From the old sofa in Tony Ballz’s Basement—As our three loyal fans can attest, The Daily Discord’s Search Truth Quest team continues to unravel the truth behind many hauntings and cryptid sightings across the southwest. Just last month we discovered that nothing paranormal whatsoever was occurring over at Hops on Birch pub. We shut this case after dedicating dozens of man hours, night after night, staking the place out. We left no Stone IPA unturned.  

Why the managers over there weren’t willing to pay for our services remains another mystery and may well be the focus of our next investigation, night after night, staking the place out. We’ll leave no Stone IPA unturned. 

Yet just as we became recognized locally as paranormal investigators our momentum ground to a halt—and that usually only happens when Zano refuses to buy another round. Our team was notified by our CEO, Pierce Winslow, that the Existential Ghosts for Assuming Dominance and Superiority (E—G.A.D.S.) had opened a legal claim against team STQ. Winslow went on to say we were all fired again, except Cokie, and that all of our security clearances at Discord Tower were hereby revoked.

Lucky for us, Winslow never allowed Ballz to officially move in so we could still crash in his basement as long as we promised not to touch anything, make any phone calls, use the internet, eat any of his food, use the shower or the bathroom, or touch anything.

But why were we being sued and by whom? I thought.

After an exhausting phone book search, we found the local chapter of E—G.A.D.S. What is the deal with phone books? The Joogle was down so we went retro. Anyway, I hopped on my bike and rode the fifty miles to their clandestine headquarters. Zano said he would have given me a ride, but a new coffee shop had opened and he needed to investigate some of the expresso as well as some of the baristas.

Upon reaching E—G.A.D.S., I was led through a passageway built from tombstones into a small crypt that served as the office for a lawyer named Ecto P. Lasim. When asked why we were being sued, he said, “We spirits of the liminal nether realms have taken great offence at your lame attempts to expose us via bad puns and the like. But Zano’s ectopilsner theory will not stand!”

When I asked him about all the other ghost busting shows, he replied. “Oh those ones are way off base, but if the secret of ectopilsner were to be made public, we’d be ruined! We might even have to start paying our own afterlife bar tabs.”

Rubbing my brow for a moment, I looked at his floating form and said, “But won’t the fact that we are being sued by ghosts be the one thing that could really prove your existence?”

Then, before I knew what was happening, his head began to smoke and the building shook under my feet.

“Everything I say is a lie. I am lying,” I added. His body pulsed red and cracks appeared in the walls. “If God is all powerful, can he create a nipple so big that even he can’t suck it?”

Lasim screamed as he burst into a thousand ecto-piddled pieces. The headquarters of E—G.A.D.S. collapsed around me as I fled.  It wasn’t too different from that last Discord party at Winslow’s mid-august home—the one we threw without his knowledge while he was on his two year cruise to Atlantis.

Looking around I saw that no evidence remained. If only our cameraman hadn’t been busy making sure all our card decks had fifty three cards in them, he would have been here. We could have finally proven that ghosts do exist. But instead my bike was stolen by elves and I had leprechauns and paranormal serial killers harassing me on the long walk home.

As for the last insult:

I tried to take pictures of them with my cell, but Winslow had already canceled my cell phone service.

Once upon a check-in, I asked for my traditional room—which is always dead, and not in any kind of a supernatural way—but the desk lady decided to upgrade me to a queen. She must have noticed my high heels. This turned out to be my ghost investigating big break, or big mistake depending on your point of BOO!

I would have to go it alone for this one, because due to my age and incongruous maturity level, it’s becoming harder to find company. Shock poll: everyone who knows me agrees with this poll. Actually, I had other business…I was squatching. Fine, I had to train a class the next day, aka, I wasn’t going to a training to sleep, I had to stand up in front of people and present stuff. This proved difficult after the Amityville-F-king-Horror I experienced the night before. WTF? This is not even a particularly haunted hotel. Try Googling Hotel St. Michael in Prescott. I dare you. There’s next to nothing on this place, it’s a veritable taBoo rasa. Heck, I just came from the Mizpah, which is tier-one haunted, this place would be lucky to make pier-one imports. This was going to be a tip toe through the banshees, or so I thought.

Tell them about the Twinkie, Ray.

There was no Twinkie! Stop that. But I have even stayed here before and slept like a…

[Alex Bone joke omitted by the editor.]

In fact, I always sleep well in haunted places, see any of my other ghost misadventures…ever. Heck, I didn’t even bring my Viewmaster for this one. I usually have Bambi in the cue if anything weird happens. It doesn’t record anything evidence-wise, but it always makes me feel safe.

This should give you some idea of how prepared I was to encounter a real entity. What makes me crazy is that I had plans for after this training. I wanted to hit: The Raven, Granite Mtn Brewery, Prescott Brewing Co., Murphy’s, The Palace, The Gurley Street Grill, The Drunken Las, Celtic Crossing, Matt’s Saloon…

Kidding! I hate Matt’s Saloon. Point being, I had shit to do, but now thanks to some bored spook I’m exhausted. According to the front desk folks, The Ghost Hunters already declared 319 haunted, well, I spent two nights alone in room 318 and ditto. But I couldn’t find any reference to this online, but here’s my two cents…and two nights. Oh, and I will never spend another night in this hotel again! Mainly, because their liberal use of the words “room damage”.

The staff claims what action this hotel does get is generally limited to the third floor, but I got no action on the third floor, despite my kick ass stilettos and fishnets. On that note:

Night One:

When I arrived back at my room around 9PM on Thursday 6/26, I started with my usual 3^rd floor walk about and captured this shot between the 2^nd and 3^rd floor.

Then I headed to my room and started clicking and clicking and clicking and nothing. Wait! Bambi’s mother died! Nothing…so I listen to some Coast to Coast AM and turn in around 11PM. I know what you’re thinking, but the episode wasn’t about ghosts. Then, I suddenly wake up swatting my shoulder as if something was there. I snap some pictures and start capturing some serious orbage. Then, like any good ghost investigator, I go back to bed.

About an hour later I have this horrible dream that I owe material for Mr. Winslow, but he can’t open any of the files I sent him. Okay, not that dream. I dreamt that I’m desperately trying to get out of this very hotel because it’s haunted and then, when I wake up, all hell breaks loose. I walk to the end of the bed and take some more pictures and there’s this cold spot. I have never experienced a cold spot. I have experienced a warm spot in a public pool, but I’m told that’s different.

Suddenly I feel wave after wave of chills and goose bumps. I don’t get goose bumps so I am wondering if this is a walk-in clinic thing or if there’s an ointment involved. I have never had such a weird feeling, so I start snapping and start getting orbs in almost every picture I take!

A montage of some of the room visitors.

Then the weirdest thing happens. I see this flare through my camera. I didn’t catch this on film—because it went by in a fraction of a second—but as the flash is cueing up, something shoots through my viewer like a meteor. I’m like, holy shit! Where is my camera man when you need him! I am wide awake now so this isn’t some semiconscious state thing and it definitely wasn’t a bug.

I try to sleep again and I’m woken up again. Now, it’s 3AM and I have to be up a 7. So, I’m like, if you’re going to keep me up all night I want a full apparition, in the mirror, or I’m going back to sleep.

It’s a pretty weak attempt, no apparition, and it’s partially on the frame. What is the deal with ghosts?

I finally say, “Look, I have to present tomorrow, you know, conduct a training so play time is over. I need to sleep. Tomorrow night I’ve got nothing but time, so for now I please go back to room 319.”

Thankfully, I slept for the last couple of hours. This was not a frightening experience for me, to put things in perspective frightening is working for Pierce Winslow, but I would describe it as unsettling. I can look through my camera and see shit that isn’t there? Yes, I stopped taking my medications, but only because the pills were helping the government hear my thoughts.

The next morning I woke up, thanked the spirits for some sleep and snapped one picture. Yep, it had an orb in it. It’s a shame the walls are white because most of these really blend in, so for all of my sleepless trouble I got a couple of dozen meh-looking-orbs (MLOs).

Night 2:

I decided to retrace my steps and actions from last night, so before lockdown I took a round of pictures around the 3^rd floor and…

Possibly the best dust particle I have ever captured on film.

The bottom one is the same orb, only enlarged. Below is what I captured in the room during night two.

So I go to bed, I tell the ghosts to do their worst and….I wake up eight hours later to my alarm. Really? Why couldn’t the ghosts stick to the script: 1. night one sleep for training, 2. night two lots of spooky haunting stuff (SHS). I send the itinerary out weeks ahead of time. Yeah, I’m talking to you, pestergeists! Keep me up and I got next to nothing to show for it, NOTHING!  And, whereas I am not prepared to say I believe in ghosts at this time, this was a weird night and now picture all this happening with me in fishnets and stilettos. OK, don’t picture that, I’m losing enough fans lately.