This serves as a word of warning to anyone who finds themselves wandering the Hills of Barrington. Please, proceed with caution.
Years ago, I found myself befriending a group of individuals while attending community college. We were the odd ones out, nerds, theatre kids, and all bonded while working on the quarterly stage show.
Our downtime was filled with conversations that went on late into the night and group hangout sessions. We spoke of the things that intrigued us the most and while we all became closer, we felt comfortable with sharing more than usual.
We found that we weren’t brought together by random chance but rather because we all shared a connection. Not a connection you could physically see but something deeper. You see, we all shared a spiritual bond with…the other side.
Sometimes, it was just a feeling. The tingly sensation that runs down the back of your neck. The feeling of being watched. The shadow in the distance or out of the corner of your eye.
It was all this that took us on our first ghost hunt. Some research and internet sleuthing brought up the local haunted stories. We were all buzzing with excitement to catch a glimpse of something, anything.
At the end of the night of research, we were hanging out in the car while dropping the others off. We had chatted for so long that the windows had fogged up. The front seat passenger drew on the windshield. A seemingly random bunch of squiggles and shapes.
Before saying our goodbyes we noticed that the finger drawing resembled a sign that was overgrown with weeds and other plant life. A winding path into nothingness just passed. We didn’t think much of it.
That next weekend we loaded up the car and went on our hunt. It was late and the drive was far. We stopped at the “famous” places. Nothing. Not even a feeling.
I was driving. For no apparent reason, I started to take turns at random. This led to the entrance of a forest. An overgrown sign with a winding path just passed on a road called Bateman.
I was drawn to this place. No GPS, directions, or any guidance by anyone in the vehicle. Something took us here.
We all sat in the car, headlights turned off, the glow of cell phones and dashboard peripherals illuminating the interior. Silence.
One of the backseat passengers pulled something from his pocket. A crystal that was attached to a small piece of chain, a pendulum. He started to ask questions.
“Is there a presence with us tonight?”
The pendulum motions dictated the answer, “Yes”.
“Are you young?”
“Yes”.
While the questions were being asked I started to get the feeling we were being watched. Not only watched but encircled, surrounded.
“Are there others with you?”
“Yes”.
The feeling of dread started to set in. I asked the next question.
“Are these others here to harm us?”
With my very own eyes, I watched the pendulum go from a circle to a complete standstill as if someone physically grabbed the crystal to stop it.
That was all I needed to know. I put the car in drive and sped off into the night. Into the darkness of Bateman Road.
Only a few short minutes down the road the backseat passengers started to scream. In a panic, I pulled over. We all got out of the car.
A handprint, long and almost skeletal in shape appeared on the exterior glass. We performed a cleansing of the car and hoped it was enough.
To this day, I don’t know if something came back with us or not. But I do know that whenever I think of Bateman Road, I get a tingling down the back of my neck.
If I could offer one piece of advice. If you ever find yourself on Bateman Road, please…turn back.