True Haunting
True Haunting
Perfect Bound Softcover
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This is the story of a true haunting. It was the first ever filmed and televised by NBC in 1971. A young couple purchases a building that was built and occupied by a single family that refused to relinquish their hold, even after death. Investigated and verified by experts, this residence brought chaos to the lives of those who chose to reside there. Unlike a horror novel, this chronicles what a real ghostly experience would resemble. Long before the laws of disclosure, a young couple winds up in the midst of strange occurrences prior to the term ‘paranormal’ becoming a common description.

Only a little known organization came to their aid. Author Tom Valentine, brought in a nationally known psychic, Joseph DeLouise, who then asked assistance of an exorcist from England, Reverend William Derl-Davis. Together, they gave their best effort at exorcising the multiple spirits inhabiting the building and disrupting the lives of the living. Events were filmed by NBC, who sent their most prominent Chicago journalist, Carole Simpson, to cover the event.

Follow a young couple with a newborn as they attempt to cope with inexplicable events, experience denial, plead for help from their Church, and step into the world of the paranormal. Understand why ghosts cannot be exorcised and a true example of their strong sense of domain, even after death. Learn what experts and gifted people did in a failed attempt to assist this desperate couple.

Learn many of the various manifestations that can be common in haunting. Ghosts can be seen and heard. They can propel objects and interrupt utilities. They can affect your moods and feed off of your emotions. They can appear as solid as you and me. They can react and become hostile if threatened or violated. There are certain subtle occurrences you may find the most frightening, because you just might relate and recognize them. If so, guess what? You may have a ghost!

It was in April, as the weather turned nice, when I met Walter. Walter owned the beautiful, brown, three story brick building next door. He was in his late sixties. He greeted me as we passed in the back yard. I was taking garbage to the alley and he was grooming and preparing his flower beds, as his yard was a vast flower garden. We introduced ourselves and he invited me over to chat. I jumped the low chain-link fence into his yard. Walter was a likable old guy. He reminded me of my grandfather. Gray haired and stocky, I could tell he was once a laborer. His handshake was firm; it was like shaking hands with a tree stump. He invited me into his basement, offering me a chair. I looked around to find it immaculate. Unlike the natural gas space heaters in my building, Walter still had an old boiler, which he fed every morning with wood. With the boiler door open and flames going strong, it held the same appeal as sitting near a roaring fireplace. Walter smiled as he produced a new bottle of Southern Comfort from behind his neatly stacked pile of wood, and just happened to have two shot glasses. He filled each and handed me one. "Nazdrovia," he stated with feeling, as we downed the shot. I can still remember that it was 10:30 in the morning. I knew right away that if there was something good about owning this building of mine, it would be Walter, my new neighbor. There was great chemistry between us from the beginning. As he poured us both another shot, I knew he had found his drinking buddy, and I had found my key to the building’s past history. "She died of a broken heart, you know." His smile faded. "No, I don't know much at all." I responded. "One of her sons lives just down the block from here. He walks by every day, going to and from work. Bob is his name. He had a falling out with her and moved. He never spoke to her again. As she grew older and was confined to a wheel chair, she would sit looking out the front window. He would pass by twice a day and never give her a glance. The bad feelings went on for almost twenty years, and not a word was spoken between them. They say that she would sometimes call to him through the window. Even if he heard her, he never looked in her direction. He ignored his mother right up until the day she died. She died of a broken heart, they said." "Did...did she die in the apartment?" I asked, tentatively. "Oh yes, on the first floor. She had another son that also died in that apartment. He died in the front bedroom. He was very sick. Not physically, but his head. He was some kind of deviate--crazy. He died young, in his twenties. There was a mystery surrounding his death. Supposedly he died suddenly, and there was a rumor that it was actually a suicide. I remember that boy; he had a crazy look about him. We all knew he wasn't right in the head." "Who else died in that building?" I asked. "She had another son, Ben. His wife hung herself in the basement. That's where they found her. I saw them bring her out; it was sad...very sad. That truly was a suicide. They said she went down there to do the laundry, and never came back up. Ben found her. She was a nice enough woman, but they never got along. They were always yelling at each other." As Walter spoke, I could tell that the tragic events surrounding the building had affected him. "Ben was wrong. He grew up in that house, then married and stayed there with his family. He should have moved a place of his might have been different." "Walter, I get the impression that this family had a history of mental illness. Myra was completely insane. If the younger son and Ben were also mentally ill, I assume the father may have been ill in some way." I was probing further. Walter and I had shared three shots of Southern Comfort. Both of us were pretty well primed. Walter was now becoming more candid. "Oh, him. Yeah, he was real bastard. He abused the whole family. He was mean, and not a very good person. Now that I think about it, he may have also been a sick man. They never found his money when he died. They said he kept it in old coffee cans and buried it somewhere. He also owned some land in Indiana. They dug the place up and even broke the concrete in places in the basement. No one ever found a penny. He built that house, you know?" "No, I didn't." I answered. He studied me. Then spoke. "You are the first person outside of that family to own that building. Come to think of it, you are the only person, besides Ben's wife, to live there outside of their bloodline." He looked worried. Having had the alcohol, I was also candid. "Walter, would you think I'm crazy if I told you that...that strange things sometimes happen in that building?"
Edwin F. Becker is 64 years old. Born in Chicago’s inner city, he was the child of a broken home due to an abusive, alcoholic father. He spent years in a Catholic Home for abused and neglected children as a ward of the state. Besides flourishing and achieving high academic standards, he learned Latin as an altar boy. With the sudden death of his father, he became a professional musician in his mid-teens, helping to support his mother and younger brother and sister. Touring the country, he met his wife of 44 years traveling through Tulsa, Oklahoma. Giving up this lucrative and exciting profession, he attended evening college and entered the early years of the computer industry initially as a programmer technician. As technology exploded in growth, he rose through the ranks into management and eventually a Corporate Vice president for a national health-care manufacturer. After suffering a near fatal heart attack, he relocated to Missouri, where for a few years he and his wife ran an antique and collectible shop. He now enjoys the year around entertainment making Branson his home. His interests are numerous and varied, as his 64 years have allowed him to participate in everything from basketball to martial arts. His hobbies, besides writing and playing with his guitar collection, range from ballistics to bible history. His crown jewels are his two daughters and his four grandchildren. He shares the special interest of his youngest daughter [28] who fosters abused children and runs a animal rescue group. He has a son-in-law in Law Enforcement.

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