Maine Supernatural and Unsolved Mysteries

Long about Labor Day, I begin to get the itch. No, not the traipsing around in the backwoods of Maine itch. (You know the one, where you just staggered through the back nine of a cemetery and you didn't notice the poison Ivy that just curled around your sock-less sneaker clad feet.)
I mean the itch that every Paranormal enthusiast should get, have or aspire to partake. The Season of the Witch is upon us. In Maine, it is always something special.
The Full Moon always has that orange tint to it, as it rises slowly above the tree tops. If you study it close, like I always tend to do you get the occasional brief glimpse of a bat, seeking its nightly supper.
Back in the days of yore, it was Harvest time. With the ending of each harvest there was always a burning of the fields, for the next year's growth. Or, depending on what crop was handy, the burning of the corn stalks, flailed bean bushes, pumpkin vines. You know, whatever was handy, or would make a pretty color fire, as the night vixens danced around at the harvest festival.
This tradition is replaced nowadays, by the dancing around the TV, to line up the next bowl of popcorn, and that mug of spiced cider.... okay, okay, soda, before the next Horror movie fires up.
That is of course, if you're a non-traditionalist. I for one like to remain middle of the road. Not actually in the fast moving Chevy lane, more of the slowly, easy to avoid Model T lane.
This time of year, more then the rest, I had to the cemeteries, I line up the haunted houses, and I frequent the historically haunted locations. Long about the end of October, when the veil is said to be at its thinnest, is when the really important investigations are lined-up.
Sure, there are many bumps and pot-holes along the road, to get to Halloween. You have the middle of September, when a local gal, about 110 years ago, lost her head.
We take to the streets, the week surrounding this anniversary. The nights are cool, the bugs are scarce. The walks are still pleasant, just enough to get the blood circulating, and not enough to numb your nose, with the on-coming frost.
For my hometown, this is the official start of the haunted 2 weeks, or at least in my small circle of friends, family, and investigators. This is the 2 weeks that Sarah Ware, was left abandoned in a nearby (very) pasture, to rot. When she was eventually found, and they picked her up, to place in a casket her head fell off. It wouldn't be rejoined, (or at least buried) for a hundred years. Does this make for an interesting bunch of investigations, and walks into practically the entire town, at harvest time? I'm thinking that's a BIG YES!
October now, towards the middle, the second murder spree, this time a triple homicide that occurred in 1876 is marked, by several investigations, walkthroughs, cemetery runs. Sure after so many years, they are dubbed Sarah-fest and Trim-fest, not to take away from the tragedy of the occasions but more, the anniversaries of the events.
The streets again of my hometown are walked. When we do investigations, we don't stop at one general location, we cover the entire ground. In this case, we start on the night it happened, of course a Friday the 13th, and we work the route taken, the still in existence foundations, and then the next day, we work the town.
The town you say? Sure, the town, that was in an uproar, the next day over the night's tragedy. What better place to run EVP sweeps, and cover the homes of those involved.
With the close of the week that is Trim-fest, we now have our investigation feet, and we gear up for the pre-Halloween haunted house investigations.
If we're lucky enough to get fresh houses, which is a statement in its own, we explore the new. If not, certainly we can rely on the old faithfuls, of which, if you live in Maine, you know, every town has several haunted houses.
Some might require a little extra effort, to get permission. Confidentiality might have to be given, or agreed to, before the homeowner, will let you and your band of merry investigators traipse through their house.
This is the life of a Maine Ghost Hunter. Would I trade it for any other place in the world? Not in this decade.