Ghost Hunting

Ok maybe “hunting” isn’t the right word, because you can’t really hunt that which is already dead (except zombies, but we’re not talking about those right now). How about… “seeking”?

Yes, I believe in ghosts. 👻

Trolls? Only the internet type. Vampires? I believe that there are some pale-ass folks who like glitter and shit, but aren’t actually vampires. Witches? I believe there are some nuts out there who THINK they’re witches, and I try to stay away from them. But I don’t think they’re REALLY witches.

I do, however, believe in ghosts.

But do I believe that they’re lurking around every corner with sinister plots to scare the bejeezus out of me? No…well, maybe.

Sometimes I tempt fate, just to see.

Last night I said “Candyman” in front of the bathroom mirror five times, and not a damn thing happened, except that I almost broke an ankle tumbling out of the bathroom trying to evade that hook of his.

However, you won’t catch me breaking into an old, abandoned house and spending the night hoping to find a ghost, because I’m not, you know, homeless.

For the record, nightlights are bullshit because they just end up casting spooky shadows on the wall and kicking my imagination into overdrive.

“That shadow looked…a little like a hand holding a knife…”

I talk a tough game, though. I made fun of my ex-girlfriend years ago because she thought her dorm was possessed. But if I had been her, I’d have been waiting in there with a flashlight, a crucifix and probably a super soaker full of holy water.

Because you never really know. Better safe than sorry.

My wife is an Atheist, and she made me promise that I wouldn’t hold a Christian funeral for her after she dies.

But I’m tempted to, just so I can prove that ghosts really do exist. And so I could see her after she’s dead.

I can just imagine it: her coming into my room at night all pissed off because I didn’t honor her wish.

I’ve got that covered, though. When she comes back from the grave I’ll be waiting for her with some Franzia and a bottle of Fireball.

Because I’ll bet even my wife’s ghost would appreciate a good game of Slap-the-Bag.

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