Spooky Science

Gabrielle Birchak/ October 22, 2024/ Late Modern History, Modern History, Post Classical, Uncategorized/ 0 comments

The idea of a rest­less spir­it trapped in a house, seek­ing clo­sure, is a theme that res­onates across cul­tures and gen­er­a­tions. But what makes these sto­ries so com­pelling? Is it the pos­si­bil­i­ty of encoun­ter­ing the unknown, or is it some­thing more pro­found, even psy­cho­log­i­cal, at play?

Fast for­ward to the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry, where we can dive deep into the world of haunt­ings avail­able on the inter­webs. For instance, there is the sto­ry of a three-year-old from Day­ton, Ohio, who saw a ceme­tery filled with grand­mas stand­ing around and look­ing at the ground. He told his dad that they were all “paused,” a term he learned when his dad had to pause the car­toons for lunch and dinner.

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A post shared by Hen­ry Yau (@ares415)

And there’s the sto­ry of the Stan­ley Hotel in Estes Park Co. The Stan­ley Hotel was used as the premise for The Shin­ing. Note, I said premise because the exte­ri­or of the hotel in the movie is actu­al­ly the Over­look Hotel in Ore­gon, and the inte­ri­or was a set built at Elstree Stu­dios in Eng­land. Grow­ing up in Col­orado, I have often been to the Stan­ley Hotel, and it is beau­ti­ful! In April 2016, Hen­ry Yau, the spokesman for the Children’s Muse­um in Hous­ton, vis­it­ed and stayed at the Stan­ley Hotel with a friend. He took many pho­tos. When Hen­ry and his friend left the next day, he noticed some­thing while going through his pho­tos. He cap­tured a per­son at the top of the stair­case, even though he made sure the area was void of peo­ple before he took the pic­ture. He post­ed it on Insta­gram, jok­ing that he thinks he cap­tured a ghost. It’s a very con­vinc­ing photo.

MY GHOST STORY!

And, as for appari­tions, here’s my sto­ry! My dad grew up in Crab­tree, Lux­or, Penn­syl­va­nia, and often talked about his god­moth­er, Mrs. Paroch, who lived near­by. Accord­ing to him, she had a remark­able and accu­rate sixth sense. She knew when peo­ple, includ­ing her­self, were going to die. He also shared fond mem­o­ries of play­ing at the Paroch’s farm, such as when he and his friends raised a cor­ner of the barn with a car­jack. Some­one let go of the han­dle on the jack; it came up and hit my dad in the jaw, caus­ing him to bite a hole in his tongue. He used to tell the sto­ry with a big laugh and show us all the hole in his tongue. It was gross. My dad had a lot of great Lux­or sto­ries about the whole neigh­bor­hood, includ­ing their neigh­bors the Forbes’, whom one of the streets was named after.

When I lived briefly in Vir­ginia, my par­ents vis­it­ed for the sum­mer. As a treat, my hus­band and I went on a road trip with our kids and my par­ents to Lux­or, Penn­syl­va­nia, to see my dad’s old stomp­ing grounds. And our vis­it was so mean­ing­ful to me. We went to a lit­tle Ital­ian restau­rant, where the own­er sang to us in Ital­ian. We walked over to a lake where my kids could play. And we vis­it­ed his child­hood home. The own­ers even invit­ed us in for lemonade.

As the day end­ed, my dad sug­gest­ed we walk down a dirt road to see if the Paroch house was still there. The sun was set­ting as we walked, but all I saw was foliage. Since my dad was going blind, I guid­ed him, describ­ing what I saw. He had sto­ries about all the land­marks, includ­ing when he and his broth­er saw a ghost through a win­dow after Mr. Paroch, even though the house was emp­ty. Still, as we walked, all I could see was foliage. We had to return because it was get­ting late, and I had to feed my kids. Just as we were ready to return, we came around a bend, and down in a nook, I spot­ted what looked like a house with a large, dilap­i­dat­ed, slop­ing red roof in the front sur­round­ed by foliage. It was hard to see with the sun set­ting and all the plants.

I described the house to my dad, and he was so elat­ed. He choked up and said, “Gab­by, that’s it. That’s the old Paroch house!” As the sun set, I sug­gest­ed that Joe, my hus­band, return ear­ly the fol­low­ing day to take pho­tos of the house before we drove back to Virginia.

The next morn­ing at sun­rise, Joe drove to the area but couldn’t take the car down the dirt road. So, he parked and walked for about thir­ty min­utes, unable to find any­thing. He called me, think­ing he was lost, so I gave him direc­tions to retrace the steps Dad and I took. Joe fol­lowed them, even going into the nook and walk­ing through the brush, but still found noth­ing. He searched for nine­ty min­utes but returned with no pho­tos to show the house.

So, I ques­tion what I saw. The details matched my dad’s mem­o­ries. When I described the sto­ry to some of my friends, some thought I had seen a resid­ual home that was no longer there. While I have anoth­er anal­o­gy. First, my hus­band could have got­ten lost and gone down the wrong path, which makes com­plete sense because he is often lost with­out me, lit­er­al­ly and metaphorically.

Sec­ond, the sun was set­ting. And I saw a red roof that was slop­ing down. A green plant can appear red dur­ing sun­set because the sun’s angle caus­es sun­light to scat­ter. At sun­set, the atmos­phere fil­ters out short­er wave­lengths of light like blue and green, leav­ing longer wave­lengths like red and orange. This red­der light reflects off the plant, giv­ing it a red­dish tint even though the plant is still green. It’s an opti­cal effect, much like how so many of us Los Angeli­nos see a red sky when there are fires in the area. As for the details of the house, in addi­tion to the trick of light, my uncon­scious mem­o­ries from when I was a kid must have crept into my descrip­tion of the house. So, while on that incred­i­bly spe­cial walk with my best friend, my dad, I thought I saw some­thing that was just a trick of the light and a jum­ble of pre­cious emotions.

Opti­cal illu­sions are often one of the many rea­sons why peo­ple think they see ghosts when, in fact, the sight of the ghost is con­nect­ed to light­ing con­di­tions. As I not­ed before, opti­cal illu­sions are caused by refrac­tion, a bend­ing of light, or even reflec­tion that can cre­ate the appear­ance of fig­ures or shapes. For exam­ple, light from a win­dow can bounce off sur­faces or bend in ways that cre­ate ghost­ly images. There is also a math­e­mat­i­cal the­o­ry that describes geo­met­ric optics, called the Snell-Descartes Law, named after René Descartes and Dutch astronomer Wille­bror­dus Snel­lius (yes, that was his real name!).

Anoth­er type of opti­cal illu­sion that doesn’t involve light is called parei­do­lia, also known as pat­tern recog­ni­tion. It’s when peo­ple see faces or fig­ures in ran­dom pat­terns, like mist, shad­ows, or reflec­tions, which they might inter­pret as ghosts. Parei­do­lia is a psy­cho­log­i­cal phe­nom­e­non in which the brain detects famil­iar pat­terns, espe­cial­ly faces. It’s a func­tion of the brain’s pat­tern recog­ni­tion sys­tem, which can be explained using prob­a­bil­i­ty and neur­al net­work the­o­ry prin­ci­ples. Pat­tern recog­ni­tion algo­rithms derived from math­e­mat­i­cal mod­els can sim­u­late how the brain assigns mean­ing to ambigu­ous or ran­dom patterns.

Some peo­ple will say that they think there is a ghost in the room because they felt a sud­den drop in tem­per­a­ture. These are called cold spots and are often report­ed in haunt­ed loca­tions. But these cold spots result from air drafts or ther­mo­dy­nam­ic imbal­ances in the envi­ron­ment, like heat mov­ing from one place to anoth­er in a con­fined space. These air drafts are why peo­ple are like­ly to feel cold spots in decay­ing homes because there is lit­tle or no insu­la­tion. So, these cold spots can be attrib­uted to the laws of ther­mo­dy­nam­ics, which explain how ener­gy moves through the air or even through mate­ri­als, which can cause local­ized cooling.

Also, some­times peo­ple think they hear ghosts, which can be attrib­uted to many prac­ti­cal fac­tors like fric­tion, which I men­tioned in my recent pod­cast on tri­bol­o­gy. The reports of hear­ing unex­plained foot­steps or creak­ing sounds in old hous­es are often caused by the expan­sion and con­trac­tion of wood­en floor­boards due to changes in tem­per­a­ture or humid­i­ty. As the wood expands and rubs against nails or oth­er wood, fric­tion can cre­ate creak­ing sounds that seem like footsteps.

Hear­ing doors open­ing or clos­ing is a com­mon para­nor­mal claim. These nois­es can often be explained by fric­tion­al forces, such as when a door is slight­ly uneven or poor­ly hinged. Changes in air pres­sure, drafts, or vibra­tions can cause the door to move if the fric­tion hold­ing it in place is low, mak­ing it seem like a ghost is respon­si­ble. Or, in some hous­es, some might say there is a ghost hold­ing the door closed, when it could be a cracked foun­da­tion and the house is set­tled, mak­ing it hard­er to push the door open or closed.

See­ing fur­ni­ture move can often be attrib­uted to uneven legs, slight tilts on the floor, or a smooth or slip­pery sur­face. These fac­tors can cause the fur­ni­ture to move slight­ly over time.

Sci­en­tif­ic, psy­cho­log­i­cal, and envi­ron­men­tal fac­tors can explain many ghost­ly sounds. Much like parei­do­lia caus­es us to see things that aren’t there; audi­to­ry parei­do­lia also caus­es us to hear sounds that aren’t what we think they are. Infra­sound, which is sound at fre­quen­cies below 20 Hz, which is below the human hear­ing range, can cause feel­ings of dis­com­fort, anx­i­ety, and even hal­lu­ci­na­tions. Peo­ple expe­ri­ence the physics of res­o­nance,  which is when cer­tain fre­quen­cies res­onate with human organs, cre­at­ing sen­sa­tions that might be inter­pret­ed as supernatural.

Sim­i­lar­ly, elec­tro­mag­net­ic fields (EMFs) can affect the brain, espe­cial­ly the tem­po­ral lobes, caus­ing audi­to­ry hal­lu­ci­na­tions or strange sen­sa­tions that might be mis­in­ter­pret­ed as ghost­ly encoun­ters. It’s fas­ci­nat­ing how EMF’s can real­ly screw with our brains. Vari­a­tions in elec­tro­mag­net­ic fields, par­tic­u­lar­ly from wiring or near­by elec­tri­cal devices, can cause sen­sa­tions of being watched. Exceed­ing­ly high EMF expo­sure can affect brain activ­i­ty, which can lead to hal­lu­ci­na­tions or odd per­cep­tions. Math can be used to pre­dict the effect of EMF fluc­tu­a­tions, par­tic­u­lar­ly Maxwell’s equa­tions, named after James Clerk Maxwell and Oliv­er Heav­i­side, which gov­ern the behav­ior of elec­tric and mag­net­ic fields.

Envi­ron­men­tal fac­tors also play a role. Echoes and sounds trav­el­ing through walls or floors can dis­tort or delay ordi­nary sounds like foot­steps or dis­tant con­ver­sa­tions, mak­ing them seem untrace­able or super­nat­ur­al. White noise from fans or air con­di­tion­ing units can con­tain ran­dom sounds that the brain inter­prets as whis­pers or voices.

Psy­cho­log­i­cal fac­tors often enhance these expe­ri­ences. Stress, anx­i­ety, and sug­gestibil­i­ty can height­en a person’s sen­si­tiv­i­ty to sound, mak­ing them more like­ly to per­ceive ordi­nary nois­es as para­nor­mal. In a state of height­ened fear or expec­ta­tion, even the creak of a floor­board can be inter­pret­ed as a ghost­ly pres­ence. Sim­i­lar­ly, hyp­n­a­gogia, a symp­tom of nar­colep­sy, which I strug­gle with, or sleep paral­y­sis, which is a state in which a per­son is par­tial­ly awake but unable to move, can cause vivid audi­to­ry and visu­al hal­lu­ci­na­tions, often inter­pret­ed as encoun­ters with spir­its. Tin­ni­tus, which caus­es phan­tom ring­ing or buzzing in the ears, often from going to loud con­certs or blast­ing your ear­buds or speak­ers, can some­times be per­ceived as ghost­ly whis­pers or voic­es in qui­et, eerie environments.

Final­ly, vis­its from appari­tions may help us find clo­sure. For myself, after my dad passed away, I still have unde­ni­able moments when I know that he is with me.

All these fac­tors work togeth­er to explain why peo­ple might think they hear, see, or feel ghosts, with the brain inter­pret­ing envi­ron­men­tal stim­uli in ways that align with the expec­ta­tions of the supernatural.

Many ghost­ly phe­nom­e­na can be explained using prin­ci­ples of physics and math­e­mat­ics, offer­ing a sci­en­tif­ic per­spec­tive on what might ini­tial­ly seem supernatural.

These expla­na­tions show how apply­ing physics and math­e­mat­ics can demys­ti­fy ghost­ly phe­nom­e­na, trans­form­ing what appears super­nat­ur­al into sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly under­stand­able events.

The thing about ghosts and appari­tions is that we can­not see them, but we sense that we can feel them. But because we can’t see them, how can we believe that they exist? Some­times, the things that fright­en us and fill us with a sense of fear can­not be found in tan­gi­ble objects. And some­times, that fear is so immense that we feel crip­pled. But the same could be true for the feel­ing of love. The things that make us hap­py and fill us with a sense of love can­not be defined through tan­gi­ble objects or mea­sured amounts. We can­not see love, but we can cer­tain­ly feel it. And some­times, that love is so immense that we feel safe, secure, and val­i­dat­ed. So, when we sense the pres­ence of a loved one who has passed, there is no sense of fear but rather a sense of indis­putable love. So, who’s to say that the appari­tions we think we see or feel are there? In my opin­ion, only you. Because, no doubt, the love you feel for their pres­ence and for being in their world and hav­ing them in yours can’t be dis­put­ed either.

On this plan­et and in the uni­verse, there is love. And as we head into the hol­i­days, may you feel the pres­ence of your passed loved ones so much that your hearts are full. May you know that you are loved and that there is noth­ing worth fear­ing. May you use that to fill you with the strength and the courage to seize it every day and make it your most mem­o­rable day and won­der­ful life! With my friends, carpe diem!