Ghost Hunting by Grant Wilson Jason Hawes Page B

in the attic, and we were concerned that we might have misinterpreted what we had seen, so we sent the tape out to a videographer of Andy’s acquaintance. The guy cleaned up the tape and sent it back. It was just as we had thought. The chair had slid across the floor of its own volition.
    “So something happened,” I conceded, despite my earlier feelings that the lighthouse was free of ghosts. My colleagues weren’t satisfied. “All right,” I said, “the place is haunted.”
    But the best thing we caught that night was that boat with the two guys in it. After all, our mission is to help people. You just never know whom you’re going to help.
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    GRANT’S TAKE
    N o one was more surprised than I was to see that chair move. One minute I was sitting in it, all unsuspecting, and as soon as I was gone it slid across the floor. It gives me chills just thinking about it.
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THE CAPTIVE DEAD SEPTEMBER 2004
    T here aren’t many venues like Eastern State Penitentiary anymore—a gray stone fortress in the northwest portion of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, that would have put some medieval castles to shame. The place was shut down years ago, when it became too expensive to run. But according to stories, some of the prisoners remain—at least in spirit.
    Grant and I had been hoping to investigate Eastern State for some time, so you can imagine how excited we were when the invitation came. But no one was more excited than Steve and Brian, who had heard the tales circling the penitentiary like vultures and were eager to see what it offered. It would be interesting. Both of them were stimulated by even the slightest sign of supernatural activity, though Steve was always levelheaded in the end.
    If Grant and I were ever to place T.A.P.S. into anyone else’s hands for a hiatus, Steve would be our man. He would take care of the organization just the way we do, and it would be in the same condition when we returned.
    We put together a team of six for the haul down to Philadelphia. It included, in addition to Brian and Steve, Carl Johnson and Sheri Toczko. Sheri, whom Steve had brought into the group, had never been on a ghost hunt before, but she had always been interested in the paranormal. This was her chance to see it up close.
    Before we arrive, T.A.P.S. researches every place we investigate, but we still weren’t prepared for Eastern State’s immense size. When we drove up, the prison’s caretakers invited us to park our vans right there on the grounds behind the iron gates. Then they gave us an extensive tour of the place. Because it’s such a unique and impressive venue, a brief history is in order.
    It all started with the Quakers. They pretty much ruled the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania during the 1800s, and they had an idea that it would be better if prisons served as places of spiritual reform rather than mere holding cells. Influenced by Enlightenment thinking and visionary physicians like Benjamin Rush, they believed that people who committed serious crimes ought to be isolated so they could spend time in contemplation and penitence.
    Eastern State was built over a period of ten years and opened for business in 1829 while still under construction. It was one of the most expensive buildings erected to that point in time, with its thick, medieval-looking walls, its vaulted windows, its arched corridors, and its imposing guard towers. From a central hub called The Rotunda, seven long, stony cellblocks radiated like the spokes of a wheel. The place became an architectural wonder that attracted international visitors and encouraged imitation.
    Each prisoner had a room with a toilet, running water, and a skylight dubbed the “Eye of God.” They were allowed contact with only a guard or a minister—no one else. When taken from their cells, prisoners were hooded so they wouldn’t be distracted from the business of humility and spiritual transformation. Supposedly, with nothing else to do but contemplate his crime, a