‘OK, that’s weird’: Paranormal investigators visit Mt. Lebanon resident
During the course of a paranormal investigation, you should expect to here these words:
“OK, that’s weird.”
Mike Wolkiewicz had just pulled his P-SB7 Spirit Box ITC Research Device – yes, its purpose is to detect ghosts – from its carrying case to discover the power was on, even though he was certain that he hadn’t flicked the switch.
”Did you turn my device on, trying to tell me something?” he inquired to what appeared to be the thin air of Jim Ehrhardt’s room at a Mt. Lebanon assisted living center.
The static produced by the Spirit Box as it scanned FM/AM radio bands was interrupted momentarily by what could have been the faint sound of a male voice.
“It just said, ‘Yeah,'” Wolkiewicz theorized.
To which Ehrhardt added:
“That’s what I thought.”
Putting his lifelong interest in the paranormal to use, Wolkiewicz started working with the Monroeville-area East Hills Paranormal group a couple of years ago to help investigate unexplained situations.
As Halloween approached, he joined Fred Broerman, the group’s leader, and Josh Shelton to look further into the case of Ehrhardt, a North Side native who asserts that something – someone? – has been giving him grief for half a century.
“It all started back in the ’60s, back when my sister and I were playing with a Ouija board,” he told Wolkiewicz. “We actually witnessed the cursor moving around the board on its own.”
Their home, he claims, was haunted.
“There was no doubt about it,” he said. “The whole neighborhood knew about it. We’d hear weird sounds coming out of it. Doors would open and close in the middle of the night. The clock would stop in the middle of the night. TVs would turn on. My TV turns on here by itself.”
Wheelchair-bound since a spinal injury in 2000, Ehrhardt has invested in voice-activated computer software to help him continue to write novels: 14 to date. But the software often fails to work properly, and he attributes that to whatever was causing shenanigans in that spooky old house.
“We called it Wally back in the ’60s, because it was in the walls,” he explained. “Whether it was there before me or not, I don’t know, but it seems to have clung to me. I’m thinking we disturbed it from its rest.”
Considering the involvement of a Ouija board, that assessment doesn’t surprise Broerman.
“Ouija boards are the No. 1 enemy of ours, because people don’t understand them,” he said. “Doing investigations, we’ve found that they hurt a lot of people, and Jim is a perfect example.”
Wolkiewicz elaborated:
“What a Ouija board does, it opens doors, but it doesn’t close them,” he told Ehrhardt. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, don’t deal with it.”
Ehrhardt hasn’t dealt with a Ouija board in five decades, but his belief is that whatever door he may have opened has not closed.
As for whatever came through the portal, Wolkiewicz tried to help Ehrhardt find some answers.
“Tell me what your name is,” he commanded. “Jim said he’s always called you Wally. I don’t know if that’s your actual name or not. What is your name, so that we know what to call you?”
The static from the Spirit Box continued unabated.
“If you’re not going to say anything to me, I’m just going to turn my device off,” Wolkiewicz said.
Again, he heard a barely audible interruption that could have been interpreted as a man’s voice.
“Did you say, ‘Go away?'”
And that was that from Wally, who apparently prefers Ouija boards to paranormal investigations.