Is it possible to talk to the dead, or is it all just wishful thinking? That’s the question I wanted to answer when I signed up for a real séance in the cellar of a centuries-old Lincolnshire pub – a place rumoured to host more than just barrels and cobwebs.
I joined fourteen strangers for a paranormal investigation in a space that felt charged with history. Some clutched photos of lost relatives, hoping for closure. Others, like me, were there for the experience, armed with an open mind and a healthy dose of doubt. Whether you were a believer or a hardened sceptic, the promise of contact from “the other side” certainly added an edge to the room.
The Atmosphere: Hope and Fear in a Historic Cellar
The cellar had a heaviness to it – part old stone, part raw anticipation. Beneath the pub’s timbered ceilings and well-worn floorboards lay this echoing, faintly musty basement. With its thick walls, arched ceilings, and dancing candlelight, the air felt suspended in an uneasy hush.
We sat in a rough semi-circle around a table covered in an eclectic mix of ghost-hunting gear. Some looked scientific, while others, like a motion-triggered music box, felt purely theatrical. Everyone sat quietly, waiting.
The Ghost Hunter’s Toolkit: Did the Gadgets Wake Up?
Our investigation began with the tools of the trade, but the results were ambiguous at best.
- K2 Meters: These devices are designed to detect spikes in electromagnetic fields (EMF), which many paranormal investigators believe can signal a spirit’s presence. We placed them around the room, but they remained stubbornly silent all night. For all the atmosphere, they may as well have been paperweights.
- Motion-Sensing Music Box: Placed at the far end of the cellar, this box chimed intermittently throughout the evening. Was it a child spirit passing by, as some suggested, or was there a rational explanation?
- Environmental Sensors: Two digital thermometers lit up more often than the others, but both sat near the only candles in the room. A logical explanation, but every beep still caused a ripple of excitement as logic took a back seat to the atmosphere. We wanted to believe.
One device, stylised like a Victorian bell, was designed to pick up micro-changes in environmental conditions. It emitted an eerie chime once or twice, enough to stir the silence. Was it detecting a presence? Or just doing what sensitive equipment tends to do in unpredictable environments?
Classic Techniques: Was the Table Tipping or Just Tilting?
Next, we moved on to table tipping, that classic séance staple. With our hands placed gently on the old wooden table, we asked questions into the darkness, inviting any spirit present to make contact.
The table shifted – but only slightly. A tiny tremble, a brief tilt. It stood on an uneven patch of concrete, and in truth, it didn’t move much more than it might if there was a draught.
The glass work was similarly subtle. With our fingers lightly touching an upturned glass, we asked again: “Is anyone with us?” The glass produced tiny, hesitant glides. Some insisted they felt it being pulled, while others couldn’t tell. It was just enough to keep us engaged.
The Ouija Board Speaks: A Chilling Turning Point
Then came the spirit board, and the tone of the evening changed entirely.
Those who had been quiet became suddenly attentive. Several people stepped forward, visibly nervous but eager. With fingers resting lightly on the planchette, we asked: “Is there anyone who wishes to speak?”
The answers were slow, but when they came, they came with weight.
One woman asked for her father. Another, for a brother lost too young. While some messages were generic, a handful hit home with unnerving accuracy – names, nicknames, and small personal details that hadn’t been spoken aloud.
I watched one woman go pale. Another welled up with tears and sobbed into a tissue. Whether the board was channeling something from beyond or simply unlocking emotions buried just beneath the surface, it didn’t matter. For those people, the moment was profoundly real.
The Human Pendulum: When a Sceptic Started to Sway
One of the most fascinating experiments was the Human Pendulum. This method involves a person standing in the center of the room with their eyes closed. The group asks questions, and the person is said to sway forward for “yes” and backward for “no.”
Several people took their turn. Some stood like statues. Others swayed gently, almost imperceptibly.
The most surprising participant? A man who’d spent most of the evening with folded arms and an arched brow. When asked a question about his grandfather, he suddenly began leaning forward. He opened his eyes and looked stunned, as though waking from a dream.
“That was… strange,” he whispered. I believed him.
The Estes Method: Hearing Voices in the Static
Our final experiment was perhaps the most intense: the Estes Method. This technique involves one person (the receiver) wearing a blindfold and noise-cancelling headphones connected to a PSB-7 Spirit Box – a device that rapidly scans radio frequencies.
The receiver is cut off from the questions being asked by the group and just calls out any words or sounds they can decipher from the static. The results were chaotic but sometimes compelling. Bursts of radio chatter, fragments of songs, and garbled words hissed through the headphones.
“Leave.” “Go.” “Prick.”
A few of the responses lined up eerily with the questions. One woman visibly trembled when the word “mother” came through just as she was thinking of her own. For me, it mostly sounded like what it was: random noise. But for others, it was a direct line to the unknown.
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So, did I witness a ghost that night in the Lincolnshire cellar? No. Did I leave convinced that we’d made contact with the beyond? Not really.
But something undeniably did happen.
There’s a powerful vulnerability that emerges when you sit in a dark, ancient room with strangers, asking invisible forces for answers. You lower your guard. You listen harder. You feel more.
Some of the tools were duds and some moments felt like wishful thinking. But others – the raw emotion at the spirit board, the sceptic swaying in the dark – tapped into something profound.
I left the séance unconvinced, but not unmoved. Whether it’s spirits, suggestion, or the strength of our own need to connect with what we’ve lost, there’s something undeniably human about sitting in the dark and asking, “Is anybody there?”
