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 old 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.
The tools of the trade are the stuff of late-night infomercials and bad Amazon impulse buys. 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 fragments of random channels, but sure, that garbled “Hey Steve hotdog” you heard 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.
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.
Final thought? 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.