The Slippery Slope
HAUNT #1
THE SLIPPERY SLOPE
Last week I went to visit a woman by the name of Jill Lorrence who lives near Estes Park, Colorado. Jill is an experimental psychology professor at the local university, and she uses the mountains of money she makes to support her solitary lifestyle in a beautiful mansion.
I was called in to visit her after she reported hearing screams at night that had no known source. She also reported seeing floating orbs outside of her windows, and waking up to her dog barking like crazy for no apparent reason. After knocking on the door for what seemed like forever, she finally invited me in. I told her I was parched from the journey, and she kindly ordered the maid to make us some tea. The first thing I addressed when I sat down was the dog. I let her know that dogs are notoriously insane, and they often get excited by leaves moving around at night. Once we had that one checked off the list, we moved on to the juicier parts. I asked her to describe the screams she claims to have heard. Before responding, she yelled toward the kitchen, “What in the name of all that is holy f—k are you doing back there Jaclyn? Our guest is thirsty!" We waited a few seconds, but there was no response. “What? I can't hear you..." Jill said. She flung her hands in the air and whispered, “son of a b--ch, you just can't find good help these days can you?" I wasn't about to weigh in on that statement, so I tried to ignore it and move on.
I asked about how often she heard the screams, what time they usually occurred, and whether or not they seamed far away. Apparently she had exaggerated her initial claims, because I quickly found out that the incident only occurred once. She had been lying in bed around 3:ooam on a Friday when she heard a series of screams coming from the far side of the house. She woke up, smacked Jaclyn in the face with a pillow to wake her up, and the two of them set up shop by a window that looked out over the yard. Supposedly, after an hour or three of waiting for something to happen, they saw a light in the trees moving about as if by it's own volition. Jaclyn was undisturbed by this, and “flew off to bed," according to Jill. But Jill herself was left petrified. I asked if I could take a look around the yard to get a better feel for the scene, and Jill conceded. She said, “while you're doing that I'm gonna go teach Jaclyn a thing or to about following orders." I felt bad for this Jaclyn. “She must really need the money," I thought. I pushed the whole thing aside and went out to the yard to investigate. What I found was pretty conclusive. There were tracks leading up the mountain away from the house, and when I followed them I found a secret campsite littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts. Then on my way down I picked up an old flashlight that was stuck in a muddy portion of the slope, and the batteries were totally dead. By the time I was back in the house, I had the whole picture in my head. Teenagers were sneaking through her property at night in order to get to their hideout, and on the night in question, their flashlight died. They would've slipped in the mud and reacted naturally.
So, I told Jill all of this, and she was very relieved. Of course she was irritated by the disrespectful trespassers, but it was at least nice to know the truth. “You hear that Jaclyn," she yelled, “It was a bunch of g-----n m-----------g d-----s teenage c---------s! Are you listening?" Jaclyn responded by slamming the kitchen door shut. Jill told me to ignore “The Help." I gathered my things, said my goodbyes, and left the house feeling satisfied by my ability to solve the case so quickly.
This story perfectly illustrates how easily our minds can sensationalize common events and turn them into seemingly supernatural spectres of terror.
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DANGERFIELD