Tag: NH – Gilson

GILSON ROAD CEMETERY, NASHUA, NH – PART FOUR

(Continued from Gilson Road Cemetery, Part 3)

At that back wall of Gilson Road Cemetery, I was overwhelmed with visual images.

Here’s what I mean when I say that I “see” things like this: When I’m reading a wonderful book, and often when I’m writing, it’s as if there’s a movie in my head.

I never forget that what’s in my head is not what I’m seeing with my physical eyes. But the images I see intuitively, are nearly as clear as if I’d seen them happening right in front of me.

That’s how I “see” things in a spiritual context, too.

So, as I stood at that stone wall, I “saw” carnage. I saw Native people with hatchets or something. There were only about six or seven men close to me, but I knew more were nearby. I didn’t want to look around to see the full panorama.

I also knew there were fallen bodies and a lot of blood on the ground. I didn’t want to look at that either, so I didn’t. I didn’t get the idea that those were settlers on the ground, though. It seemed as if the battle took place when there were settlers in America, but in this vision, the Native Americans weren’t fighting the Colonists, from what little I saw.

Really, after years of dealing with this kind of “second sight,” I generally monitor my field of vision. If it’s too upsetting, I shut it out.

I did that a lot, at Gilson Road Cemetery.

ALAN EXPERIENCED THE BATTLE, TOO

Alan and I stood there for several minutes. I know that I mentioned the killing, the Native people, and that there were people dying as I watched. Most of the violence was already over by that time. Alan nodded, and added things that he perceived. It was a horrific scene we were witnessing, and it was far more vivid than any movie, or news footage.

Nancy approached us, and asked what we were “seeing.” She didn’t experience any of this herself, but she seemed driven to understand what we were feeling. She watched us closely, and asked several questions about what we perceived.

LEAVING THE BATTLE SCENE

After a few more minutes, we left the massacre and walked back towards the car. The dragging energy slowly released me. Once again, about ten feet from the wall, everything seemed fine. The surroundings looked lighter, sounds were clearer, and the air was fresher.

I turned to look back, and take a few photos of the woods. My camera, usually reliable, jammed. Unlike Halloween night, it wasn’t the flash that failed, but my camera didn’t want to advance. I pushed the rewind button and waited until I could remove the roll of film, which I tossed into my purse.

Alan stayed next to me, and explained that he could hear people talking or whispering nearby. He said that it’s like someone in the next room talking, where you can almost understand what they’re saying, but not quite. He said that he kept turning his head, trying to catch the words, but he couldn’t quite understand them. He said it was annoying.

I didn’t hear anything. I was still overwhelmed by the visual imagery I’d experienced. We walked back to the cars, and I paused to see what the others were doing.

OTHERS’ REACTIONS

By now, James, Jane, and Alice were at our cars.

Jane muttered something about there being people – not ghosts, but real people – in the woods across the street. She could hear their voices, she said. I asked if they were making a lot of noise and she said no.

She seemed convinced that they were going to bother us, and she seemed very agitated. She insisted that we had to leave immediately.

I remember thinking how it was all her imagination. If any living people were out there, they’d either have flashlights or they’d be making a tremendous amount of noise, tripping over fallen branches in the dark. I didn’t hear or see anything. I took a few photos of that area, just in case.

Alice was in her mother’s car and determined to stay there. I’m still not certain what she experienced at Gilson Road Cemetery, but she was clearly shaken. Illuminated by only the dim interior light in her car, I could see that Alice looked unnaturally pale and her eyes were too shiny.

Not everyone deals well with profound hauntings. That’s sensible. Sometimes I think that ghost hunters are foolhardy.

Or, perhaps Alice had a premonition of something that would happen, and soon.

James looked like he was trying to make sense of it, but he is a very level-headed kid… and generally a skeptic. He’s been around intensely psychic experiences, and he knows that nothing terrible happens in most cases. In a way, I think he enjoyed being the one that the others could rely on.

I glanced back at my own car. Alan was leaning on the trunk, as if he’d just run the Marathon. He slowly stood up and said something about having had enough for one night. I opened my car door, planning to leave before anyone really fell apart, and I saw a flash of light.

Nancy was still happily in the cemetery, taking pictures.

I said, “Just a few more photos,” and left to join her.

Next:  A few more photos, and then the aftermath

Alan looked a little dazed, but I didn’t plan to be at the cemetery much longer. I left him and continued taking photos.

SPARKLES

Then the sparkles started. I’d heard from other ghost photographers that, when the flash goes off, haunted cemeteries often manifest something like an array of twinkling lights. I never expected to see it.

At least half the time that my flash went off, I saw an amazing display of sparkling lights in the woods at the back of the cemetery. At first, I thought it was wet leaves reflecting the bright light of the flash. Then I realized that we hadn’t had rain in several days. Besides, these weren’t quite like reflections anyway.

I took over three rolls of film that night, and when I saw the sparkles, it was like fireworks. Not the initial bright flash, but after the fireworks have exploded, and the remaining bits sparkle as they fall towards earth. That’s what it was like, looking through my viewfinder as I took each photo.

A few times, I didn’t look through the viewfinder, but just held the camera up and clicked. I still saw dozens of twinkling and sparkling lights in the woods around us. Some were about the size of a baseball, others were the size of a 1950’s Christmas tree bulb. The colors varied. They were white, bluish white, and pink-white. They faded slowly after each flash, as they fell towards earth. It was gorgeous, silent, and reliable: At least half the time I took a picture, I’d see the sparkles.

These were at least 20 – 30 feet away from us, in the woods in back of the cemetery. The lights weren’t bugs, pollen or dust in the line of the flash.

Jane saw the sparkles too, but not as often as I did. I think Alice did. Nancy and James did not.

THE HAUNTING BECOMES MORE OBVIOUS

Alan seemed to be trudging in circles. He’d walk deep into the cemetery, to the stone wall at the east side. Then it looked as if he was muttering to himself, as he walked purposefully back to the car. Finally, he’d return to the cemetery, and then head deep into the cemetery again. And then he’d repeat this.

I was a little concerned about him, but my goal was to take as many photos as possible. Besides, I was enchanted by the sparkling lights.

James indicated one headstone that he had a “good feeling” about, so I took three photos of it, one right after the other. Later it turned out that he was right. Every one of those photos has a great anomaly in it.

A few minutes later… I don’t know what it was. It was like a train had just passed me at an underground rail station, but the air hadn’t moved. I took a couple of photos, and I remember seeing something different and saying, “Whoa! What was that?” But I don’t recall what I experienced.

Then Alan returned from another one of his trips to the back of the cemetery. I took his photo as he walked towards me, just in case I’d capture something in that photo, too.

When the photos were developed, I was very glad that I’d done this.

THICK, HEAVY ENERGY FIELDS AT THE BACK OF THE CEMETERY

“You’re going to come with me and tell me if I’m going crazy or what,” Alan demanded. It was the first clear thing he’d said all night, and it wasn’t a request, it was an order.

Something was really wrong.

We walked to the back of the cemetery, where a stone wall separated the graveyard from the woods behind it. I remember seeing Nancy to my right, still taking pictures.

About ten feet from the stone wall, I had to slow down. It was as if I was wading through molasses, or at least the shallow end of a swimming pool. To just above my knees, it was if there was a thick energy field dragging at me.

Alan also slowed down. Later, I found out that he’d experienced the same thing.

(This is helpful during investigations. If people do not share what they’re experiencing until afterwards, it reduces inadvertent “cues” being passed along, triggering an overactive imagination.)

When we reached the back wall, we paused.

Next, we witness a massacre from the past

The road to Gilson Road Cemetery winds through residential and rural sections of southern Nashua, New Hampshire. It seemed familiar and straightforward that night, since Alan, Jane and I had been there earlier in the day.

We parked our cars off the road, at the north end of the cemetery. I was amazed at how dark it was without streetlights on that moonless night. It was about a half mile to the nearest house, and few cars travel that road at night.

(This was before the subdivision, Tanglewood Estates, was built across the street from Gilson Road Cemetery.)

It was about 9:30 when we got out of our cars. Two cars, six people.

There was a gate at the southern end of Gilson Road Cemetery, but a low stone wall sat nearer to our cars. So, we climbed over the wall and entered the cemetery that way.

We were barely over the wall when I heard Alan inhale sharply. He paused for a few moments, and then dashed into the cemetery as if chasing a runaway puppy. I shook my head over this, and slid the lens cover off one of my two cameras.

I began taking photos at the north end of the cemetery. Nancy disappeared into the murky darkness, running her hands over the headstones as she walked. A few minutes later, I saw her camera flash at the southern end of the cemetery. I remember smiling, because I knew Nancy had found something that interested her.

My son, James, was with Alice and Jane. Alice seemed nervous. Jane was not quite as boisterous as she’d been earlier in the day.

Perhaps it was because every hole and fallen branch in the cemetery seemed to find her as she stumbled in the dark.

“Payback,” I sighed to myself, remembering her earlier jokes. Nobody else was stumbling the way that Jane was.

Jane led the others towards Alan, in the center of the cemetery.

Once my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I could see the outlines of my companions, and sometimes their pale faces would catch what little light there was.

I continued to take photos, knowing that ghost photography is often a matter of numbers: If you take 100 photos in a good, old cemetery, you’ll probably have at least one or two “anomaly” photos in the group. It almost doesn’t matter what you photograph. If you take enough pictures, some of them will have anomalies.

We were at Gilson Road Cemetery for about 20 minutes when James approached me quietly. He said, “I think we should be heading home soon. Alan looks like he’s going to be sick.”

I walked over to Alan. He didn’t look right. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell whether he was pale or rosy-cheeked, but his expression looked pained.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied. “Well, sort of…” His expression made it clear that he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

Next: No, he wasn’t fine. Something was definitely going on.

Our friend Annie brought us this picture, taken by a friend of hers. Annie wanted us to see the figure in the window.

Right away, I saw the small – perhaps winged – figure in the left lower corner of the window. She has wavy hair, and she’s looking across the landscape, perhaps slightly down.

Nice, but… Who knows what these things really are? The figure isn’t distinctive enough to be significant, but it’s a charming photo anyway.

Then I enlarged just that portion of the window.

This is still reading into what may be simple reflections, but look at the right side of the photo. It looks like an enormous face of a cat. There’s something like a huge cat’s eye in the middle of the lower curtain area.

I’m not saying that this is the image of a ghostly girl trapped in an abandoned New Hampshire house, held captive by something with a wicked gleam in its eye.

However, it’s one possible explanation.  It’s just not the happiest one, and I don’t think that’s the real story.

I’m sensing loneliness but not terror or even significant fear, but I could be wrong.

No matter what else this is, it’s an intriguing image.

BEFORE YOU GO GHOST HUNTING…