Paranormal crosses Press photographer's path again

The Press photographer huddled in a corner of the first floor of The Coeur d’Alene Resort’s parking garage, shuddering in the midnight dark and cold, clutching his camera like a weapon.

His name is Loren Benoit, and last night, he was determined to cross paths with a ghost he’d been tracking for several consecutive witching hours. He’d managed to capture just one image after his camera seemingly malfunctioned. He had taken dozens of pictures, but just one digital frame was preserved.

With his old but trusty police scanner tucked in his jacket pocket and the volume on low, Loren could see fairly well across the Hagadone Corp. lawn to the clock tower over to the Chamber of Commerce building and up Second Street a couple of blocks.

There were no hotel patrons out and about, no late-night downtown revelers; the Sabbath and damp chill had something to do with that, he was sure. But the silence was eerie. Loren pulled his jacket collar up tighter around his neck.

And just as he noted on the clock tower that it was 12:01 a.m., his dormant police scanner awoke with a fury.

“Attention all downtown units,” the female dispatcher said breathlessly. “There’s yet another sighting of a ghost — this time near The Resort. Proceed with extreme caution!”

Almost frantically, Loren leaned over the parking garage ledge and rapidly scoured the landscape for movement. Nothing.

Feeling a tingling sensation down his spine, a dreadful thought occurred: He whipped around quickly, but thank goodness, the specter hadn’t snuck up behind him.

Loren scrambled down the concrete stairway and quietly opened the heavy metal door a crack, peering out nervously while trying to be brave. He felt certain the ghost, a female, was looking for somebody or something. His goal was to get clear and convincing evidence of the amazing phenomenon, but on a level he couldn’t quite understand or explain, he wanted to help. But to do that, he needed to find her.

Loren stepped out of the doorway and held his breath. Nothing. Time to move. Just as he was about to start crossing the Resort driveway to the lawn, he felt an icy breath on the back of his neck.

Loren wheeled and standing there motionless was the ghost.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” he managed to stutter.

The ghost didn’t move.

“May I take your picture — please?” Loren asked.

Again, no reaction. The ghost just stood there, like a stiff, so Loren raised his camera and depressed the shutter auto release button.

That’s when the ghost moved.

TO BE CONTINUED...