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The spirits whisper their tales in our ears. The trees arch over is, knotted bark wrinkled like the brows of centurions, silent witnesses to those who have sat at their roots, leaned against their trunks, climbed in their branches. The wavy glass in transom windows of warped old houses winks knowingly in the afternoon sunlight,…

That is the refrain I often share on my tour.  These stories, these histories, these mysteries are hiding in plain sight. The tours for the past few weeks have welcomed guests from Israel, India, Canada, Mexico, California, Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, and of course, good old Rhode Island.  We’ve seen a lot of locals lately….

“Fifty before forty,” we decided.  In addition to our wedding vows, we decided to see every state in the union before hitting our fortieth birthdays. Our travel budget has never been huge.  As we checked states off the list, we stayed in motel chains of all sorts, camped, and essentially flew by the seat of…

The smell of old paper, leather, and glue fills my nostrils.  The spine of the book creaks and crackles (not unlike my own spine). The Rhode Island Historical Society is a treasure trove hiding on the tree lined streets of the East Side.  Inside, hushed researchers turn carefully through papers and folders, shuttle through microfiche,…

“Edge.” The hiss of a small word, four little letters, crackled over the box. We looked at each other.  My eyes were wide, hers were smiling. Edge.  My last name. Spoken through a spirit box as we reached out to the dearly-departed outside the Providence Athenaeum. Spoken by a male voice in response to my…

This weekend, we will be celebrating all the mommas in our lives.  The biological, the adoptive the guardianship, the kinship, the foster, the in-law, the step, the stepped-in, the stepped up, the unofficial, the in-heart.  The mommas.   My mother read to my sisters and me every night.  She made us beautiful paper dolls when…

One of the challenges telling the story of my paranormal roots is that many of the central figures to the tales, the first hand witnesses, are gone now.  Stories were handed to me when I was very young, so the dust of time has covered the words and, as I peer through the veil, might…

In the oldest picture we have of the house, the porch was open but somewhere along the way the Vermont winters must have been excessive and someone added rattly windows. It was along the front of the house, the first thing you’d see as the car chugged up the dirt road and around the bend….

For the past fifteen years, I’ve been creating a ghost tour.  It began with hours of research, sorting through molding records and glowing microfiche that strained my eyes.  But I could also say that it started thirty-eight years ago, on a little mountain in rural Vermont.  Ghosties, welcome to my paranormal roots. The sunlight filters…

Ghosts. Known as spirits, energies, entities, souls…They linger after the physical embodiment is gone, they remain when all else has moved on. The stories we tell about our ghosts center around their paranormal activity, but also around the legacy they left behind, the actions they took in their lives that write their stories. Providence Ghost…