Flagstaff, AZ—We heard through the grapevine some folks were having strange experiences at one of the local brewpubs…not the kind of experiences usually associated with half-priced drink specials. All kinds of spooky things were happening after hours at Flagstaff Brewing Company. Looks like the Ghost Blunders were going to have to put in some overtime on this one. One of the managers, Marcus, called us in dire need of assistance. Okay, we called him, but he was willing to let us do our thing if we promised not to break anything.

Marcus explained how some of the staff was becoming increasingly “weirded out” at the end of their shifts. Strange occurrences made staff increasingly uncomfortable closing shop in both the brewery and the adjacent café, where our friend Marcus is the main hasta barista, baby!

Some staff claimed to hear the sound of children playing and splashing in one of the mop closets. Allegedly, two children drowned on that very spot some 80-years ago. But, as a natural skeptic, I already had a theory: maybe it was just one staff’s ill-advised daycare plan.

“Like… guys, no one go in the mop closet. Umm, there will be ghost children playing in there clear up to the end of my shift.”

Yeah, I wasn’t buying it, not yet. During a related historical and extensive Google search we were able to retrieve this important image….

Er…I found this while searching drowned children and flagstaff. Well, it’s one theory of what happened to the children. We can’t rule Frankenstein out, is my point. The timing is about right and he does love the skiing here. The Google Gods revealed nothing else about this creepy drowning incident, but, in all fairness, I only searched the words Jessica Alba and naked, which might have been part of the problem.

We thanked Marcus for the information and reminded him of our strict ‘free beer during the investigation’ policy, which he immediately put a limit on (I knew we shouldn’t have brought Bone man! His Viking-like consumption is legendary in Flag).

But, today I decided our resident Viking was going to lead this investigation. Indeed, it was time for Alex Bone to flap his over-sized pterodactyl wings and fly. He’s been waiting a long time for his chance to show the team his skills and, boy, were we sorry.

He immediately put on some latex gloves—never really explained why—and then pulled out some divining rods. Bald Tony, Cokie, and I stared in disbelief as he jerked the divining rods around wildly, uttered a strange guttural chant, and started interviewing random bar patrons (all at the same time).

Whereas one of the waitresses, Carolyn (left), never experienced anything paranormal at Flagbrew, she did report having almost constant nightmares about the place. Heh, heh.

For those of you unfamiliar with my important para-abnormal theories, there’s a good summary at the end of my recent Durango investigation. In a nut shell, the Ghost Blunders tend to find apparitions around beer (ecto-pilsner formed phenomena) or dead animal heads (taxidermically emanated manifestations). In our ghost misadventures, places with both of these elements tended to be the most haunted spots. I really felt our team was starting to contribute meaningful insights to the field of para-abnormal research…and then the pot wore off.

As a brewery, Flagbrew was obviously lousy with beer, but I don’t remember seeing any dead animals on the walls?

Er, except this one…

That’s no ordinary rabbit! Look at the bones! Okay, it looks like a rabbit with antlers being ridden by some type of creepy 50s ventriloquist’s dummy. Pee Wee Herman, maybe? That’s scary. Run away! Run away!

While Cokie and the Great Bald watched more of the Alex Bone show, I took 107 pictures of this rabbit-thing in the hopes of capturing a taxidermically emanated manifestation. Four AA batteries later, I determined this rabbit—er, with antlers being ridden by some type of creepy 50s ventriloquist’s dummy, possibly Pee Wee Herman—was not haunted. I then declared to staff and patrons alike that, “This hare is clean.” (Just be thankful the Bugs Banshee joke was omitted).

After the interviews in the main bar room, we headed to the back where there are allegedly more ghosts and, more importantly, beer tanks. The staff almost immediately caught our fearless leader sucking on one of the tank vat hoses.

“Dude, that’s a backwash fermentation hose thingie!”

The warning did not stop Alex and the hose needed to be wrestled from his hands by brewery personnel. Not five minutes into our investigation of the back room and we were already on probation. Nice, real nice. I can explain, Marcus!

Learning from our past séance mistakes, like our ill-fated Yahtzee séance at the nearby Weatherford Hotel, we used beer as the bait for this establishment’s ghostly residence. I strongly believe that ghosts require brew energy to appear. It’s a force yet to be identified by science known as ecto-pilsner. Of course, these spirits were supposed to be children when they died, so did they drink? Is the beer attractive to those who imbibed in life, or do spooks use the beer itself to manifest? More importantly was Cokie going to be able to flirt her way to another round of free beers for everyone?

Each member of the team entered the haunted mop closet, beer in hand, and agreed to be locked in there for no less than 30 minutes or until they kicked their pint (cue spooky pipe organ music).

Yours truly, the first to take the plunger, reported feeling a strange cold experience on my legs, which turned out to be some beer I’d accidentally spilled on my pants. It was really hard to concentrate, especially when right outside the door I could hear Alex Bone, renegotiating our ‘free beer during the investigation’ policy with Marcus and Cokie, had apparently found some letter magnets. She was busy creating a whole slew of important phrases that she then felt the need to share with everybody. Professionals…I need to get some.

Meanwhile, Alex Bone immediately emerged from the closet, utterly horrified! He had forgotten his beer. Cokie McGrath was the most uncomfortable during the experience, especially since everyone periodically tried joining her in the closet. And perhaps the most telling evidence, due to societal pressures, Bald Tony never came out of the closet at all. Boo!

During the séance we captured two ghostly orbs. One above Bald Tony’s head and the other above Alex Bone’s. Dos Orbies? I don’t always hunt for ghosts, but when I do I try to drink for free. Hey, have we found the most interesting manifestation in the world?

When all our ‘free beer’ negotiations broke down, our fearless leader took the news a little hard.

The beer obviously worked at manifesting these brewery spooks, but too many questions remained. Who were they? Why wouldn’t they leave this brewery? Why can’t they make it through the portal…at least over to that tapas place across the alley? Then something happened that blew this case wide open. Bald Tony spotted Marcus, the same man who originally enlisted our aid, sucking on one of those same vat hoses! Everything fell into place. He was probably scaring people away at night so he had all the beer to himself! Like a bad day at the air show, things were all starting to fall together.

The Ghost Blunders all confronted Marcus about the strange sounds, the spooked staff, the less than liberal beer rations. We tried to pull off his mask, but it was still Marcus—now in angrier form.

After our reenactment of the dentist scene from the movie Marathon Man, he caved like a South African mine on an active fault line. He admitted he had made up the stories to scare the staff. He did it just so he could keep all the beer for himself! He said he would confess to anything provided we would get the hell out and stop frightening the other customers.

And then he said, “And I would have gotten away with it to, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”

Finally, we had a proper Scooby Doo ending…except for the one small fact that it’s all bullshit. We got orbs, we have strange stories, but at the end of the day we have more questions than answers. Let’s just blame Marcus anyway. Agreed?

Alex Bone, Cokie McGrath, Mick Zano, and "Vegas Great" Bald Tony The Ghost Blunders

Durango, CO—Reaching the fabled city of Durango could mean only one thing, we’ve arrived at the last installment of this important four part Colorado series on the para-abnormal. Durango literally means “water town”—which recently spurred Watertown, NY, to officially change its name to Durango, because the Mayor said, “It sounds way cooler.” Besides, Durango has like, what? four brewpubs? What the hell does Watertown, New York have? Water? Yeah, I wouldn’t’ drink that.

Truth be told, I imbibed waaaaay too much my first night in town to do any proper para-abnormal investigating. Damn you, Lady Falconburgh’s and your thirty some-odd taps of malty magic! But I’m going to let you in on a little secret, that’s never really stopped me before. Thus the Body Shot Banshee Debacle at the Dubliner and the infamous Jagermeister Yahtzee séance over at the Weatherford Hotel.

After some research at the Embassy Irish Pub (good Guinness pour), the Google Gods revealed three haunted hotels in Durango…looks like, surprise, surprise, they may all have bars. And I am going to bet all three have a menagerie of dead animals hanging on the walls as well. For those of you not familiar with my work, check out my three other Rocky Mountain stops on this important quest, here, here, and here. Remember, my theories involve either taxidermically emanated manifestations or beer-related-apparitions also known as ecto-pilsner formed phenomena. Confused? Go back and hit here, here, or here like I told ya’s, and try to keep up! I have been hard at work pushing the boundaries of known science…down an elevator shaft.

Day 1 of the investigation:

At nightfall, after my Lady Falconburgh’s barely experience, I decided on hitting the General Palmer Hotel. I marched up to the front desk and demanded to see the General, thus ending any chance of gaining access to the premises. Okay, maybe I’ll hit the Palmer tomorrow. I then approached the front desk of the Strater Hotel more tactfully and demanded to see General Palmer! Thus ending any chance of a proper investigation there as well. That’s when I decided to go to bed and pick up the investigation first thing in the morning—when hopefully a different staff started their shifts.

On the way back to my hotel, however, I discovered an old creepy cemetery on the edge of town and decided this was the perfect place for an EVP session (electronic voice phenomenon). I hoped some local ghosts might make their presence known. Then, after about three hours, I realized this is the place that manufactures the tombstones. No one is actually buried here.

For F&*^’s sake!

Playing back my EVP sessions, I did manage to catch the haunting sounds of Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn…and the rest of the second set of the band playing over at Steamworks Brewery. For those new and aspiring para-abnormal researchers out there, never Guinness and ghost hunt.

The Palmer Hotel:

Off to a slow start in Durango, for sure, and I didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of the previous night. After making use of the hotel exercise room and a breakfast consisting only of Wheaties and vegetable juice…Okay, I’m lying. I can’t do this to my reader (that’s not a typo; there’s only one of you). Suffice to say, I behaved…ish.

First stop was Carver’s Brewery—a truly great way to start the day. Then, when they take away your breakfast plates away, you can go, “I’ll have a stout please.” Talk about the breakfast of champions.

The day was spent doing typical tourist-like-things (TLT), but as soon as the sun went down I headed back to the General Palmer. Good, the young lady from last night isn’t working the desk. This time I used something called couth. I approached the front desk inconspicuously and then demanded to see General Palmer! Kidding…not this time. I asked politely if I could take some pictures…but I never said what floor, heh, heh.

There are a couple of stories on line about the General Palmer. One couple allegedly checked out at 2 AM after being awakened to a ghostly apparition hanging in the middle of the room and yet another staffer kept hearing someone calling her name in one of the rooms. Ask your doctor if Zyprexa is right for you.

No ghost orbs around any of the peacocks in the lobby. This further supports my theory that orbular manifestations are mammal-specific-phenomenon (MSP). I checked the painting of the elk on the second floor landing, just be sure…

Nope, nothin’. Okay, I really didn’t think I would find an orb around a painted elk, but there’s such a thing as a control in scientific experiments. And they are the group always fighting the diabolical schemes of Chaos (sorry, a Get Smart flashback). No other taxidermically emanated manifestations appeared in my images of the lobby or the upper floors.

The image below is another intriguing piece of evidence. It clearly shows the ghostly image of the guy who couldn’t gain access to this hallway on the third floor. The damn door was locked.

Back at the Discord Paranormal Research Center (aka, Winslow’s basement), we were able to digitally enhance this picture and solve this intriguing puzzle. Boo!

It was me all along. Meanwhile, the young lady at reception said she never had any weird experiences during her employment at the hotel.

“Oh, really,” I said, and then chose that moment to dump my beer on my head and drop my trousers.

Okay, I didn’t really do that but I thought about it. She also said her colleagues were just discussing the sheer lack of interesting ghost stories in their hotel. Curious. This establishment had animals, but no bar that I could get to. There were also no ghostly orbs anywhere. Hmmm. My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought, cascading into a waterfall of creative para-abnormal theories…What movie?

The Strater Hotel:

The Strater is a 112-year old hotel in the heart of downtown Durango. The upper floors are allegedly the most haunted, which makes absolutely no sense as the bar, the Diamond Belle, is down on the first floor. There are no hanging animal heads anywhere to be found, but the bar is really cool. If I were ghost …

Two ghostly orbs behind the bar. Check. Right about now, you might be wondering if I’m getting hinky again and PhotoShopping this stuff…nope. These were two orbs captured over the bartender’s head. They’re within easy reach of the liquor and some very nice microbrews as well. I guess people just need to know where to look for ecto-pilsner type poltergeists.

There was also one orb in the lobby. Maybe it was trying to check in and hadn’t made it to the bar yet. Shit, there’s one up on the second floor too! That’s a nice one. I don’t know what this ghost thinks it’s doing, but it’s nowhere near an animal head or any kind of alcohol…hold the phone, I do have a flask of gin in my right breast pocket. Hmmm. Is it manifesting via the energy from my gin? I’m going to have to start carrying booze on all of my ghost adventures. It’s so obvious— the spirits need a spirit medium.

I think the two social orbs in the bar have the right idea. It was about 9 PM on a Friday night and the Diamond Belle was hopping. I looked again at the very distinctive orb on the 2^nd floor and frowned. Maybe this spirit wasn’t 21 when it died? So sad.

I questioned a couple of the staff in the lobby, but it sounded to me like the official word for the Strater staff is on’tday entionmay ostsghay. Man, I love that Pig Latin Generator. How did we ever carry on all the important work before the Google? I headed back into the Diamond Belle to get some Ska Stout and contemplate my para-abnormal thesis.

The Rochester:

The Rochester Hotel turned out to be the least accessible to non-hotel guests. The bar is only open to the public for two hours a day and bartender was too busy during that time, so I never got a chance to interview her. To make matters worse, she was positioned right by the stairs as well, like a guardian cherubim. So I had to wait for her to hit the bathroom before I could continue my investigation upstairs.

This orb appeared in an upstairs room. Yikes, there’s no bar and no animal heads. Yet, keep in  mind, the orb appeared during the day when the bar is open for business. Hmmm. We have found some orbs to support my ecto-pilsner theory, but I did not find any taxidermically emanated manifestations during this entire investigation.

Despite completely striking out back in Silverton, the bar room at the Grand Imperial Hotel certainly contained the most hanging animal heads. Staff there felt it was the most haunted room in what sounded like one of the most para-abnormally active hotels on my trip. I found orbs all around the animal heads at the Western Hotel in Ouray. The General Palmer had animal heads on the walls, but no alcohol for them to manifest. Even the staff claims the hotel is very inactive. Also notice the one interesting story from the Palmer (from online). A ghost showed up, so a couple checked out of their room at 2AM. When do the bars close in Durango? 2AM. Hold the phone! What if the animals themselves are the entities using the ecto-pilsner to manifest? Ecto-pilsner is energy, not yet recognized by science, created during the brewing process. (I thought you said you were going to go back and read my other posts?) This combines both of my important theories into what I now call my taxidermically emanated ecto-pilsner manifestations theory. I used the Google again to see if any other research suggests ghosts are simply animals that like booze.

As it turns out, Dr. Seuss, years ahead of me, actually summarized both of my theories in one para-abnormal masterpiece.

It’s from one of his lesser known works: The Deer Needs a Beer, a Brew that is True. Remember the chug-me  puke-me from that one? Consider this case solved…ish.

Silverton, CO—Onward to part three of my epic four part series on the Ghosts of Colorado. My wife and I pulled into Silverton after surviving the treacherous “million dollar highway.” They probably should have spent a little more than that and put up some flippin’ guardrails! In some spots, veering your car just a hair beyond the fog line means certain death. Silverton, meanwhile, is a quaint little place…at least from a distance. When you get closer it starts to look like Sanford & Son decided to go into the western town business. I tied the old Impala to a hitching post and found the first brewpub for some much needed “research”.

I only had a few hours to spend in Silverton, so I had to work fast. I remained confident, after all, I am a professional. I keep repeating that over and over again, so people will start believing it. Hey, it works for Fox News. After eating a terrific bratwurst and downing a nice hefe over at the Silverton Brewery, I Googled Silverton and Haunted. There were no ghost stories about the current establishment and, Steve, the barkeep, suggested I hit the Sheridan Inn in Wyoming (sorry, flashback joke).

The main place in town sporting spooks was reported to be the Grand Imperial hotel. Upon entering the lobby, I immediately felt a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It turned out to be the bratwurst. Sometimes it takes the trots to connect the dots. Kidding, that was the best brat I’ve had in a long time! Must have been the hefe.

The hotel receptionist’s name was Cathy. During her many years of working the front desk, she reports having many strange encounters (present company excluded). She’s convinced the place is haunted. Some nights, while working alone, labels disappear only to be returned later, pens go missing, and lights flicker on and off. Cathy denies any illicit drug use, but, when I handed her a cup, she refused to submit to a urinalysis.

Apparently, a three day investigation by a group called Haunted Dimensions discovered 16 separate entities haunting the building. Since I am now making a name for myself in certain small paranormal circles—dots really—I should be able to find at least that many. Heck, this was going to be like shooting wolves from Palin’s helicopter!

The ghost of a doctor named Luigi is said to still haunt the room he shot himself in, and the ghost of actress Lillian Russell is said to hum her way through the historic halls. Russell died in Pittsburgh, but it actually makes sense she isn’t there. Do you blame her? When I asked about the most haunted spot in the building, Cathy pointed to the bar/restaurant adjacent to the lobby. One night, while completely alone, she thought the ghosts were moving all the furniture around the restaurant. After absorbing this new information, I handed her a small Ziploc baggie and a scissor, but she refused to submit to a hair follicle drug test as well.

For those of you who haven’t read my Telluride or my Ouray installments of this important series, please read them now. There’s going to be a test. What Cathy told me was not surprising. It fit nicely into both of my two main theories regarding the para-abnormal. My first theory involves a strong correlation between ghost sightings and alcohol, or the sudsular apparitions theory (SAT). The main premise involves ghosts manifesting through a grogular energy as yet unknown to science. I refer to this substance ecto-pilsner. My second, equally compelling theory, suggests that animals tend to haunt places where they were viciously decapitated and then hung on walls like trophies. This phenomenon tends to only occur in species beyond the evolutionary development of fish and birds. Mysterious orbs appeared near a bear, a mountain lion, and a deer during my last investigation in Ouray. But you know that, because you went back and read it, right? Right? Would you pee into this cup?

According to Cathy, the most haunted room in the Grand Imperial Hotel happened to contain most of the dead animals and all of the booze. This fits snugly into both of my theories. Hmmm. Just like the Flying Wallendas, things were really starting to fall together.

Upon further questioning, Cathy does not believe the elk head in the lobby is one of the 16 spirits who reside in the hotel. I took several pictures of the beastie, but came up orbless. I’m still not giving up on that theory; it’s sound, well, no less so than any of my other theories.

She also told me one of the ghosts is named George Foster, which also happens to be the current owner’s name. How convenient. When he starts haunting the place, the ghostly pair can have a great time messing with mediums. No, really, the other George gave you the astral wedgy. Honest.

After completing my interview, Cathy was nice enough to let me explore the rest of the hotel and take as many pictures as I wanted—provided I put away the breathalyzer.

The image above is an intriguing picture. There’s an inexplicable white beam shooting diagonally across the frame from the third floor. Our research team back in Philadelphia later identified this anomaly as something called light, which entered through a window in the form of a stream of photons that originated from our sun. Wow is right! This beam of photons reached the Earth in about 7 minutes, traveling at the speed of…er, I danno sound? I failed science. This is important stuff, though, for sure.

To the far left of the image above, the clear outline of an apparition can be seen. It appears to be of a woman dressed in contemporary clothing and cleaning room six. After re-checking in with reception, Cathy informed me it was actually just one of the employees cleaning room 10. Whereas she is not a dead spirit haunting the 2^nd floor, we can’t rule out that she won’t be haunting the building some day. I’m running wraiths round you logically.

As I’ve already explained, I did not have a lot of time in Silverton, but I was determined to give this important investigation my best effort. The Grand Imperial Hotel is allegedly teaming with ghosts and it’s teaming with dead animals on the walls. There had to be a connection. I reviewed all of my images, but no ghosts or orbs were evident in any of my pictures. Cue up the PhotoShoppers, Mr. Winslow. They’re going to be needed back on the job soon.

Also, there’s tons of activity in the barroom. Remember, 16 ghosts are said to roam these halls. So I counted all the animal heads on the wall between the restaurant/bar and the lobby. There are 22 in all. I subtracted the one fish and the five birds—as I’ve determined only mammals have souls—and what did I come up with? Sixteen. 16 animal heads and 16 spirits. Eureka! Damn…I forgot to DVR that shit.

Alright, so 16 and 16. The dead animals are at it again, just like in Ouray. This would be irrefutable para-abnormal evidence…er, if I had counted correctly. I was one off…F*&^ing hell!

I never did find these ghost hunters from haunted Dimensions online, so either I got the name wrong or they were rank amateurs without a proper website. In their defense, not everyone can be as sophisticated as The Daily Discord’s para-abnormal research team. But I really felt back in my element during my investigation in Silverton. I’m used ghost stories completely devoid of any and all evidence. Whew. I was beginning to worry I was becoming a real ghost hunter. Then I headed to Durango, where doubts and (gulp) evidence would resurface again like the Ghetto Shaman on To Catch a Predator episodes.

Ouray, CO—Part two of our compelling four part series takes us to Ouray. The town is about as scenically situated as our last Rocky Mountain sojourn, Telluride. These days I only do sojourns. You want an adventure vacation, go with Cokie McGrath. She’ll have you climbing the Matterhorn by lunchtime. Luckily, the Matterhorn in Ouray is a cheesy motel and I’ve already been on the roof…with a beer.

Ouray is not called ‘the Swiss Alps of America’ for nothing. I believe it’s because of their rich & creamy hot cocoa. We arrived in the one horse town to the news of a mudslide back in Telluride. I like to stay one step ahead of Mother Nature, the bitch. Alex Bone told me the last time he was in town a flashflood washed away all of his beverages. After a thorough search of every puddle and pool in the San Juan Mountains, he recovered only one beer. He cried. Apparently he had started with more.

For starters, my wife and I decided to hit a small coffee shop in town. There, I Googled Ouray, Colorado ghosts, and then the haunting echoes of Ri-co-la. My initial web search revealed only a barrage of tasteless pornography. Oh, this isn’t my computer. Whew, I thought I was in the wrong town…or the right town depending on one’s mood. Really, dude? Amputee porn?

Then we checked in. As it turned out, my glorified motel is nestled not only between the towering San Juan Mountains but between three of the most haunted places in town: St. Elmo’s Hotel, Wright’s Opera House and the historic Beaumont Hotel. As a seasoned professional, I obviously snagged the perfect base from which to explore all three of these paranormal hotspots. Or, one could argue, I managed to pick the only non-haunted place on this block. It was a shame I never set foot in any of them.

Prior to starting our para-abnormal research, I decided on a good hike to get the blood pumping. The Cascade Waterfalls are just outside of town. However, due to a combination of the elevation and O’Brienitis, a rare Irish pub-induced condition (IPIC), my wife and I were unable to hike the arduous ¼ mile to the base of the falls. It took us two days not to make the trek. I knew we were in trouble after the first night, when we had to set up a base camp on the north side of the parking area. We did manage to get a nice picture of the waterfall outside of our motel, though, which I’m sure is just as spectacular.

Besides, you can see the falls just fine from the bar.

The next step was to walk around town to get a feel for the place. So we beat up an old woman for her Rascal scooter. The first structure that cried out “haunted” was a place called the Western Hotel. The hotel hadn’t shown up on my last Googling endeavors, but my instincts are never wrong. Amputee porn? Really?

We decided to eat dinner at the place as the menu had food on it and we were hungry from a long day of not hiking. While waiting to be served, I hit the non-amputee porn section of Google. Sure enough, there were two stories. The first claimed the hotel’s cash register was haunted (this claim was made by one of their skinnier opiate-dependent employees) and the other involved the apparition of a woman frequenting the grand staircase (looking for her stolen Rascal?).

While waiting for my Rocky Mountain oysters to arrive, I interviewed the desk clerk. He turned out to be the owner, Greg. About five years ago his wife (he requested we leave her out of this, so we’ll call her Marcia) was doing some chores. No, this isn’t the Hawaii, cursed amulet episode. I know…that’s my favorite too. But as Marcia approached room seven, the door opened of its own accord. Greg explained the front part of the building sags, so this isn’t that unusual. But, just as she turned back toward the hallway, Marcia’s laundry basket chose that moment to go tumbling down the stairs to the first floor. Alice the maid is going to be pissed! Luckily, Marcia blamed the incident on Jan and/or Cindy.

All interviews in my paranormal posts are actual accounts. I never lie or exaggerate any part of someone else’s story. Occasionally Brady Bunch excerpts may surface out of some innate need to be moronic, but otherwise I tell these anecdotal tales and they’re usually the only noteworthy tidbits of “evidence” in my investigations.

That was all about to change…

Much to the annoyance of the other patrons, I started snapping numerous pictures of the barroom, the hotel lobby and the grand staircase. After focusing most of my energy on the waitress…er, I mean the staircase, I got nothin’. Not even a phone number.

When I rejoined my wife at the dinner table, I was both shocked and saddened to see ghostly orbs all over my pictures. Shit! This is a joke ghost adventure. What was I supposed to do with actual ghostly orbs? This never happens. We PhotoShop our evidence here at The Discord, damnit! This is an example from my investigation of the Pioneer Saloon in Nevada, Ghost Writers in the Sand.

Now that’s some fake ghost hunting magic, that is. Here’s my first picture. Sadly, no PhotoShopping necessary. You can take the night off, fellas.

Then I realized, they’re probably just the ghosts of the mountain lion and the deer forever locked in some type of eternal National Geographic battle in the hereafter. Then to my further horror, my ridiculous theory gained further credence when I zoomed in on some of the other animals in the establishment. Geesh. I was going to need another hobby. There were orbs around the lion, the tiger, and the bear, oh my!

So, yes, I was focusing on the heads of these other animals and found more mysterious orbs. At least there was nothing around the swordfish. That would just be wrong. Oh, shit, is there a small one by the swordfish too? No, it’s just a smudge of paint on the trim. Fish do not have souls…but what if they did?

The next night we returned to the Western Hotel, because…ok, to be honest O’Brien’s Irish Pub isn’t open on Tuesdays. Damn you O’Brien’s! You’re dead to me. Dead! Well, we needed to come back to the scene of the orbs anyway. I had to know if fish have souls. So I spent all evening holding the world’s first swordfish vigil. I used 28 triple-A batteries, two candles, two camera memory discs, and I took hundreds of pictures of that swordfish. And I never did get that waitress’s phone number.

Thanks to my efforts, I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that fish do not have souls.

So Christians, if you happen to have sex and impregnate a swordfish, you can have that controversial procedure. It’s ok, God understands. Well, he won’t understand why you had sex with a fish, but first things first.

As bizarre as this investigation ended up, I think this case is solved. The seemingly mild mannered, yet crazed Brady Bunch-wannabe guy…hey, I should have tried to pull off his mask. He could have been Mr. Jenkins, the caretaker. I hate it when I blow the Scooby-Doo ending. Anyway, the owner of this old spooky hotel must have murdered countless animals. He butchered them in the basement, decapitated them, and then hung their grisly remains on the walls as trophies, the sick bastard. Apparently, the animals are still not happy about this. This doesn’t just solve this case; this closes a whole chapter of paranormal research. Mammals have souls, fish do not.

Now here’s my second theory:

What if these are actual people-ghost-orb-thingies (APGOT)? Look at where they’re hanging out: around a bar. This further supports my sudsular generated apparitions (SGA) theory. I couldn’t find the old lady on the staircase, why? Because stairs are f-ing boring, that’s why. A good pub, now that’s a poltergeist party. My best picture was of three orbs right over the bar. Sorry, I couldn’t work the third one into a joke. Ghosts like to haunt their old haunts—places where fine alcoholic beverages are served. And the beer selection here rocks, particularly the bottle selection. Perhaps ghosts themselves manifest through some type of a brewular substance…ecto-pilsner?

Where did the haunted cash register story take place? The cash register is behind the bar. Where are most of the orbs? Behind the bar. Where is my research going to land me someday? Behind some bars.

Ecto-pilsner…I like that.

Telluride, CO—The first segment of this epic four part Haunted Colorado series begins in one of the coolest towns in the country. And, at an elevation of nearly 9,000 feet, Telluride is so cool there’s still residual snowpack…in July. The town is named after the mineral Tellurium, which was used to enhance the hull-plating during one of the Enterprise’s missions threw a particularly hazardous region of space known as The Expanse. Or, maybe it’s named after that Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy character. Ok, I don’t really know, but I have posited two plausible theories so lay the hell off.

Some of you may have noticed how our para-abnormal research team here at the Discord only investigates alcohol-friendly-haunted-sites (AFHS). I’m developing an important theory. Ghosts tend to manifest only in places where good ale is served. Paranormal activities seem strongly linked to the brewing process. In fact, my controversial theory on sudsular generated apparitions (SGA) is gaining considerable support from the Paranormal Research Society, or at least my last email from them sounded less hostile. Baby steps, Mick, baby steps.

Only my wife would accompany me on this historic journey, as Alex Bone was unable to convince his parole officer of the importance of this truth seeking quest. And my other partner in crime, Bald Tony, has recently de-evolved into a sloth-like creature, completely incapable of lifting pen to paper, or even ass from couch. I am officially demoting him from ‘Vegas Great’ Bald Tony to ‘Vegas Meh’.

This might come as a surprise to some of you, but I don’t always do my research before arriving in any given town. My instincts are my greatest asset. They almost never fail me and by ‘almost never’ I mean always.

The last couple of miles into Telluride there’s a 15-mph speed limit, so we lost a day just driving into the place. I guess the average resident is on an elementary school level and might jump out in front of my Impala at any moment. We parked outside of town—as walking proved much faster—and then schlepped ourselves and our equipment to the first place of interest, the Sheridan Hotel.

After casing out the joint, I opened my laptop and Googled ‘Haunted Telluride Sheridan’. Damn, this very hotel is the most haunted place in town. Hundreds of apparitions were filmed here! See, it’s all about instincts. I completed my research and saddled up to the bar, where I proceeded to ask the bartender about the ghost of Wild Bill Cody and of the hotel’s first manager, Miss Katy, and of the Indian chief who is said to still haunt the second floor. The guy had no idea what I was talking about. Perplexed, I returned to my laptop where I quickly discovered I had Googled the Sheridan Inn in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

For F*&%’s sake!

Don’t Guinness and ghost hunt, people. Just sayin’.

After taking a moment to collect myself, the investigation continued. After all, I am a professional. Ahh, here we are. It’s called the New Sheridan Hotel. It was built in 1891 and promptly burned down in 1895. The last hotel burned down, fell over, and then sank into the swamp, but the fourth one stood up (sorry, I have PTSD — Python Traumatic Skit Disorder). It’s truly an absurd condition…Pining for the fjords?! See?

After burning down in 1895, the hotel was rebuilt the same year and has been open for business ever since…so, umm, new? That’s stretching the word new to the point of absurdity. She turned me into a newt!…Sorry, my condition flares up at the worst possible Time Bandits (1981).

Anyway, 1895 doesn’t seem horribly new to me, unless we’re talking about geologic time. So I guess everything post Miocene is new.

The image below was taken in a room off the back of the bar at the Sheridan (The Colorado one, not the Wyoming one—my zoom lens isn’t that good).

This is one of our most intriguing pieces of evidence to date. No member of our research team could explain what we were seeing in this image captured in the bar room—that is, until my 12-year-old daughter explained the picture was taken on ‘landscape’ mode and not, as she would have suggested, using ‘night shot’. We can’t completely rule out the possibility these lines are demonic in origin. They could still be forces created from an energy as yet unknown to science…we just mostly ruled it out.

Night shot, check .

I took the picture below from a small gaming table on the second floor. Our research team was initially intrigued by the red glow above the door. We spared no expense to have this image digitally enhanced by NASA.

This picture, too, is not proof of any paranormal activity, but it is good to see that the Sheridan management team is keeping up with all of its fire and safety codes.

The dark and compelling image below is of my wife. The horns are simply a reflection of the photo flash in her hair. I can assure you her real ones are much larger. The bluish eye-thing is either a reflection off her librarian-style glasses or she’s been possessed by a Smurf. I’m sure it’s one of the two.

Well, after sending all of my findings to Discord Research Headquarters in Philadelphia, I was promptly told the rest of the trip would not be funded. Bastards! How could you do this to me, Winslow?! …even after all the further evidence…like when my wife tried ordering the Smurf & turf.

Sorry about that one. I’m under a lot of pressure here. Thank god for those little blue pills. Unfortunately, I could not find any other haunted spots in Telluride, despite entering every place where fine ale is served. Here is a summary of my other investigations:

O’Bannon’s Irish Pub –When I’m in one of the most scenic towns in America on a picture perfect day, I like to climb down into a dank basement pub. But I’m not well, but we’ve already established that, right? A nice Guinness pour. There were no shamrocks on top of the foam but, no worries, if you drink long enough, you’ll start seeing them. No ghosts though.

Smuggler Joe’s—The weather took a turn for the worse and not five minutes after arriving at Joe’s a lightning bolt knocked out the power. Perfect time to take pictures! If the batteries on the camera hadn’t died. 17 beers on tap….seventeen! Now that’s a brewpub. I couldn’t sample all of the brews, mostly because the cash register needed power. I had other business in town anyway, like hitting Telluride Brewery. Despite the darkness, no ghosts.

The aforementioned Sheridan Inn is also an atmospheric place to enjoy an imperial pint of Guinness. I believe it’s in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

But notice how all of the places I frequent serve alcohol. I think that’s beyond random chance….er…

Dear Mr. Winslow,

Admittedly, this investigation was not my best work. But I stand by the important work I do here. A major breakthrough is coming—a paradigm shift or tipping point that will prove, once and for all, that I should seek professional help.

Mick Zano

I’m probably like you, except for my quasi-homelessness, my unusual cravings for chocolate shaped like human body parts, and my history of stalking women whose names don’t begin with vowels. But I’m different in that…I can’t wait for a real zombie plague! Sure skeptics will say this can’t happen, or they’ll list a bunch of ‘scientific evidence’ discounting the possibility. I ignored science in high school and college, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to start paying attention to it now.

Come on, a zombie plague would be great fun. You can shoot everyone you don’t like in the head and all the beer is free! Hell, I can even move into a millionaire’s home on the edge of town like it’s…er, the apocalypse.

So anyway, you can imagine how happy I was to find out that someone had just been mauled and half eaten only a few blocks from where I was bumming beers from Zano. “Sure, sure, Mick, each beer equals another Discord feature. I think I’m in the red until 2017.”

I was just telling him how an order of chicken wings would give me the strength to work late into the night, when this girl came in screaming. First, I thought she was mad at the way Mick was staring at her torn blouse, but then I saw the blood.

“Someone is eating my boyfriend!” she cried.

Sweet!

After Zano and I gave each other big high fives, we pushed all the good Samaritans—treating her for shock—out of the way and demanded she tell us where this attack took place. I had to slap her a few times to get her to tell me where it was. This ticked a few people off, but I said, “Shut the hell up. She’s in shock. Haven’t you seen any old movies? You always slap the hysterical woman.” Some people’s heads are too far up their asses to enjoy the classics. Later I found out that most Adult Protective Services workers don’t seem to watch much AMC either. I hope my probation officer does.

Without further delay, we sprinted to the scene. Worries tugged at my mind. What if a cop kills the guy before he can infect a lot of people and the plague is stopped? What if the zombie has wandered off and we aren’t the first that get to see it? What if not enough people die for us to get that free beer? There had to be a way to make sure things kick into gear.

Then, there it was, larger than life (even though it was hopefully dead) and covered with blood. Yes, a real zombie crouched over the dead guy and he was chowing down on his innards.

Step one: Take loads of pictures.

Step two: Text all my friends.

Step three: Try to grab the guy’s wallet and the zombie’s wallet without being bitten. Hey, beers aren’t free yet.

I got the dead guy’s wallet, but I had attracted its attention and the grizzly blood splattered corpse started coming at me.

“Zano! Zano! I’ll distract it. See if you can grab the zombie’s wallet!”

“What? I’m not doing that!”

“Oh come on, don’t be a wuss.” I kept trying to get him to do it, but then it was too late. The Flagstaff PD showed up and ruined everything. Not only did we not get the extra wallet, but they stopped the whole damn apocalypse by shooting the guy in the head, those bastards. Goody two shoes, sons o’ *&%^*&^*&^*)*!

The local paper later blamed it on “bath salts.” Riiiight. So now we are back in the bar and the zombie only had about forty bucks on him. But he did have some credit cards and I know the girl with the torn blouse is single, but damn it her name begins with an A. Crap.

On the balcony of the Weatherford Hotel, Alex Bone and I were minding our own business and kicking back a brewski. Many stories begin this way. Bone man had already managed to piss off one of the owners, Sam, and somehow turned his flagrant obnoxiousness into a free shot of tequila. Bone is living proof the customer isn’t always right, yet it still pays dividends.

The Weatherford Hotel is an important slice of the old west. I don’t conduct any actual research for the Daily Discord, but I believe it’s the place where Zane Grey punched out Louis La Amour’s horse during a bar fight. Perhaps, more importantly, it’s where the Flagstaff Writer’s Group meets each week to bring you all the news unfit to post and whatnot. This is also happens to be our new mission statement.

This is how things went down that day:

Zano: Dude, what’s going on in there? The Zane Grey is packed.

Bone: I don’t know, but if you sign the petition you can get some free food.

Zano: Nice, I’ll be back.

So I sign Proposition 101, steal some appetizers and nachos, and then listen to everyone sing happy birthday to our former State Representative Ann Kirkpatrick (D). I believe Proposition 101 urges Arizona to legislate better so one day we can hand Bill Maher’s ‘Stupidest State Award’ back to Mississippi. I signed twice.

Zano: Hey, that’s Ann Kirkpatrick in there. Let’s get an interview.

Bone: It’s suit city in there. Besides, I don’t have the video camera.

Zano: I have mine. Come on. We only cover stories that fall into our laps, and this is one of those lap dances.

Bone: Lap dance? She’s like fifty.

Zano: It’s an expression. Look, you can’t just swindle booze and food all day. Sometimes you have to earn your keep.

Bone: So there’s a beer in it for me?

Zano: Indeed there is.

Bone and Zano enter the Zane Grey Ballroom:

Zano: Hello and happy birthday.

Kirkpatrick: Thank you (Ann turned to Alex Bone). Don’t I know you?

Bone: Yes. I represent the community’s Viking vote.

Kirkpatrick: Ah, well someone has to do it.

(Laughter)

Zano: Would you mind a short interview for the Daily Discord, a very important political blog? (I hand her our business card).

Kirkpatick: Sure, sure.

Zano: So were you aware this is where the Daily Discord holds their weekly meetings… in this very room at this very time?

Kirkpatrick: No, I was not aware.

Zano: And did you know this is also where the Flagstaff Writing Group meets each week and has for over three years?

Kirkpatick: I had no idea.

Zano: So you’re saying your handlers completely botched this event?

(Yeah, I really said that.)

Mick Zano sporting his lesbian lingerie with Ann Kirkpatrick (D)

Fact Check: Zano’s statement is blatantly false. As stated, Alex Bone and Mick Zano were the only two people in attendance. By definition, two people can not constitute two groups. Regardless, the Daily Discord is not separate from the Flagstaff Writer’s Group. This is a ‘pants on fire’ level lie.

Damn Fact Check. And I tried to have them Photoshop out my flannel shirt. I really did. Oh, by the way, this is the same room where we held our ground breaking para-abnormal Yahtzee séance.

Back to that first image. If you look at the woman to the left of the photo, that’s Ann’s mother and she already smells a rat:

Fact Check: You must mean in the left of the photo. If she were to the left of the photo, she would not be in the picture at all. We are not even going comment on the validity of Proposition 101 and Zano’s Grey/ La Amour horse punching story.

Damn you Fact Check people! Damn you!

Ann’s Mother: (completely interrupting our interview) We usually charge fifty dollars for such photo shoots.

(Forced laughter)

Ann’s mother: We’re leaving dear, would you mind walking us out?

Nice, lady, real nice.

Zano: That was going great! And now we got nothing…

Bone: Not true, you usually make a story out of nothing. Have you ever read any of your other posts?

Zano: Good point.

So now, the totally fictional conclusion of this historic interview:

Zano: I understand you are running again in 2012. But is running as a Democrat in Arizona proof you have a deep masochistic streak or some other fetish on par with Rick Man-On-Dog Santorum?

Kirkpatick: I ahh…

Zano: I understand you are concerned about our national debt but, as a Democrat, isn’t that somewhat counterintuitive?

Kirkpatick: I really should get back to—

Zano: Just one more question, please. Who would win an OK Corral-style shootout between Ted Nugent and the Black Panthers?

Kirkpatick: Look, I don’t think—

Zano: Would you consider hosting such an event in Flagstaff if one could be arranged?

Kirkpatick: This interview is over.

This is probably how it would have gone down. Just sayin’.

Fact Check: If this happened around Ann Kirkpatrick’s birthday, this interview occurred on or around March 24^th. Ted Nugent’s recent incendiary remarks about Obama took place on April 14th. Due to the time line discrepancy, this question would likely have not been posed to the politician.

Damn you Fact Check people! Damn you!

Fact Check: It is true that Zano’s brown flannel shirt is considered lesbian lingerie in the Flagstaff area.

Zano: Grrrr.

This might come as a shock to some of you, but I, Dave Atsals, spend a lot of time in bars. Unless this is my probation officer, in which case they are called coffee shops. I normally refer to these neon establishments as restaurants with refreshments. I spend so much time in bars, in fact, on occasion I must work to augment my income, aka, pay off my bar tab.

On this note, I would like to post a conversation I had with a couple who had funny accents…certainly not locals. Let’s call them John and Mary. Our scene opens with me, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome, walking over and handing them their check.

This conversation is retold almost verbatim:

John: Mr. Atsals, my steak on the steak salad I ordered was well done, I asked for it to be cooked medium.

Mary: And I did not like the Broiled Haddock at all! 

Me: Very sorry folks and thank you for bringing this to our attention. What at this point do we need to do to improve? Mary, what was wrong with your fish?

Mary: Nothing, I guess. I just don’t like Haddock. I have never tried it before.

Me: Did you get a menu when you arrived?

Mary: Yes, of course.

Me: Why didn’t you order something you liked?

Mary: I thought I might be adventurous tonight and try something different.

Me: Ahh, yes, haddock was a pretty gutsy move, but if you did not like it why did you eat all of it?

Mary: Not sure. Hungry, I suppose.

Me: Bob—

John: …It’s John.

Me: Right, I see you ate everything as well. Why didn’t you let us know it was not prepared properly so we could re-cook it for you?

John: It was actually pretty good, but I just don’t think I should have to pay.

Me: I think I understand. Okay, so what can I do to make you happy?

John: I do not think we should be charged for any of our food, just for our two draft beers.

Me: Okay, we can do that. The two draft beers come to a total of $48.50.

Mary: Oh…thank you for not charging us for the food. Do you have change for a $100?

Me: Sure do.

John: Thanks for understanding. We will tell our friends how accommodating you were in this situation.

Me: Marvelous. Have a great night!

IT WAS $1.00 DRAFT NIGHT LOL, LMAO, AND WTF?????

Flagstaff, AZ—Arizona was still a territory when the Weatherford Hotel was erected in glorious downtown Flagstaff. The old hotel remains one of the coolest structures in the southwest. It’s the home of the Flagstaff Writing Group and it’s also quite haunted. The majority of the ghost sightings occur in the Zane Grey ballroom, so last week, with an almost unrivaled determination, Alex Bone and I made the intrepid 11 pace march from bar to ballroom.

Did I mention there’s a step involved? We cleared that hurdle like pros (with our gear!). There ain’t no mountain high enough… Our weekly writing group typically meets on the third floor. From May to October you can usually find us on the balcony harassing waitresses, and the rest of the year you can usually find us in the old Wyatt Earp bar…er, harassing waitresses.

The balcony view from our writing group

Wyatt Earp’s bar, which is actually his bar transported from Tombstone

Oddly enough, the Weatherford Hotel was built by some dude named Weatherford. This proved to be the first of many such strange coincidences. The old place is rich with history, of which I know next to nothing. Did I mention the Flagstaff Writing Group meets there? That’s about all I know. Winslow doesn’t pay me enough to do actual research, so there…I said it. There’s also this great jazz group on Thursdays, but what makes the place really special for us is Shelly, the barkeep, who rarely throws us out, even when we’re being obnoxious…er, weekly around writing group time.

Apparently, there is a resident ghost who haunts one of the tables we meet at for our writing group. Yes, for three years we’ve been traveling all over the southwest to cover hauntings and paranormal phenomenon, never realizing the very table where we plan each excursion is, in fact, haunted. 

Not much gets by us…

You know what’s worse? A film crew was there about six months ago. We were in the way and we were interrupting them and they were interrupting us and we had no idea what they were doing at the time. Shelly just confirmed they were conducting a paranormal investigation.

Not much gets by us…

Oh, and on that same night, Alex Bone kept getting up because this door in the far corner kept opening. He would go over to close it and then walk back to the table. But just as soon as he sat back down the door would open again. This happened three times. So he walked back over and finally said, “Damn these ghosts tonight!”

Now nothing would be horribly interesting about this occurrence except this film crew, these ghost hunters, were literally right around the corner filming the hallway, probably saying, “Nope, no ghosts over here.”

Each of the five members of the Flagstaff Writer’s Group in attendance witnessed this. The door probably opened because of a draft, but the timing was perfect. Never, in the three years we’ve been meeting here, had the door opened like that before.

Many of the ghostly sightings involve a nameless woman who is said to float around the Zane Grey ballroom, complaining about “the lousy grammer of that, obnxious witing-group!),”

First, we asked Shelly if she had ever witnessed anything strange in the hotel. She, of course, clarified, “Besides you idiots?” She did say, long ago, a tragic wedding night occurred in room 54. The groom apparently froze to death in the forest and the wife hung herself in the room out of grief. The room has since been converted into a storage closet. In fact, I think I passed out in there once.

The Weatherford staff does report the ghost’s message has changed over the years from screams of anguish to the more mundane “FYI: we’re running low on toilet paper and Windex again.”

What the hell are those two thinking? Every corner of this place is awesome and you’re going to stay in the frigging closet for a century?  Ghosts…sometimes their behavior is downright frightening.

So on a dreary night Halloween week, we held us a good old fashioned writing group séance. We brought the latest para-abnormal research equipment to bear. We had a clear advantage over other investigators…being regulars the ghosts would be familiar with us. We also had a clear disadvantage over other investigators as…er, being regulars the ghosts would be familiar with us. 

The séance got off to a bad start as I brought a Yahtzee game instead, because I couldn’t score a Ouija Board. This development was met with considerable scorn.

As you can see we managed

Mick Zano, Alex Bone, Cokie McGrath, and our camera man, George, participated in the event. There were also two pharmacists on hand, Stephanie and Melinda, in case someone needed a Xanax (a séance must).

During our Yahtzee séance—not Nazi séance as everyone kept calling it—we discovered we really need to find more productive hobbies. After about a dozen questions we realized we needed to ask yes and no questions. Then after about a dozen more questions the cup moved directly to Melinda’s wine glass. Hmmm.

We also decided to focus part of our investigation on this door in the south western corner of the ballroom, but the ghostly phenomenon experienced several months earlier did not reoccur.

We also held a séance in room 54, because the further we are away from the bar area, the happier our barkeep seems. None of us had any strange experiences in that room, but I did notice something while in there and snapped this picture.

Our EVPs sessions also proved disappointing as we asked important questions like, “Ghost 54 wheeere aaaare you?” That’s an old joke but, you must remember, these were old ghosts. Know your audience.

Before we put our investigation to rest, I asked Shelly one last question and she confirmed my suspicion. I hadn’t paid my tab last time. She also told me there has not been any activity since they moved the beer into that haunted storage room. We have often found in previous investigations alcohol tends to appease spirits. This tied-in nicely with the only occurrence during our séance. We interpreted the ghost’s message as, “I want some wine from the chick who has access to those Xanies.” Maybe the word spirit even comes from the alcohol connotation.

I think we can consider this case solved. As long as numerous cases of beer remain in the infamous room 54, folks will sleep easy over at the Weatherford. As for the ghost in the ballroom, we spill enough beer in there to keep her happy for a long, long time. Shelly, on the other hand, not so much.