first night happen in this wide space.

The attic is largely unfinished, with only one refurbished room and a side door to another

staircase leading to the kitchen. Most people have success with EVP sessions in the two sitting

areas available where the roof slants. We have footage of an orb captured in one of these

areas. Another point of interest is a small room, somewhat larger than a closet, that is coated

inside entirely with mirrors. I don’t remember the exact word used to describe this room, but it’s

used for scrying. Rich ushered us inside, asked me to shut the door, and proceeded to tell us

that it was used in a Netflix show, the name of which he couldn’t remember. Stepping inside felt

like stepping into another world, which is the point I suppose. Before we leave the “scry room”,

Rich shows us an image captured by another investigator’s IR camera: a tall figure, with

shoulders clearly defined, looming right outside the door. You can’t see its head though, since

the body is almost taller than the doorframe. That could be an image of the infamous Big Black

that has been seen roaming about the house. I have this cheerful image seared into my mind as

I am the first person to exit. I sincerely thought there couldn’t be anything else creepier than this

weigh on my mind, but I was proven wrong not long after.

The last stop on our tour before we head to the basement is the refurbished bedroom

around the corner. To enter this bedroom, we pass the adjacent closed door leading to the

downstairs kitchen. I like it in the bedroom because it has lighting and just feels safe. I truly don’t

remember a lot of what Rich said about this room since I took the time to calm my anxiety and

mentally regroup. It wasn’t even midnight and my beliefs about the world were severely

challenged. We had our backs turned to the open doorway and did not hear the stairwell door

swing open. We turn to leave and I freeze with wide eyes. I couldn’t walk out of the bedroom

because the stairwell door is all of a sudden blocking the doorway. Utterly flabbergasted, we

quickly confirmed with each other that no, none of us opened that door on the way inside this

bedroom. Why would we when it would only become an obstacle? Rich is ecstatic again and

exclaims he does not remember having had so much paranormal activity happen during recent

tours. He thinks something about us woke the house up. Possibly because my dad shared a

story of how his aunt had died from burns as a small child, just like Rachel had. My mouth is dry

and my heart is hammering as I quickly shut the stairwell door and promptly leave the bedroom.

I was feeling panicked, and I hovered at the main staircase waiting for Rich and my dad to

follow me down. My mind kept trying to tell me Big Black was here to say hello.

I couldn’t wait for long and began to head down the staircase alone, one hand on the

railing as I was instructed, and listen to my dad and Rich laugh and loudly discuss the events of

the night so far. I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear pounding footsteps, too loud to be

drowned out by the sound of the men’s voices. I stop and look up to see Rich and Dad, staring

at each other in stunned silence as the footsteps continue to pound, only they aren’t moving.

Dad tries to look around Rich, who is next to the stairwell door that I had just closed, to see what

is causing the noise. The footsteps stop and then he says, “It really feels like someone just got

up in my face!” Dad is bewildered and still looking around for the cause, when Rich stops

smiling and says “We have to go, now. Let’s get downstairs” My dad has bad knees and

struggles with stairs, and he later tells me he couldn’t move fast enough for Rich, who very

nearly ran him over in his haste to get down the staircase. With my heart pumping wildly, I make

it to the ground floor first and can verify Rich was tailgating him all the way to the bottom. We

shake our heads in confusion, Rich regains his smile, and we move back to the dining room for

a quick drink.

At this point Rich speeds up the tour and quickly guides us down to the basement. I

don’t find it creepy down there and take another moment to calm down in the cool dark. Until

Rich shows us a video of a girl standing in the same basement and you can clearly see some of

her hair move, as if an invisible hand playfully lifted up a section and dropped it. This is another

good spot for activity, and on other trips we get activity with cat toy movement on the staircase

and the trip wire lighting up. We didn’t stay in the basement long and went back upstairs to say

goodbye to Rich. I don’t think he was joking when he said he would be using the holy water he

keeps in his car; Rich owns the house but does not live there. He admitted that he doesn’t like

to be there for long, especially not on the second floor.

So Rich leaves and we have the house to ourselves until 4:00 a.m. There is a house

manager on site that will stay in a side room off the kitchen, but we didn’t meet her that night. I

often wonder if somehow they use her space as a control room and manipulate the house to

trick guests. It’s always possible since we’re not allowed in there to investigate, but I guess

that’s what keeps us coming back. We want to find out the truth, because this house made us

believers. We have since debunked a few findings, one being the fact that a strong walkie-talkie

could set off our REM pod from a floor away. Being new to this field, we try not to take anything

at face value and try to support findings with data from varied sources. It’s a learning process.

So, after Rich left, we sat at the dining room table, with the overhead light on, and sat in

silence for a long time. I felt paralyzed, afraid to move, and we both needed time to process

what had happened thus far. I grab us some drinks from the fridge available to guests and say,

“I guess we’re getting our money’s worth”

Dad sighs, and says, “This is what we came here for. We need to get back up there”

We didn’t move for several more minutes. Finally deciding we can’t be sitting ducks all

night, I get up and start grabbing gear. We agree to keep the dining room light on to make the

space our safe haven, which had a variety of snacks, drinks, a local pizza voucher, and all of

our equipment. We take baby steps and muster our mental strength to go sit in the parlor for a

while. We are awed to silence again as we eventually hear footsteps above us. I understand

that footsteps are very much cliche, but when you hear disembodied ones for the first time, you

start to question reality.

The rest of the night is pretty quiet, apart from another set of disembodied footsteps on

an empty stairwell and REM pod alarming from the servants’ quarters doorway. Oddly enough it

seems like the house “quieted” after Rich left. Dad did not dare go up into the attic again, not

after he felt like something angry was in his personal space. I had a burning curiosity to return

and see if the same door had opened again. I made sure my dad waited for me at the bottom of

the stairs within yelling distance and quickly swept through the attic: everything appeared the

same. I brought out my digital recorder and tried to do an EVP session where I asked who it

was that chased us down the stairs. I admit I was not brave enough to stay long and gave up

quickly, going back downstairs to rejoin my dad. Nothing else happened, no luck with the S-Box,

and no perceptible EVP with recorder playbacks. I logged our night in the guest book and we

packed up to leave. We made sure to say a polite goodbye to the house before exiting. It was a

cold January night, and I found it laughable the stray cats that frequent the porch didn’t even try

to come inside; it’s like they know something’s wrong inside the house.

The drive back to the hotel was atmospheric: a fog had rolled in so thick we could barely

see the road. The whole night felt like something out of a movie. Upon parking, we absolutely

felt the need to light a bundle of sage and hope that would be enough to give us peace of mind

to sleep. I remember walking all the way to the room with my flashlight still clenched tightly in

my fist; I guess I had held onto it even in the car. In that house it became my lifeline, the only

thing I could rely on to feel even a modicum of protection.

Things changed for us that night. When I got back home, I didn’t speak for a long time. I

struggled to process what I experienced, caught between the reality of my senses and

incomprehension of my mind. I started to doubt myself because that’s easier than

acknowledging the notion that what I’ve seen on TV might be real. Now we are a little more

experienced and are learning how to better use our equipment to gather data rather than hide

from the unknown.

Even now I catch myself thinking, “there’s no way that stuff really happened”, or “they

rigged that house to keep people coming back” Even if the owner and house manager somehow

did manipulate things, it doesn’t explain the random times I felt like I was being watched or felt a

heavy presence in the hallway. It doesn’t explain why the hair on my arms would rise at times,

as if my body knew something but I hadn’t realized what it was yet. I think about how Rich

appeared so freaked out he all but pushed his way down the staircase. Sure, people can be

good actors. But I also know something different happens each time we go. Just last month we

recorded growls, something I never imagined we could have done.

That attic door still opens by itself, as does the closet door. I still have hours of

recordings to go through, hoping to find an intelligent response that would be definitive evidence

in my book. In sharing this story, I hope to impress upon readers how it feels to one day think

you are living a normal life, and then have it change for better or for worse. I will never know the

truth of the matter. Ghost hunting equipment has its limits, not backed by evidence-based

science. I had grown up watching ghost hunters have adventures on their shows and always

wanted to know the realities behind the things that seemed so real. Until you experience it, I

think that is a question only you can answer. What seems like fun entertainment on TV turns

into scary astonishment when you finally hear your first disembodied footsteps or see your

motion detector light up for the first time. I can only hope to continue seeking answers and gain

the experience necessary to come to my own conclusions. What I know for now, though, is that

first night at Whispers was utterly terrifying and I can’t get enough.

Kayla Cantrell

R&K Paranormal Pursuits