Basking Ridge Castle

I had known the eccentric Norman only for a fleeting few months. We had short discussions, amplified by his fidgety nature into theatrical events, about various occult topics. I had given him the benefit of the doubt - my well trained thoughts slicing through monumental bull to extract exactness from fabrication - to declare him a fairly intelligent person.

Norman, obsessed with demonology, had come upon an opportunity to infiltrate a modern New Jersey castle; the only catch being, he was short several accomplices. Norman - who had spend quite a few days trying to extract information about my knowledge in religion and the occult from a mutual friend - tempted me to join him on this probe. And tempting it was.

Though I usually tend to remain on my own - an isolated seeker - this was a castle; and I know my own limitations. We would only have about six hours for the entire investigation, and this was one instance where more people would be nice in order to cover all the ground.

Before storming head first into an array of uncertainty, I accumulated research on the castle and its inhabitants thanks to current owner: Steven Feldstein. The castle of Basking Ridge is one of few hauntings in New Jersey whose historical lore can actually be verified.

In the 1920's a man by the name of William Beatty determined to build a castle in New Jersey based on a 17th century French castle that he seemed partial to (the result of having too much money; an ailment that I've yet to fall victim to). Through his connections, he even imported some of the wood from the French castle to incorporate into his own visionary masterpiece.

Unfortunately, poor Bill Beatty succumbed to illness shortly before the completion of his domicile (you'd be surprised at how often that happens). His death came just barely before the discovery of penicillin, a drug that would have saved his life.

His presence continued to linger, however, as it's been recorded that Beatty made a brief afterlife emergence to his wife and a grounds worker over top a balcony in the massive structure.

The house was eventually converted to a private school for a time - and we all know how sinister schools can be, so this definitely raised the tortured spirit anticipation - before finally being purchased by a family named the Woerrels. On one baneful afternoon, the Woerrel children started a fire in the fireplace (this was before the don't-play-with-matches campaign apparently), a blaze that went out of control, and burnt out much of the entire castle, leaving it desolate.

Bought at a fire sale for chump change (you don't even want to know how much), the grand castle of Bill Beatty's transfered to the hands of the Burlingames, a married couple that was determined to bring life back to the estate.

The Burlingames did their best to restore the house to its former glory, and it was at this time that the ghost of Bill Beatty began to rear his head once more, as if overseeing the construction of the castle all over again.

From a moving loaf of bread, to windows shutting out the rain, to a full body apparition, Bill Beatty seemed to be trying to oversee the keeping of the castle and living in harmony will the two Burlingame residents. He even managed to get featured in specials on Unsolved Mysteries and In Search Of.

Unfortunately, the joy wouldn't last. The Burlingames went bankrupt, the house was left in disarray, and the castle was eventually sold again to a family by the name of the Peacocks. This family barely had a chance to dream of possibilities in the castle before they too had to sell it.

Eventually the task fell into the hands of its current resident, financial whiz Steven Feldstein, to watch over the house, and complete the reconstruction.

It was apparent that Bill Beatty intended to remain in the house for even Feldstein's own son bore witness to a strange phenomenon concerning the ever present specter and also correctly identified Bill Beatty as "Willy", a name his family and friends often used for him. This prompted Feldstein, normally an everyday skeptic, to call upon a few expert opinions.

I was a part of the crew that went in search of the ghost of Bill Beatty. There were eight of us in total; and we promptly split up into groups of four with my group consisting of Norman, Faith, and Norman's most recent protegee Debbie, a psychic in her own right.

We certainly started off on the right foot as I entered into the decaying section of the castle with the rest in tow; but Feldstein's tiny dog thought he was Underdog for a minute and followed us in. Norman, Faith, and Debbie quickly shooed him back through the ancient dungeon-like door and into the kitchen. They followed the dog into the kitchen and promptly shut the door behind them.

It was at this point that I realized I was now the only person left in the decaying, time-bending ruins of this haunted castle... and did I mention without a flashlight.

I stood there, alone in utter darkness, straining to get my eyes to adjust; but for the most part, there were no images to be seen. No light penetrating those decrepit parts of the castle. There was nothing for my eyes to rest on.

I fumbled around in the darkness, adrenaline pumping from the prospects of being completely alone in a dark, haunted castle. I felt like a child discovering a new toy. I was curious yet careful, making sure not to trip over some scattered debris, or fall down a hole in the floor. Though before I was too far ahead of myself, I made my way back to the entrance door, figuring I better wait for the others... or at least for someone to hand me a flashlight.

I heard a gentle rattle of the door, and Debbie proclaimed from the other side: Hey, I can't get the door open.

I laughed at the insinuation that I was now stuck in the ruins of the castle - locked in and left to its mercy. A flash of the Amityville Horror briefly entered my head, before I brushed it away. There was no handle on my side of the door, so I just stood there in vain, cursing myself for not carrying my own equipment. I would have been long gone throughout the halls of these ruins by now.

With help from Steven, Debbie was able to get the handle unstuck; and the three members of my "team" practically fell over each other to get inside. Steven, our host, also joined the fray, and offered to give us the guided tour. Finally, it was time to get down to business.

The ruins of the castle felt like old bones; ancient essence being whisked about. I realized how little and insignificant the human life was when compared to such structures. It no longer seemed like a matter of Bill Beatty waiting around for his castle to be finished, as much as it was the castle itself laughing at the futile attempts of its occupants to lay sole possession. Lord what fools these mortals be.

In the dark, with only two flashlights to illuminate the way of five people, each doorway, each opening, resembled nothing less than jaws of antiquity, mouths threatening to swallow us all and throw us away like the Woerrels or the Peacocks or the Burlingames.

Feldstein took us through the entirety of the castle ruins with explanations and historical background. He thoroughly enjoyed showing off the castle and relating the stories. It was worth the near three hour drive it took to get here just to listen to his stories and examine this old structure. Unfortunately for us, we came for a little more than a guided tour; and I was beginning to feel disappointed that with such a setting as this - and a ghost story that's appeared on network television - we had yet to see any evidence of anything more than cobwebs and broken wood... until we entered the parlor room.

It was darker and colder than usual in that large menacing room - or at least my senses decided to play tricks on me at all the right moments. We spread out like soldiers of an occult conspiracy, like Marines in a deep wooded jungle, careful not to break through any weak wood under our feet. Feldstein remained at the entrance to the room, intrigued and almost thrown aback by our seriousness.

I felt a wave of cold air pass through me, sending an onslaught of chills and goose bumps sprinting throughout my body... and that's when I saw it.

It began as little specks of light, like dust bunnies reflecting the glare from a window in the Summertime; but slowly escalated into an organized dance of glowing lights. Imagine thirty or forty fireflies, with their lights constantly on, mutated to be four or five times the size of a normal insect, dancing about in some ancient ceremony, and you might have some idea of what we experienced. What we captured on video doesn't even compare to what we saw with our naked eyes.

But they definitely weren't insects. I don't know many insects, with the exception of maybe spiders, that like to dance about in temperatures below freezing. After all, we were walking through the ruins of a castle in late December.

I managed to get some of the display on video camera; and Debbie jumped at the opportunity to display her spirit communication abilities before an audience, giving commands at the flying lights in hopes of receiving some response. I thought Steven was going to compare this to an episode of Toonsylvania or something, but he seemed to think that it was all in good fun.

The abnormal display continued for quite some time allowing for plenty more observations, and many talkative moments.

It at least gave Feldstein a good enough show for him to feel that his time wasn't wasted. From his reaction and subsequent conversation, I could tell that he thoroughly enjoyed himself, and was quite satisfied with the night's events.

I was just happy that I didn't fall through any hidden holes in the floor.

Afterwards, we all sat down to watch the episodes of Unsolved Mysteries and In Search Of that the castle had appeared in, completing our miniature vacation at the Castle of Basking Ridge.

So what was the verdict? Has Bill Beatty remained in the Earthly sphere in order to witness the final completion of his masterpiece, or is this all just the work of wishful thinking and folklorish tales? I think I'll leave that for Steven Feldstein to decide.