Ghosts from Our Past by Erin Gilbert | Free Audiobook

Listen to full audiobooks for free on : https://hotaudiobook.com/free Title: Ghosts from Our Past Author: Erin Gilbert, Abby L. Yates, Andrew Shaffer Narrator: Hillary Huber, Emma Bering, Paul Boehmer Format: Unabridged Length: 5 hrs and 31 mins Language: English Release date: 06-28-16 Publisher: Random House Audio Genres: Comedy, Satire Summary: As seen in the Sony Pictures 2016 film Ghostbusters, here is the ultimate guide to identifying, understanding, and engaging with any paranormal activity that plagues you. Years before they made headlines with the Ghostbusters, Erin Gilbert and Abby L. Yates published the groundbreaking study of the paranormal Ghosts from Our Past. Once lost to history, this criminally underappreciated book is now back in print, revised and somewhat updated for the new century. According to Gilbert and Yates, "extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence", and whether you're a believer or a skeptic, you'll find the information you're seeking right here in this extraordinary book, including: With this helpful - and hilarious - official Ghostbusters guide in hand, you'll be prepared for almost any spirit, spook, or specter that comes your way. As for the rest, you know who to call. Contact: [e-mail]

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Do you believe in ghosts? It's a question I hear
all the time. Frankly, I'm getting tired of it. As
a scientist physicist in training by day, paranormal investigator by night.
It's more than a little insulting. Nobody asks Stephen Hawking
if he believes in black holes. So why do people

(00:23):
think it's okay to ask someone with a professed interest
in the paranormal if they believe in ghosts. Not only
do I believe in them, but I saw one when
I was eight. Back when I was in elementary school,
my family lived in a small suburban enclave in Battle Creek, Michigan.
Does the name sound familiar, it should. Battle Creek is

(00:46):
Cereal City, USA. Its name is printed on over half
of all Cereal boxes sold in the United States. Depending
on which way the wind was blowing, our neighborhood would
smell like either apple Jack's or fruity pebbles. Not everyone
was a fan of the sugary smells permeating the city.

(01:07):
Among the chief critics was a mean old lady who
lived right next door, who could be heard ranting and
raving about the air quality even on the clearest of days.
Now to a kid. Every adult is old. I remember
thinking my parents were ancient, even though they were only
a couple of years older than I am right now.

(01:30):
The woman next door, however, was old by anyone's standard.
Her thin white hair sprouted in sparse patches like a
poorly seated chia pit. Her wrinkled skin had more spots
than a Dalmatian. In fact, she looked so much like
the villain from one hundred and one Dalmatians that the

(01:52):
neighbor kids had taken to calling her Cruella. I'm ashamed
to say I joined in no other choice. Nobody seemed
to know her name, not even my parents, at least
not until we read the obituary. But I'm getting ahead
of myself. Let me start from the beginning. Devil's Night.

(02:18):
My story starts late one October day in nineteen eighty five,
the day before Halloween to be exact. In Detroit, the
evening before all Hallow's Eve was known as Devil's Night.
It was a night of vandalism for the sake of
running wild. At least, that was the story in our

(02:40):
little corner of suburbia, far from Motor City's dangerous streets.
October thirtieth was just a fall night like any other.
After school, my parents asked me to rake the backyard
with Jimmy and Kate. The twins were a couple of
grades above me. Whenever there was yard work to do

(03:02):
at the Gilberts, Jimmy and Kate would show up gloves
in hand. I labored under the delusion for years that
they were my besties before discovering that my parents were
paying them a dollar an hour not only to help
out with chores, but to be my friends. I hadn't
yet wised up to my parents scam in nineteen eighty five.

(03:23):
So the three of us b f f's were busy
raking the leaves into piles and then jumping in. The
leaves would scatter and we'd re rake them and start
all over again. Give a child a rake and they'll
never be bored. Or maybe that was just me, seeing
as how my friends were paid to have fun. Either way,

(03:45):
we were making too much noise for Croella, whose back
door banged open. The old woman flew onto the porch
with supernatural speed. I gripped my wooden rake handle tightly.
The rake taller than I was, and it felt like
I was clutching onto a sturdy tree to prevent being
blown away. None of us dared say anything, even under

(04:10):
our breath. Cruella's hearing, unlike my grandparents, was undiminished by age.
Her eyesight was sharp as a hawk. The only sense
affected by age appeared to be her sense of humor.
She cleared her throat, which sounded like someone trying to

(04:30):
start a lawnmower. If a single leaf ends up on
my side of the property line, there will be hell
to pay, she hissed, hell to pay. After she had
disappeared back inside, the three of us did the most
thorough job of raking and bagging leaves that anyone in

(04:51):
southern Michigan had ever seen. Thank god it wasn't windy.
Who knows what would have happened if the wind had
blown our life leaves across Cruella's back yard, which was
as barren as a post apocalyptic wasteland. We hauled the
bags to the curb where the trashmen would pick them
up at the end of the week. The twins took

(05:14):
off and I hurried inside