Invisible War

I was born in Providence, Rhode Island—a city boy at heart. Raised Catholic, I never questioned the concept of God. From my earliest memories, the supernatural was simply part of my existence.

As a child, my parents met a witch who practiced black magic. Her influence profoundly impacted our family, culminating in a terrifying encounter on Christmas morning. I woke up early, filled with excitement. I couldn’t wait to open the gifts under the tree. But it was dawn—much too early to wake my parents. Suddenly, the room grew cold, and a figure appeared. I instinctively slid under the covers. Something unearthly stood beside my bed. I peered through the sheets and saw a dark, robed figure. I was terrified to look at its face. I buried my head in the pillow and silently prayed, “Please God, make it go away!” With cautious curiosity, I lifted my head again, only to find the entity still there. I closed my eyes and prayed once more, “Please, please…” I begged. Instantly, a wave of relief washed over me. I peeked and saw that it had vanished. I’m not sure if it sensed my fear or if my prayers made it leave, but my eyes were now opened to a whole new world.

Over the years, I became fascinated by the occult. That’s when my invisible war between “Good” and “Evil” began. I teetered between shadow and light. Whenever I felt myself slipping into the dark arts, I reached for the safety net of religion—until darkness called me back. There was no reprieve. My demons became the embodiment of sinful pleasures, driving me down a path of substance abuse and failed relationships. I spent years wandering the halls of extinction, demonizing and scapegoating. My faith was in short supply. I needed more than a myth made of flesh by a poet named God. But if the Great Author of Creation used prostitutes and murderers to tell a story, then why not save a wretched soul like me?

In the summer of 2005, I was sitting on the back deck with my dad, sipping coffee, when he suddenly asked, “Where do you think we go when we die?” I was taken aback. We were never intimate with our conversations, but I welcomed the connection on such a sensitive topic.

Sadly, that was the last time we spoke. Two days later, he passed away.

My dad's death drove me to seek answers outside the confines of the church. I yearned for proof of an afterlife. The surge of ghost-hunting shows was impossible to ignore. I immersed myself in the subject, absorbing everything I could. Unfortunately, my relentless quest for truth strained relationships on both sides of the spectrum. The secular world deemed me too godly, while the Christian community accused me of not being godly enough. None of that mattered. I embarked on a mission to investigate alleged hauntings, collaborating with various research teams in pursuit of answers. 

In 2007, I created project called Dark Hauntings. Our team spent 72 hours investigating the infamous Sallie House in Atchison, Kansas. That’s when the idea of launching a television show emerged. "This is it!" I thought. "Maybe we can market ourselves as a Christian Investigation Team—the supernatural gunslingers for Jesus. Yeah, that’s our niche!" But once again, I faced backlash from both religious and paranormal communities. People would say, “It’s a ghost!” or “They’re demons!” Neither explanation satisfied me. I believed the truth lay somewhere in the middle.

Later that same year, during one of our most challenging investigations, my ten-year-old son was scratched on the forehead and flung five feet across the room by an unseen force. This was a clear warning that I had ventured too far. Yet despite the attack, my journey into the supernatural continued. Our efforts yielded extraordinary evidence—but also more questions. I discovered that the spirit realm was like a vast ocean. The deeper you dive, the more you realize what you never knew existed.

Throughout my career, I’ve had the privilege of collaborating with many respected individuals in the field. I’ve appeared on television shows and co-hosted podcasts, using these platforms to share my experiences. Looking back, I realized that seeking proof of an afterlife was never truly necessary. The answer was always there. The supernatural is all around us—whether felt through a gentle breeze that brushes our face or the creaking of a door. Our earthly departure is inevitable. Rest assured, friends: death is the doorway we all must pass through, but it is not the end.

My days of ghost hunting are behind me, but I continue to aid others with confidence, comforted by the belief that God has been guiding me since childhood. My mission now is to be a beacon for those ensnared by fear.