The Post With The Ghost

Heh... rhyming...

Anyway, the subject is "ghosts." Are they fact? Are the fiction? Are they merely a marketing tool created by Universal Pictures in an effort to unload their warehouses full of unwanted Casper merchandise? The debate rages on in the smellier, creepier chat rooms all across this cyber-landscape of ours and it will never, definitively be settled until the time in which a ghost gets it's own reality series. So, we're looking at roughly 2011 then.

As is often the case, I have no real, concrete answers to give. I will say that, despite the fact that I have a hard time accepting any of the concepts and theories behind religion, I do believe quite strongly in the paranormal. Maybe it's because I've always been attracted to the creepier side of life. Maybe it's because I watched a lot of horror movies growing up. Maybe it's because ghosts and aliens will always be more awesome than Jesus (I mean, Jesus couldn't walk through walls, nor could he hover over a cornfield and then shoot straight up in the air at 500mph). Whatever the case, it remains an everlasting truth in my life; I believe. I've even had some brushes with the "other" side, myself. Nothing spectacular, of course; I wasn't sucked into the TV set or contacted at the pottery wheel all sexy-like by Patrick Swayze. Still, I have accidentally stumbled into a few situations where things happened that I could not explain.

Now, because of my feelings on the subject, you may be quick to dismiss the following stories as merely "me seeing what I wanted to see." Tricks of the mind, tricks of the ear, etc. I don't think so. I know what I saw. I know what I heard. And I know that all of these things happened. So, with out further a-"boo" (hahahahahaha!!!!)...

C-Dog's Ghostly Adventures:

NOTE: All of these take place at the Creative Arts Theater and School (commonly referred to as CATS) in Arlington, TX. I took after-school theater classes there from the time I was 7 or so until I was 16. The building was and is widely accepted to be haunted and everyone that I know who went there has their own stories about things they saw/heard/felt/whatever. These are mine. I am not making anything in these stories up. Promise.

1. My mother was on the Board of Trustees at CATS and, as such, often had to attend meetings regarding the direction that the theater was headed, financially, creatively and otherwise. I would usually stay with her during these meetings since they were never very long and I as yet couldn't drive home myself, being only 12. Besides, there were usually some other kids hanging around that I could chill with while the meeting took place. One night, however, I was there by myself. I sat out in the hall, doing homework (this was back in a time when I actually did homework, you see) and generally minding my own business. All of the buildings current occupants were in the meeting; the building was locked up and all the lights, save for where we were, were out. As I ground away at stupid, hard math problems, I began to hear a noise at the other end of the hall; a noise like keys rattling. I looked up, but could see nothing. The building that housed CATS was oddly shaped, like a half-moon. Thus, all the hallways had a curve to them that was roughly the same arc as a fingernail clipping; you couldn't stand at one end and see all the way to the other. The noise continued and I, being a particularly bold 12-year-old, decided to investigate. I began to walk along the darkened hallway's curve, the sound growing as I neared the apex of the arc. Right as I started around the bend, there was a huge crash, as if someone had turned over a barrel of chains onto the linoleum floor. 12-year-old boldness only extends so far. I sprinted back the other direction and I sat outside the meeting room's door for the remainder of the evening, scared out of my mind but unable to look away from the hallway. If some chain-rattling boogieman was going to emerge from the dark, I wanted to see it coming.

2. A couple of years later, I was involved in a weekend Spring Cleaning day at the theater. I was relegated to the costume department crew, which, as part of my duties, required me to hoist armloads of old, smelly dresses, suits, tights, etc. up the stairway to the attic, which was the storage area for all the old, unused costumes. It was a terrifying place on it's own, consisting of several doorless rooms that extended off of a main hallway. Each room was densely packed with a maze of garments. One could easily get turned around and spend a few confused minutes trying to retrace their steps to the exit. The fact that each room had only one, naked light bulb for illumination didn't help matters any. After my sixteenth or seventeenth trip up to the attic and back, the overall spookiness of the situation had dissipated. I was tired, sore and generally pissed that I had been forced to haul around sweat-stinking, dirty clothes while all my friends were getting to play with power tools on the main stage. On my final attic run, I had an monster load of Old West dancehall-girl dresses and a bad attitude. I struggled them into their designated room (which was all the way in the back of the attic, of course), grumbling all the while, and tossed them down into a pile so I could begin the arduous process of putting them on hangers and shoving them onto the already over-stuffed racks. As I went about my business, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that, though the racks, I could see that the light in the room farthest from me (and closest to the staircase) had gone out. I thought nothing of it and carried on. Then I noticed that that another room's light had gone out. While I looked out towards the staircase, yet another light turned off. Then another. All of the lights were being turned off, one by one, and each one in a room closer and closer to me. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in (I went with "flight") and I began to make my way out of the back room, through the maze of clothes. Right as I reached the doorway out into the hall that led towards the staircase, the light behind me went out. Keep in mind, I was standing next to the light switch, which was by the door. And I certainly hadn't touched it. Never has a person run down a flight of stairs faster in the history of panicked escapes. I got yelled at the next day for not finishing my assigned task, but I absolutely did not care.

3. My improv class had held it's session in one of the dance studios that day and it occurred to me as I got into my mother's car that that's exactly where I'd left my backpack earlier that afternoon. I sighed heavily and went back to the building to retrieve it. They'd already locked up and I had to bang on the door for the theater's Tech Director (who always worked late) to let me in. Once inside, I headed down to the basement level, which was where the bulk of the theater's classrooms were located. At the foot of the stairs was my destination, the dance studio. I walked into the room and I immediately sensed that something was amiss. I scrambled for the light switch, but my hand couldn't seem to find it. Something moved off to my left. I looked over and there, in the darkness, was a figure standing in the back corner of the room. No. Fucking. Joke. As it began to lift it's arms, I squeezed my eyes shut. Mercifully, my hand landed on the switch just then and I flicked it to the "On" position. When I opened my eyes, I was alone. I grabbed my backpack and made it up about halfway up the stairs when, in a whispered voice from behind me, I heard someone say, "Clint." I swear to whomever, on a stack of Woody Allen films, on my mother's life... I am not making that up. I turned around and the light in the dance studio was off. I hadn't touched the switch again after I'd turned it on. My mother asked me why I was so pale and I told her I was just tired. Really, I was fucking terrified.