Paranormal State: My Journey into the Unknown, Page 2

  It’s important to point out, though, that the way things look to me and what someone watching Paranormal State sees aren’t always the same thing. Like any television series, in the interests of time and good entertainment, the show presents reality through a particular lens. Out of more than forty-eight hours or more of tape, the talented producers and editors have to boil the story down to twenty-two minutes. I wish I could say that I’m always that sensitive, caring, and selfless person seen on the show every week, but I’d be lying through my teeth.

  My original reason for investigating was completely selfish. I wanted answers for myself. I wanted to find the darkest side of the paranormal and confront it. It’s like that scene in Twister, when Helen Hunt’s character (who’d seen her father and home destroyed by a tornado when she was a child) disregards her own safety just to get closer to the center of the tornado. She had to see it, no matter the cost.

  The paranormal experiences I had as a child were like that tornado. If you find that laughable, don’t worry. I won’t get offended. Most of my high school peers thought it was a joke, too.

  So despite what some might believe, I didn’t become a paranormal investigator to do a TV show. Exploring the unknown is something I’ll be doing until I find the resolution I’m looking for, until I have my answers.

  At the same time, clients often come to us because they’re genuinely suffering, so I’ve learned to put my personal obsessions aside—sometimes grudgingly. Even when I do, though, deep down I’m still thinking that maybe I’ll figure something else out as well.

  In this book I try to capture that: my motives, my journey, what I’ve learned, and what I’ve had to unlearn. It’s only a piece of a lifelong story involving over two hundred cases and twelve years, but it covers the crucial beginnings and most of the first season of Paranormal State.

  I’m very proud of a lot of the work we’ve done throughout the four seasons we’ve completed at the time of this writing. Importantly, I believe we’ve stayed true to my original goals. I feel very fortunate to be where I am, with plenty of energy and plans for the future. Our successes inspire me to keep pushing the envelope, and I’m always learning new ways to do that, this book being one. Here you’ll read many things about the cases that never made it to the screen, a lot of the hows and whys behind not only the show, but my personal journey as well, and how my attitudes and beliefs have changed along the way.

  At the end of the day, though, the final thing on my mind, the thing I’m still chasing, is the truth. The show’s intro gets it right. Each time I help someone I feel like I’m one step closer.

  Chapter 1

  A Dark Crossroads

  I hope you understand that what you’re doing is not just hauntings. You’re helping people in a lot of different ways that maybe you don’t even realize.

  As it says at the beginning of every episode of Paranormal State, my name is Ryan Buell and I became interested in the paranormal because I’d experienced some very frightening phenomena as a child. As I got older, I wasn’t afraid anymore, but I was curious and fascinated. I studied the paranormal as much as I could. In high school I wrote about the paranormal for the school paper so often that people called me Mulder, after the character from The X Files. My interest continued as I became an undergraduate at Pennsylvania State University. On September 16, 2001, I founded the Paranormal Research Society (PRS) out of a clubroom in State College.

  I discuss some of our very early cases later on, but PRS’s first major investigation took place at the Pattee Library, the location of one of the only murders that ever occurred on campus. To give you the backstory, on November 28, 1969, a twenty-two-year-old graduate student in English named Betsy Aardsma was in the library stacks when someone stabbed her once in the heart. According to reports at the time, the librarian heard two men saying, “Somebody better help that girl.” Upon inspection, she found Betsy with books toppled over her. There was no blood visible, so the librarian didn’t even realize she’d been stabbed. By the time they got Betsy to the hospital her lungs had filled with blood and she was dead. The murder was never solved.

  I learned the story soon after starting school. When I first came to Penn State in August 2001, I had two jobs: one at the cafeteria in the Student Union, the other as a telemarketer. During the telemarketing training we were asked to say something true and something false about ourselves. The true thing I said was that I was a young paranormal investigator. Don’t know why I said that. Everyone looked at me like I was a fruit loop.

  But after the training session, a supervisor came up and told me she found what I said really interesting. We got to talking and she mentioned how some people thought they’d seen Betsy Aardsma’s spirit in the library. I did the telemarketing thing for a day, realized it wasn’t for me, and quit, but the story stayed with me.

  I was new at the school and didn’t know anyone, so one Friday night, I went to the library microfilm section and started researching Betsy. It took hours, but I finally found the date of the murder, and with that it was easier to get more articles.

  Within a month, I was forming PRS. I posted flyers in the community center of the school, the Hub, campus dorms, bulletin boards, and so on. Four people showed up at the first meeting, and the club was on its way.

  One of our first members worked at the library and knew a lot of people who’d had experiences there. Some claimed to have seen Betsy in the stacks, in the red dress she wore when she was killed. Others reported more unpleasant experiences, seeing black shadows, being touched. Some even said they were assaulted by a figure that would disappear into thin air when they screamed.

  With all this activity, it was clear this should be our first case. I headed down with some of our members during library hours to get a feel for the place. The stacks where the murder occurred were pretty empty. There were no desks, just old books in foreign languages that very few people looked for.

  At this point we had no training program. PRS pretty much accepted anyone. Unfortunately, three of our members, self-proclaimed witches, attempted to contact Betsy. Using permanent marker, they drew what they considered a magic circle on the library floor. I think to this day you can still see a faint outline. Then they freaked out, thinking we’d angered the spirit of the murderer. It was totally out of control. It did make me realize, however, that not everyone who wanted to join PRS had the same aspirations I did.

  But the club progressed. In 2002, we established UNIV-CON (some people think it’s an acronym, but it’s simply short for University Convention for Paranormal Research). An ambitious project, it was an attempt to offer paranormal enthusiasts an educational summit on paranormal research in an academic setting. Every year, we saw attendance grow, up to the thousands. At UNIV-CON I’ve met not only more fellow paranormal enthusiasts, but also many experts and professionals in fields like psychology, chemistry, and forensic science, which has helped make PRS a lot more than just a group of students who share an interest.

  Events have a way of weaving patterns you can’t see at the time. The beginnings of the television series worked that way, starting with a tragedy. On Halloween 2001, a Penn State student, Cindy Song, disappeared. Following a night of campus parties, she was last seen outside her apartment building at 4:00 A.M.

  The police worked the case hard—and the campus community followed closely—but there were no leads. Seven months later, in April 2002, she was still missing. It was then I took the step of contacting the police and suggesting they use a psychic. Since the Cindy Song case hadn’t gone anywhere using other means, I thought it was worth a try.

  The reaction from the police surprised me. Not only were they open to the idea; they were also willing to publicize their involvement with PRS. They explained that part of their reasoning was that the local news had stopped covering the case. Whether psychics were real or not, they hoped it might draw more media attention and with it, new information.

  With their approval, I contacted Carla Baron, a psychi
c who later became involved in the nationally covered Elizabeth Smart kidnapping investigation.

  Things worked out as the police had hoped. When word got out that a psychic was involved, the press picked up on the case with renewed interest. We spent a lot of time that summer trying to find Cindy Song, but, sadly, never did. Years later, Brian Sprinkle, the lead investigator, concluded she was likely dead. By 2005, there were no new leads. These days Cindy is used as a cautionary example by the State College mayor to remind students to stay safe at night, and not to drink too much.

  That failure was very emotional for me. In my heart, I believed we’d find her—that it was meant to be. That only shows how naïve I was at the time. I still hope that the Aardsma and Song cases will be solved one day. But Betsy died forty years ago. How much more information are you going to get? Cindy Song disappeared eight years ago. In that time the university town has changed populations twice, so I doubt her case will be solved either.

  As a result, though, for the first time PRS was in the center of a surreal media spotlight. During our search, I was contacted by a documentary crew that wanted to follow psychic Carla Baron and the investigation. Those efforts later became the basis for Psychic Detectives, the first big paranormal series on TV. My name was also passed around in media circles and soon I was fielding more and more offers for interviews and show appearances. Wanting to do my part to expand awareness of paranormal phenomena, I was eager to accept, but, once again, the truth was not as I’d pictured it.

  I quickly learned that the media thought of the paranormal as a novelty. During Halloween season everyone would air all these terrible paranormal specials that followed “real” ghost hunters on “real” ghost hunts. It just wasn’t interesting or important to me. I wanted to do something better, with integrity, something that showed what a paranormal investigation was actually like.

  At the same time, PRS was evolving. When it began, we were mostly interested in gathering evidence, proof. As I came in contact with more clients who were under duress, the focus shifted more toward trying to help. Failing to find a murderer aside, I learned there were other real ways to help, one of which was just believing what people had to say.

  There’s a huge taboo against openly discussing otherworldly experiences. People are afraid to talk about their experiences for fear of being judged, losing their jobs and families, or being discounted as crazy and getting locked up in some institution. As a result, they carry around this huge secret about experiences that deeply affect them on an emotional and mental level. Some of those who came to us were relieved just to have someone listen. Given my own experiences as a child, I was very sympathetic.

  Having a television series is a fantasy lots of people probably have at some point and I was no different. As a result of the media attention, and Psychic Detectives, I’d been speaking to two producers from LA about a show. It was just talking, no contract, but as a result I started thinking about what kind of show I’d want to be involved in.

  I decided I’d want it to try to accomplish two things: The first would be to show the realities of the investigation process, the trials and tribulations of the investigators, the quest for information, and the difficulty in getting proof. Second, I would want to fight that taboo, let people know that they’re not alone, not crazy, that there is something going on in their lives that can be dealt with.

  Don’t get me wrong. I respect some of the other paranormal reality shows, but they focus on that first part, the evidence. The client becomes a side story at best, whereas to me, they’re equally, if not sometimes more important. Having gone through it myself, I wanted to hear their stories, learn how it’s affected their lives, then try to find the connection to the paranormal—if one exists. That way, we learn about the people involved and can do our best to help them, even if the final truth can’t be known.

  As I was mulling all this, PRS was increasingly active, doing as much as an investigation per month, which seemed like a lot at the time. I’d also experienced my first demonic cases and had begun doing some work with the church. It was then my own life took a dark turn.

  During my senior year, I became involved in two very extreme cases that turned out to be related. One began in October 2004, the other in January 2005, but the cases overlapped, required frequent visits, and together lasted until May 2005. The church was involved, and in the process I witnessed the most intense activity I’ve ever seen.

  The complete details are worthy of their own book. Suffice it to say that while the rest of my peers were worrying about paying bills, passing classes, or what nightclub to go to on the weekend, I was helping a family survive a demonic attack in a house that, according to a psychic priest, sat on a portal to hell.

  At one point, I begged a professor for an extension on my final term paper because I had to participate in a formal rite of exorcism. When he stopped laughing, he managed to say it was the most creative excuse he’d ever heard (he later passed me, but only because I threatened to fight my grade with the dean for as long as I lived).

  Toward the end of those cases, an Emmy-nominated producer and president of Four Seasons Productions Intl. named Betsy Schechter got in touch. She asked if we had any footage we could show her. The Friday before spring break 2005, longtime PRS member and close friend Sergey Poberezhny, another member, and I stayed up all night assembling interview clips and evidence. Finally finishing by 7:00 A.M., we burned it to a DVD and FedExed it out.

  Exhausted, I crashed, and then headed home the next day. When I arrived, an e-mail was waiting for me from Betsy. I e-mailed back, expecting she’d answer in a few days’ time, but she wrote back immediately, asking to speak to me on the phone. We wound up talking for two hours. I told ghost stories and Betsy avidly listened.

  In May a two-man camera crew came to Penn State for a test shoot: producer Dave Miller, who later became coexecutive producer for the series, and his assistant. They planned to film us socializing at the school then follow us on an investigation for two days.

  That first night, after trying to get into a crowded local bar, we went to a party. Dave filmed us playing pong, drinking beer, and flirting with girls. It was exciting, but weird. The partygoers were playing things up for the camera. I tried to act natural, but if you’re thinking about it, it’s not natural, right? Over time you wind up forgetting the cameras are there, but that time had yet to come.

  The next day we went to Pittsburgh, the location of one of those two extreme demonic cases. As we stayed the night, things became intense. Our client began speaking incoherently, saying things that sounded like language, but weren’t. The fancy term is glossolalia, a condition where someone constantly, fluidly vocalizes in speechlike patterns that aren’t easily recognizable. It’s part of some religious practices, but also considered a symptom of demonic possession.

  Adam, an early PRS member, tried hypnosis on her. He was older than the rest of the team, and working on his PhD in clinical psych. During the session, different personalities came through the client and we became convinced an exorcism was needed. Driven by the client’s husband, we ran out in the middle of the night to find a priest.

  As we searched, it began to snow, which was very unusual, since it was May. Arriving at a large church, we tried to locate the rectory, the residence for clergy. A narrow alley held some metal steps to a door with a mail slot, so we figured that had to be it. I rang and knocked, with no response. I was about to give up when a light came on from a floor above us. Shortly, an older priest, wearing pajamas adorned with images of Kermit the Frog, opened the door and eyed us suspiciously.

  There we were: a college kid, a balding psychologist, and a cameraman, asking for an exorcist. He looked as if he would’ve been happier to find three muggers standing at his door. I started to throw out a lot of information, so he asked me to slow down. I did, and having worked with the church before, I also dropped some names from the diocese as references.

  He explained I didn’t need to convince him. H
e believed in the demonic, but he did not perform exorcisms. It wasn’t something he could do. Instead, he gave us some holy water* and a rosary.

  I remember him saying, “I hope you know what you’re doing. You walk where angels fear to tread. I’ll pray for you.” Then he shut the door.

  With the family under duress, Adam and I felt we had to do something to help them until we could get a priest. We planned to go back and try a house blessing.

  Meanwhile, Dave, our visiting producer, was flipping out. “You actually believe this stuff?” he asked. “I’m in a desolate area of Pittsburgh in an alleyway begging a priest for an exorcism? What the fuck am I doing? This stuff is real?”

  I hadn’t noticed Dave’s reaction, but he was shaken. As we drove back to the house, he called Betsy and said, “I feel like I took the red pill from The Matrix.” After a frantic conversation, Betsy told him if he wanted to, he could go.

  I was surprised at Dave’s reaction. Our worlds were colliding. It struck me then how completely and utterly absurd my life must have looked. Adam and I started laughing. Once we reached the house, we shared the story with some of the PRS team. Eilfie Music, who’d been in PRS practically since I founded the club, and Serg, who was there as part of the team, were as surprised as I was.

  And we went back to the case.

  Dave and his assistant met us again the next day and shot a little more footage before they headed back to New York City. Dave, who’s a superfunny, laid-back person, later told me that when he got home, for the first time in a long while, he prayed. He also started sprinkling holy water around his room. Although we had an uneasy introduction to each other’s worlds, Dave came back. He was a coexecutive producer for the first thirteen episodes in season one and for all of season two.