We might think our kids are amazing and 'so grown up' and they beg us to take them on a ghost hunt because they have watched all of the shows on TV and seen all of the movies, but there is an area of duty of care that every tour provider needs to understand before they let allow children to attend. If you run tours, investigations, or anything that brings the public into a dark building with a bit of history hanging off the walls, you are not just telling stories. You are legally responsible for what happens to the people in front of you. That’s where duty of care comes in, and it’s one of those phrases people throw around without really understanding what it means until something goes wrong. In Australia, duty of care is not optional and it’s not flexible depending on the mood of the night. It’s a legal obligation to provide a reasonably safe environment for the people who have paid to be there. That doesn’t just mean making sure no one falls down a staircase. It extends to physical safety, emotional wellbeing, and anything that could be considered a foreseeable risk. That phrase, foreseeable risk, is the one that matters because it covers more than most people realise. Think about what we actually do on a ghost tour or investigation. We walk people through dark spaces where visibility is limited. We deal with uneven flooring, old buildings, narrow hallways, and sometimes confined areas where groups move together. Then layer on top of that the psychological side of things. People get frightened, they panic, they react in ways they didn’t expect. None of that is unusual, which is exactly why the law sees it as foreseeable. You are expected to anticipate it, not react to it after the fact. Where this starts to get more serious is when children are involved. The law doesn’t view them as just smaller versions of adults. Children are considered a vulnerable group because they don’t assess risk properly. They act on impulse, they get caught up in the moment, and they often don’t understand the difference between controlled fear and real danger. That means the level of responsibility sitting on you as the operator increases the moment a minor is part of your group.

Our latest True Hauntings episode has just dropped. Apologies for the delay. I honestly thought it was due next week! lol - Anne https://open.spotify.com/episode/4o8wVhxIE1QiOR5Ia2O4ta?si=aCsUo5zWTVmcXyHM3rVR_Q https://podcasts.apple.com/au/podcast/case-201-the-girl-who-was-bitten-by-nothing/id1537052147?i=1000762092124

If you’ve ever sat at a table with a Ouija board, even just once, you’ll know it carries a strange sort of reputation that sits somewhere between curiosity and caution. People lean in, half fascinated and half unsure whether they’ve just opened a door they don’t fully understand. That tension is exactly why it has lasted as long as it has. A Ouija board, in simple terms, is a talking board. It is marked with letters, numbers, and basic words like yes, no, and goodbye. Participants place their fingers lightly on a small pointer, often called a planchette, and ask questions with the intention of receiving answers from spirits. Whether you believe that movement comes from subconscious muscle response or something external is where opinions start to split, but the experience itself has been remarkably consistent across generations. The modern version of the Ouija board became popular in the late 19th century, during the height of the Spiritualist movement. This was a time when people were actively trying to communicate with the dead, often in parlours filled with candlelight and expectation. It was not fringe behaviour back then. It was fashionable. Entire communities were built around séances and spirit communication, especially in America and parts of Europe. The Ouija board offered a more accessible version of that experience. You did not need a medium. You just needed a board and a willingness to try. By the early 20th century, it had become commercialised, sold as both a game and a tool. That dual identity is where things started to get complicated. On one hand, it was marketed like a family pastime. On the other, it was being used in very serious spiritual contexts. Over time, especially through the mid to late 1900s, its popularity began to decline. Horror films played a large part in that. The board shifted from something curious and social into something associated with danger and possession. People stopped seeing it as a novelty and started seeing it as a risk.

There’s a moment on every investigation that most people miss — not because it’s hidden, but because it’s too simple to feel important. It happens when everything finally goes quiet. No one’s asking questions. No one’s fiddling with gear. No one’s trying to make something happen. It’s just you… standing in someone else’s space… listening. And for a lot of investigators — especially newer ones — that moment feels like failure.They feel like that should be continually active. Continually turning on another gadget just in case something is missed and not recorded for YouTube Channels. We’ve been trained, subtly but consistently, to believe that activity needs to be captured, measured, validated through equipment. That if the REM pod isn’t lighting up or the spirit box isn’t chattering, then nothing is happening. So we fill the silence. We rush it. We layer technology over it like we don’t quite trust our own senses to do the job. But here’s the uncomfortable truth — the more noise you bring in, the less you actually perceive. And I don’t just mean audible noise. I mean cognitive noise. Expectation. Interpretation. The constant low-level pressure to produce something. When you walk into a location loaded with devices, you’re not just documenting — you’re directing. You’re setting a tone. You’re telling the environment, consciously or not, “perform for me.” And sometimes… it simply won’t. I know right?!!! There is a possibility ( more like a probability) that every investigation will reveal activity. Not because nothing is there, but because you’re not giving it space to exist in its own way. Learning to sit still during an investigation isn’t passive. It’s not lazy. It’s one of the most disciplined things you can do — and it’s often where the most meaningful experiences happen. Because when you strip everything back, you start noticing what was always there. The temperature shifts that don’t show up as dramatic spikes but feel… wrong against your skin. The way certain areas carry a density that has nothing to do with airflow or structure. The subtle changes in sound — not voices, bangs, but the absence of expected noise.

What are the biggest factors holding back the paranormal Community in general right now?