The Evening Sun staff has been planning is second annual “ghost hunting” excursion for weeks. Well, tonight is the night. And I’m freaking out.
I don’t disbelieve in ghosts. I definitely lean toward the believer side, but I’ve never truly been confronted by real proof. I don’t know how I will react if and when I do.
My one and only personal experience could be easily written off as a late night hallucination, but I do firmly believe I saw something. And I never discount anyone else’s experiences. But I might just wet my pants if I see or hear something tonight.
Yep. I’m pretty much a pansy. Any of my friends can tell you that. I don’t “do” horror movies or even super-scary books.
Halloween? Friday the Thirteenth? SAW? I don’t think so! I only agreed to watch the Nightmare on Elm Street movies with my high school boyfriend on the condition that I hold the remote (thus enabling me to fast-forward through the scary bits).
My college friends tried locking me in a room to make me watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I broke out.
Having a highly overactive imagination doesn’t help. I swear to you I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I slept with the light on for two weeks after reading the first page of Steven King’s Kujo. I will never own a St. Bernard. Pet Cemetery? Forget about it.
So how will I react tonight if we are actually “successful” in our ghost hunt? I have no idea. But I really hope that the Arts Council has one of those emergency defribulaters handy. I’d hate to die of fright and have to come back and haunt my fellow reporters.