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
