My fellow investigator Paul Roberts had his hunches about Sutters fort after getting ghost reports on his hotline, so we rambled around in the twilight looking for any sign of anomalous mischief. Much of the time was picking up EVP's then blushing when realizing it was only the ambient sounds of downtown Sacramento on Saturday evening.
A few instances tantalized us, but when Paul saw Pioneer church across the street he froze. And he turned to me rather solemnly and asked if I wanted to check it out. His reaction was surprising, he had just told me that he didn't think himself a psychic and yet here he was drawn by some unseen force, we ditched Sutter's fort without a second thought. Paint was chipping on the sides of the church showing its old age underneath. Historically speaking this is not an old site, less than 150 years old, but this church would have witnessed the hardness of life on the "frontier" and the cruelty of people, everything from crimes done on those with no-rights and for no reason at all, to public hangings at Sutters fort.
I stepped in its walking-labyrinth and realized this place had a sincerely eerie soulfulness. Paul was taking pictures, scratching his Journalist itch. I had been stuck to his side during the entire investigation and at that one moment had felt prompted to go to the threshold of the church. Being psychic is part of being human, I think, and so I was just going with the flow. The doors were locked, but tall and wide enough for host of Angels to gallop in. For awhile, I just stood there trying to block out the happenings of the evening and welcome any souls that desired my interface or who wanted to try out the microphone on the "listen-up".
I was just giving up when I looked at the door on the left, and decided that's where I should be. I stood quietly then heard Paul talking about the church as he walked up the steps to the threshold. In that same moment I heard something that sounded like a congregation singing from inside the church. After entertaining any number of reasons why that might happen and realizing all my rational explanations were mostly unreasonable, I just let myself be puzzled as I listened.
What I remember best is how long I heard the singing and how defined several of the voices were. Altos, baritones and sopranos, male and female, and they were all on key. I was so excited I whispered quietly to Paul that I was hearing something. I tried to tune back in, but couldn't hear anything after that. Disappointed, I was going to walk away. "Let me try..." so, I fitted the earphones in his ears and stood by curiously. Thinking I was going to be a distraction to him, I began to pull myself down the steps. "Whoa! I heard a thud!" He said. Then he said he heard a one-way conversation and a little boy's voice. Chills and goose bumps claimed me, and I huddled close, listening for anything. The last thing he said was that something was "opened". And that was enough. He pulled out his earplugs, raised his brows and smiled.
Later, I just couldn't believe how much activity we picked up there, it is certainly crying out for attention from the living, and a place that deserves time, and more permissiveness inside, to explore.
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