“Please don’t tell me that you are going to release this magazine interview around Halloween time!" Walden asked.

I paused for a moment before answering, “Well, yes…my editor wants to release your interview at that time.”

Walden was quiet for a moment before stating, “I was afraid of that. Please don’t take this wrong. I’m not angry…just disappointed. These past few years I keep getting asked by newspaper or magazine reporters to do what they call ‘ghost hunts.’ Please promise me you won’t call me a ‘ghost hunter’ in the story that you are writing about me, o.k.? You see, I don’t agree to do these investigations for the sake of sensationalism. I know people want that so-called spooky stuff, but I am repelled by that foolishness. I consider myself an astrologer by profession. I am not a ghost hunter. My ability to communicate with the spirit world is what I call soul communication, so I would prefer it if you would call me a ‘soul communicator’. Just because people die does not mean that their soul dies too. It is eternal and a so called ghost is nothing more than a soul which is no longer confined in the physical body. For whatever reason, God gave me the ability to sometimes communicate with discarnate souls, the only value in it to me is to convey to other people that we do not die nor do those whom we have loved. Life is eternal. That is the beauty of the gift. It isn’t to make people shiver and to be afraid to turn off the lights when they go to bed.”

I could not help but feel guilty, even though I knew Walden’s comments and concerns were not meant to hurt or reprimand me.

“I promise you I will do my best to represent you with the dignity and respect that you deserve,” I replied.

He smiled warmly and replied, “Thank you. I know you will do an honest job but I also know that that your editor will have the final say so if it doesn’t work out my way…Happy Halloween anyway.”

St. Mary’s Art Center

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The Zephyrs
Of
Washoe County
Virginia City, Nevada
The ghost hunt continues…

Presenting part 2 of magazine reporter Anthony Ryan’s astonishing interview with Walden Welch
which took place in Virginia City, Nevada on June 20th, 2005

Our trip from Dayton to Virginia City, Nevada did not take long. It pleased me greatly to see how excited Walden became as we passed through the ruins of the ghost towns of Gold Hill and Silver City.

“I cannot believe such places still exist today,” he exclaimed as he viewed the decaying weathered buildings along the sides of the road. “Why in the world isn’t the State of Nevada preserving these buildings?” He asked.

“Actually, they are being preserved and reconstructed. It is going to be a long and costly project, but it is being done. You will see what a great job of preservation has been done when we arrive in Virginia City,” I replied.

I was happy to see how right I was. Walden’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened as we entered C Street in Virginia City.

“This town is unbelievable!” he exclaimed. “How in the world did they ever build these fantastic homes and buildings at an elevation this high and in a location this remote?”

“Yes, it is amazing,” I replied and then added, “All the lumber and building supplies had to be brought in by horse and wagon and cut and assembled on the premises. Don’t forget, this was a very wealthy gold and silver mining community. They say that enough money was produced in Virginia City alone to pay the cost of The Civil War.”

Walden looked as excited as a small boy as his eyes took in every detail he could capture. I looked for a parking place in several locations, but none were available. Virginia City was packed with tourists.

“I sure didn’t plan this well,” I said to myself as I finally found a parking spot several blocks away from the main section of town. Walden opened the passenger door and stepped outside of the car. Suddenly he reentered, sat and closed his door.

“What’s wrong?” I asked with concern. He looked upset and uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry. I cannot go out there. It’s too windy,” he replied.

“It’s always breezy around here. It’s what the locals call the Washoe County Zephyrs,” I replied.

“I’m sorry…I just can’t go out into a cool breeze like this. I have had congestive heart failure twice. Last year at this time, I spend two weeks in the hospital with pneumonia which led to heart failure. Four years before that, I suffered the same condition. It could kill me if I catch pneumonia again. I am so sorry but I just can’t risk it.”

I looked at the snow capped mountains surrounding us and realized that he was right to be concerned.

“I wouldn’t be comfortable escorting you around town for this interview knowing that it could damage your health,” I stated.

“Thank you” he replied with a wane smile. “I should not have agreed to do this interview. I was going to turn down the offer. I should have. I wasn’t sure my health was really up to it.”

“I wish you had told me. I could have been better prepared to accommodate your needs. I won’t be disappointed if we have to call it quits. Your remarkable investigation at Dayton this morning is worth a feature story in itself,” I stated.

“I don’t want to let you down. If you can take me directly to a specific place you want investigated, I will be happy to do my best. Because of my heart condition, I just can’t walk a lot and we are parked so far away from everything,” Welch said.

The two of us drove down several of the crowded streets of Virginia City. I looked frantically for a place to park that might be close to one of the sights my editor had asked to be investigated. None were to be found.

“Good Lord! This place is like Disneyland,” Welch exclaimed. “I have never seen so many tourists. It really spoils the beauty of the town doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, I have to agree. I really should have planned this better. I can’t even come close to finding a parking spot near any of the prime locations I was hoping for you to search. It’s my fault. Let’s give up and continue our search in another town tomorrow,” I suggested.

“No! I have an idea…take me to a church, a Catholic Church if possible,” Walden requested.

“Saint Mary’s of the Mountains Church is not far from here. I will take you there. Why do you want a church?” I asked curiously.

“Because I will be sheltered from these so called zephyrs or winds of Washoe County and besides I have seen more ghosts in churches than in any other one place,” he answered. “I used to call them ‘the shadow people’ when I was a little boy. I would sit quietly in the church and watch them…the spirits. Many of them congregate to pray and seek spiritual guidance in churches.”

“Even though they are dead?” I asked.

“Yes, even when they are dead. The search to understand and to know God is what our souls experience is always about…dead or alive,” he replied.

What Walden did not know was that St. Mary’s of the Mountains Church was one of the four haunted spots that my editor had picked to be investigated. However, it was at the bottom of his lists of choices, his first choice being St. Mary’s Art Center at 55 N. R Street. It was believed that a Nun in a white habit haunted the art center’s premises and for whatever reason this story fascinated my editor. His second choice, and my personal favorite, was to investigate the murder of Julia Bulette, the infamous prostitute who was murdered by John Millian in 1868. He also was curious about the ghostly tricksters who liked to move about the shoes of the guests at The Crooked House Bed and Breakfast.

Our present predicament narrowed our search to St. Mary’s church and I was relieved to find that there were no parking problems there. As we entered the church, I was happy to discover that we were also the only people inside. That is to say unless Walden was to discover other additional ghostly presences.

“You can sit next to me, but if I raise my right hand you must not talk or ask me questions,” he cautioned.

We sat at the second row pew directly across from the churches alter. Goosebumps tingled up my spine and my arms as I watched Walden’s penetrating eyes scanning the church for signs of life…or whatever!

“I see one,” he said in a whisper.

Noticing that he had not raised his right hand, I asked, “What do you see?”

“A nun dressed in a white habit,” he replied. “She is over there by the votive candles. You stay here until I return. I must get nearer to her in order to communicate,” he said to me as he quietly but hurriedly moved to a seat just in front of the votive display.

I stared as hard as possible at the spot in which he was seated, but I could see nothing whatsoever except for him. He did not move at all, nor did he not say one word as far as I could tell. I timed him on my watch and it was exactly eight minutes before he returned to where I was sitting.

“Please take me to St. Mary Marie’s Hospital,” he asked.

“But there is no such place,” I replied. “Yes, there is. She specifically named the hospital. I will find it if you will just drive to where I direct you,” he replied as he walked hurriedly towards my car and got in.

As I drove off, I asked, “Well? Well? Don’t leave me in suspense. What did you see? Who was the nun?” I handed him my tape recorder to talk into.

“Her name is Sister Mercedes and she lives and works at St. Mary Marie’s Hospital. She comes to St. Mary’s of The Mountains Church daily to pray for the ill and those who have died. She is called Sister Mercy by those who know and love her. She is not aware that she is dead. She still looks for those who are ill and are in need of her nursing services. She told me, ‘Things are not where they are supposed to be at the hospital’ and she is terribly confused and upset. She asked if I would help her to ‘put things into their proper place.’ She is terribly upset about a fire…a horrible, horrible fire.”

Our ride to wherever it was Walden was taking me could best be likened to a Keystone Cop’s Caper or better yet that wonderfully mad scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s “Family Plot” where Bruce Dern drives his psychic medium friend Blanche down a winding highway road without brakes.

“Look out! Look out! My God, these streets are narrow! You almost sideswiped that parked car! I have never seen so many cars! This town is like Disneyland. How come they didn’t make the streets wider?” Welch raved and complained.

“Well, where in the hell are you taking us?” I asked. “Where Sister Mercy tells me to. She’s taking us to St. Mary Marie’s Hospital,” he replied.

“But I told you there is no such hospital! Is Sister Mercedes here in the car with us?” I asked nervously.

Walden laughed and replied, “No! Don’t be silly. I am following her soul’s energy and the instructions she is sending me telepathically. She is speaking to me and telling me where to go and I can hear her in my head.”

“Well, why in the world can’t I see or hear her? No, don’t answer that…because my antenna isn’t as highly tuned as yours…right?”

“Exactly!” he replied.

In the next instant he pointed to an old spooky looking building far off in the distance. I drove to the structure and parked. We were at 55 N. R Street. The sign above the entrance read, St. Mary’s Art Center.

“But this isn’t a hospital,” I stated.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Absolutely! Read the sign above the entrance. This is an art center of some sort,” I answered.

“But this has to be the place. Sister Mary is inside. I see her up there standing behind that window on the third floor,” he stated firmly.

Suddenly, I was hit with the realization of where Walden had taken me. This was the very building my editor Steve Coughlin had requested that we investigate. The nun in a white habit that Walden was talking about was the very same nun in a white habit that was supposed to haunt St. Mary’s Art Center. I hadn’t for a moment thought of the nun Welch communicated with in the church to be she.

As we entered the art center, I think Walden was as surprised as I was to see the place so active and busy. Numerous art students buzzed about the premises and gave us smiles of acknowledgment as if we were fellow students.

I stopped at a table in the entranceway and picked up a couple of brochures. One was advertising the numerous varieties of art classes available. The second brochure was of far greater interest to me; “The History of St. Mary’s Art Center.”

I followed Walden wherever he led me. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing, for he looked like a serious Bloodhound following the scent of a criminal.

“She is up here,” he said as we climbed the stairs leading to first the second and then the third floor. “Of course this place was a hospital! Couldn’t you feel it as we walked through the lobby? They did operations down on the first floor. The patients’ rooms were up stairs on the second floor, and the nurses and residents lived on the third and fourth floors,” he stated as if he was upset with me for being in doubt of his absolute awareness.

“There was a terrible fire in this building but I believe that only two people died. One of those people was Sister Mercedes and the other person was a man who had mental problems. I believe he was a patient at the hospital and it was he who started the fire. He burned to death, but Sister Mercedes died of smoke inhalation. She died here, here in this room,” Welch stated as he slapped his hand harshly against the closed door to a room lettered “11.”

Sister Mercedes' Bedroom

“Behind this door there is a sleeping cot and a dresser. Facing the bed, to the right side, is a window. Sister Mercedes died after jumping out of that window. She was so frightened of the fire that she jumped to her death three stories below. Her soul still lives in this room. Her energy is poltergeist energy. This means that she can move things about from time to time. Sometimes she moves shoes or mittens or things that students misplace and leave where they ought not to be. Best of all she likes to tuck people into bed when they retire. She has frightened many people by pulling up the bed covers to their necks to protect them from the night air.”

Something else I sense that is very strange is that she is constantly twisting the covers on her bed…that is to say…the housekeepers make the beds here at the art center but Sister Mercedes is always mussing her’s up. You see…she reenacts the moment of her death where she is fleeing from the fire and then jumps upon the bed and hurls herself out the window. This is why the bed is constantly being unmade. She repeats her last moment action that took place before she died. It is her strong poltergeist energy that musses the bed covers.”

“I also feel that many people have seen her soul or spirit body. She wanders about from room to room trying to nurse the people who live and work here. To her, the art center is still a hospital because at the time of her death it still was. She is very upset and confused as to why things have changed here in this building. The rooms are not kept as they once were, and a few have been totally changed from where they were. She wanders about searching for familiar rooms and objects.”

Walden ceased speaking for a moment and then commented, to himself more so than to me, “Did she die in 1940? I believe that she did. She also speaks with a soft French accent. I believe that she comes from Canada…Quebec of course”

He then sat himself on a bench placed in the middle of the corridor. I took a seat beside him but remained silent in case he had anything further he wanted to say. Suddenly, the door directly across from us opened and a very attractive middle aged woman exited.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked curiously.

I was greatly relieved to see that she was definitely alive and in a human body. I stood and replied, “No…no, thank you. My friend and I were just taking a tour of this very interesting old building. I hope that is all right.”

“But certainly,” she answered. “I am a house keeper here. If there is anything I can do to assist the two of you, please don’t hesitate to ask,” she replied kindly.

I decided, aggressive reporter that I am, to take the opportunity she had just offered. I replied, “As a matter of fact there is. What is in Room 11 may I ask? Is someone living there or is it a storage room or what?”

She walked to the door to Room 11 and opened it. The door was not locked and she pushed it gently with her hand until it was fully open.

“There is not much to Room 11 at all. It is just a small sleeping quarters. No one occupies it at present,” she replied.

“That’s what you think, Sister!” I said to myself as I walked to the entrance and peered inside. Goosebumps ran up my spine as I saw that the room was exactly as Welch had described it a few moments before. How had he known this? I was absolutely positive that he could not have viewed it previously, for we were together every moment since entering the building. He was never out of my sight.

“It looks like a hospital room,” I remarked to the housekeeper.

“Actually it was at one time. This building was originally Saint Mary Louise Hospital up until 1940, when a fire caused it to be closed,” she replied.

Welch turned and looked me in the eyes. “That’s it! It’s St. Mary Louise Hospital. Not St. Mary Marie. I was close. I just couldn’t hear how she pronounced it quite clearly enough,” he stated excitedly.

Needless to say I was dumbfounded. “The history of the building is all in that brochure you have in your hand, should you care to read it.” the housekeeper remarked with a smile.

“What caused the fire?” I asked.

She turned to look at me and said, “From what I have been told the fire was caused by one of the psychiatric patients who was being treated at the hospital at that time. Most of the people got out safely. The only bodies found were of the man who caused the fire and one nurse.”

“Was the nurse a nun?” I asked.

She looked at me as if surprised and replied, “Why, yes. Yes, I believe that she was.”

I was too amazed to think of anything else to say or ask. The housekeeper looked at me curiously and then turned and walked down the corridor and down the staircase. As I turned to look at Walden, he could not help but see the look of astonishment I had on my face. He looked back at me as if he were disgusted that I had not believed him.

“I told you it was a hospital!” he said curtly. “I told you there had been a horrible fire here.”

“Yes, you did. You also told me the Nun died in 1940. You amaze me! You are just plain remarkable!” I replied in truth. “How in the world do you do what you do? Oops! I take that back. I know…it’s that super duper antennae of yours that are more finely tuned than most other people,” I replied.

He looked at me and laughed, “Oh forget it. I don’t really care how I do it, just so long as I do it right. I just do it. Now let’s go into that room.”

“No way! I am not going into that room! You go into it. I will wait right here for you,” I answered.

“I cannot believe how chicken you are! Could it be that you actually believe in ghosts, Mr. Reporter?” he asked teasingly.

“Well I never did before I met you but I have to admit that in one short day you have made a believer out of me,” I replied.

Welch walked to the door and entered the room. “Come on, Tony. She won’t hurt you. She is very kind and loving.”

I followed him but only to the entrance way into the room. “I’ll stand guard here in case someone comes up the staircase,” I replied.

“I cannot believe what a chicken you are!” Walden teased.

“Is she in there? Do you see her?” I asked. “Yes, she is in here and yes, I see her. She flickers…kind of like a candle flame. Her energy comes…her energy goes. She knows I am here and she is happy that I am.”

I braced my hands against the door frame to stop my body from trembling. I could actually feel my knees knocking. I was nervous and it was hard to hide the fact.

“Does she know that I am with you? Is she happy that I am or doesn’t she want me to be here?” I asked.

“She couldn’t care less. Don’t be so scared. She knows you can’t see her and therefore she is not trying to make contact with you,” he answered, to my great relief.

I thrust my tape recorder into his hands, saying, “Here, you take this and talk to her. I will listen to the recording later. I don’t want to disturb your communication.” I turned and returned to the bench where we had been seated hoping Walden wasn’t aware of how truly frightened I was.

He remained in the room for less than five minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to me. When he exited, he was smiling and as he walked towards me he began to laugh.

“You remind me of Stepin Fetchit,” he stated.

“Who is Stepin Fetchit?” I asked.

“He was a wonderful, outrageously funny, black movie actor and comedian who went by the name of Stepin Fetchit back in the old days. He played in various Charlie Chan and Laurel and Hardy type ghost spoofs. Whenever Stepin saw a ghost, his eyes would turn into enormously big, white saucers, his mouth would drop open so widely that you could count every tooth in his head and his hair would stand on end as if he had stuck a wet toe in a hot socket. He would look just exactly as you look right now!” he laughed.

Needless to say Walden’s comments, made me feel like the coward and fool that I am. He grabbed me by the arm and led me down the staircase.

“I’m tired. Let’s call it a day and go home.”

We walked out the front entrance of St. Mary’s Art Center, down the steps and into my car. The wind was chilled and I could see a look of discomfort on Walden’s face.

“Damn these miserable Washoe Zephyrs,” he said as he fastened his seat belt and closed the passenger door.

He appeared to quite weary, so I said little to him as we drove through the streets of Virginia City looking for the Reno exit. As we passed the corner of D and Unions streets Walden squeezed me on the arm and stated, “Ugh! There is a horrible energy here! Just horrible! I feel it all around us. The entire neighborhood is tainted with it.”

I turned to look at him. His face was distorted with an expression of dissatisfaction and disproval.

“Can you explain more clearly what you are sensing?” I asked.

“It’s a sort of sexual, dark, murky, sleazy energy. I can’t exactly describe it, but it is not a healthy energy and I don’t feel safe here.”

Having an awareness of the history of Virginia City, I was well aware that we were currently traveling through what was at one time the red light district of town. However, few if any remnants of that long ago era remained to be seen. In June of 2005, Union Street in Virginia City was no more extraordinary than any other street in town.

Were Welch’s psychic antennae tuning into a time machine that was allowing him to sense the vibrations of the Union Street that this place had at one time been during the past century? Was it because this had been the district of prostitution and other various such sordid happenings that he was feeling ‘a sexual, dark, murky, sleazy energy? I asked myself.

There was no moving traffic around us, so I stopped my car in the middle of the street.

“The worst energy is coming out of that building,” he said, pointing to what appeared to be the second house from the corner. “It comes from there. It’s horrible. I feel that someone was brutally murdered in that building a very, very long time ago. I think it was a woman and her energy still lingers here and I can feel her fear.”

I did not give him a chance to say another word. Instead, I stepped on the accelerator and drove us out of there as quickly as I could. The building which Walden had pointed to was the exact location where the murdered body of the notorious prostitute Julia Bulette had been found in 1867. I decided to say nothing to him regarding this fact. I would bring him here again tomorrow to continue our ghostly search. If parking would again be a problem, then I would hire a cab, bicycle, or even push him in a wheel barrel myself if necessary. He was definitely on to something and I was determined to get him back to this specific location to finish his psychic investigation.

“How the hell do I turn you off? Those antennae of yours are working overtime” I said with a good natured laugh as I dropped him at his hotel and wished him a good night. I was tired too and so I immediately departed for home. I had a simple dinner and then got into bed and read the brochures I had taken from St. Mary’s Art Center.

The building was formerly known as the St. Mary Louise Hospital. It was built in 1876 by Bishop Patrick Manogue and the Sisters of Charity. The operating room had been on the first floor, exactly as Walden had stated. In 1897, the Sisters of Charity closed the hospital. However, almost immediately afterwards, the only other hospital in Virginia City burned down and St. Mary Louise Hospital reopened to become the county hospital. It operated as such until a fire broke out on the fourth floor in 1940.

Somehow, I was not surprised to find that my newly found psychic friend Walden Welch was ‘on target’ with his findings. This had been quite a day for a non-believer in ghost hunters like me. Walden had conjured up Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, a murdered Chinese man by the name of Shuang Yee and a nun by the name of Sister Mercedes who had died in a fire in 1940 but was still unaware of the fact that she had died. Without his knowing it, he had also accurately picked out the exact building where a legendary prostitute by the name of Julia Bulette had been murdered. This was a big cast of ghost characters to be found in one short afternoon. Hard to believe, I must admit. However, the facts that he presented were uncannily accurate and therefore stacking up points in Welch’s favor. His so called ‘psychic antennae’ were indeed finely tuned. It was more than likely that his gift was a true and honorable one. I hated to admit it but he was making a believer out of me.

This had been one hell of a spooky day for me, yet despite it all I was eager for our ghost hunt to begin again the next morning. I was well versed in the life and legend of the murdered prostitute Julia Bulette and so I would be well equipped to challenge Mr. Welch’s psychic abilities in this case.

I set my reading matter aside and turned off my bedside lamp in preparation to go to sleep. I looked into the darkness to see if any ghostly apparition was lurking there. A moment later, I turned my night light back on again. Walden was correct… I am a chicken. I decided to let the light burn brightly all night long until the even more brilliant light of morning’s sun finally arrived.

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The End
Of
Episode Two