When the Ghost Screams(38)

When I met the Oberdings and the Constantinos, I felt immediately bonded with all of them. We are all big animal lovers and, coincidentally, had all lost beloved pets in the weeks prior. The Oberdings lost their geriatric black lab named, Buddy, and I lost my geriatric cat, also named Buddy. The Constantinos had lost three animals in the last year, including their cat, Wheezy, who had died just days before our meeting.

As it turned out, Debby had e-mailed me in the summer of 2005. She had seen the amazing photograph of the ghost cat, taken by an Oregon woman, in my book Ghosts Among Us and wanted to borrow the photo for a presentation she was giving at a paranormal conference.

My computer crashed, and all of my e-mail was lost before I could respond to her. When she told me that she had e-mailed me, I told her that I remembered her letter and apologized for not answering.

As Debby said, “There are no coincidences.” The odd connection we shared that swirled around the life, death, and ghosts of pets was compelling.

As Debby and Mark finished their two-day marathon of recording phantom voices, they were exhausted and, apparently, the ghosts were too. One of the last EVPs they got before finally going to sleep was an exasperated male voice that said, “Enough, lady!”


To hear EVPs captured by the Constantinos, visit www.spirits-speak.com.





Little Boy Lost


It was a lovely October day in 2004 when Jason Sweeton visited Truckee, California. In the area on business, the clinical researcher for the Food and Drug Administration found himself with some spare time and decided to hike the trails at the Donner Memorial State Park. “It was the middle of the week and very quiet,” he said, explaining that he passed a few folks on the path before finding himself alone in the forest.

Sunshine speckled the ground, scattered like gold coins in the shadows of the pine trees. The peace was so complete that he was acutely aware of the sharp crunch of gravel beneath his every step.

Jason knew that this was the site of an appalling tragedy a century and a half before. It was the spot where the ill-fated Donner Party had found itself snowed in and literally starving to death.

In a case that horrified the world, some of the malnourished pioneers had succumbed to cannibalism to survive. An exhibit and a monument to those who had suffered here was prominently displayed.

Jason had heard rumors the place was haunted, but he did not take them seriously. “I’ve never been interested in ghosts,” he told me. “I’m typically a skeptical individual.” He simply wanted to photograph the scenery to share with his wife, Jacqueline, who was home with their baby in their Round Rock, Texas, home. He took a number of shots with his digital camera and, after a relaxing hike, headed back to his hotel, where he scrolled through the photos.

Something caught his eye.

“It was the undeniable face of a child,” he said.

The little face appeared in the bottom corner of a photo that Jason had taken of the tree-lined path. Ever-so-slightly blurred, as if the child had dashed in close for a peek at him, the colors on the image are real and distinct.



A visitor to the Donner Memorial Park was shocked by the image in the lower right-hand corner. (Jason Sweeton)

From the deep blue eyes to the varied tones of the flesh to the light brown hair highlighted in the sunlight, the image is as clear as any snapshot of a human being. While only the top of the head, one eye, and the rise of a tiny nose are in view, it is evident that the hair is short, like a boy’s, and that his face is puffy with bags beneath the eyes.

Jason picked up the phone and called his wife.

Jacqueline remembers their conversation. “He was really freaked out,” she said, as she recalled how he had tried to make sense of the anomaly. She told him that surely he would have noticed if there had been children running around.

Of course he would have.

The silence had practically screamed at him. He had definitely been alone there.

The practical-minded Jason, who has a degree in biology, stressed, “My job mandates that I observe with a critical mind.” Yet, he cannot explain how the child appeared in the picture.

Since his paranormal surprise, Jason has read up on the Donner Party, but until I spoke with him, he had not heard about one particularly shocking death of a toddler.

Jeremiah George Foster was born on August 24, 1844, in St. Louis, Missouri. He was not quite two years old when he and his parents, William and Sarah, left Missouri in May 1846 with a group of folks headed by wagon train for a new life in California. Jeremiah’s maternal grandmother, Levina Murphy, thirty-six, also accompanied them.

They joined a larger team and eventually camped beside the Little Sandy River in an area that is today part of Wyoming. As they sat around the campfire, the men debated about the best route to take. Some argued that a shortcut would get them to California quicker.