The Night the Sallie House Pushed Back

There are investigations where you observe.

And then there are investigations where you are pulled in.

The Sallie House was the first time I truly felt the difference.

We walked into the house prepared equipment checked, plan in place, mindset grounded. Mason and I operate as a unit. We don’t separate unless absolutely necessary. It’s something we’re intentional about, especially in locations with strong reputations.

That night, Mason made it clear more than once:

We were not leaving each other’s side.

And normally… that wouldn’t even be a discussion. Outside of something like using the bathroom, I don’t leave him. That’s just how we investigate, as partners in all walks of our lives.

But that night, something felt different.

Early on, the house presented in a way that felt familiar.

Soft humming.
A faint childlike presence.
Moments that felt more emotional than threatening.

At one point, through a communication device, we heard:

“I’m only a child.”

And for a moment, everything aligned with what people expect from the Sallie House.

But that’s not what stayed with me.

As the night went on, something shifted—and I didn’t just hear it.

I felt it.

It started as a subtle pull… and then it became consistent.

Not just toward the house.

Toward a specific place.

The master bedroom.

And at the same time, I felt something else that I have never experienced this strongly before:

A pull to separate from Mason.

It didn’t feel like a decision I was making.

It felt external.

Directed.

Even while Mason was actively saying we were not going to separate, I could feel something trying to override that pulling me away from him, pulling me upstairs, pulling me into that room.

And that alone was enough to tell me something wasn’t right.

From early on, the energy I felt did not feel like a child.

It felt male.

Heavy.
Negative.
Constant.

And it never left.

What I noticed about myself that night is something I still think about.

Every time I went into the master bedroom, I didn’t move around. I didn’t explore.

I went to the same exact chair.

The same corner.

And I sat.

Over and over again.

Not consciously deciding to just… doing it.

Like I was being placed there.

There was a moment that stands out more than anything else.

I was standing alone at the bottom of the staircase, looking up, using the Spirit Talker.

That’s when the tone changed.

The responses became direct. Personal.

“Can you stay a while.”
“Talk to me.”
“I want to play a game.”

It didn’t feel random.

It felt like something was trying to engage me specifically and keep me there.

The first physical interaction didn’t happen to Mason.

It happened to me.

At one point, I felt a burning sensation across my back. When I checked, there were three horizontal scratches raised, broken skin, clearly defined.

There was no contact. No cause.

Later, it happened again.

Three more scratches this time under my right breast. These drew blood.

And then again.

Another set of three, under my left breast.

Each time, the pattern was identical.

Three marks.
Deliberate.
Targeted.

What stood out to me wasn’t just that it happened.

It was how it happened.

Each instance came as the energy escalated and as that pull to isolate became stronger.

And at some point, I started to feel something else:

That this wasn’t random.

That whatever was there… was using me.

Mason has a strong presence in investigations. He doesn’t back down, and he’s been in some of the most intense environments.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was in that house knew that.

It felt like it was trying to get to him through me.

Almost like it was provoking him.

Testing him.

Trying to push him.

At one point, Mason heard my voice right next to him.

Clear. Close.

But I wasn’t there.

That wasn’t me.

And that’s when things became very clear.

This wasn’t just interaction.

This was manipulation.

Throughout the night, Mason and I were experiencing so many different things.

We heard children singing, laughing, crying.

But at the same time, I felt a constant, negative male presence.

Those two things didn’t match.

And that contrast is what stayed with me the most.

By the time the third set of scratches appeared, the decision was made.

Not by the house.

By Mason.

He ended the investigation.

Not because of fear but because of awareness.

Because at that point, the line had been crossed.

Three physical attacks.
Escalation.
Mimicry.

And an energy that was becoming more direct, not less.

As we began to disengage, the house didn’t quiet.

If anything, it reacted.

Voices upstairs.
Movement.
Presence.

Like it didn’t want us to leave.

We’ve been in a lot of locations.

But this was the first time I didn’t just feel watched.

I felt pulled.

Positioned.

Used.

When people talk about the Sallie House, they talk about a little girl.

And maybe that’s part of it.

But what I experienced didn’t feel like a child trying to be heard.

It felt like something much more aware…
using whatever it needed to get closer.

And that’s not something we ignore.

Not then.
Not now.

Not ever.