Embracing the Spirits: True Stories of My Encounters With the Other Side (9 page)

death whilst he was living, and in death, he is continuing to

fight it. It seems he is resisting the natural transition to the higher realms of the spirit world, preferring to inhabit the

rooms and hallways of the building he held so dear.

Also notable is the ghost of Room 24, the scene of a murder

in the 1940’s. As the story goes, a woman had arranged to meet her secret lover for a romantic rendezvous and was caught
in fla-grante
by her boyfriend. The enraged boyfriend hurled himself at the poor woman, throttling her until she was dead.

The unfortunate woman’s ghost is reported to linger in an

upstairs hallway, clad in a long, white nightgown. So palpable is the haunting, that Room 24 has been permanently locked

and hasn’t been rented out since.

An unsuspecting cleaning woman chanced upon the dis-

traught ghost early one morning whilst going about her duties.

68 The Kalamunda Hotel

The cleaner was so disturbed by the encounter that she handed

in her resignation the next day. Current employees report that footsteps, apparitions and the clinking of glassware are com-monplace. Sometimes an errant glass spontaneously shatters;

it’s something they’ve just all learned to live with.

Whilst sitting in the hotel’s foyer sifting through the archives, I was struck by a case of synchronicity. My mobile phone rang; a young lady wanted to speak with me regarding the ghosts of

the Kalamunda Hotel. Katinka had worked at the hotel for five

years, and wanted to know whether I was interested in hearing

about what she had experienced during this time.

We met up later that day, and Katinka told me what she

knew about the hotel. From breaking glass, disembodied foot-

steps and life-like apparitions, it was obvious that she had no doubt that the hotel was haunted. The fax machine would

mysteriously turn itself on, buzzing and carrying on despite

there being no fax. Doors would mysteriously open and close,

the till would fly open by itself. The Kalamunda Hotel even

has an invisible toilet flusher!

One particularly solid apparition made an appearance in

the hotel bottle shop, prompting Katinka’s husband (who was

on duty at the time) to try and serve the strange woman he

believed to be a customer. The elderly woman was dressed in

period clothing, her grey hair pulled back into a severe bun.

She disappeared as soon as she was approached.

The old woman is widely believed to be the ghost of Miss

Jarrett, the daughter of the Irish Stockman who built the original hotel. It is reported that she lived in the attic until her death and refuses to move on. Others still report the ghost of an Irishman, so perhaps Miss Jarrett and her father are haunting the hotel together.

The Kalamunda Hotel 69

Katinka also told me about a sad case involving a suicide in

the 1970’s. A young woman came to the hotel to see her boy-

friend, who was working his shift at the bar. Their relation-

ship was on the rocks, and she was hoping to speak to him and

patch things up. Contrary to salvaging the relationship as she had expected, her boyfriend informed her that it was all over, and that he was in fact seeing somebody else.

The distraught young woman made her way upstairs and

into the first room she could access. Consumed by heartbreak,

she impulsively took her own life. She was found hanging in

Room 1 the next day, a spur of the moment decision which

has kept her imprisoned in the hotel’s hallways ever since.

A day after hearing Katinka’s story, I received an email

which stopped me in my tracks. A lady named Jacqui wanted

to show me a photo she had taken a couple of years ago at the

Kalamunda Hotel. The photo was of a ghostly apparition; it

was the image of a young woman with long, blond hair. I was

sure it was the woman I had just been hearing about. Jacqui

also told me that her stay at the hotel had yielded some com-

pelling EVP’s. I was excited and intrigued.

We arranged to meet at the hotel the following week.

Although we were just meeting for a casual lunch, I knew it

would turn into so much more.

The photo was amazing. If it wasn’t for the fact that the

apparition didn’t have a lower half to her body (and the fact that Jacqui had assured me no other person was present at the

time) I would have thought that the photograph was of a liv-

ing person. Another giveaway was the ghost’s confused and

pained expression. Zooming in on her face was heart-break-

ing, it was obvious that the woman had been thrust into a

tragic situation by her angst-ridden impulsiveness. Her suicide 70 The Kalamunda Hotel

was a knee jerk reaction which has now left her trapped in the lower-vibratory realms.

Jacqui handed me a thumb drive which I would listen to

later, but first it was time to introduce ourselves to the hotel’s resident ghosts.

We made our way up the wide, wooden stair case, snap-

ping away as we went. Although we managed to capture

numerous orbs in our photos, we were both in the mindset

that we wanted a more concrete connection with the hotel’s

ghosts. We didn’t need proof of their presence, we knew they

were there and we wanted to help.

Perhaps fortuitously, a smallish round table sat off to one

side of the upstairs bar area.

“That table would be perfect for a session of table tipping,”

I said. “Do you think we should see if anyone wants to make

contact?”

Jacqui smiled as she pushed away the surrounding chairs.

“Absolutely!” she said.

A moment later, we were carrying the table into the Dome

Room; the room in which we felt the ghosts most strongly.

“Right!” I said as we placed our hands on the table. “Let’s

see if anyone wants to come through …”

Jacqui and I spent the next half hour chatting to the young

girl in the photo, and to Mr Paddy Connelly himself. Although

Paddy was initially reluctant to communicate, he soon

warmed to us and was happy to join in. We ended up using an

upturned glass with a hastily scribbled Ouija board, through

which Paddy was able to identify himself and make contact.

His energy first came across as unwelcoming and angry, but

we soon reassured him that we were here to help and meant

him no harm. I feel confident that we eventually won him

The Kalamunda Hotel 71

over, especially since we shared an amusing exchange at the

end of the afternoon.

“Paddy,” I said. “We are definitely coming back next week.

We’re going to help you and all the souls who are trapped here move on. Are you happy about that?”

YES
he slowly responded.

“I know you don’t have a great history with women, but

may I ask if there’s any chance you like me?”

Again, the glass dragged itself to
YES.

“What about Jacqui?” I asked. “Do you like her?”

YES!

“Wonderful!” I said. “We feel the same about you. And I

know you won the
Ugliest Man
competition, but let me just say that I’ve seen your photo and I don’t think you’re ugly at all!”

The light-hearted banter seemed to affect the atmosphere

in the room. The heaviness seemed to clear, and was replaced

by a sense of excitement and anticipation.

I asked Paddy if we could have a farewell photo before we

left, suggesting that he posed with Jacqui. At first glance, there was nothing to hint at Paddy’s presence, and it wasn’t until I downloaded the photo that afternoon that I began to laugh.

A radiant little orb had positioned itself right in the mid-

dle of Jacqui’s lips, prompting me to think that our new friend was giving her a farewell kiss. I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and help Paddy and his cohorts cross over.

Later that evening, I armed myself with my headphones

and settled down to listen to Jacqui’s EVP recording of the

hotel. Jacqui had stayed at the hotel with her sister two years earlier ; a girls’ ghost hunting trip scheduled to coincide with her sister’s visit from Ireland.

72 The Kalamunda Hotel

Upon asking Paddy Connolly to appear as an orb in a farewell photo,
Jacqui and I were amused to see that he had placed himself
upon Jacqui’s lips!

A lump formed in my throat as I heard the imploring voices

pleading for release.

“Help us!” called a voice with a gentle Irish brogue, I won-

dered if it belonged to the Irish stockman. I was to hear him repeat his plea three times in the space of ten minutes.

“Stuck in!” cried a very young girl. Her voice was as clear

as a bell, as though she had positioned herself directly in front of the microphone to ensure her voice came through.

And then, more ominously, a rough, angry voice belted

through my headphones.

“Shut the door!” it hissed.

Jacqui told me earlier that she thought the angry voice

belonged to Paddy, and that he seemed to dominate the rest of

the hotel’s ghosts. Perhaps he still thought he owned the hotel and had authority over its occupants.

The Kalamunda Hotel 73

“He’s keeping them in the hotel to control them,” Jacqui

said. “He doesn’t want to cross over, so he doesn’t want them

to either. They’re all trapped. I think he got angry when he

realised the Irishman and the little girl were trying to communicate with us.”

The sinister, guttural voice didn’t seem to gel with the

spirit we had been speaking with that afternoon, but it was

possible that Jacqui was right. And if she was, I hoped that by showing Paddy love and compassion, we had gone some way

towards convincing him that it was indeed time to move on.

We told him that sixty six years of lingering within the hotel’s walls as a ghost was quite long enough, and that love, light and happiness awaited him on the other side.

We assured him that crossing over didn’t mean he’d have

to leave his hotel forever, and that he’d still be able to call in whenever he saw fit.

“There’s so much more to experience.” I said. “You all

deserve to move on!”

Since I had scheduled three spirit contact evenings at the

hotel in the coming weeks, I felt confident that Jacqui, my sitters and I would be able to help the ghosts move on. Espe-

cially since in the space of an afternoon, we had been able to connect with Paddy and appreciate the man he once was; a

scared, vulnerable man who made mistakes in life but did not

deserve to be eternally punished. His self-imposed exile was

most probably borne from guilt and fear, a fear that I would

try my hardest to eradicate.

I couldn’t wait for the following week, and I hoped that the

Kalamunda Hotel’s ghosts felt the same. Whether he liked it

or not, Paddy was stuck with me. I was coming back with rein-

forcements to see the job through.

A week before the Kalamunda Hotel investigation, I decided

that it was time I found myself a Ouija Board. Since I was still struggling to develop my clairaudience, I was hoping to use

the board to facilitate clearer communication with the hotel’s ghosts. I had long resisted taking this step, as I was well-versed in the board’s inherent dangers. There are countless horror stories involving inexperienced Ouija use, whereby lower vibrational

entities have seized upon the opportunity to interact with the living. Doors to other dimensions have been indiscriminately

opened, thereby creating a portal which allows both positive

and negative energies to come through.

I reasoned that my sessions of table tipping (which I was

now doing on a regular basis) were really no different to working with a Ouija Board. Both involved inviting disembodied

entities to manifest, whether it be by moving the table or controlling the glass. I have always been mindful of spiritual protection, and spend a great deal of time preparing for spirit

75

76 Ouija

contact sessions beforehand. I raise my vibration with music,

meditation and prayer, and white light the table before I begin.

I also ask that my spirit guide and those of my sitters draw

in close and act as gate keepers, ensuring that no nasty, low-

vibrational energies can get through. Burning a white candle is also a good idea, as it’s believed to attract positive energy and repel negativity.

As such, I have only had positive and uplifting experiences

with the table. I felt confident that approaching the Ouija