Screaming House
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I see the Screaming House brought up in groups, pages, and podcasts from time to time, and it always gives me pause. Not because I am eager to revisit it, but because it is a strange thing to watch your own life get discussed when you never said a word. That happens more than I…
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I want to tell you about this because it’s important to me. Architecture of Shadows came out of the last twenty-five years of my life. Not in an academic way, but in a lived one. Walking into places people don’t like to talk about. Sitting with people while they shared experiences they had carried quietly…
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It is a strange moment when you begin to realize your life story has slipped out of your hands and into legend.
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What do I believe? That question has haunted me for years. Angels. Guiding beings. Protectors. Light. Love. The word itself carries a kind of warmth, does it not? But what if we have been looking at them all wrong? During the Screaming House haunting, something strange would happen. The phone would ring, and on the…
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I remember the first time I saw you.You passed my doorwaywith a smile.Then walked through a wall—and vanished. I remember seeing youin my dreams.Same smile,as if you were knowing.Knowing what?I am not sure. I see the bloodrunning down your face.Your eyes glowing red.Then you’re gone again. Demon,some will tell me.Ghost,others might say. My imagination?Maybe.But you…
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Wes Craven once said, “Horror films don’t create fear. They release it.” That’s because fear isn’t something lurking in the shadows—it’s already inside us, waiting for the right moment to claw its way out. We like to think monsters are external, that they come from the outside world to destroy us. But the real horror?…
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I always start a conversation with a paranormal client the same way: “What do you think it is?” That question does more than just break the ice—it hands the power right back to the person experiencing the phenomenon. After all, they’re the expert on their own life, their fears, their memories. I’ve learned that when…
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I was about four years old when one of my earliest memories unfolded—a simple, magical day in St. Louis. It was sunny, and my mom and I set out for a walk, just the two of us, in search of ice cream. Every step felt like an adventure. I remember the rhythm of our footsteps…
Steven LaChance Blog 