Grove St Fire

November 10, 2005, marked the night our house was engulfed in flames and reduced to ashes. We had purchased the house two years earlier and I had devoted my efforts to restoring our house situated on Deer Creek in Nevada City, California. This arduous project had consumed two years of my life, and I was just weeks away from completing it. The city had thrown countless obstacles in our path, forcing us to employ a lawyer to compel their cooperation. Finally, we had reached the final stage, on the brink of completion after enduring so much toil.

The project had commenced two years prior, with the demolition of the old house walls and preparations for a comprehensive remodel. The house’s foundation necessitated new stone walls, as it had rested on rocks since its original construction. While excavating and removing the rocks, we stumbled upon charred timber from the previous house, which had evidently succumbed to fire.

Our house was built on the land once inhabited by the Nissenan Indians until 1850. Their dwellings resided in close proximity, and remnants of their past, such as ancient grinding stones and artifacts, could still be found in our backyard. Regrettably, in late 1852, when our 18 treaties went unratified, the United States turned a blind eye and delegated the handling of the Indian population to the State of California. On August 13, 1853, the Governor of California declared the extermination of all Indians in the state, a genocide that persisted for over 50 years.

The longer I resided in the house, the stronger the unsettling feeling grew within me, permeating my very bones. Strange occurrences began to unfold, yet nothing could match the bizarre events of November 10th, 2005.

I arrived at the job site and immediately sensed a tension in the air. It seemed like everyone could feel it. Around ten individuals were busy working on various aspects of the house, including finish carpenters, AC and Heat workers, and the general Manager and his crew who had worked on the remodel since the beginning. I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the metal railings so that we could proceed with the installation.

Later that afternoon, a truck pulled up, loaded with the railings. The first thing that caught my attention was their green color, which was not what I had ordered. Additionally, I noticed that they lacked the hammered detail that I had painstakingly discussed with the manufacturer. I had prepared a comprehensive drawing with specific colors and finishing details, which the manufacturer had approved and signed. Approaching the truck driver, I asked, “Can I assist you?” An uneasy feeling had already settled in the pit of my stomach. The driver replied, “Yes, I’m here to deliver the railings for Rick Baron.” Without delay, I retorted, “These better not be my railings,” given that they were the wrong color and design. He stared back at me blankly. In that moment, a surge of intense anger overwhelmed me, and I completely lost control. According to what I later heard, I was shouting, “What the hell? How is this even possible?” Everyone on the site stopped what they were doing and witnessed my outburst. Pacing back and forth, I eventually uttered, “The only thing left to go wrong here is for this entire house to burn down.”  I was so upset that I just packed it in and left for the day. It was now 4 am and someone was calling my phone. It’s never good when your phone rings at 4 am. I remember waking up my wife and we looked at each other. I went to the kitchen to get the phone. “Hello,” I said. “Rick, this is Greg, your neighbor. Uhh.. your house is on fire and you may want to get over here ASAP.”

I was in shock. I told my wife and we both got dressed to head over to the house that was only 5 minutes away. As we drove over the bridge I could see a dark plume of smoke rising up over our town. Initially I had thought it was probably just a small fire in the garage, but when we arrived to see 100-foot flames that had caught the trees on fire, my heart just sank.

There was only one fire truck there at the time and the flames were so massive they could not even get close. My wife and I just watched as our entire home went up in flames. Nothing was salvageable. All the appliances that had just arrived went up in flames and we just collapsed on  my neighbor’s porch, tears streaming down both our faces. It was Veterans Day, and in an instant, we had lost everything we had worked tirelessly for over the past two years. To compound the tragedy, some workers had reported to the police that I said that the entire house would burn down, making me a prime suspect. The police bombarded me with questions, but eventually realized I wasn’t responsible.

Two days later, we discovered that our course of construction insurance had been replaced with a homeowner’s policy under a different name. To my shock and utter dismay, the new policy only covered us for $200,000, despite us having invested over $500,000 at that point. Frantically, I tried contacting our agent, but it being the weekend, we received no answers.

On a Sunday afternoon, as our friends gathered to console us, a white truck pulled up—the insurance agent. His face was as pale as a ghost, and he wore a bewildered expression. Suspicious of his arrival, I asked my friends to eavesdrop on our conversation, sensing that something was amiss. Politely greeting him, I demanded answers about the insurance policy and the disappearance of our course of construction coverage, which had protected our investment. To my disbelief, he responded, “I switched you from course of construction to a homeowners policy because the project was nearing completion.” Staring at him in disbelief, I exclaimed, “What the hell? This policy only covers $200,000!” Sheepishly, he admitted, “I know, I know, but here’s what we can do.” He then proceeded to outline a scheme involving deception towards the insurance company. Aware that my friends were listening intently, I allowed him to continue, saying, “Fine, go on. But remember, we’re meeting the insurance adjuster tomorrow morning. The next morning I called the owner of the insurance company and told him about the scheme laid out by his employee. He was so upset and told me don’t listen to anything he said he is fired.” Eventually, we filed a lawsuit against the insurance company and successfully recovered our entire investment.

Things took an even stranger turn. My neighbor Ruth, who had made the emergency call at 4 a.m., pleaded, “Honey, please don’t rebuild this house. I was born in my house in 1890, and this is the third time I’ve witnessed a house burning down here.” Astonished, I had only known about one incident based on the charred remains we found.

About two months later, I reached out to a land clearing service and requested the assistance of an Indigenous shaman. Two Native American women arrived on Monday morning. Strangely, my wife distanced herself from the clearing process and declined to engage with the ladies. As I explained the situation, their expressions grew somber. Instructing me to follow them, they led me to the backyard. Along the way, I discovered a magnificent Red Tail Hawk feather on the ground, which I picked up. One of the women inquired if I frequently found feathers like this, to which I responded, “No, this is the first time.” She then requested the feather from me.

Reaching the backyard, their disturbance became evident. They drew three circles with chalk, and we positioned ourselves within one. One of them possessed a drum and various Indigenous artifacts. Just as the ceremony was about to commence, a red-tailed hawk swooped down from the tree line, directly above us, emitting the loudest whistle I had ever heard. Following closely behind was a butterfly. The two women stared in amazement, and one of them asked if I understood the significance of this encounter. Unaware, I listened as they explained that it  represented a message from the spirits of the Native Americans who had been murdered in our yard. The butterfly symbolized metaphysics or rebirth.

They proceeded with the ceremony, with one woman drumming to a shamanic rhythm while the other spoke. Suddenly I felt my eyes roll back into my head and I started speaking in toung. I had no idea what I was saying or what language it was. This continued throughout their ceremony and when I came out of the trance they were both just staring at me in disbelief.

They ended up returning multiple times, and during their last visit, they left me a 15-page letter. The letter detailed how I had been fighting over this property for many lifetimes. It stated that in one of my past lives, I had been a very bad man who killed many people on this land. They explained that during my most recent visit, both my wife and I had been murdered here.

Things took a stranger turn. Against the advice of Ruth, my neighbor who had requested that I not rebuild, I proceeded with the process. We installed a video security system during the rebuild due to strange occurrences. Someone was breaking into the house and engaging in peculiar activities. One day, I arrived to find that someone had broken in and cut all the extension cords in half. I also noticed screwdriver holes punched into the wall, following a pattern with holes about two feet apart. These holes led to the bathroom in the master bedroom. As I inspected the bathroom, I discovered that the recently installed drywall had a meticulously cut out four-inch square, with the insulation removed. All I could see was burnt wood from the previous fire, scabbed over and not removed. This sent chills down my spine. Immediately, I checked the security footage and witnessed orbs of light flying around the camera. I had no idea what it was or how to make sense of it.

I called the police, who sent an officer to investigate. I showed him the holes leading to the burnt wood from the previous fire. The officer was left speechless, unable to comprehend this puzzling crime scene. Nothing was stolen, only the power cords were cut. Then, I showed him the video tape. He observed the flying orbs and shook his head in disbelief. We were both stunned, aware that something mystical beyond human understanding was taking place at my house.

Following that incident, I installed a comprehensive alarm system with sensors on every door and window. Approximately a week later, my neighbor called to inform me that the alarm had gone off. I hurried over as fast as I could. As I arrived, several neighbors were already outside. One of them claimed to have seen someone running into the woods across the street. I had already dialed 911, and shortly after, a lone police officer arrived. The neighbors informed him about the suspected individual in the woods. I expected the officer to charge up the hill and search for the suspect. However, he hesitated, saying, “I’m not going up there.” The stories of the orbs and other bizarre incidents had spooked him. So, whoever or whatever was up there managed to escape once again.

We moved into the rebuilt house 11 months later, in 2006. It was January, and a heavy snowstorm hit. We had only been in our beautiful new home for less than two months when the power went out. I had to bring out the generator for power and heat. I set up the generator outside. The door to the crawl space access was left and swang outside. The pavement was on a slight slope so I placed a block under the wheel to prevent it from moving. I got it running and restored some power and heat. After about 40 minutes, one of my kids asked about the smoke billowing up. I looked out the window and saw dark smoke rising. I rushed outside and discovered that the generator had slipped off the block, and the scorching hot exhaust was directly against the hatch door, causing it to catch fire.

In the Spring of 2006 we had settled into our beautiful home. One day I was in the backyard where we had installed an outdoor kitchen. There was an electrical outlet that was installed in a cement wall. I was having issues with the refrigerator that was plugged into that outlet. I had already reset the surge protector for the third time when suddenly the entire outlet burst into flames. I was thrown back and I watched blue flames flare out from the outlet. There was nothing to burn. The entire box was made out of special blue plastic and there was no wood to catch on fire yet the flames and smoke continued. I finally got it extinguished and this was now the third house fire since we started on the project three years earlier.

The following fall, my wife and I attended an ayahuasca ceremony. I won’t go into the details now. Let’s just say I battled a very evil Anaka demon, and I was speaking another language. This entity tried to kill me during the ceremony. It was extremely disturbing and it one of those experiments

It was now Monday evening, around 2 am. I was awakened by my dog, who was freaking out and pacing back and forth. As soon as I woke up, the hair on my arms stood straight up, and I had the worst feeling of something very evil being present. My wife and I were terrified. Our little girls were downstairs, so I went to check on them. I went online and downloaded a prayer from Saint Michel from a group that dealt with demonic possession in Sacramento. The entity left after I started reading the prayer of protection.

Two days later, I was speaking with my neighbor. He said, “You’re not going to believe this, but Monday night my dog woke me up, and there was something evil in my house. I was just beside myself, not knowing what to do.” I told him about our visit and the demon I had battled at the Ayahuasca ceremony. I was really on the fence about keeping this house, and the next part of the story made up my mind to sell it. I was leaving for a ManKind Project retreat for the weekend. I remember asking my wife if I could go away for one weekend without anything happening.

It was Sunday around 2 pm, the last day of the retreat, and the final part was for all of us to go into a Native American sweat lodge. As soon as I got in there, I felt very uncomfortable. It was so hot, hard to breathe, and we were literally shoulder to shoulder. I was trying to calm myself down when suddenly I felt that something was terribly wrong. I was having a full-blown panic attack. I remember saying, “I need to get out now.” This was easier said than done as I had to climb over 20 men to get out. When I finally made it out, I collapsed on the ground. I felt very upset that something was really wrong, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.

Literally 40 minutes later, one of the facilitators said out loud, “Is there a Rich Baron here?” I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. “I’m Rich,” I said. He replied, “There is a man here to see you, and it’s an emergency.” I made my way up to the parking lot, where I saw a friend of mine with a panicked look on his face. I knew it was more bad news. “Jim,” I said, “What’s going on?” He explained that my daughter had tried to kill herself and was in the hospital. She had a severe diabetes-related low blood sugar event and had a fight with her mother over another incident that happened on Saturday. She had grabbed a knife and thrust it into her stomach. When I arrived at the hospital, it was the beginning of a long fight to save her life. She survived, but that was it. I told the family, “We are selling this house.” And we did.