Two recent postings to this website's guestbook are puzzling.  Both guests expressed
 sadness at the notion of deceased people having the ability to communicate with us.
 Such expressions are a far cry from the ridicule and accusations of fraud visited
 upon us when the site was first launched in 2002, however that initial treatment was
 somewhat anticipated considering the source of the Electronic Voice Phenomena
 presented!   What recent addition to the webpages suddenly elicit empathy over
 merriment as a first impression?  I haven't a clue, but my own reaction upon hearing
 disembodied voices loudly yelling "HELP ME!" within the confines of my home was
 sadness as well, so I can relate.  I don't think that a visitor even marginally skeptical
 of the material would come away with anything stronger than befuddlement.
 Sadness is an emotion only viable with the acceptance of a truth.

     For this webmaster, accepting the almost unacceptable conclusion that dead people
don't just go away and disappear wasn't difficult due to a preliminary, five and a half month smorgasbord of paranormal goings on in our new residence that involved no voices at all.
You didn't know about this because I don't like to talk about it.  I don't like to talk about it
because I lost a beloved pet completely unexpectedly, exactly one week before Christmas 2000 and the memory is still very painful nearly four years later.  You know what I mean.
Jim was a Chinese Water Dragon like Willsie and he was special beyond all hope and reason.

Jim

     The Krups machine, a present in November, had been in use maybe 30 days.  I don't
really have a time reference on the strange occurrences prior to losing Jim.  I don't
remember if there were any or not before the Krups.  The very first noticeable oddities
with the house consisted of loud stomping sounds upon the deck which runs across
the front of it.  It sounded like someone was approaching the door and I would run up
to check, finding no one.  Eventually, I didn't bother to look anymore.  Concurrently,
loud stomping noises were also heard above, from the roof or attic area.  I know they
were audible during the evening since my husband was around, heard them and swore
it was just a truck going by.  He even clung to his explanation after numerous window
demonstrations of NOTHING going by.  The fact that he began to bulk at retrieving
an item or two from the attic nonetheless, silently and comically contradicted his position.
So, I don't have a time frame as regards the stomping noises because the house was
new to us and denial of the possibility for anything other than natural influences is a
powerful thing.   I don't remember if Jim was with us then or not but soon after I found
him dead, all hell broke loose like a tsunami.

     What made a believer out of me had nothing to do with the myriad of happenings
that could be explained away, even when some of that reckoning was a stretch.
Light bulbs can go bad, tappings in the walls can be critters and sure, solidly anchored
closet doors can fly open on their own when you're standing ten feet away.  Just try
figuring out what caused it.  Yes, you can live in harmony with a quirky house as long
as a remote chance still exists that it is the house itself that is quirky.   I still have not
come up with a satisfactory scientific principle that provides for an item of personal
property to rise up in the air in defiance of gravity and relocate itself right before my
eyes.  That has happened so frequently in my presence, that if it is a nuance of this
house, I'm going to start selling tickets.   When stuff started moving under it's own
power, all bets were off and by the time some really un-nerving moaning noises emanated
not from a coffeepot, but from within a second story foyer adjacent to it's location,
I froze in, well, disappointment but hardly surprised.  I had figured I was sufficiently
initiated by that point and in need of no further demonstrations.

     It quickly became apparent that my fondness for getting up at four in the morning
and running that Krups was facilitating some speakerless audio from somewhere.
I continued to go about my early ritual in spite of that, sitting more or less stunned
by what I thought I was hearing, on a sofa about 15 feet away.  I thought I heard
my name spoken.  I heard my name called loudly and there was no mistake.  I was
scared but still sat there every morning listening in awe.  This went on until August 2001.
One summer morning it got even louder.  Pleas of "Charli, HELP ME!"  were so alarming
and pitiful that I ran to get my husband who enigmatically got quite angry.
He listened, asked me what the hell I expected him to do about it and then slogged
back to bed in a huff.  Oddly, this is a man who would help anyone, even at peril
to himself but there's just something about disembodiment that seems to put people off.

       My reaction to the cries for help was profound sadness, which surprised me.
I felt sad because people have faith that the loved ones they have lost are okay.
It doesn't matter what their beliefs are.  People may at least hope for a hereafter
where their loved ones will beam up to or they may feel pretty certain that when
you're gone, you're gone and that's the end of it.  In any case,  that's the way it is
and it's got to be okay because we don't have any say in the matter.
It is therefore very disconcerting to learn that somebody's relatives are not only
not fine, but they are obviously frightened, in distress and hollering for me of all people
to fix it.  That is when I bought a digital voice recorder.  For some reason, the "powers that
be" decided that I needed to know that we have more tenacity to life than given
credit for;  information that I did not particularly need or want.   There is no chance
that I would keep that kind of news to myself, in spite of the unfortunate involvement
of Krups.
 c.c.