Let’s be honest: ghost hunters are just cosplayers who got lost on their way to the paintball field.
The “science” of ghost hunting boils down to this: turn off all the lights, wander around abandoned buildings in cargo pants, whisper “Did you hear that?” every six seconds, and record some static to call it a demon.
Honestly, if you ever feel bad about your career choices, just remember there are people out there who spent $700 on a thermal imaging camera to chase their own farts in abandoned hospitals.
Their tools are a wonderland of bad Amazon decisions and late-night infomercial desperation. EMF meters — originally designed to find faulty wiring — are now wielded like magic wands to “prove” that Casper is haunting the broom closet. Spirit boxes are just radios vomiting random AM channels into the void, but sure, that garbled “Hey Steve hotdog” definitely means your grandfather is reaching out from beyond the grave. And my personal favorite: the laser grid. Because if a ghost is going to manifest, naturally it’ll choose to do it while you’re aiming Dollar Store disco lights at a broken rocking chair.
It always plays out the same way. Someone gasps at a dust mote. Someone yells “What was that?!” Someone films fifteen minutes of an empty hallway and edits it together with ominous music and a jump scare so cheap it should come with a refund. Thermal cameras catch cold spots. Laser grids catch dust. K2 meters flash at random. Batteries mysteriously drain — in century-old buildings with bad wiring, imagine that. And somehow, none of this thrilling paranormal activity has produced a single shred of scientifically verifiable proof in the decades they’ve been at it.
The best part? They never actually find a ghost. Ever. Not once. But somehow every EVP glitch, every drafty corridor, every cold spot is absolute, undeniable proof that this abandoned warehouse is packed wall-to-wall with restless spirits just itching to mumble incoherently into poorly calibrated equipment.
Ghost hunting isn’t investigation. It’s performance art. It’s full-contact denial. It’s adult hide-and-seek with night vision goggles and badly faked suspense.
Here’s a radical idea: if you want to hear ghostly voices, save yourself the EMF reader and the night vision goggles. Stand outside during rush hour and listen to the wind. It’ll be just as meaningful, and considerably more honest.
You want proof of the paranormal? Find me one — just one — ghost hunter who understands the scientific method well enough to design an experiment that doesn’t begin with “Is there anyone here with us tonight?” and end with “Well, we sure felt something spooky.”
Until then, enjoy your blurry photos and your rapidly draining batteries. Just don’t call it evidence. Call it what it is: tourism for the terminally credulous.
If ghost hunters were any more useless, they’d be running for public office. Congratulations on filming a mouse sneezing and calling it paranormal evidence. Really pushing the boundaries of science there, champ.