My Mother, the Paranormal Investigator

People often ask what it’s like bringing my mother, Bonnie, along on paranormal adventures.

First of all, let me be clear: Bonnie does not frighten easily.

Dark basements? Fine. Old cemeteries? Fine.Abandoned buildings with questionable structural integrity and “mysterious” cold spots? Apparently also fine.

But she does have limits.

A few years ago, I brought her along on an investigation. The room was quiet except for the occasional creak and the dramatic whispering that paranormal investigators seem biologically required to do.

Someone suddenly whispered: “Did you hear that?”

Another person said: “I think something touched me.”

Now, this is usually the point where people become nervous.

Not Bonnie.

My mother calmly looked around the room and said: “Well… if it wanted attention, maybe somebody should ask it if it called its mother.”

I nearly fell over laughing.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group looked deeply conflicted about whether this counted as paranormal evidence or maternal judgment from beyond the veil.

Truthfully, though, some of the strangest things haven’t happened in haunted buildings at all. They’ve happened at home.

One morning my mother had gone into town while I was working from home. When she came back, she walked into the bathroom, got quiet for a moment, then came out and asked:

“Did you put this key in my slipper?”

Naturally, I responded:

Exhibit A

“What the h*ll are you talking about?”

She swore the key had not been there when she left that morning.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. I asked practical questions: Did someone stop by? Did she let a dog out? Did she accidentally drop it herself?

But I hadn’t even been in her bathroom.

So naturally, we did what any reasonable family would do: We became paranormal locksmiths.

We tried every door. Every closet. Every cabinet. Every lock we could find.

Nothing.

To this day, we still have the key. And to this day, we have absolutely no idea what it belongs to… or how it ended up sitting perfectly inside my mother’s slipper.

Honestly, if my late father Don, figured out interdimensional travel just to leave us unsolvable household mysteries, that tracks completely.

Typical Don.

And yes, Mom…I called.