A couple of months ago I received an invitation to Oklahoma in the United States to assist in an investigation into an alleged haunted house. The investigation itself transpired to be a fruitless task, and our efforts ended prematurely and with an unsatisfying whimper.
Finding myself with some spare time on my hands before my flight home I elected to rent a car and take a drive around the state, taking in us much of the local geography as I could. In the late evening I found myself in the town of Gage in Ellis County, where I stopped at a small restaurant (of the type which our American friends rather quaintly call a ‘Mom & Pop diner’) to partake in a spot of dinner before I travelled on to my motel for the night.
Whilst at the diner, I got to talking with a member of the local law enforcement, one Sergeant Jason Bradley. A thoroughly pleasant individual, I found him to be good company, and our conversation soon turned to our respective vocations. Once Sergeant Bradley found out what I did for a living, he asked me if I would be interested in hearing his recollection of an event that occurred to him some time ago.
I found the officer’s story so compelling that it more than made up for the wasted days I had just spent at the alleged ‘haunted house’.
Here is his tale.
‘Now you see, Doctor Gotobed, I’m from a big family. Heck, everyone is from a big family out this way. I’m the youngest of eight, and my Dad left home when I was young. So the job of man of the house fell on the shoulders of my oldest brother, Wayne.
‘Wayne was a big guy, bigger than me, but he also the gentlest man you could ever meet. Real kind too. He literally once gave a homeless person the jacket off his back just so the guy didn’t have to sleep in the cold.
‘That’s the kind of person he was. He could place a hand on your shoulder and tell you it would all be okay, and you’d believe him.
‘Anyway, Wayne joined the army when I was about twelve, just to get a scholarship. There’s no way he would’ve been able to go to college otherwise. Then, guess what? Yep, Saddam fucking Hussein. Suddenly we’re at war with Iraq.
‘So out he goes to the desert, to fight for a reason that even to this day doesn’t really make any sense to me. But he was a good guy, and a good American.
‘He’s out on patrol one day, and he tells his CO he’s going to take a deuce. And what do you know? My poor brother treads on an IED. That’s an Improvised Explosive Device. A land mine to you and me.
‘Now, those things are nasty. They’re designed to injure, not kill, so that more bodies are taken up helping the wounded. But not Wayne. The one he treads on blows him to bits. They told us that at least it would’ve been quick.
‘Me, my Mom and my brothers, we’re all cut up to bits when we get the news.
‘His coffin comes home and we’re told not to open it, it’ll be too horrifying, they say.
‘I don’t think my Mom ever got over that.
‘I still miss that guy. You don’t get many like him anymore. He’s the reason I became a cop. He always said that if you can do the right thing, you should.
‘Anywho, fast forward ten years or so, and I’ve just got my badge, out on my first patrol in the big city. It’s late night and my partner and I, we spot this big pimp pistol-whipping one of his girls. Really going to town on her, whacking her over and over again.
‘I jump out the cruiser. This guy spots me and turns to run. And then it’s on. He’s weaving through all these little alleyways and I’m chasing him with my gun drawn.
‘The pimp rounds a corner, out of my sight. And just as I get to the spot he vanished, I hear my brother’s voice.
‘He says ‘it’s gonna be alright, Jay. Don’t be scared’.
‘It’s like he’s right next to me, running alongside, speaking in my ear.
‘I take the corner and the pimp is standing off to one side, his gun levelled right at my temple.
‘He pulls the trigger once. Click. Nothing. And then again. Click. Nothing. It’s a revolver .32, so I can even hear the chamber turning as he tries to shoot.
‘I pause for a split second. Not even that, just the shortest moment. Next thing you know I’m whacking this scumbag with the butt of my gun and restraining him.
‘To this day I don’t know why I didn’t shoot that son of a bitch.
‘My partner turns up and we bundle the perp into the back of the cruiser. I unload his gun, and there are two bullets with strike marks against both of them.
‘I tell my partner about the pimp pulling the trigger. He just laughs and calls it ‘rookie’s luck’.
‘I didn’t mention hearing my brother’s voice.
‘But that’s not the end of it, no siree. Once we get back to the station, I show the gun to one of the lab techs. He reloads the struck bullets and fires them into the test tank.’
Sergeant Bradley makes the shape of a gun with his hand and points it a downwards angle.
‘They both go off. Bam! Bam!’
A few of the other diners glance over. The Sergeant waves them away with a smile.
‘Now I’m a simple man, Doctor, and my job means I can’t afford to be daydreaming about stuff. But if there are angels, I’d like to think that Wayne would’ve been the kind of guy to make the grade.
‘I think he was watching over me that night.
‘I never heard his voice again. But I reckon he’s still got my back.’
In my opinion, Sergeant Bradley makes for a very credible individual, and he told me his story without prompting. Whilst it is indeed possible that his tale was no more than a fabrication designed to humour a tourist such as myself, I find this difficult to believe.
Someone in his position has no need to invent such a tale. Indeed, he confided in me that he had not shared it with anyone else, out of a desire to maintain his credibility as a police officer.
This is not the first time I have heard an account like this. In my experience, stories of this nature involving members of the emergency services seem to be relatively more commonplace than similar accounts concerning members of the public.
Either way, I am grateful to Sergeant Bradley for ensuring my trip over the Atlantic was not entirely wasted.
I wish him all the best for the future.
Dr Thomas Gotobed