In 2014 and 2015, we took part in multiple investigations at a project house in Rogers, Ohio. At first, the house was named the Rogers house; later, after some research, it was renamed the Lewis Townsend Farr house. Unfortunately, the house no longer exists.

We put together a comprehensive video that walks through the various investigations we conducted at the house, which has now become a significant part of our exploration narrative. This video serves as a detailed account of our experiences and findings during our time there, showcasing the unique aspects of each investigation. Throughout the video, we included a multitude of photos captured during our various investigations, each image telling its story and providing a visual representation of the atmosphere and conditions we encountered. These photographs not only document our journey but also help convey the essence of the house and its history.

In our typical format, we usually include a detailed map of the visited location to provide viewers with a clearer understanding of the layout and the specific areas we explored. However, in this particular case, we faced a unique challenge: the house has been razed, meaning that the physical structure no longer exists. This absence of the building adds a layer of poignancy to our video, as we reflect on the memories and experiences that took place within its walls.

Throughout the video, we also share insights and commentary about the investigations, discussing the methods we employed and the findings we uncovered. Our goal is to not only entertain but also to educate our audience about the investigative process and the challenges we faced while exploring such a site. By weaving together personal stories, visual documentation, and historical information, we aim to create a rich narrative that honors the legacy of the house, even in its absence.

From the moment we first pulled up to the Louis Townsend Farr House in Rogers, Ohio, we knew this was going to be a special investigation. The house itself, old and looming, carried with it the kind of energy that only comes from years of history and countless stories absorbed into its walls. We were fortunate enough to be invited by another paranormal group who managed the property, and we happily returned on several occasions to see what we might uncover. Each time we stepped through those doors, the house seemed to be waiting for us.

On our very first night, we set up with our usual equipment—KII meters, digital recorders, and our trusty camera. The house was quiet at first, almost too quiet, as if it was watching us rather than the other way around. We settled into one of the main rooms, lights dimmed, asking simple questions in the darkness. When we played back our recorder later that night, we captured our first EVP, a faint but distinct response that none of us had heard in the moment. That discovery hooked us immediately, and we knew we had to return.

Each investigation built upon the last. We began to notice patterns—the KII meters would flicker in certain areas of the house, often in response to direct questions. There were times when we asked, “Is anyone here with us tonight?” and the lights would spike as if answering “yes.” Those moments sent chills down our spines and reminded us why we continue to do this work. The Farr House was not just an old structure; it was alive in its quiet, spectral way.

One evening stands out in particular. Marianne asked a simple question into the recorder as we gathered in an upstairs room. Almost immediately, the KII lit up, and later, upon reviewing the audio, we caught a soft voice layered over her words. It wasn’t just random noise—it had tone and intent, and it seemed to be trying to join the conversation. Hearing that playback later gave us both goosebumps. It was a moment that felt like true contact.

The house also seemed to respond to our presence differently each time we visited. Occasionally it was welcoming, the air calm and still, almost inviting us to stay longer. Other times, the atmosphere was heavy, as if the walls themselves were pressing in. On those nights, even the simple creaks and groans of the house carried a different weight, making us glance over our shoulders more than once. We never felt threatened, but there was a certain seriousness about the energy, as if the house wanted to remind us that we were guests in its domain.

Our camera work also revealed intriguing anomalies. Although we never captured a full apparition, we did observe unexplained flashes and shadows in areas where there should have been no light source. Reviewing the photos became almost as thrilling as listening to the audio, as each image seemed to suggest something lurking just beyond the surface. The Farr House loved to keep its secrets, offering us just enough to know it was there, but never quite enough to solve the mystery entirely.

What made the Farr House investigations so memorable wasn’t just the evidence we captured, but the overall experience of being there. Sitting quietly in a darkened room, listening intently, waiting for something unseen to make itself known, brought a sense of connection—not just to the spirits we hoped to reach, but to the history of the house itself. We often wondered who had lived there, what moments of joy and sorrow the rooms had witnessed, and whether the voices we captured belonged to those long-gone residents.

Over time, returning to the Farr House became almost like visiting old friends. We never knew exactly what we were going to experience, but we always knew the night would hold something for us. The energy of the house seemed to grow familiar, and though we still respected its mysteries, we also felt a kind of kinship with it. It was no longer just another investigation site; it had become a meaningful chapter in our paranormal journey.

There’s something unique about capturing an EVP in a place like the Farr House. It’s one thing to believe in spirits, but it’s another to hear a voice answering your questions when no one else is there. Those moments stay with you, echoing long after you’ve packed up your gear and driven away. For us, the Farr House provided those moments time and time again.

Marianne and I often talk about those nights, remembering the flicker of the KII lights in the dark, the excitement of hearing a disembodied response on our recorder, and the sense of awe that filled us each time. Investigations like these remind us why we do what we do—not for proof or fame, but for the connection, for the stories that might otherwise be forgotten, and for the chance to experience the unknown firsthand.

Sadly, the Louis Townsend Farr House no longer stands. It was eventually torn down, erasing the physical presence of a place that had given us so many powerful moments. Yet while the house itself is gone, the memories remain—and so does the evidence we captured. The voices, the flickering lights, and the unexplainable shadows: these will forever preserve the spirit of the Farr House, even if the structure has vanished from Rogers.

Looking back, we are grateful to have been invited into the Farr House and to have had the chance to return multiple times before it was lost. Our appreciation for the location deepened with each visit, leaving us with enduring memories. Despite the house's disappearance, the stories and experiences of those who stepped inside and listened continue to carry its spirit.

If you’d like to see some of the pictures we captured during our time at the Louis Townsend Farr House, click here to view our investigation gallery. Perhaps you’ll catch something in the images that even we overlooked—after all, the spirits of the Farr House seemed to enjoy making themselves known in subtle, surprising ways.