Not exactly.

But legends have a funny way of refusing to stay buried.

If you’ve lived around Columbus long enough, you know better than to dismiss whispers coming out of Mill Race Park.

Fifty-two years ago, something unusual happened at Mill Race Park. Nobody’s ever nailed down what, exactly — creature, mistaken identity, a town that got swept up in its own story, take your pick. But the Mill Race Monster became part of Columbus history, full stop.

Eyewitnesses described a towering, green, hairy creature lurking near the river. Police investigated. Hundreds of curious residents flocked to the park hoping for a glimpse. Newspaper headlines carried the story far beyond Bartholomew County — by the time it was over, papers were calling it one of the largest monster hunts the country had ever seen.

And then there are the details that still make me smile. Before the creature was ever reported, multiple witnesses described strange lights drifting silently over Mill Race Park. Later, people who’d never met one another gave remarkably similar descriptions of what they saw. Then there are the contradictions — those wonderfully human inconsistencies that somehow make the whole episode feel more authentic, not less.

UFO sightings right before a cryptid encounter? Somewhere, a cryptozoologist just nodded knowingly. It’s almost a cliché at this point. (Seriously… look it up.) Coincidence? Maybe. A pattern? Plenty of researchers have wondered the same thing.

When I started digging into the Mill Race Monster, I wasn’t trying to prove a monster roamed Columbus — I just wanted to know what actually happened in the fall of 1974.

The deeper I got into the newspaper archives and eyewitness accounts, the clearer it became that this legend wasn’t built on one wild story. It was built on dozens of small moments — some consistent, some contradictory, all fascinating. Believe in cryptids, mass hysteria, mistaken identity, or just the staying power of a good local legend — whatever you land on, that’s part of what makes this one so much fun.

The Legend Comes Back to Mill Race Park

Which is exactly why I’m thrilled to share the news: the Columbus Area Arts Council is bringing the legend back to life with the very first Mill Race Monster Festival, October 23–25, 2026, right at Mill Race Park — the very place where the legend first took hold.

This festival isn’t out to solve anything. It’s here to celebrate it. Over three days, the park will transform into a living, breathing version of the legend through art installations, performances, storytelling, music, and hands-on experiences dreamed up by local artists. Expect the earnestly weird, by design.

Legends don’t become festivals overnight. This one’s been quietly working its way back into the public imagination for years.

In October 2023, after weeks of digging through newspaper archives and interviewing witnesses — with generous help from people who shared historical records and tracked down information I couldn’t have found on my own — I published one of my favorite Paraholics investigations: Vote For The Mill Race Monster.

The title was tongue-in-cheek. Beneath the joke, though, was a serious point.

Here was one of Indiana’s strangest and most enduring local legends, and Columbus seemed to be letting it quietly fade into history.

The Mill Race Monster is uniquely ours. Nobody else gets to claim this story, because it didn’t happen anywhere else. It belongs to our shared folklore.

Every town has stories that make it distinctive. This is one of ours.

And unlike so many legends, this one can still be experienced in the very place where it happened.

So I made the case that Columbus should finally claim it as part of its own identity.

And if we weren’t going to…

Well…

Maybe the Mill Race Monster ought to run as a write-in candidate for mayor.

After all…

The campaign platform practically writes itself.

I later republished the article on Paraholics’ Substack after moving the site from WordPress in 2024, adding a brief note that Columbus had once again missed an opportunity to celebrate one of its most delightfully strange stories.

Not long afterward, I had the pleasure of leading a Mill Race Monster walking tour through the park as part of Landmark Columbus Foundation’s public programming. The legend was still alive. It no longer belonged only to newspaper archives — it belonged to the people still telling the story.

Around the same time, local artists were rediscovering the Monster through projects like The Monster Show at 411 Gallery and Kevin Zeigler’s comic. Now all of those threads have come together.

The Columbus Area Arts Council, alongside Visit Columbus and Columbus Parks & Recreation, has done exactly what I hoped someone eventually would. They’ve embraced the legend — not to explain it, not to prove it. Just to celebrate it.

I also want to extend a heartfelt thank-you to Brooke Hawkins and everyone at the Columbus Area Arts Council for recognizing that local folklore isn’t just something to archive. It’s something to experience. Columbus invited everyone to come play.

I’m genuinely honored that Paraholics was tapped as one of the historical resources that helped inspire this event. I also owe heartfelt thanks to everyone who contributed time, memories, research, newspaper clippings, photographs, and encouragement during the original investigation. Local history is rarely preserved by one person alone, and this project benefited from the generosity of many people who cared deeply about documenting this remarkable story.

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Want to Be Part of the Legend?

The best folklore isn’t locked away in books or museums. It stays alive because people keep telling the story — and sometimes by writing new chapters of it themselves.

One of the things I find most exciting about this festival is that it isn’t just something to attend — it’s something the community can help create. The organizers are inviting artists, authors, folklorists, researchers, podcasters, performers, vendors, educators, paranormal investigators, cryptozoology enthusiasts, volunteers, and other creative people to get involved. I’d especially love to see members of the paranormal and Fortean communities show up in a big way.

A quick heads-up: Vendor, performer, and activity-host applications are due August 28, 2026, so don’t sit on this one.

Learn more or apply: https://www.millracemonsterfest.com/get-involved

Read the original investigation on Paraholics: https://www.paraholics.com/p/the-mill-race-monster

Fifty-two years later, and we still don’t know if the Mill Race Monster was flesh and blood, folklore, or something that slipped between the cracks entirely. What we do know is that the story’s still growing, and that’s exactly what a good legend is supposed to do.

For years, I’ve hoped Columbus would realize it already had something no other city could ever duplicate. Looking at what this festival has become, I’d say that day has finally arrived.

Mill Race Monster Festival

Where: Mill Race Park —Columbus, IN

When: October 23–25, 2026

Latest news, schedules, and participation:

https://www.millracemonsterfest.com

P.S. If you notice strange lights drifting silently over Mill Race Park beforehand… well, now you know why some of us will be looking up before we start looking into the trees.

I was glued to Season 6, Episode 1 of Expedition X, immersed in the haunting vibes of Eloise Asylum. Like anyone drawn to the ethics of ghost hunting—or the raw allure of decaying architecture and echoes of human suffering—I felt that familiar charge when the guide declared, “This is the most active floor.” Cue the EMF meters, the whispered “did-you-hear-thats?,” and the stage set for a haunted experience. I’ve lived that scene a hundred times across a hundred locations.

But after years chasing the why and how of hauntings with relentless passion, I’ve reached a hard-earned conclusion: it’s mostly in your head. Your beliefs, expectations—even collective stories drive what you encounter. If you’re drawn to spirit communication like I am, you’re already tuning into the unseen, whether you know it or not.

Before you hurl an Ovilus at me, hear me out. Hauntings are real, spirits are real, but mainstream ghost hunting—obsessed with gadgets, proof, and virality—is often more performance than revelation. If you’re not using it for personal spiritual growth, or worse, exploiting it for entertainment, you’re not just missing the point. You’re distorting the signal.

To unpack this, I draw on voices like Brother Richard Hendrick, a Franciscan monk whose 2019 Strange Familiars interview blends Irish mysticism with spiritual wisdom (Renner, 2019). His insights, paired with my field experiences and cultural traditions, reveal what’s at stake in the unseen.

Some in the paranormal community find “ghost-hunting” offensive, viewing it as predatory. Fair enough. Here, I mean hunting as seeking—to explore, question, connect, not to trap or harm. I’m not bagging ghosts like it’s open season. But too often, this field misses the mark, favoring thrills over meaning.

What follows is a dive into how your mind shapes the experience, why intention trumps tools, and why we should treat this work as a sacred dialogue, not a thrill ride. This journey starts with a radical idea: reality itself might be mental, and your mind is the key to unlocking the unseen.

Reality Check: It’s All Mental (Literally)

Here’s the key: everything is mental.

Most assume the mind is just neurons firing in the brain. But what if that’s backwards? Philosopher Philip Goff’s work on panpsychism suggests consciousness is the fabric of reality itself, not a byproduct of matter (Goff, 2019). In ghost hunting, this means our minds don’t just observe spirits but actively connect with them in a shared reality. Picture the universe as one vast mind, with our brains as antennas tuning into its frequency. Ghosts aren’t mere remnants—they’re like side-channel transmissions, messages from another layer of consciousness reaching us through the same universal system. Spirits, then, might exist within this shared mental field—a kind of universal consciousness that connects all minds—where our thoughts and beliefs can shape what we encounter, like egregores at St. Albans Sanatorium, entities created by the collective focus and emotions of visitors. When we die, we don’t vanish; we shift to another layer of this cosmic awareness.

This isn’t just philosophy. Tibetan Buddhism’s Bardo Thödol, or The Tibetan Book of the Dead, describes the post-death state as a liminal dream realm, a transitional space where consciousness lingers before moving to the next life (Evans-Wentz, 1960). It’s not an end but a transition, like tuning to another station in the same broadcast field.

So what does this mean for ghost hunting? We’re not just observing external phenomena—we’re entangled in them. Our thoughts, emotions, and beliefs don’t just filter what we see—they shape what unfolds. Ghost-hunting isn’t about proving something with a gadget; it’s about recognizing our consciousness as part of the transmission.

From the Monroe Institute’s sound-induced consciousness research to ITC sessions tapping into consciousness unbound by space or time—like a signal traveling beyond physical limits—one truth emerges: Ghosts may be one mind reaching for another across dimensions. Maybe you’ve never seen it this way, but once you do, you’ll realize your investigations were lost in the static—until now. In short, ghost hunting isn’t just about capturing evidence—it’s about tuning our minds to a shared reality where spirits and our consciousness intertwine.

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Imagination and Intention — The Frequencies We Broadcast

Imagination isn’t idle—it’s generative. It doesn’t just influence our experiences in the paranormal; it shapes them. Walk into a haunted location expecting a vivid figure from its ghost stories, and your mind is already tuning that frequency. If that place is soaked in emotional residue, any intelligence present—especially chaotic or spiritual ones—may seize your script and shape the outcome.

I’ve seen this at St. Albans. My team entered steeped in tales of “Donald” and “Jacob,” entities tied to specific rooms. During our sessions, ITC responses echoed those names repeatedly, though no historical records confirm their existence (Paraholics, 2025). Research suggests ITC can reflect investigators’ expectations, acting like a mirror for our beliefs (Leary, 2013). It felt less like uncovering the past and more like improvising a ghost story in real time, co-authored with the unseen.

To be clear: I’m not saying we invent the spirits. I’m saying our perception colors the channel. Just as a radio plays what it’s tuned to, our expectations can shape which voices come through—and how we interpret them.

That’s why the quality of your consciousness matters. If you enter this work with grounded clarity and compassion—vibrating high in the truest sense: with love, humility, and genuine concern for others—you’re more likely to resonate with higher vibrational intelligences. But come in chaotic, ego-driven, or emotionally unstable, and you risk attracting others operating on that same low frequency.

This work is a mirror. The unseen reflects who we are, not just what we want.

Popular ghost hunting spots, like St. Albans, are often teeming with spiritual energies because of the intense focus and collective intention they receive. This concentrated energy acts as a magnet for a wide variety of entities—not just location-specific ghosts tied to the site’s history, but a diverse array of spirits drawn to the power of the place.

Another example: at the Indiana State Sanatorium, retired New Albany chief of detectives Mike Culwell appeared to connect with a spirit calling herself Mary, who claimed a nursing home room number that didn’t exist. The number was fabricated, matching the ghost story archetype—a lone, elderly woman in a forgotten hospital wing—but not the history. Whether it’s false memory, impression, or a clever trickster, the point is the same: spirit interactions are shaped by what we project. Our intention is the focus.

Brother Richard puts it simply: “Imagination and intention play a massive part” in how we engage the spirit world (Renner, 2019). Seek drama—clicks, clout, attention—and you’ll attract chaotic energies. Approach with respect and clarity, and the exchange may turn coherent, insightful, even transformative.

This isn’t unique to ITC or modern ghost hunting. In Yoruba tradition, rituals focus the mind to align with divine intent. Japan’s spirit boards require careful closure to maintain balance. In Spiritism, practitioners emphasize emotional clarity to avoid deception (Kardec, 1861). Whatever your approach—ghost box, apps, or intuition—your mindset amplifies the connection. Scattered thoughts create static.

But who’s listening on the other side? The spirit realm is more than ghosts—it’s a vast ecosystem of beings, each with its own agenda.

The Ecology of Spirits — A Vast, Layered Realm

Not everything that speaks in the dark is a ghost.

Brother Richard describes the unseen as a “vast ecosystem of spirits”—a complex, layered ecology far beyond pop culture’s disembodied souls (Renner, 2019). It’s a ladder of beings, with countless rungs of intelligences—ancient, indifferent, benevolent, or predatory. Humans? We’re far down the ladder, a minor tier in a hierarchy we barely grasp.

In Irish folklore, the “little people”—literal fairies—aren’t metaphors but entities with their own agendas. Offer reverence, earn protection; disrespect them, invite mischief (Evans-Wentz, 1911). Anishinaabe manitous—spirits animating land, water, sky—coexist but aren’t bound to human priorities (Johnston, 2001). Hindu devas and asuras balance order and chaos (Doniger, 1981). Christian angels and demons hold ranked roles (Russell, 1981). Each being—trickster, observer, elemental—operates with distinct will.

Haunted locations aren’t just for the dead. We might tune into something older, archetypal, or sentient echoes. Most often, we’re hearing low-level spirits—trauma-bound, confused, reactive static of the afterlife.

Discernment is everything. Brother Richard warns theatrical messages demand caution. His process: Root yourself through prayer or meditation, seek repeated confirmation, measure the message—does it bring peace or chaos?

The spirit realm isn’t a ghost buffet. It’s a wilderness. And if you don’t know what kind of being you’re talking to, you might be handing your attention—and your energy—to something that knows exactly how to use it.

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Tricksters and Sensationalists — Two Sides of the Same Coin

Here’s where things get slippery: the trickster.

Every spiritual tradition has one. Norse Loki. West African Anansi. Celtic Fae. They don’t just cause chaos—they expose blind spots. They test your assumptions, mock your certainty, and reflect your intention like a distorted mirror. Their role isn’t to guide—it’s to rattle. And if you’re paying attention, that disruption can sharpen your discernment more than any well-behaved spirit ever could.

Brother Richard warns from Irish tradition: tricksters show up when your ego does. They amplify what’s unexamined—your pride, your need to control, your craving to be seen. Not always malevolent, but always strategic. They will play to your expectations, wear the names you fear or desire, and pull you deeper into a story of your own making.

I’ve seen this firsthand at St. Albans. A voice broke through: snarling, sharp—“Kill them.” I laughed, surprised. It shot back, “How is that happy?” and then, cool and calm: “Kill you, me, God, and everyone.” It was pure performance—but for whom? The stories of “Donald” and “Jacob” that had saturated our sessions had no basis in documented history. The names were echoes of the legend we carried in with us. The trickster didn’t invent the narrative—it borrowed ours and used it against us.

But that’s the point. Tricksters aren’t just obstacles—they’re barometers. How we react to misdirection, contradiction, or absurdity reveals our inner alignment. Do we spiral, get defensive, chase every curveball? Or do we ground ourselves, laugh, ask better questions? Even if their motives are unclear, tricksters arrive to humble us, teaching through chaos what clarity we lack.

And many investigators—especially those performative for social media clout—become unwitting conduits for this trickster energy. By chasing likes, they amplify distortion, feeding chaotic entities that thrive on ego and confusion. Their theatrics show how deeply tricksters can weave deception, keeping us wallowing in the darkness of our own making. The lesson is stark: Unchecked ego invites chaos, blinding us to the truth. The hoaxer thinks they’re running the show, but they’re just actors in an invisible opera, staged by forces more cunning than they realize.

Brother Richard cautions: intend deception, and you’ll attract it. The Others don’t care about your brand—they respond to your signal. If that signal is distortion, expect noise in return.

The lesson isn’t to avoid the trickster—it’s to recognize when it shows up, and to learn from the encounter. That’s what keeps the work honest. That’s what keeps you honest.

The Hubris of Ghost Hunters — Playing God with Spirits

If there’s one trait that warps the heart of paranormal investigation, it’s arrogance.

You’ve seen it—the overconfident approach. People waltzing into locations like they own the place, barking questions at the unseen, demanding signs, brandishing tools like badges of authority. There’s an unspoken hubris in much of ghost-hunting culture: the idea that the dead owe the living their cooperation, that we can command the unknown like a concierge.

Brother Richard calls this out with a scalpel’s precision. In his words, most ghost hunters aren’t in dialogue with the Other—they’re “outside the discourse,” barely “listening through the wall” (Strange Familiars, 2019). Without spiritual practice, discernment, or humility, you’re not leading an investigation. You’re stumbling into a realm you don’t understand, and doing it with a bullhorn.

Nowhere is this arrogance more obvious than in the trope of “crossing spirits over.” It sounds compassionate—helping the lost find the light. But what if that spirit isn’t lost? What if it doesn’t want to go? What if it’s not what we think—perhaps residual energy, thought-forms like those at St. Albans, ancient intelligences, or entities posing as spirits?

I’ve seen groups declare spaces “cleared,” only for fresh phenomena to erupt within days. Did they help a spirit move on, or were they performing a ritual for show?

That said, there may still be value in simply offering peace. If a spirit truly is suffering, being present with compassion—without agenda—can be a quiet act of encouragement. Not a cosmic rescue mission, but a kind gesture. A stillness near the threshold. Not every being needs to be “sent on.” But some may just need to know they’re seen.

To be fair, there are reasons some investigators lean so heavily on tech or spectacle. In a field often dismissed as pseudoscience, gadgets provide something tangible—something skeptics can see, measure, or replay. And with attention spans short and competition fierce, some resort to dramatization just to be seen. But when the pursuit becomes more about validation than inquiry, we risk mistaking noise for signal—and missing the real conversation entirely.

Brother Richard’s ecological lens offers a better way: spirits may fulfill roles we don’t understand—guardians, messengers, witnesses. When we assume every lingering presence is broken, lost, or ours to fix, we stop listening. We project. And that’s when we lose the thread.

The moment you stop being a guest and start overstepping, the Others may remind you exactly who’s in charge. Rather than commanding the unseen, true ghost hunting invites a mindful exchange, where your energy shapes the encounter.

The Reciprocal Dance — Are You Okay with Being Fuel?

Far from the arrogance of commanding spirits, ghost hunting is a reciprocal dance, and our attention tunes the connection.

So what if ghost-hunting is partially performative—does that make it meaningless?

Not necessarily. It’s a reciprocal dance. You bring expectation, emotional charge, ego—and the spirit realm responds in kind. Without grounding, that exchange tips from insight to siphon, draining your energy. Our attention is an antenna, drawing spirits’ responses. Unaware, even genuine researchers can be played, their energy feeding tricksters who unravel the unprepared. Lead the dance—don’t be led, or spirits may feed on your signal.

I saw this at a public event at Waverly Hills Sanatorium. One group barreled in like it was a haunted house attraction—loud, performative, adrenalized. Their sessions were chaotic: mocking, repetitive, disjointed. But the next group, quieter and centered, shifted something. Responses turned intelligible, gentle, carrying a clarity that felt profound. The building didn’t change—our energy did.

Beyond shaping the interaction, the quietest magic of a haunted space is its mirror to your soul. It doesn’t just reflect fear or ego—it reveals your alignment, sincerity, readiness. When you enter with intention and openness, the quality of what speaks back might say more about you than the location. That’s the quiet magic of it. Ghost hunting—at its best—isn’t just about contact. It’s communion. It’s a conversation that lets you take stock of who you are, what you bring, and how the unseen responds. And in that exchange, you might just find yourself.

Another chilling example: during a private residential case, voices came through an ITC device claiming to be the deceased father of the homeowner. But another spirit—insistent, almost frantic—argued it was an imposter, a trickster pretending to be the father, seizing on the homeowner’s doubts. As Allan Kardec warned, spirits may pose as loved ones to test our clarity, turning sessions into performances if we’re not discerning (Kardec, 1861). The homeowner’s uncertainty fueled a narrative that felt like pure spectacle.

Ghost-hunting is a feedback loop. Your consciousness is a transmitter. Every spirit in the hierarchy of spirits has unique personalities, purposes, intentions, humor, and limitations. This is why mindfulness of what they’re capable of is imperative (Strange Familiars, 2019). Brother Richard’s discernment—gauging if responses bring peace or chaos—keeps you on sure footing.

Careless energy makes you fuel. You risk becoming fuel without boundaries. Traditional systems—Tibetan rituals, Indigenous ceremonies—stress closures for safety. So ask yourself: Are you showing up with clarity, humility, boundaries? Or are you flinging open the doors, hoping whatever wanders in is friendly? Because not every presence leaves when you do.

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Ghost Hunting with Integrity — Honoring the Field

Let’s give a nod to the investigators doing this work for the right reasons.

Forget the flood of fakery and theatrics—some researchers are in it for meaning, not metrics. They document with care. They skip the spectacle. They step into haunted spaces with humility and respect. No brand-building here—just a quiet push for understanding.

This isn’t a takedown. It’s a call to step up.

The paranormal world’s drowning in gimmicks. Social media’s a circus of creators turning the spirit realm into a stage—faking evidence, yelling “demon” at every creak, chasing likes instead of truth. And it works. Flashy gets views. Real doesn’t.

The fallout? Haunted spots turn into theater sets. Spirits get reduced to props. And anyone seeking genuine connection gets buried in the noise.

But integrity still holds weight.

Quiet, honest work might not blow up online, but it lasts. It earns trust—with your audience, your peers, and maybe even whatever’s out there. That trust is the foundation for anything real in this field.

For all you sciency investigators out there wanting to prove this is all real, here’s a heads-up: repeatability’s a tough nut to crack in this game. Your headspace, your intent, and the vibe of a place can shift what goes down, making lab-style consistency a pipe dream. Integrity means owning that—logging it straight, looking at patterns and context over cookie-cutter results.

This isn’t about ditching rigor. It’s about rethinking “proof.” Patterns across cases, the story behind each investigation, the bigger picture—they might tell us more than identical outcomes ever will. Integrity’s in the details: owning the variables, reflecting on their sway, and admitting the unseen doesn’t play by our rules. But if we listen close, it might still show itself.

So step back. Dig deeper. Don’t chase cheap thrills when something smarter, richer, maybe even sacred, is waiting in the quiet.

The unseen isn’t here for our amusement.

But it might talk—if we show up real.

A Better Way Forward — For Paraholics Who Want the Real Deal

So where do we go from here?

Brother Richard’s contemplative insights—echoed in traditions around the world—offer direction: we move forward with discernment, humility, and intention. We stop treating the spirit realm like a game or a gimmick.

Start by ruling out the mundane. Not every flicker is a phantom. Not every cold breeze is a message. Not every voice is what it claims to be.

Then set a clear intention. Pause before turning on your recorder. Ask yourself: Why am I here? What am I willing to hear?

Respect the complexity of the unseen. It isn’t just ghosts and demons. It’s a layered ecology—archetypes, ancestors, egregores, and intelligences we don’t yet have names for. Some speak truth. Others test you. Some wear masks made of your own fears.

And finally, treat ghost-hunting as a vehicle for personal transformation—not a content engine. You’re not there to provoke. You’re there to witness, to reflect, and maybe, just maybe, to grow.

If you want to do this with integrity, consider:

• Set a Clear Intention – Seek clarity, not spectacle.

• Ground Yourself – Calm minds make better receivers.

• Close the Session – Don’t leave energetic doors open.

• Reflect – Write it down. Patterns matter more than moments.

At Paraholics, we’re not here to kill the thrill.

We’re here to give it meaning.

Imagine a community of seekers known not for gimmicks, but for depth—for reverence—for asking better questions. A community the unseen might finally take seriously, because we finally started taking it seriously ourselves.

Tricksters will still show up. That’s part of the terrain. Maybe they’re here to test us. Maybe they’re just attracted to the noise. But if you lead with sincerity, even your vulnerabilities will carry weight.

Let’s raise the bar.

Let’s make the unseen take notice.

Because when we lead with clarity, humility, and curiosity—when we show up with compassion, not just questions—we’re not just ghost hunters anymore. We’re in a true conversation with the unseen.

—Evel Ogilville | Paraholics.com

Works Cited

• Doniger, Wendy. The Rig Veda: An Anthology. Penguin Classics, 1981.

• Evans-Wentz, W. Y. The Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countries. Oxford University Press, 1911.

• Evans-Wentz, W. Y. The Tibetan Book of the Dead. Oxford University Press, 1960.

• Goff, Philip. Galileo’s Error: Foundations for a New Science of Consciousness. Pantheon Books, 2019.

• Johnston, Basil. The Manitous: The Spiritual World of the Ojibway. Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2001.

• Kardec, Allan. The Mediums’ Book. Allan Kardec Educational Society, 1861.

• Paraholics. St. Albans Sanatorium: Ghost Hunting and the Power of Belief. 2025, www.paraholics.com/st-albans-sanatorium-ghost-hunting.

• Renner, Timothy, host. “A Monastic View of The Other.” Strange Familiars, episode 131, 5 Dec. 2019, www.strangefamiliars.com.

• Russell, Jeffrey Burton. Satan: The Early Christian Tradition. Cornell University Press, 1981.

• Leary, D. H. (2013). Do you hear what I hear? A research study on the interpretation of radio-sweep voice phenomena. ATransC NewsJournal, Spring 2013. https://atransc.org/radiosweep-study2b/

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I love history. Ironically, nothing brings the past more to life for me than an old cemetery or graveyard. The markers, the designs, and the symbols etched in stone offer clues about a person’s life and death, placed by those who loved them. Or, in some cases, I imagine headstones are anchors to keep some bastards and monsters down in the ground. Of course, I especially appreciate a good ghost story associated with graves. So, when Connor and I were en route to the Scott County Heritage Center & Museum on 10/30/2021 for an investigation, it allowed us a brief stop by Bridgewater Cemetery.

History of Bridgewater Cemetery: Ghosts, Graves, and Samuel Bridgewater

The Bridgewater Cemetery, also known as the Owens-Bridgewater Cemetery, is a small hilltop cemetery that likely began as a family burial ground in the early 1800s. It includes the grave of Samuel Bridgewater (1827), who immigrated from England and served as a Revolutionary War private under George Washington. This cemetery has its share of ghost lore. My favorite is the tale of the “guardian of the grounds,” said to glow after midnight and chase away violators unwelcome in the cemetery.

With this being a short visit, Connor and I did a quick walk around and noted some of the more interesting graves. Sadly, as with many rural cemeteries, we found evidence of pathetic vandalism. I had in my pocket two pieces of ITC equipment: my Panabox spirit box and the ever-coveted, despised, mystifying, and controversial Panasonic DR60.

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The DR60: The Most Polarizing Device in Paranormal Investigations

Wait, did I say DR60? THE PANASONIC RR-DR60? The most electrifying piece of EVP equipment ever created? The $3000 plastic, shitty hockey puck that Zak Bagans has used to dupe the entire world? The iconic device utilized by EVP experts, the Constantinos? That one???

It’s confusing — so many conflicting opinions about the devices we use in our investigative kits. Various pieces of equipment instantly polarize people. I try not to give my thoughts on specific types of tech. I won’t do it because I don’t want to be divisive on this blog — except for stupid-shit SLS cameras. And there I go… See? We all have opinions. My disdain for the SLS camera comes from experience. I owned one. I experimented with it. I think they’re turds — mostly. But I’ll get back to that in a second. Let’s take a quick look at the DR60 and have an honest conversation about this device.

Pros and Cons of the Panasonic RR-DR60

First, the pros:

1. Looks great in my hand.

Now the cons:

1. Sounds like shit.

I’m not done. The proponents of this device testify that it’s the best EVP recorder on the planet. And I kind of fall into this with one massive caveat: it’s one of the best when you’re in contact with a discarnate entity. Other than that, it’s a false-positive EVP machine — at times. And it can be used in a disingenuous way — even inadvertently. Let’s go through the legitimate concerns you should know, and I’ll also refute a few of the criticisms as I go.

Legitimate Concerns About the DR60

1. Low sampling rate: The device produces muffled and growly recordings. So true.

2. Internal glitch issues: The voice activation feature may introduce noise caused by an internal glitch in the integrated circuit board, which can trigger a recording. This causes the infamous flaw of the DR60 that often gets misconstrued as the angry old man’s voice or demonic screaming (especially if the sensitivity is set too high). I can’t tell you how many ghost hunters have freaked themselves out when they hear this flaw (I did). So many folks have posted these recordings as EVPs. I’ve even made the mistake of not fully understanding this fault.

3. No digital output: There’s no easy way to transfer the audio for analysis. No USB, making it a hassle.

4. Confusing voice activation mode: When reviewing sessions, the voice activation mode can make the context of your recordings very confusing.

Can You Get a Class A EVP with the DR60?

If you believe you can get a Class A EVP with this device, good luck. I’ve used one for years and have only recorded a handful. Most of the time, they’re just not going to be that precise. But if you’re indeed in contact with an entity, it’s possible. So how do you know when a DR60 is working for you versus against you? Here are a few tips:

1. Don’t force it: If your session produces nothing but guttural screams, it’s probably not an EVP — it’s the recorder screwing up. I recommend lowering the sensitivity. Most legit EVPs from the DR60 are whispery and seem embedded in white noise, allowing you to distinctly hear faint vocalizations. One reason people don’t like this recorder is the same reason I do — the craptastic microphone has a minimal range. On the one hand, you don’t need to worry about audio contamination from an interstate three miles away. On the other hand, you need to keep it dead-still in your hand or set it down. Anything that produces noise near the device can prompt the voice activation and create an audio artifact you might confuse for an EVP (much like the internal glitch issue). So, you have to be very honest and discerning when reviewing.

2. Run a high-quality recorder alongside your DR60: Preferably capture your session on video too. This is the best way to validate a possible EVP from this device. Because of the technical constraints, these recorders are liars. Don’t get duped.

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White Noise, EVPs, and the DR60

My optimism for this device stems primarily from the number of sessions I’ve conducted with it that have produced NO EVPs. Many of my sessions don’t even produce the “angry old man yelling about his hemorrhoids” internal flaw. So it’s not always in misfire mode, despite what the Paranormal Naysayers Gospel Choir might claim. I’m also a proponent of the theory that white noise possibly helps ghosts — which technically shouldn’t have vocal cords — by providing extra phonic material to manipulate for speech. The DR60 has a very analog sound versus the super-clean sounds of modern recording equipment. I like experimenting with both. I’ve caught simultaneous EVPs with each device. I think the DR60 excels in this aspect. My theory is that the flaws and limitations of the Panasonic RR-DR60 are the very things that make it a fantastic recorder when everything comes together — entity, corroborated data, etc. Maybe even the glitch helps with communication? Who knows?

And what if I told you that an audio engineer friend, who is also an ITC researcher, took a DR60, disconnected the device’s microphone, and still recorded EVPs with it? Well, that happened. This completely undermines the argument that Panasonic’s “EVPs” are solely manufactured by the voice activation mode triggering a recording due to its internal functions. Interesting, right?

I believe whatever happens with this recorder regarding EVPs is happening through internal manipulation. It seems much more like an ITC device than a regular EVP recorder. That damned microphone seems inconsequential for EVP and is the source of the device’s detrimental flaw.

Cross-Referencing and Corroboration: Your Best Bet for Validation

3. Use corroborative data to validate your EVP capture: Because of the issues with this recorder, its recordings have a wobbly leg to stand on when presented as an anomalous response. As I mentioned earlier, this recorder is at its best (like all devices) when in the presence of a discarnate intelligence. Since we cannot validate a ghostly intellect, capturing the validity of the experience becomes more compelling — especially when you have other devices that log data and trigger at the exact moment you’ve caught an EVP on the DR60. Like when your TriField meter spikes, your REM Pod chimes, your goth tech-gal Betty Elvira II levitates upside down on camera, and your Tascam captures an EVP — but so does your Panasonic RR-DR60. See? We can’t prove what happened there. We documented strange phenomena and a weird voice — but we can’t prove what caused it. We’re just calling it a ghost.

So, when you review that moment on your DR60 and get a Class B EVP that sounds like “I’m Satan’s twisted sister,” it becomes harder to dismiss it as just the internal performance of a flawed recorder. But alas, the real scientific community will never accept an EVP from this device due to its design defects. Sadly, that’s the stone-cold fact.

A Change in Direction: Why I No Longer Use the DR60

Now, as much as I’ve discussed the pros and cons of this device, I’ve reached a point where I can no longer include the Panasonic RR-DR60 in my investigations. Even though I firmly believe it has a place in the annals of ITC and EVP history, and despite my own positive experiences with this recorder and some wild results, it’s been so wildly misrepresented by charlatans on YouTube and TikTok that, in good conscience, I don’t want any of my methodologies to remotely resemble that scene. And I offer no apologies for my time in experimenting with this recorder either. I’ve always been transparent in my claims and the devices I’ve tried out over the years.

This is a line I’m drawing to say I don’t condone folks who exploit the field, and I don’t want to be anywhere near anything they portray. The DR60 has been lumped into a category of sensationalist equipment that’s become more of a prop in the hands of these “influencers,” rather than a serious tool for EVP research.

Just as I would never use an app or device that has origins in the realm of, and I don’t even want to name it here — let’s nickname it Puff Haranormal — I am distancing myself from this type of equipment. In the same way that I want nothing to do with any gadgets associated with the Puff scene, I now feel the same about the DR60. It’s unfortunate because I’ve had some incredible experiences with it, but I can’t, in good conscience, be part of the mess that others have made of it.

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Still a Tool in the Paranormal Toolbox – With Responsibility

That said, I don’t believe the DR60 should be discarded altogether by serious researchers. It has its place in the annals of ITC and EVP history for a reason. The key is to use it responsibly. Like every tool in this field, it requires a skeptical and discerning approach. Cross-reference your findings. Don’t rely solely on the DR60, and always be upfront about its limitations. If used correctly, it’s possible to capture something genuinely interesting.

However, paranormalist need to understand that no matter what equipment they use, there is no such thing as perfect proof. Paranormal investigation is not about certainty — it’s about exploring possibilities. That’s why it’s crucial not to put blind faith in any device, especially one as flawed as the DR60. Always remember that the limitations of our tools, including the DR60, mean that we are working with suggestive data, not definitive answers. Ultimately, this device would be best utilized by an ITC researcher in a lab versus someone ghost hunting at locations. But that opinion is just to make your EVP efforts more credible and easier than what it would take to validate a DR60 recording.

Conclusion: Moving Forward with Integrity

For all the DR60 critics out there, they’re 100% within their rights to criticize the DR60. But they’re also 100% full of shit to discard it as a tool for EVPs when no device gives concrete, empirically indisputable results. Same with me and the loathsome SLS camera. If we were investigating together and you whipped one out, I’d internally groan. Still, given that we cannot define the parameters of the paranormal, prove its existence, or say how the supernatural might choose to interact or manipulate devices or communicate with us, I’d be begrudgingly open to the potential of your SLS maybe capturing something incredible. Who am I to say what the paranormal can or cannot do?

In this field, nothing we capture conclusively proves anything, so why dismiss the DR60? Critics are right to point out its flaws, but they’re wrong to discard it all together. No device gives indisputable results. Investigators cherry-pick what they accept or dismiss concerning the supernatural. In the end, the paranormal remains elusive, and we’re all chasing spectral hopes and dreams.

If the paranormal were a sandwich, it would be peanut butter assumptions and superstition jelly on What-The-Fuck-Wonder Bread. Maybe, just maybe, we should all consider the big bites we take before swallowing and chugging a glass of milk?

— Evel Ogilville

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Appendix: Historical and Paranormal Lore of Bridgewater Cemetery

Bridgewater Cemetery, also known as Owens or Owens-Bridgewater Cemetery, is located on County Road 400 S in Lexington Township, Indiana. The small hilltop cemetery likely began as a family burial ground in the early 1800s. One of the most notable graves is that of Samuel Bridgewater, who passed in 1827 after immigrating from England. He served as a Revolutionary War private and sided with George Washington. The cemetery saw burials from the 1820s to 1930, with some Civil War-era graves.

Paranormal Claims

Bridgewater Cemetery is steeped in eerie lore. Popular paranormal reports include:

• Growling sounds near the back of the cemetery, resembling a dog.

• A riderless white horse said to chase away visitors.

• Sightings of a man on horseback, sometimes appearing headless.

• The grave of the “guardian” is said to glow after midnight, chasing away trespassers. A man in a white hat, believed to be the night watchman, is also said to appear in spectral form.

• Visitors report glowing balls of light and small, bright red eyes in the woods toward the back.

• Electronics and vehicles frequently fail within the cemetery grounds.

• The temperature inside the cemetery is said to be noticeably cooler than outside the gates.

Additionally, a myth surrounds an oak tree known as the “Death Tree,” where enslaved people were said to have been hanged. However, this lore has been largely disputed, as graves were present on the grounds before the gates were constructed, and family plots extended into areas later repurposed for parking.

— All historical info graciously harvested by the great and powerful Eunice Specter.

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