The Conjuring House Revisited: What I Really Think About One of America's Most Infamous Haunted Locations
“Confirmation bias is the single biggest enemy of legitimate paranormal research, and nowhere is that more dangerous than at a location with this much cinematic mythology attached to it. Walking in expecting to find what you saw on screen isn't investigating — it's performing.”
— Jason Hawes
Few locations in the paranormal world carry as much weight — or as much baggage — as the Conjuring House in Harrisville, Rhode Island. When I sat down with fans and fellow investigators to talk through this location and field your questions live, it was clear that people have strong feelings about this place. So let me give you my honest, unfiltered take.
I've been doing this work for a long time, and one thing I've learned is that reputation and reality don't always line up. The Conjuring House — made famous by the 2013 horror film based on Ed and Lorraine Warren's investigation of the Perron family in the 1970s — is a perfect example of a location where the legend has grown so large that it's almost impossible to separate fact from fiction. That's exactly why I wanted to open up a conversation with you all and dig into what we actually know versus what Hollywood has sold us. When I go into any location, my first job is to disprove the haunting. That's not cynicism — that's respect for the truth.
The history of the property is genuinely interesting, and I'll give it that much. The farmhouse dates back to the early 1800s, and the land itself has a layered history that predates the Perron family's time there. When families report experiences over a sustained period — years, not just a single night — that warrants serious attention. What I always look for are patterns: Are the reports consistent? Are there environmental factors like geological fault lines, high EMF from outdated wiring, infrasound from nearby sources, or structural issues that could explain what people are experiencing? These aren't dismissals. They're answers, and families deserve real answers. During our live discussion, a lot of you asked whether I think the current owners' experiences are credible. My honest answer is that I take any long-term resident's account seriously. They have nothing to gain from fabrication and everything to lose — their peace of mind, their sleep, their sense of home.
What I pushed back on during the stream — and what I'll always push back on — is the tendency to let a movie define an investigation. The Conjuring is a horror film. It is designed to frighten you. It takes liberties with timelines, amplifies events, and adds elements that were never part of the original case files. When investigators walk into that house expecting to find what they saw on screen, they're not investigating — they're performing. Confirmation bias is the single biggest enemy of legitimate paranormal research, and nowhere is that more dangerous than at a location with this much cinematic mythology attached to it. I've seen investigators go into locations like this and call everything evidence. That's not how we do things at TAPS, and it's not how I've ever operated.
The questions you all brought to the live session were genuinely great — ranging from specific claims made by previous investigators to the ethics of running a haunted destination out of someone's former home. I think it's worth asking those uncomfortable questions. Is it right to commodify a location where a family reportedly suffered? What responsibility do investigators and content creators have when they push narratives about a place that real people still interact with? These aren't questions with easy answers, but they're the ones that separate serious researchers from ghost tourists. My approach has always been the same whether I'm in a famous house or an anonymous warehouse: document everything, explain what you can, stay honest about what you can't, and never sensationalize someone else's fear for clicks or ratings.
The Conjuring House remains one of the most compelling — and most complicated — locations in American paranormal history, and that conversation with all of you reminded me why it's worth continuing to discuss seriously. My verdict hasn't changed: I keep an open mind, I demand evidence, and I refuse to let a movie poster substitute for a real investigation. If you've got more questions, you know where to find me.