The following is an excerpt from a new book I am starting to write, titled “TV Stories.” This production story is from WCPO-TV in Cincinnati where I was Executive Producer from 1974-1977. In this scene, we were attempting to film a ghost being cast out of a house. Sorry, I won’t tell you how this one ends, although I am alive to tell about it.
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The owner—a woman in her 60’s—and Bill’s real estate friend welcomed us. While the film crew unloaded, Bill and I went into the supposedly haunted house. There were three rooms on the first floor and three bedrooms on the second floor with a bathroom on each floor. We also met “Pete,” her bachelor son’s favorite hound, the only dog allowed in the house.
It was hot and stuffy in the house on this July day. Bill and I took off our suit jackets. I was wearing a short sleeve dress shirt and tie while Bill continued to wear his vest, tie, and kept his long sleeve shirt buttoned; he didn’t sweat, but I was beginning to go for my handkerchief already.
We listened as the owner began describing some of the frightening incidents that she had experienced while she and her son had lived in the house they were now trying to sell.
“I was afraid for several years to tell my son, John, about what was happening to me, afraid he would think I was getting’ senile, but then one day last year I couldn’t take it anymore and I asked him if he had had any strange experiences in the house. Well, it turns out he had plenty of stories, but he was afraid to tell me cause he had a head injury from Viet Nam and thought I might consider committing him to a hospital! Isn’t that something?”
Bill and I agreed, and were now even more anxious to hear the stories.
“I never knew when this ‘thing’…ghost…was going to show up, but it seems to have something to do with the moon, like now when the moon is full. Every night, I go to bed worried ‘cause I know that about three times a month he shows up. I’ll be layin’ there in the dark tryin’ to go to sleep and the bed starts shakin’. There is nobody else in the room, not the dog, not my son—nobody. The mattress is quaking for like a minute. I’ve turned the light on, I’ve jumped out of bed and watched. The whole bed moves and there’s nobody I can see doin’ it. You want something to send chills all over your body, that’ll do it.”
She was right; I was starting to get chills just thinking about it.
The owner went on. “When this first started about ten years ago shortly after I moved in, I’d sit straight up in bed with the mattress movin’. Now, I’m kinda used to it and just lay there hoping for it to pass.”
Bill is nodding his head in agreement with her.
“Does this spirit ever say anything to you or write little messages in the dust or on the windows? Bill asked.
“Oh, Lord,” she said as she dropped her chin to her chest, and was quiet for what seemed like a long time while she gathered herself.
Finally, she looked at Bill and quaveringly answered, “With my head layin’ on the pillow, I’ll hear his gravelly voice whisper in my ear ‘Maaah-muhhh, Maaah-muhhh.’ ”
Why didn’t I have the camera in here before we started talking with her so that this was on film? The drama was thick.
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