Dead air never sounded so good...

So my previous post was started in order to explain why I have "Ghostly Talk" in my links list. It didn't really do that...all it did was get me mired down in thanatopsis (I belong to a word-o'-the-day email subscription). However, the previous post had to be written before I could explain how the cheesy little gem that is Ghostly Talk got on my links list.

So my ~ethereal~ father turned on the ~corporeal~ tractor's lights. I'm not sure I really believe that, but I really want to believe it. Those are two entirely different things. I have always enjoyed talking to people about ghosts and odd experiences. But after the tractor incident my interest in all things paranormal was ratcheted up several notches. I became fascinated with EVP, having heard about it on Coast to Coast. I wanted to see if I could catch my dad's voice on tape when I returned to his house for the last time the following October. Long story short, I didn't, but during my search of all things ghostly I found one of my favorite podcasts of all time: Ghostly Talk.

At first I listened because I had heard the hosts being interviewed on Coast to Coast about EVPs so I checked out their show. The paranormal content was pretty thin but found myself listening more and more. The show is actually broadcast live on the internet on Sunday nights but they have nearly every show archived on their website and I began downloading a tonne of them. I'll say it again, I couldn't really explain why I loved the show so much because there was very little to it.

My reason for loving the show slowly began to dawn on me when for the fourth or fifth time listening I heard the ice cream truck go by "the Haunted Basement Studios" where Ghostly Talk is recorded. Sometimes the hosts, Doug and Scott L, would apologize for the interruption but other times one of them would just yell "God, I could really go for a Drumstick!". On another episode, while on the premise of discussing their latest ghost hunt, they spent 23 minutes discussing the merits of their dinner at The Steak 'N Shake (apparently some American restaurant chain known for their...well...shakes and steaks).
Or maybe it was the episode when they went off about pimping the Mart-that-starts-with-a-W and one guest's favorite ghost-hunting pants. Or was it the fact that when they took calls from listeners, 60% of the time it would be Scott L's mom who would phone in. Boo, bitch! Or how when one of their guests invited them to take his walking ghost tour of San Francisco, they agreed...but only if the there were no hills on the tour.

I would find myself in my bathtub (that's where I listen to most of my podcasts) howling with laugher because the boys from Ghostly Talk were complaining bitterly about being painfully full after the pizza eating contest they had before the show started.

I'm not sure...maybe this does not explain why I love Ghostly Talk so much. Maybe it's simply the voyeur in me, because Ghostly Talk just feels like a window into some guy's basement in Michigan and I can't stop peeking in.

The whole thing was weird

My dad died a year ago December. The town he used to live in has a population of about 1000 people and there is not a whole lot to do there, especially in the winter. Thursdays aren't too bad because the Canadian Tire flyer comes in the mail and you'll have something to discuss over dinner. "Hey Honey, look. They've got them beer-coolers-you-plug-into-the-cigarette-lighters on sale".

Needless to say, when someone dies in that town it's a community event; particularly when they die like my dad did. He was relatively young (he had just turned 56 the week before his death), he was from away (my family had only lived in the town for about 20 years so we were still considered newcomers) and he had a heart attack while drive driving through town and had crashed into a snow bank in front of the local arena.

The enitre expierience was bizarre to say the least.

This woman who was my dad's best friend from childhood toted all his old memoriabilia down to the funeral home and propped all this shit up around his coffin to make it look like he lead this facinating, full life that he was so tragically snatched from. Nobody mentioned that all the ephemera was at least 15 years old. Nobody mentioned that for the past 2 decades the man had done nothing but slowly evaporate into a whiff of scotch breath.

But of course, you can't say that kind of thing as the daughter can you?

The viewing took place, off and on, for two days before the funeral. It snowed like crazy on that second day but luckily my brother-in-law had plowed my dad's driveway the day before so nobody had any real trouble getting up to the house after the viewing. It had been a long day. My sister had given birth to my niece only 10 days before and she and I were both expected to be on-hand to greet people and make small talk: "Yes, he was so young", "Thank you very much for coming", "No, I'm the one from Vancouver". Many people from the town and outlying areas came to the viewing despite the bad weather. It was nice to see that people made the effort, but some of the people who showed up were fully odd.

There was this one grisled, old women in a greasy sweatshirt and snow boots who stayed ALL DAY...both days. She lives in a house up the road from my dad's and is well known for having more illegitimate grandchildren than she does teeth. She held no particular affection for my family that I was aware of but hey, there was free coffee and finger sandwiches and every once in a while someone would start bawling. That's quality entertainment...well, it's at least as good as the North of 60 re-runs that she would have gotten had she stayed home.

When we got back to my dad's place on the night before the funeral it was dark and cold in the house. The fire in the furnace had obviously gone out sometime in the early afternoon. I remember watching my sister take the baby out of her car seat in the dining room and hearing her ask, "Mike, did you leave the tractor lights on?". My dad's old International tractor was parked behind the house to make room in the front for all the vehicles we expected the next day. "What?" Mike had asked. "The lights on the tractor are on." she repeated. He didn't say anything, he just turned and went back outside.



I credit my brother-in-law, Mike, for weirding us all out. He is a big, no nonsense guy from Calgary. He doesn't pull any punches and he doesn't take any shit. When he stepped back into the house, he was pale and a little tongue tied. We all just kinda looked at him for a beat and then he said "I know those lights were off yesterday when I was finished plowing the driveway and there are no foot prints around the tractor." He looked expectantly at each of us in turn.

My mom was the first to speak. "Maybe there was some moisture on the wiring...". Mike looked pointedly at her. "The lights were phyically turned on." he said, making a twisting gesture with his wrist. My sister asked again, "You're sure you turned them off yesterday?"

"Yes," Mike said emphatically, "because I never turned them on in the first place. Besides the battery in that thing would've been dead hours ago." We all just looked at each other. Mike finally said into the cold house, "I think Wayne is trying to let us know he's here".