I am Haunted: Living Life Through the Dead by Zak Bagans, Kelly Crigger Read Free Book Online

it. I worked hard to open a door, but now I can’t shut it.
    Recently I was driving home from my mom’s house through Las Vegas, and at a stoplight I was suddenly transported back to La Purisma Mission in Lompoc, California, one of the first investigations we did for
Ghost Adventures.
It had been the site of some pretty barbaric events, and the spirit energy was so strong there that it stayed with me, but I never knew that it would someday take hold of my mind. While my car was stopped at this light, I was back in the eighteenth century, sitting around a campfire with the women and children of the Chumash Indians. Everyone was laughing and happy. I was there, really there. It was as if I had gone back in time at a Vegas stoplight, of all places. It was so vivid that I couldn’t shrug it off as a simple flashback.
    These reflections from past investigations float in and out of my life like the flute music we captured on the tribal grounds. I feel as though a part of me stayed with the spirits there, and at certain moments those spirits can call upon me and demand that I listen. They can still communicate through me. They seek relief from their pain by igniting visions within me. I get so deep into these visions that it’s hard to break free. At that stoplight, I was back in the 1700s. It was a sunny day. The women were making pottery. The children were playing and having a good time. I could feel every bit of it, and I had to force my hand to reach forward and turn on some music just to get myself straight enough to drive home.
    La Purisma isn’t the only example. I get it from all the places I go. The spirits select me, and I never know which ones are going to come and when. In certain locations I can almost transport myself back in time to those moments we’re investigating. At Gettysburg, for example, I could smell the sulfur and death in the air and see the sun shining on the scorched battlefield in July 1863. I could hear the screams of the men having their legs sawed off. Long after I left the battlefield, I felt the pain of bullets hitting a soldier in the chest and fell to the floor in agony as he would have fallen as he took his last breath.
    One time I was at home relaxing in a chair and
boom
—I was in a recliner at Waverly Hills Sanitarium with the other patients who were dying of tuberculosis. We were on the breezeway, where the terminally ill spent their days. There was a woman with curly hair. I believe it was the one whose picture was on the wall there—the one I left flowers for. I shared comforting stories with this woman before she died.
    I don’t know what it is, but it seems like a part of me gets left behind at these locations, and the spirits can find me through that. It sounds crazy, but these episodes are happening more and more often now, and they’re more powerful every time, which makes me wonder if they’ll ever get so strong that I won’t be able to get myself back. Will I pass out on the floor and be trapped in another time while doctors try to figure out what’s wrong with me, and eventually call it something they understand, like a stroke?
    Many times it’s stronger than just a vision, and my emotions are part of the experience. I really feel that it’s an ethereal connection that I made during the investigation by opening myself up to the spirits. It’s almost like I’m transplanting or channeling them through me and me through them, but it’s stored deep inside me and comes out only at certain moments.
    You could say that I’m a human satellite. The spirits reach out to me because they know I have a good heart and a good soul. They know I was sent there for more than a TV show. It’s my destiny and my fate. In the beginning, I was more focused on taunting evil spirits and enticing them into a fight, but now I feel like I do more. I help people, but I also help spirits.
    When you have a family member who’s in pain, what do you do? You talk to them and show through your