"Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life." ~~ William Faulkner

On a wintry night, Friday the Thirteenth to be exact, the Ghost PRO team stood at the bottom of an empty elevator shaft, gazing into the impenetrable black shadows shrouding its upper reaches. One hundred eleven years ago a young man had stepped to his death from the hidden heights. Victim of a sudden and tragic work accident, nearby fellows rushed to lend aid and a physician was sent for immediately, but the terrible head trauma and broken neck he had suffered were fatal. The last few moments of the young man's life had been spent just where we were standing.

Even without any sign of the unsettling activity our team had been invited to look into, the somber connection to that long ago moment in time was enough to leave us with chills creeping along our own necks. The building we were in is a well known one from Greenville's history, which is the only information Ghost PRO can provide while complying with our host's request to maintain anonymity, yet, still, as we probed into dark corners of the basement and pointed our instruments this way and that in the rooms and hallways of the upper floors, with every step we were reminded of the past.

Though we didn't encounter the spirit of any tall, older man some have said they've seen and felt, Cat did get a psychic glimpse of a silent woman that others have reported. Dressed in clothing from another era, her hair in a bun, who she might have been in life or what ties she still holds to the place after life is a mystery we were unable to solve, yet she certainly wasn't either of the other two poor souls who might have reason to lingering around the grounds.

On a warm Saturday afternoon in an autumn more than a century gone, two young fellows, at ages nineteen and twenty, barely out of boyhood, were apparently under the influence of man-sized amounts of alcohol as they walked arm in arm along a railroad spur on the property back then. Despite warning whistles from the engine and shouts and signals from men riding along, the inebriated pair either ignored or just plain failed to see their doom approaching. According to one news article that reported the accident, "without a cry they disappeared beneath the train.¹"

The details of the aftermath were even more gruesome. The older of the two had died instantly when his torso was severed completely in two at the waist. The other, his head crushed and one whole side of his body dreadfully mangled, lived for an agonizing eight minutes longer. While the proper authorities were being notified, the dead were taken from under the train and laid out on a flatcar which was backed onto the side track. There they remained on view, a horrific testament to the dangers of too much alcohol, before they were taken to a local mortuary for burial preparations.

When the night's work was done, our team hadn't been fortunate enough to record anything on our equipment that could be interpreted as hard-core evidence of paranormal goings-on, and yet, considering the confirmed tragedies of the past that have left their mark, it just be that there is something to all the stories about this historic old building.