Hickory Chicks, Catfights & Cows, OH MY!

Another hilarious CAPS adventure unfolded last night as we journeyed to Newton to visit the "Hickory Chicks". These wonderful ladies promised an exciting evening of old-fashioned ghost hunting and they did not disappoint!

The fun began at St. Paul's. A beautiful historic church and cemetery next to a very busy road. Although the energy was inviting, the traffic was not, and thus we moved along to destination #2.

The great thing about this part of the country is the country itself. Rife with abandoned old farmhouses, historic battlefields, and forgotten about hidden cemeteries. What more could a ghost hunter want? Our second attempt of the night was one of those abandoned old houses at the end of a cow pasture.

We'd had "uninvited guests" that encouraged a hasty retreat from St. Paul's, so we were already leery of a repeat encounter. As we approached the end of the dirt road leading to said abandoned house, we noticed head lights coming up behind us down the road.

Considering that we were a couple of ladies in a cow pasture in the pitch black darkness...we became concerned about the intrusion.

Tina had alerted the "Hickory Chicks" in the lead car that we'd best turn around and leave as a combo of Memorial Day Weekend, NASCAR races, and nearby ABC stores might create a dangerous situation.

No sooner had T gotten back in the truck than the headlights came to rest right behind us. Before we could utter a collective:"Oh shit", dude was out of his car and demanding to know who we were.

Thus began the legend of the redneck cattle baron. We explained that we were lost and just trying to turn around. He relaxed a bit and mentioned that he had new cows in the pasture so he didn't want anybody down there. As he walked back to his car, Nancy commented that we should tell him we were ghost hunting and see if he would let us proceed. Given the mood of said cattle baron and the aforementioned factors, we decided it was not in our best interest.

As we made our way back down the dusty dirt road we pondered the ridiculousness of the previous situation. We were a couple of chicks in two pick up trucks, what did he think we were going to do? The image of us trying to rustle cattle into the back of the "ghostmobile" sparked raucous laughter. What the hell would we even do with a cow? Or maybe he was afraid that we would upset the delicate bonding of cows with new pasture? Whatever the reason, we got the hell out of dodge and regrouped at the Burger King for intermission.

After a few preemptive pees, the Hickory chicks said that we'd have to ride in the back of their truck for the next adventure. Again with a cow pasture. But this time we were literally going to drive through the pasture to a hidden historic cemetery at the end.

Now, let me mention that although the CAPS girls possess child-like wonder and good-heartedness, we are no spring chickens! Even getting into the bed of the truck was a symphony of groans and grunts and bracing ourselves against each other. It wasn't entirely our maturity that posed a barrier. The night air provided a considerable chill. Something we hadn't expected at the end of a sunny May day.

We positioned ourselves in the truck bed, striving to maximize the available space while keeping an eye on safety. The H-chicks assured us they would go slow. And thus we learned that slow was relative to part of the vehicle in which you are riding.

We blazed down the highway, holding on for dear life. Soon we were literally in a pasture with plant life that grew taller than the actual truck! What followed was a white knuckle (or maybe that was just me) ride over ruts and mounds totally hidden by the overgrowth. The girls had wisely driven a path through the weeds earlier in the day. At least we knew where we were going. But bouncing up and down in the back with nothing but darkness and weeds in front is quite a daunting experience.

Finally we came to a stop in the coal black darkness at the end of the pasture. No streetlights, car lights, or porch lights pierced this veil. All too obvious when we turned of the headlights and made our way out of the truck.

Jean pointed to the cemetery, a useless gesture in the darkness, and began to tell us the history of the place. As flashlights clicked on, you could just make out the aged headstones nestled among the trees.

The blessing was that boy scout troops maintained the site. Always welcome in the season of ticks, snakes, deer, and all manner of nameless critters that so often beset us in the dark. CAPS is as famous for our nature encounters as we are our ghost hunts. This will become painfully obvious as this blog progresses. There is a learning curve though, and thanks to Nancy's patented "Critter Hitter" and our practiced method of "assuming the position" we are well prepared for these furry and flitting denizens.

At this point Jean or Angie (it was too dark to tell) mentions that they thought they'd seen fox dens during daytime recon visits. A collective "Oh great!" was heard. So far, knock on wood, we haven't been attacked by a rabid fox. So far.

We gathered our ghost gear and headed towards the tombstones. It's a known fact that noises are louder in the dark. We became aware of all sorts of cracking twigs, screeching birds and frightening unknown noises.

As Nancy's flashlight swept through the trees, I caught a glimpse of a man. being a sensitive, it can be difficult to tell the living from the dead. On occasion, they appear to me as real as life...solid, three-dimensional, and life-colored. Other times they are shadowy, more transparent, and more like the Hollywood version of ghostly things. Then there are times when the image of the spirit is more in my mind's eye than my field of vision. It seems "they" have a myriad of ways to make their presence known. I'm not sure what factors determine the mechanism. It could be the strength of the spirit, the factors that caused the haunting, the metallurgical properties of the site...or which side of the bed I woke up on that morning. I simply don't have the answer.

As Nancy's beam flashed over the man, I gave a start. In an instant, I recognized him as a "dead thing". The light had caught the side of him as he was turning away. I saw his arms, his head, and his overalls. He was bald and somewhere between his late 40's to early 50's, difficult to tell in the instant and in the dark.

Two things struck me about this apparition, first, he was bare-chested underneath those overalls, second was the color of his skin. He was almost sepia tone. But not like an old photo. A closer analogy is that his skin looked like that of a pale person marred with red mud or dirt. When I became more aware of his presence, I could see his face. It didn't look like the sun ravaged, work worn face of a farmer. He looked younger than he "felt". He was totally bald, but didn't wear a hat, as you'd expect of someone who worked the fields. He wasn't menacing or scary. His attitude was that of a living person who noticed strangers on his property:"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

We attempted to coax him into communication...even if it was just a blip on the EMF detector. Tina introduced us, told him our purpose, and asked him to speak to us. He told me that his name was "'Zeke" and revealed that his era was the late 1920's to mid 1930's but nothing more. He wouldn't mention whether he was buried there or not and wanted no part in our investigation, other than to cautiously watch from the shadows. He did take a few steps closer on occasion, as registered by Tina's EMF detector. He was curious about the device, but didn't want to get too close to it.

The Hickory girls and Nancy ventured to the far parts of the cemetery, while Tina and I stayed near the middle. Maybe it was the casual mention of the nearby prison camp or Nancy's confirmation that they'd had recent escapees, either way we stayed near the exit.

We had a few more strange encounters. One was a small misty apparition that briefly tried to appear in front of us. I couldn't read whether it was man woman or child, which frightens me, and then it was gone. Shortly thereafter, we felt a plummet in temperature, although the temp gun registered little change. Something paranormal raced right up upon us but didn't come through on the EMF meter. It hovered right in my face and behind me for several minutes, revealing nothing about itself or any visual indication of its presence. And then it was gone.

We experienced some interesting noises and movement in the woods, probably the aforementioned foxes. At that point, I was ready to call it a night. The last thing I need is a rabid animal bite! So I made my way to the truck.

Several minutes later, the whole crew was back at the truck. The CAPS crew held the Hickory Chicks rapt attention with tales of Gullah Boo Hags, "Garfield" and the drama that was the previous ghost group to which we belonged. Few things compare to laughing your ass off with good friends in middle of a pasture.

Much groaning and grunted followed as we shimmied and shoved ourselves into the truck bed for the ride to civilization. The cold had stiffened our joints, making the feat that much more of a challenge. We considered wedging ourselves against the back of the cab for warmth and wind resistance. This resulted in uproarious laughter as we pondered having to call 911 to bring in Crisco and the Jaws of Life to unstick us from the bed! Finally secured, we surfed the bumps and furrows of the field back to civilization.

The girls drove a different route and we were soon hit with a wall of funk of unknown origin. As we turned onto 321, they mentioned the legend of this stretch of road, posted on Shadowlands. If you look in the rear view mirror while driving late at night, you will see a man walking along the road looking for something. As Nancy put it:"Oh great, so he'll be back here with us! Fabulous!"

It was damn near 2:30am at this point. We raced along rural highways with no sign of this spectral man and finally reached the safety of the Burger King parking lot.

I retired my aching and freezing bones to Tina's truck as the other girls chatted about upcoming investigations and the adventures of the night. The Hickory Chicks mentioned they were embarrassed about the "uninvited guests" and the attack of the redneck cattle baron as they "never have any problems". We now know that this phrase is perceived by the gods of fate and nature as a dare of sorts. Thus we have banned its use from further outings.

As I eavesdropped from the backseat, there suddenly came a horribly loud screeching wail from somewhere to the right. As such a noise is usually followed by a witch on a broom and a couple of flying monkeys, I instinctively ducked while those outside the truck screamed and jumped back a good three to four feet from the assumed source.

Again what followed was several minutes of belly laughs as they realized the source of this terror. A couple of feral cats were trying to share the same tree which resulted in a caterwauling cat fight on high.

We pointed out to the Hickory Chicks that this was how we roll...screeching cats in trees are part of the normal nature encounters wherever you go with CAPS.