The Conjuring House: What Really Happens When You Investigate One of America's Most Infamous Haunted Locations

Few locations in the paranormal world carry as much weight — or as much mythology — as the Conjuring House in Burrillville, Rhode Island. Over the years, Hollywood has turned this 18th-century farmhouse into a cultural phenomenon, and with that fame comes a mountain of expectation, embellishment, and outright fiction. I wanted to sit down and talk openly about what I know, what I've seen, and what I think is really going on inside those walls.

I've been doing this work for a long time, and one of the things I've learned is that the more famous a location gets, the harder it becomes to investigate it objectively. The Conjuring House — the real Perron family home that inspired the 2013 film — is a perfect example of that. People walk in already convinced they're going to experience something terrifying, and that expectation alone can color everything they see and hear. That's not how I operate, and it's not how TAPS has ever operated. You go in skeptical, you document everything, and you let the evidence speak for itself.

The history of the property is genuinely compelling, and I'll give it that much. The Perron family's accounts of their experiences living there throughout the 1970s are detailed and consistent in ways that are hard to completely dismiss. When you start layering in the historical research — the land records, the deaths connected to the property over the centuries, the stories that predate the Perrons by generations — you start to understand why this place has captured people's imaginations. But here's what I always tell people: a dark history doesn't automatically equal a haunting. Tragedy leaves an emotional imprint on the people who lived through it, and sometimes what gets passed down is grief and trauma, not genuine paranormal activity.

What I find most valuable about conversations around locations like this is cutting through what the movies told you versus what investigators have actually documented. The Conjuring films are entertainment — I have nothing against them — but they are not documentaries. Details get amplified, timelines get compressed, and characters get invented or exaggerated for dramatic effect. When people come to me with questions about the Conjuring House, the first thing I try to do is separate the cinematic version from the reported reality. That's a conversation worth having, because I think the actual history of the property is interesting enough without Hollywood's embellishments.

I also want to address the investigative side of things, because I know that's what a lot of you are curious about. Approaching a location with this level of public profile requires discipline. You have to be especially rigorous about controlling your environment, accounting for the sheer volume of people who have walked through that building, and recognizing that the property has essentially become a paranormal tourism destination. That changes the investigative landscape significantly. When I look at evidence from high-traffic locations, I ask harder questions. Who else has been in this space? What were conditions like? Can this be reproduced? Those aren't fun questions, but they're the right ones. My goal has never been to confirm a haunting — it's been to find the truth, whatever that turns out to be.

The Conjuring House deserves a serious, grounded conversation — one that respects the experiences of the people who lived there while holding the sensationalized narrative accountable to the facts. I'll keep answering your questions, sharing what I know, and approaching every location the same way I always have: with an open mind, a skeptical eye, and a genuine commitment to getting it right. That's the only way this work means anything.