I have a sadness today, a sadness so deep that no amount of chocolate rain can wash it away. I have just written a $200 refund check and am about to put it in the mail. When the postman comes and takes that check away, he will also be taking my dreams.
Who hasn't dared to dream? Deep down, we all have a fantasy stored up, often from childhood, a fantasy that we are usually too scared to act on. For me, that fantasy was to start my own business. A few months ago, I decided that life was too short and that if I was ever going to have a chance of being happy, I mean really happy,I had to pursue my dream. I would make it work.
So, I placed an ad on Craigslist, under Services/Household. It read like this:
GHOSTBUSTER AVAILABLE
Bloodcurdling screams keeping you up at night? Are you afraid of your own attic/basement? Do common household items seemingly rearrange themselves every few days with no explanation? Bizarre drafts of cold air? Orbs? Is your refrigerator poetry trying to tell you something?
I can help. I have spent a lifetime studying the habits of ghosts, poltergeists, phantasms, specters, haints and haunts of all forms.
I can find your ghost - and for a little extra, remove it.
I offer reasonable rates and, right now, an introductory money-back guarantee.
Email me at sayboo@gmail.com
Now, I have wanted to be a ghostbuster ever since the 1984 film of the same name came out. That movie changed my life; it gave me hope that I too could make a living doing what I loved - chasing ghosts.
Of course,time and practical matters creep up on you. I went to school, took jobs, paid bills, etc. My dreams were put on the backburner. Until now, that is.
Believe it or not, I had never ghostbusted before, even on an amateur basis. It isn't like you can join a club at school or something. Everything I knew, I had gleaned from books, movies and Fangoria magazine. But despite my lack of experience, I felt, deep down, that I had a talent for ghosts.
It looks like I was wrong. A woman did email me about my ad two weeks ago. Mrs. Gretchen Sprecher. She had heard noises from her attic; rattling, movement, possibly muttering voices, etc. I went to her house and looked around. Nothing. I told her that I would need to stay the night; I recommended she stay with friends. She agreed.
I set up shop in the living room. It is summer, so it gets dark late. I watched movies until then. She had a decent collection of TV shows on DVD and I watched some old episodes of Buffy. After dark, I killed the lights and lit some candles. I set up a Ouija Board. Nothing happened. I decided to check the attic.
Standing on the top of the attic ladder, I heard a noise from the corner of the room. I turned off my flashlight, not wanting to expose myself just yet. I had no idea what to expect. A spectral figure, which glows slightly in the pitch? The mournful groan of a ghostly suicide? There was a rustle in the dark. I thought I heard breathing. I could make out a shape, slightly human, in the shadows towards the front of the house. Terrified, it took me a few minutes to summon the courage to shine my flashlight at it. I peered and peered at the shape. I imagined that it moved ever so slightly, from time to time. Finally, I hit my flashlight. The light filled out a straight line of darkness like an arrow and landed on....a giant stuffed cougar. It's black eyes gleamed with the reflected beam. I laughed.
Behind me, there was a sound. I turned. Bats? My light flailed wildly through the attic but I couldn't locate the source of the disturbance. There was quiet. I turned back to the stuffed cougar and it was gone. Maybe. I could swear that I was looking at the same place. No cougar. Maybe I was disoriented by the bats. I turned my light to about a 30-degree angle and there was the cougar, only rather than being across the room from me, it was now about four feet away.
I fainted and fell off the ladder. I came to in the Sprecher hallway, beneath an open attic door, thanking God for wall-to-wall carpeting.
The next morning, I told Mrs. Sprecher about the stuffed cougar and that's when the dream ended. She told me that she had once collected stuffed animals (her ex-husband had had a knack at winning carnival prizes) and that the cougar hadn't moved across the room at all - there were two giant stuffed cougars. She also told me that I was a fraud and a coward and demanded her money back. That was two days ago.
I suppose Mrs. Sprecher was right. I certainly feel like a fraud and a coward. I'm beginning to wonder if my ghostbusting career is such a wise move, beginning to wonder of ghosts exist at all. It's funny. Mrs. Sprecher called me as I was writing this. I let the voicemail get it. What would I say? The check is in the mail.
