Post by cannonlongshot on Nov 2, 2016 13:45:09 GMT
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Statement of Rev. Eliakim Phelps, regarding a encounter in Stratford, MA, 1850.
Statement 8510909 begins:
Dear Sir,
It is with great reluctance that I reach out across the Atlantic to contact you, but I assure you that there remains no person upon this continent of America able to help me. My case is one that I am sure that a man of your considerable experience must be familiar with, and yet I shall recount the initial peculiarity in its entirety here.
It began why myself and my family moved into our new home in Stanford, Conneticut. I had recently married my wife, Sarah, a widow of some years, and upon finding my family enlarged with the arrival of her three children I found myself in need of a more substantial home. I mentioned this to a friend of mine, who referred me on to Captain George Dowell, a seaman who was looking to sell a large house built for him by his father-in-law on Elm Street in Stratford, Connecticut. The house was certainly large enough for our needs, and offered enough room that I would be confident that the younger children would be happy playing there.In addition, I was able to get a position at a local church, and we moved in in the Frebruary of 1948AD.
Sarah, was immediately unhappy, despite our comfortable financial situation. She was a widower, and brought her own means to our marriage, and my own income was plenty enough to cover expenses for life in Stratford. Sarah was restless, and would occasionally go for several days without sleep. Despite my concern, she never gave me a satisfactory answer as to what caused this. At the time I put it down to some condition of her sex, although now I find myself doubting that rationale.
In any case, the incidents to which I must draw your attention began on Sunday the 10th March last year. We had just returned from morning church services to find our front door forced in. Fearing the worst, I cautiously entered my home, expecting at any moment to be set upon by thieves and vandals. To my surprise, however, everything was how it was left that morning - the silverware had not moved an inch, nor had my pistol by the door. Grabbing it, I moved upstairs and found the first incident of many, that would bring my family such horror.
Lying upon the bed was my wife’s nightgown, arms crossed afore the breast like some contemporary parody of an Egyptian pharaoh. So too, had a pair of stockings been moved, to function as legs for this reclining figure. I called for Sarah, and she came running - once recovered from the shock, she assured me that she had tidied it away earlier.
Now outraged at this invasion of my home and privacy, I sent my family away and back to church - the search through the house had taken much of the time we had dedicated to our midday meal, and I believe Sarah took some bread for the children to eat on the way back, along with my command to my staff a the church to continue the service without me. For my part, I settled myself into an armchair in my bedroom, intent on finding those that had invaded my home if they should try to return.
This proceeded for another two hours or so, as my pocketwatch told me - by then I ascertained that the danger had passed. Going down to check through the remainder of the house, I found everything as it had been left, until I got to the dining room. When I opened to the door, lulled to a sense of security by the stillness of my home, I nearly let out a shout. The dining room was filled with figures, women gathered all about the room, facing the central table. Their bodies were contorted into bizarre positions that could not be held by human bodies for long, and as I got my bearings I saw why these figures were so unerringly still - each was an effigy created from the clothing of my wife, stuffed with rags, straw, and in one case, food. They had been assembled without my hearing so much as a footstep from the room directly above!
I wish that that was the end of the story, but alas, I am sure you’ve heard of the events that followed. Should these reports have not made it across the atlantic, I enclose several newspapers that I believe address the issue well. The most distressing one is detailed in the Boston Chronicle edition of November 1850, detailing an incident when this spirit, for I believe now that that is what is causing these strange apparitions, stuffed Sarah’s son Henry into a wardrobe, sealing him in the darkness with a noose about his neck.
Over the years I have exhausted the minds of America’s most senior priests, pastors and exorcists in trying to fight this entity. Attempts to communicate with it have been left with nothing more than nonsense requests and, upon asked why it was tormenting my family so, the chilling reply of “For fun”. I am tired, and my family wish for an end to it all. If I receive no reply from you, or you decline my request for aid, I intend to move far away from this terrible place.
Yours as a matter of most urgency,
Rev. Eliakim Phelps
STATEMENT ENDS
Archivist’s Notes: Now this one is interesting. Any paranormal investigator, or indeed scholar, worth their consecrated salt has heard of the Phelps mansion “knockings”. To find a letter from Reverend Phelps in the Archive, dated the year of the hauntings, is a nice sign that we’ve been taken seriously for a long time. As an aside, I don’t recall whether wardenship of the Institute remained with Jonah Magnus at this point in time, or had passed on to his successor. I’ll ask Elias about it and attach a note at a later time.
Lesser known details of the story being present lend this letter credence, even some facts of it that remain outside recorded history. Included with the statement are some yellowed newspapers of the time that corroborate both with this story, and with the known facts about the case. Future readers of the Archive should note, however, that Phelps has neglected to include some details of the events leading up to the events described here, including a seance himself and a family friend took part in on March 4th. They found no response - on that day, at least.
The Phelps family did move away, in the end. So hearsay goes, the final message received in a seance over the following years was “Be at peace. The evil one is gone, and something good remains”.
END NOTES
Statement of Rev. Eliakim Phelps, regarding a encounter in Stratford, MA, 1850.
Statement 8510909 begins:
Dear Sir,
It is with great reluctance that I reach out across the Atlantic to contact you, but I assure you that there remains no person upon this continent of America able to help me. My case is one that I am sure that a man of your considerable experience must be familiar with, and yet I shall recount the initial peculiarity in its entirety here.
It began why myself and my family moved into our new home in Stanford, Conneticut. I had recently married my wife, Sarah, a widow of some years, and upon finding my family enlarged with the arrival of her three children I found myself in need of a more substantial home. I mentioned this to a friend of mine, who referred me on to Captain George Dowell, a seaman who was looking to sell a large house built for him by his father-in-law on Elm Street in Stratford, Connecticut. The house was certainly large enough for our needs, and offered enough room that I would be confident that the younger children would be happy playing there.In addition, I was able to get a position at a local church, and we moved in in the Frebruary of 1948AD.
Sarah, was immediately unhappy, despite our comfortable financial situation. She was a widower, and brought her own means to our marriage, and my own income was plenty enough to cover expenses for life in Stratford. Sarah was restless, and would occasionally go for several days without sleep. Despite my concern, she never gave me a satisfactory answer as to what caused this. At the time I put it down to some condition of her sex, although now I find myself doubting that rationale.
In any case, the incidents to which I must draw your attention began on Sunday the 10th March last year. We had just returned from morning church services to find our front door forced in. Fearing the worst, I cautiously entered my home, expecting at any moment to be set upon by thieves and vandals. To my surprise, however, everything was how it was left that morning - the silverware had not moved an inch, nor had my pistol by the door. Grabbing it, I moved upstairs and found the first incident of many, that would bring my family such horror.
Lying upon the bed was my wife’s nightgown, arms crossed afore the breast like some contemporary parody of an Egyptian pharaoh. So too, had a pair of stockings been moved, to function as legs for this reclining figure. I called for Sarah, and she came running - once recovered from the shock, she assured me that she had tidied it away earlier.
Now outraged at this invasion of my home and privacy, I sent my family away and back to church - the search through the house had taken much of the time we had dedicated to our midday meal, and I believe Sarah took some bread for the children to eat on the way back, along with my command to my staff a the church to continue the service without me. For my part, I settled myself into an armchair in my bedroom, intent on finding those that had invaded my home if they should try to return.
This proceeded for another two hours or so, as my pocketwatch told me - by then I ascertained that the danger had passed. Going down to check through the remainder of the house, I found everything as it had been left, until I got to the dining room. When I opened to the door, lulled to a sense of security by the stillness of my home, I nearly let out a shout. The dining room was filled with figures, women gathered all about the room, facing the central table. Their bodies were contorted into bizarre positions that could not be held by human bodies for long, and as I got my bearings I saw why these figures were so unerringly still - each was an effigy created from the clothing of my wife, stuffed with rags, straw, and in one case, food. They had been assembled without my hearing so much as a footstep from the room directly above!
I wish that that was the end of the story, but alas, I am sure you’ve heard of the events that followed. Should these reports have not made it across the atlantic, I enclose several newspapers that I believe address the issue well. The most distressing one is detailed in the Boston Chronicle edition of November 1850, detailing an incident when this spirit, for I believe now that that is what is causing these strange apparitions, stuffed Sarah’s son Henry into a wardrobe, sealing him in the darkness with a noose about his neck.
Over the years I have exhausted the minds of America’s most senior priests, pastors and exorcists in trying to fight this entity. Attempts to communicate with it have been left with nothing more than nonsense requests and, upon asked why it was tormenting my family so, the chilling reply of “For fun”. I am tired, and my family wish for an end to it all. If I receive no reply from you, or you decline my request for aid, I intend to move far away from this terrible place.
Yours as a matter of most urgency,
Rev. Eliakim Phelps
STATEMENT ENDS
Archivist’s Notes: Now this one is interesting. Any paranormal investigator, or indeed scholar, worth their consecrated salt has heard of the Phelps mansion “knockings”. To find a letter from Reverend Phelps in the Archive, dated the year of the hauntings, is a nice sign that we’ve been taken seriously for a long time. As an aside, I don’t recall whether wardenship of the Institute remained with Jonah Magnus at this point in time, or had passed on to his successor. I’ll ask Elias about it and attach a note at a later time.
Lesser known details of the story being present lend this letter credence, even some facts of it that remain outside recorded history. Included with the statement are some yellowed newspapers of the time that corroborate both with this story, and with the known facts about the case. Future readers of the Archive should note, however, that Phelps has neglected to include some details of the events leading up to the events described here, including a seance himself and a family friend took part in on March 4th. They found no response - on that day, at least.
The Phelps family did move away, in the end. So hearsay goes, the final message received in a seance over the following years was “Be at peace. The evil one is gone, and something good remains”.
END NOTES
