Yes, this post is an hour or so early. It’s Halloween! My favorite day of the year. Trick or Treating with the kids is done and now it’s time to drink some quality beer and enjoy some scary movies. I’m posting this a bit early for the sake of you night owls and vampires.
As happens every year, I will set out the jack o’ lanterns I painstakingly carved, hoping that some young soul from Generation Dull actually shows up and smashes it. Come on, you fags! Smash them! Do it now! Kill them! They’re here! Do it!
Yeah, they won’t.
Hey, have I ever told my ghost story on here?
There I was, a young Army military police enlisted punk in Fort Bliss, Texas back in the late-90’s. September-ish. By then, I’d been stationed on Ft Bliss for a couple of years and had heard that a lot of my associates had encountered certain unexplained phenomena at certain locations. All that time working patrol and making building checks at night, I had never noticed anything. But one guy–who I knew to be a pretty honest, stand-up sort–reported that he saw a ghostly apparition of a woman in red crying, walking around near the abandoned housing not too far from the hospital I knew I what I had to do.
The next time I got myself assigned to the hospital area, I waited until midnight and drove over to the abandoned housing of Lower Beaumont. It was a mild, but windy night. Perfectly creepy. As I walked around, looking at the weird gang and faux Satanic graffiti, I fully appreciated how creepy the area really was. I was having fun with it. Then I saw one house that had been boarded up like the others, but the door was open and some of the boards had been removed. The opening was big enough to squeeze through, so I climbed in (I was limber then, even with a vest and pistol belt) and started poking around.
There were red footprints that had been tracked in all the way to the kitchen. I followed them to the sink and found it stained red as well. No big deal. It was just the ubiquitous red mud of El Paso. Somebody must have washed up in there. No big deal. With that, I headed back for the front door.
It was a bit harder to get out, so I pulled out my nightstick and knocked a couple of boards down. Once I had a bigger opening, I squeezed through and stood on the front patio. Of course, I had dust all over my nice, pressed uniform so I paused to brush myself off. Once done, I looked up and went completely cold.
Ever see something so scary that the hair on the back of your neck really stands up and you feel like ice spiders are crawling all over you? All of the breath got sucked out of me and my jaw swung open. All I could do was look in horror at the figure in white walking about 100 feet away directly in front of me.
Looking back on it, I guess it’s silly that I got that terrified given that I was down there specifically to see something scary. But then I have since seen the Ghost Hunters and that Zak Bagans asshole have some fantastic “Oh, Shit!” moments too.
So I’m standing there, frozen in horror, not pissing my pants but not really opposed to the idea either. Then it dawned on me that ghosts float, they don’t stumble. It occurred to me that I was looking at a drunk Mexican and not even a dead one. He was wearing a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans.
Fully adrenalized, I yelled some shrill version of “Hey, you!” at the guy. He stopped and I rushed up to him with my nightstick still clutched in my hand. Once he turned around, I asked him what he was doing there.
“I’m just cutting through, man.”
“Oh. Well you’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m not even supposed to be out here.”
“Do you have any ID?”
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, Abraham Johnson.”
Alright, so he was clearly lying but I was too relieved to be talking to a living person to really care. I walked him back to the patrol car and gave him a ride to Northeast El Paso and let it go at that.
Seriously, the odds of me walking out of the house right at that moment as this guy is just wandering through at midnight were astronomical. The scare was quite enough: I didn’t do that shit again. Never saw anything either.
And that is my stupid ghost story.
Let’s enjoy some holiday music. Ghosts and zombies, saints, the sacred dead.
MY: You got me listening to country. You bastard. Dance in the Graveyard by Delta Rae.
CM: You get a classic. Dead Man’s Party by Oingo Boingo.
WVR: My elementary school used to play this film strip every year around Halloween. Fucking frightening nightmare fuel, but Metal. They’d execute a teacher for showing this nowadays. You ever see this one? Danse Macabre
pfluffy: Grindhouse A Go Go by White Zombie
Santino: Poltergeist by Deftones
Biggie G: Black Widow by Cage the Elephant
InsipiD: Science of Fear by The Temper Trap
Xetrov: Let’s get weird. Dope Hat by Marilyn Manson