I’ve been taking time out from updating to actually going on investigations, so it’s taken me some time to do my summaries. I went out last night and got three done while I was waiting for my turn to go in the house. This is the second part of my night at the courthouse, following my dramatic exit after a former inmate took me through his execution. There was a lot more to this night than dramatic events, but nothing interesting enough to relate. There was plenty of standing around, plenty of wandering aimlessly through the exhibits, and one extended session of doing absolutely nothing fruitful in the lobby. As I said, not worth bringing up. Here is an account of my encounter in the jury room.
Some of the other investigators were reporting that there was a male presence in the jury room so I deduced that the lawyer I’d picked up on during my previous visit to the museum might be hiding there. Three of us went in and sat down at one of the tables. This was an entirely different atmosphere. I could feel a physical presence, but I could also feel his wariness. He had no intention of making the kind of connection that the tortured inmate in the courtroom had made, and he wasn’t sure he was interested in communicating much to begin with. He initially hung indecisively about the other side of the room, waiting to see what we intended to do. I had a quick chat with one of my favorite psychics near me.
I described him to my companions as a contented middle-aged lawyer from between 1925 to 1945. He wore glasses and a white fedora, and was what I carefully called “respectably round.” As I reported on his emotions, we gradually won enough of his trust to lure him into coming closer. We believe he set off the motion detector at that point, as we couldn’t find a good way to debunk its reason for flipping on with nothing around it. I felt his sudden alarm and noted that he was cautious to avoid that area after that. He was a gentle man who preferred not to be noticed.
Through a series of questions from the other investigators and me, relating his corresponding emotions, we got a little information about him. Either his name was Clay or he was from Clay County, that wasn’t clear. He enjoyed fishing during his lifetime, he didn’t play golf. He frequently hid in the jury room during the evening ghost tours. He was a defense lawyer, and he had gotten more guilty parties set free than let innocent people go to prison. He’d been a well-known name in town during his day and he was proud of the work he’d done.
He didn’t want to talk about his family, and he didn’t know the other spirits. He was aware of them, but he said they were “past his time.” Still keeping his distance from the motion detector, he asked us what all the junk on the table was. We used the opportunity to try to peak his interest in our EMF meter. We explained to him that waving his hand in front of it would make the lights flash and he could communicate with us. We watched as the lights flashed up and down. That went on for several seconds, but as we attempted to ask questions, the activity came to an end. We concluded that the effort had been as much as he was capable of.
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