I begin my walk
on the circled asphalt path
behind the old Lutheran church
founded in 1790
the crickets chirp
a defiant roar
as I descend upon their quiet space
clouds are dark and a bit threatening
are they spirits taking form above me?
mistral winds on a windless day
seem to gather and fuse into words
sentences
held for a moment...clear
then lost to fuzzy and distorted whispers
'They are here...'
'Isaac'
'Listen to me...I must ****'
'I have an angel'
'power'

before departing
I stop at a headstone
I'm not sure why
but I attempt
to pronounce the last name of this departed soul
3 times
on the 3rd try I am interrupted by a young boy
who corrects me with the proper pronunciation
I turn at the gate and advise the spirits
that I am leaving
a friendly 'okay' came back to me

my God
I have walked in the living room of the dead

I never hear when they speak
only hours later
in the painfully lit basement of my home
with earphones and patience
do their words reach me
such was the case last October
I was driving through Wilderness, Virginia
for the first time and happened to pass
Saunders Field. I caught sight of the plaque
that stood at the bottom of the hill
and a trail that led into the woods
where the fierce skirmishes took place
it was a bit chilly and windy
and the road nearby was busy with passing cars
not an ideal place for an EVP session
but I felt compelled to try
and walked the edge of the woods
then a short portion of the trail
I asked many questions directly to anyone
who may be listening
'How many souls perished here?'
'Are you one of those souls?'
'Did you suffer?'
'Why do you stay or visit this place?'
as usual, I heard no voices during the 18 minutes
of questioning
however, the presence was undeniable
I was not alone here
this I knew
on the way back down the hill to leave
I reached out one final time
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now'
again I heard nothing, turned the recorder off
and departed

it was several days before I could return home
and review my recording
but my curiosity as always
grew stronger the longer I had to wait
I was disappointed as I began to listen
nothing heard as each minute passed
only the whisper of wind and cars
until I came to my final statement in those last moments...
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now.'

'Leave me under ground........'

the Brickhouse is where you'll find them
it was here long before the school
it is where Jane lived
and where she died tragically
poor Jane
locked in the attic like a dangerous animal
and her only crime was that her mind slipped
so the story goes

and find them I did
I could not hear or see them until I viewed
what I had on film
there I found them dancing about
up and down the stairs like children playing
I made my way to the attic door
but could not go in
the weight of sadness filled the air like dense fog
I knew Jane was here

on film I hear their voices
distant...
sometimes it is children laughing
sometimes they mock me
''He knows Persley'' a gentleman sarcastically states
after my reciting the first line of
'Roses are Red'
at least one did not appreciate my being there
"Get Out" she demanded
and then the sad voice pleading as if lost in the wood
"I Hear You" she cried
"I Hear You"
is it Jane?
I will return
to hopefully gain trust in those that reside here
for I must know
more

it can be hours of silence
I strain to hear above it
adjusting the headphones
the small voices that hide between the wind
and the settling of the house
the leaves jostling about
brushing the roof
I push myself to continue
whispered footsteps from upstairs
birds greeting the yet unlit morning
this house is alive
with the dead who remain
and when I am about to succumb
to the blur of exhaustion
the child comes through...
'Mommy!'
not once, but multiple cries
the sadness and fear in her voice
is palpable
and I am helpless to help her

how many hundreds of years has this child
repeated her cries
in this house
in this room
refusing to leave
still searching for her mother

I never hear them when they speak
only hours later
in the painfully lit basement of my home
with earphones and patience
do their words reach me
such was the case last October
I was driving through Wilderness, Virginia
for the first time and happened to pass
Saunders Field and caught sight of the plaque
that stood at the bottom of the hill
and a trail that led into the woods
where the fierce skirmishes took place
it was a bit chilly and windy
and the road nearby was busy with passing cars
not an ideal place for an EVP session
but I felt compelled to try
and walked the edge of the woods
then a short portion of the trail
I asked many questions directly to anyone
who may be listening
'How many souls perished here?'
'Are you one of those souls?'
'Did you suffer?'
'Why do you stay or visit this place?'
as usual, I heard no voices during the 18 minutes
of questioning
however, the presence was undeniable
I was not alone here
this I knew
on the way back down the hill to leave
I reached out one final time;
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now'
again I heard nothing, turned the recorder off
and departed

it was several days before I could return home
and review my recording
but my curiosity as always
grew stronger the longer I had to wait
I was disappointed as I began to listen
nothing heard as each minute passed
only the whisper of wind and cars
until I came to my final question in those last moments...
'I have about 20 seconds left, so if you'd like
to say something, please say it now.'

'Leave me under the ground........human'

a very thin veil
divides the living and the dead
a very tight thread

this I discovered in the depths of night
when she turned out the light
to pit fear against will

if you wither from thee
you will hear not her plea
in the softest of voice
'I hear you '

a whisper of a whisper
within the whisper of sighs
believer I am as I feel her eyes
upon me

light was returned
my nerve tested and worn
soul beautifully stirred
this night I was born

as the veil was lifted