My mom sent me an article this morning from one of Saratoga's newspapers describing a strange phenomena in the museum, in the park just steps from my apartment. That phenomena: ghoulish activity.
Tonight on Syfy you can see for yourselves. A paranormal investigation team from the network came to town in June to poke around, measure temperatures and use fancy soul-seeing equipment to give workers in the building a definitive "yes, that dress floating around without anyone inside of it is, in fact, a ghost."
Maybe you'll see me and Corey. We do live right. there.
Just steps away from shudddddddder ghosts.
I'm not a fan. Nope.
I'm actually quite paralyzed by fear at this exact moment knowing these suckers live so close to me, knowing other suckers have been "seen" in the old houses around me, knowing I, myself, live in an old, creeky building.
I've always been afraid of ghosts and ghost stories. There's just something about dead people that you can't see walking around, sitting on your stuff, and watching you pee. Are they friendly? Do they look like zombies? Will they try to push me down the stairs because I look like the person who 100 years ago was the cause of their deceased state?
Here is a real life ghost story for you: my co-worker last week discovered one in his house.
Now just hang on Mr. and Ms. SkepticalPants:
One afternoon his wife put their babies down to sleep and turned on a camcorder to see what they really do during nap time. About 30 minutes into the tape you see her walk in to soothe them and then leave. You can hear her footsteps walking down the stairs. Then, as clear as a snort chuckle from my friend Liz, you hear "settle down" in a soft whisper.
No one else was in the house.
There was no mistaking it for wind.
I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard it with my own ears.
Later in the week she had plans to visit a relative, leaving my co-worker alone in the house for the night.
"I'm staying at my brother's."
I'm just glad it's not me.