Mr Bowster and the abandoned hospital

Its Wednesday and i thought that all you guys deserve a mid-week blog as i was away for so long.

I want to start off by thanking everyone who sent warm wishes to my father, he is feeling a lot better now, but is taking a well deserved rest.

There are a lot of people asking to come on investigations with me, and whilst it may seem like i am just blowing you guys off, please don't be offended, that's not what i am doing. I would love nothing more than to share my experiences with you guys, just at the moment, all my investigations are on hold as i am looking after my father for a while. But my dream is that one day, everyone will experience an investigation with me.

I get a lot of other messages too about a new video blog, or posting some of the footage up of
previous encounters. I will do this, I'm just sorting out a lot of my tapes, and slowly uploading
them to my computer - making them youtube friendly and then uploading them - so please hold tight.

As all my investigations are on hold for the moment, i thought i would share an older story with you, this one comes from before i was born, and involves a younger Mr and Mrs Cason.

The year according to my dad was 1976, but my mother sears that it was late '75. My father goes to his journal to find an entry on the investigation, sure enough, it's January 1976.

My father was at a company party, something of a little fundraiser for the museum, when he was introduced to a gentleman. His name was Alan Bowster, a self made millionaire and heavy investor in the museum. Bowster took an interest of my father, not only of his work as a historian and expert in demonology, but someone had Bowster that my father was something of a paranormal investigator. As the night wore on, Bowster had pretty much quizzed my father on his life story, and my father being such a talker, he told it, and Bowster asked him to come an investigate a small hospital that Bowster had just brought and he was renovating. Bowster was into the paranormal, and was convinced that the hospital was occupied by some of it's past residents. As usual, my father very rarely turns down an investigation, and he agreed to carry out a full investigation, starting the very next day.

When he arrived home, he told my mother. She remembers him being very excited about it. Bowster was a very rich man, and if my dad could find some evidence, Bowster might fund future investigations. He asked my mother to go with him, as she is something of a clairvoyant, and she agreed.

Upon arrival, they were met by Bowster at the entrance, he offered them a guided tour, but my father declined. He likes to go in, fresh, not knowing the area, that way, he feels a lot less comfortable and then more open to things that may happen. Bowster understood, and agreed to come and meet them in a few days to see if they had found anything.

My father and mother entered what could only be described as a building site, half of the hospital
was missing under rubble, and the other half was badly lit. They began in one corner of a room and took their baseline readings, and every hour moved to another corner, after four hours, and all four corners , they moved to another room. At the end of the first day, they had moved through most of the rooms and came together to analyse the data in a hotel room (I wonder if this means something else?). Early next morning they headed back to the hospital to begin another day of baseline readings. Same as usual, they would begin in one room and move through the rooms as the day wore on. All went as usual until around 7pm, when the readings
began to differ. Always open minded, my father checked the readings from the day before, and there was definitely something different. Something that wasn't quiet right. He checked the readings again and again, and he was definitely picking up something.

He called my mother who was taking readings from another area in the hospital, she came quickly and he asked if she could hear anything. She waited, listening for a moment and then commented that although she could feel as if there was a presence, she could hear nothing. My father decided that they would stay in the hospital that night. They stayed in that room overnight - awake and waiting for something. The readings continued to change throughout the night, especially the magnetic field readings, but there was nothing in the way of an encounter. Dawn broke and at around 6am my father was just about read to give up when he heard something. He could hear the sound of someone walking down the long corridor outside.
He woke my mother to get her to see if she could hear something too. It didn't take long before
she heard what she could only describe as cries of pain. Its was a terrifying cry of pain, screams
that could burst you ear drums. My father slowly left the room and went out into the corridor to see if he could see what she was hearing. It was a long corridor with the slightest hint of daylight at the end, the corridor was filled with bricks and rubble, old electrical wirering hanging down from the ceiling. In the distance he saw what he was looking for, a glimpse of the crying figure. My mother came out to tell him that it sounds like a woman crying in pain. She cries about how the headache will not go away. My father snapped off a couple of shot on him 35mm camera and then began trying to communicate. He tells me that he asks her if she wants them to leave. Nothing, my mother just says that the cries continued. He then asks the woman if there is anything that they can do for her. Nothing, for a moment, and then mother says it all stopped. The cries, the screams, everything. It went completely silent. It was the sound you get when you cover your ears, a warm but muted sound. They both looked up ahead and nothing could be seen.

My mother asked if she could leave, but my father wanted her to stay for a moment, he felt that it was bound to come back. They sat there, looking ahead, waiting for another appearance. Nothing. As they began to walk back, my mother stopped in her tracks. She told my father that the woman was there she was trying to say something. They both stopped and stood still, they waited, my mother listened and then she said that she was gone. My father asked what she could hear - she said all the woman was saying was that she wanted the headaches to go away, she wanted the headaches to stop.

My mother and father left that morning and headed back to the hotel, in the evening they met Mr Bowster outside the site. They explained that a third night was not necessary, that they could say for sure that there is at least one spirit in the hospital. Mr Bowster asked my father what he recommended he do, my father always says that if the spirit is doing no harm to anyone, let it be. The other choice was to have it removed by force, My father recommended a man he knew. Mr Bowster thanked my father and told him that he would keep in touch.

My mother and father left the site and headed home. As usual, the journey was silent, both thinking about the woman, hoping that she would soon find peace.

This wasn't the last time my father worked for Mr Bowster - there was three investigations carried out on Mr Bowsters behalf afterwards - one leading to an argument and a threat on my fathers work and life.

Anyway - i hope that this was good enough to make up for my absence - who knows - maybe make this into a regular thing - the occasional midweek blog.

For anyone who has not joined yet - The Paranormal Activity forum is open for registration -
here
Register and join - lets share our stories - videos and photographs - in two weeks i will give
away a piece of ghost hunting equipment to one of our members - and it will become a regular monthly thing to active members.

Regard

Miles.

Im Back....

It's been a while, and so much has happened in the three weeks that i haven't posted a blog
- or logged into facebook and spoken to anyone. I assure you that there is a very good reason,
or reasons as it would turn out. Its crazy how one thing can change so much in a persons life,
i think they call it chaos theory.

On the morning of Sunday the 24th of August, my father suffered a stroke. I found him laying on the living room floor,
crippled in pain. What could i do? Nothing, but call an ambulance. The paramedics arrived and took
him to the closest hospital which is The Royal Hospital in Whitechapel, it was a terrifying time, not knowing what may
happen. My worst fear was that i was going to loose him there and then, not having shared enough
with him. I sat in the waiting room, my mother was pacing the halls, she was in a worse state than
i was, she was holding back the tears, holding her mothers crucifix in her hand, silently speaking
to her god, praying for my fathers health. I wanted to scream at her, telling her that if there was even
a god, why would he have done this to dad, but i didn't. It's not the time or the place to have a
debate about religion, plus, i already know the answer.

Lets go back a couple of days:

Friday the 22nd.

Me and my father went to St Martin-in-the-field to meet an old friend, the Vicar of the church. He had called my father
because he was getting a strange sound coming from the cellar of the church. My father said that
i should come along. We were not going to kick off a new investigation, because we had so many long running
ones going, it would be foolish to bury ourselves in work, but we would go and just check it out.

Churches are notorious places for spirits to hang around, because that's where most of them may think they
need to go to get into heaven or whatever version of the afterlife they believe in.

We headed there and upon our arrival we were met by Rev Nicholas Holtam, my fathers friend. He showed us
through the church, one of the most beautiful churches i had seen in a long time, and then he showed
us the basement.

If we have learnt anything from scary movies people, it is, DO NOT enter a basement alone, especially
not one that may be haunted.

We descended into the basement, armed with a torch, a digital camera and a Tri-meter. Upon entering there was
already that feeling of something. It may have been the slight drop in altitude, or the steep
drop in temperature, but it was defiantly something.

We didn't have to wait long before it showed itself. Footsteps not belonging to me or my father could
be heard coming towards us. Slowly, one after the other they crept up. We held our positions in the hope that it would show
itself. It didn't. We waited and waited to see, but the footsteps just kept coming and coming
until the sound of them stopped. My father pointed the torch all around the room to see if he could see anything, but there
was no sign of what was making the footstep sound.

"Is there someone here?" My father asked in his soft, rasping voice.
"If you are here, please could you give us a sign?" He asked.

Sure enough, a sigh was given in the form of tapping. It sounded like the tapping of metal against metal, maybe something tapping
the pipes.

"Are you OK? If you are, please, give us a sign"

Again, the tapping of metal could clearly be heard. My father took the torch and pointed the light beam to where the sound was coming from.
A copper pipe ran the length of the far wall and disappeared into the wall on the left. The heating pipe.

Sure, the sound could have been the heating, but we would later find out that those pipes had not heated
the church for five years or more. Again, another theory would be that, as it was geting later in the day, and the temperature
in the basement was cooling down, the pipes could be contracting, but this was not the sound of cooling metal, this
was clearly the sound of someone, or something tapping. Almost like Morse code. Short taps, followed by longer, delayed taps.

"Would you like us to leave you?". My father always said that if you ever make contact with a spirit
who is inhabiting a place, always ask this question. Sometimes, they are doing no harm to anyone,
and they deserve to be left alone.

The tapping was clear. This one wanted to be left in peace.

We left the basement, and the church with electricity running through us, excitement. We loved this
part of investigating, the part where you make contact, and you are re-assured that you aren't just
some crazy nut.

On the way home, my father was speaking to me, asking me questions about this whole social networking thing,
how the blog, facebook and youtube thing was working out. I told him that i was really enjoying it
that there is so many people out there who want to, or already do believe. He said that he had been reading the
blog, and that people at the museum had been reading the blog and that they really liked it. He said that he's really proud of
what i was doing and that he hopes one day, i can type up all his stories and share them too. That's
when he gave me a small book. It was one of those A4 sized moleskin books, a notebook. He said that
i should keep a notebook with me at all times because i will never know when i need it to jot down something. I smiled back at him
that was my way of saying thank you.

Back to the hospital

The following are notes i wrote in the book my father gave me whilst sitting in the waiting room.


Good, i fucking hate the hospital. I hate the sterile smell that reeks through
the halls. I hate the white noise of the vending machine, the wheels of random
carts being pushed around the shiny floor. The mumbling of doctors and relatives,
it's driving me crazy.
I think about the worst. I imagine that my father is already dead, and that the
doctors are now deciding who gets to break the news to us. It can't be an easy job.


That's it.

So, my father came out of hospital thirteen days ago, and i am pretty much spending my time looking after him. That's why i haven't been
online. That's why there hasn't been a blog for nearly a month, but my father has said that i have to come back to it, that i have
to make sure i continue investigating and sharing, no matter what.

Later on, in the back of the notebook i found an envelope. Inside it contained a cheque from my father for a great deal of money.
I tried to give it back to him, saying that i don't need it, but he told me that i must take, i must take it and make sure
that i can keep up the investigations and the blog, without having to worry about work. I handed in my notice to work and left
at the end of August.

So, now i am a full time, paid Ghost Hunter - let the journey begin.