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Christmas Time At Hazel's
as told by Barbara McBeath of The Ghost Investigators Society photos by Barbara McBeath
Several years ago, just a couple of weeks prior
to Christmas, Roger and I were approached by
an acquaintance. He knew that we investigated
locations that are reportedly haunted, and he
wanted to tell us about an old abandoned farm
house which was located in North Ogden. He and
his girlfriend had an experience there that had
scared the wits out of them while they had been
scavenging the property for small treasures, and
the experience made them both flee from there
with fright. He told us that we should go and
check it out, as he knew it was something that we
would be interested in. We invited him to accompany
us there, but he had no desire to go back.
The idea of ghosts was something that he had
always scoffed at, up until he had this experience,
that is. After telling us about their experience, he
provided us with directions as to its whereabouts,
but any further involvement with the place was
out of the question as far as he was concerned.
 Even though there was no snow on the ground yet, the air was cold. I zipped up the white parka that I was wearing and, as I was walking back around to the front of the house, I could hear Roger talking with our friend on the other side of the thick bushes near the house. In a loud whisper, I asked him what he was doing, although from the sounds he was making, I could tell he was making his way through the overgrowth. He answered back that he was trying to make his way to the front porch. I remember being surprised that there was a porch, because I had not seen it. I finally heard his footsteps walking across the wooden floor of the porch as I made my way over to our friend, who was standing near a newly made pathway that led into the thicket of tangled branches and bare sharp twigs on hundreds of branches, twisting among each other. Even with most of the leaves gone from all the mass of entangled mess in front of us, I could barely see Roger through it all. We heard him give a disgruntled mutter about a large branch that had grown across the porch and was blocking the front door. “We’ll have to go around the back to get in,” he called out to us. “There’s no way to get in this way.” “Good”, I thought. I had no desire to try to make my way through that. I really didn’t understand why he even attempted to try to go that way. Roger is such an adventurer. We both waited for him to make his way back to us. While we waited, I remember walking back toward the road that passed in front of the house. It was so easy not to notice this poor old house behind all of the overgrowth. Only a small portion of the upper story of the small old wooden house was really visible. It had obviously been painted white at one time. There was also a small window up there that was partially exposed. It was starting to get dark now, with the sun setting behind the house, and I remember thinking that it would be so easy for someone to be watching us from up there. Anyone standing up there would not be seen looking down at us. That made me feel very uneasy. I always worry about someone we don’t know of, lurking around at many of the places we go to. It is the living, not the dead, that I worry about. I began to wonder about Hazel. Had she lived in this house for many years alone? Perhaps a widow for many years? If she was very elderly, the place would have easily gotten out of her control. If she and her husband had been farmers for years, she was probably not the sort of person who could easily ask for help. I feel like people of that stock are very self-reliant. I felt sympathy and sadness for her. Had she died alone in this house? Had she no children that could have helped her? I wondered how long the house had been vacant. Such questions where racing through my head, and some of the questions I was asking out loud. Roger finally emerged, and the three of us walked around the side of the house, toward the back. The bushes thinned out as we got closer to the rear of the house, and I noticed the foundation of the house was made of stones, held together with mortar. This really was an old house. I imagined hardly anything was out this way when this home was first built. Now, it seemed like North Ogden was rapidly changing. What was once farmlands and orchards was now subdivisions of houses, offices and stores. Once this old house was torn down, what was going to be put in its place? We rounded the back of the house and spotted the back door. There were large rusted pieces of old farming equipment scattered about in the yard. It seems that in the winter, once the sun starts to set, it disappears quickly, and by the time we reached the back door, it was dark. With our flashlights in hand, we watched as Roger opened |
 Roger walked across the room to the kitchen counter, and as he was reaching into his coat pocket, he told us that he had brought a Christmas present for whoever may still be dwelling in the house. We often bring a token gift when we go to a location for an investigation. It is a peace offering and a gesture of good will toward any ghost that may be lingering at a place. “Hazel, I brought you some Christmas candy and a small piece of a Christmas tree,” he announced. “I know you can’t taste it or smell it, but I’m sure you can remember.” And with that said, he laid them out onto the kitchen counter. While Roger was doing all of this, our friend and I had proceeded to walk into what I imagined must have been the living room. As we walked through this room, shining our flashlights about, we saw scenic paper pictures taped all over the four walls. They were the type of scenic pictures that are in calendars. They literally were plastered everywhere in the room, from the tops of the walls near the ceiling, and going down almost all the way to the floor. “How sad,” I whispered. I have been in elderly peoples’ homes, and have seen that this is something that some of them do, especially those who do not get out much and do not get much company. I really was feeling so much sympathy for Hazel, even though my thoughts could have been entirely wrong concerning her. The paintball fights did not seem to have occurred in this room of the house, nor the rest of the house either, for all of the calendar pictures and all of the old style wallpaper that covered the remaining rooms’ walls were completely free from the paint splatters that covered the kitchen walls. From what I assumed to be the living room, the next doorway led into the very next room, which I assumed to be the front bedroom. From there, we went through another doorway into what was probably a back bedroom. From there, we walked a few steps through a very short hallway, which was the only hallway in the house. In this short hall, we could take a long narrow stairway leading up to a loft, or continue straight ahead, which led back into the kitchen. The entire time that our friend and I were walking through the house, we could hear Roger talking to Hazel. This is something that we do in the G.I.S. when we are at a location conducting an investigation. We always talk to any unseen occupant just as if it is a living person. We ask questions that we would like an answer to, hoping to record a voice in response. We actually carry on a onesided conversation most of the time. We could hear Roger telling Hazel that he wished her a merry Christmas, and that he hoped she didn’t mind that we had stopped by to pay her a short visit. He had his back to us when we had left the room, and he was still standing at the same kitchen counter when we re-entered the kitchen from the short hallway. I had mentioned to our friend while we had been walking through the house that I wanted to step outside and take a couple of pictures. I had been snapping off pictures as she and I had made our quick tour of the house, and I wanted to get some outside. We walked across the kitchen, and walked toward the back door, which was still partially open. As she and I were just about to step outside through the door, we heard Roger gasp behind us. We stopped and looked back toward him. He was hurriedly walking toward us, looking back over his shoulder. I could tell the way he was acting that something had happened. “Oh, my gosh!” he kept whispering excitedly. “You just won’t believe it!” he said as he finally reached us and started pushing us out the door. “What?” we kept asking him. “What happened? What is it?” He kept repeating, “You just won’t believe it. Hurry, get out.” He kept looking back over his shoulder, as he quickly ushered us outside. “I’m sorry, Hazel, but you startled me,” he apologized to her, looking back into the kitchen as he hurriedly stepped outside with us. Finally, he got his composure and asked us if we saw anything in the kitchen next to him. We told him that we had just walked back into the kitchen after making a quick tour of the house and we were just heading outside to take some pictures. Apparently, he had not realized we weren’t in the kitchen with him that whole entire time. He said that as he was talking to Hazel, he felt someone walk up behind him, and put its arms around him, giving him a loving hug, as he describes it. He thought it was me, and as he leaned his head toward his shoulder to nestle back to me. That was when he saw our friend, and me in my white parka, starting to exit the back door, a good 20 to 30 feet away! He said he was so shocked to see us both over there, ready to walk out the door, he couldn’t believe it. I took a few pictures while Roger was relating his experience to us. I believe Hazel accompanied Roger outside, because I believe I captured her on film while we were all standing there. I believe what Roger experienced really happened to him, and I believe that Hazel’s ghost was grateful to have our company. Plus I believe she acknowledged to Roger the humble Christmas gifts he brought to her. He first described the hug as loving and I believe he sensed the gentle nature of poor Hazel. I hope she was able to sense the feelings we were experiencing towards her, too. We returned a few more times after that, and then Hazel’s house was torn down. All of the overgrown trees, shrubs and bushes are also gone. In their place is an office building, with a nice large parking lot behind it. Every time we drive by there now, we always wonder if Hazel is still there, or if she has moved on. I often wonder if the people who work in the new building have ever had any unexplainable occurrences take place there, and I have often been tempted to stop and inquire, but I have never done so. That was Roger’s first real personal experience with a ghost. It is an experience which, I believe, demonstrates how we keep our human traits, both as a ghost investigator and as a ghost. Merry Christmas, Hazel. G.I.S. provide their services free of charge. Contact: GIS@ghostpix.com |
