Good Morning darklings.  My stories continue.  The more I think about what I’ll write the next day, the more I think I would have had enough for the whole month if I’d had the time to blog.  Or a working computer. 🙂  That just lets me pick through my favorites and the ones that stick out the most.  This one stood out because it was so scary when it happened but has faded for me now to just a memory I think about sometimes.  Some of these may show up in a book one day, but I guess I can’t plagiarise myself.

So this happened before I started practicing witchcraft.  I was still just a young goth chic then who hid her Tarot cards, dressed in black, watched every horror movie I could get my hands on and played with Quija boards.  Qui-Ja, not We-Gee, that bugs the hell out of me, french and German for yes.  It was October, approaching Halloween and all the Haunted Houses were open.  My boyfriend at the time and a bunch of our friends went to one.  It was okay but left us feeling the need to be really scared.  Like we’d stumbled into a horror movie a la Texas Chainsaw Massacre scared, except we all live in the end and don’t become dinner for Leatherface and the fam.  Someone spoke up that we were near the Witch’s House.  I wasn’t from the area so I asked what it was.

I was reminded of the black and white pictures I’d been shown earlier of a tree but there was some kind of human like shape that hung from the tree.  That was apparently because the witch lived alone, a group of people went into her house and hung her from the tree.  Okay, I was game.  We talked the others into it were off to see if we could see a ghost.

There were enough of us that we had to take a packed minivan and parked it behind some bushes, which had us approaching the house from the side of the tree.  It was eerily exactly as it had been in the picture, dark, thick arms reaching spindly fingers up and out.  The house was in complete blackness, every four pained glass reflecting the world around it.  Shingles hung from the roof or were missing, the wood looked bare and gray, free of any paint.  I kept my eye on the tree for the ghost until we were past it and then listened for the squeaking sound of a rope swinging in the silence, or what was left of it with us tromping through the deep weeds and grass.

I wondered what we were going to do once we actually got to the house.  Is it breaking and entering if no one lives there, or had lived there for a long time?  My fear of police and my mother was weighing with my excitement of getting in and exploring even as we all knew that I’d be the one to put my hand on the door and turn the knob first.  I’d say we were 60 feet from the back of the house when a light came on as bright as a lamp with no shade but it cast no shadows and there was no electricity.

That was apparently proof enough of a ghost for my friends, and even my boyfriend, as they turned almost in unison and began to haul ass to the minivan.  Fear is contagious, so I gave one last look at the light, hoping for a face and getting none before following them.  The tree was no longer a concern.  Not getting left behind was much worse and I run sloooowww.  Add a pair of Doc’s to that and it might as well have been a slow jog or even a fast walk.  But I made it back, slid the door shut before we peeled gravel and got out of there, no one but me looking back at the lone light in the black night.