Wednesday, October 17, 2007
If Crime Dog Is Telling Spooky Stories, Then It Must Be Halloween
Unruly Julie was over here tonight, and somehow the topic of conversation turned to "Have you ever really got the shit scared out of you?" Ghosthunters was on the tube, so that's probably what started it. Now, I'm not talking about getting pranked and startled by some asshole jumping out of a bush at you. I ain't even talking about the poor folks who were victimized to the point of hysterics with elaborate setups like this, or this, or especially
these poor women.
No, I mean scared shitless by something you could not and still cannot explain. Things that go bump in the night, or things that make those two Roto Rooter guys from T.A.P.S. show up on your porch.
I have. Here's my Halloween stories:
In my cop days, I was patrolling a rural area on the outskirts of the city one night in a two-man unit. It was quiet, about 3:00AM, and my partner (who had worked the beat a lot, it was my first night out there) asked me if I wanted to see a "haunted house." Yeah, right. Let's go. He went down a back road, pulled on to an obscure dirt track with weeds actually higher than the roof of our unit. It was like driving down a pitch black tunnel. The weeds parted and a rundown two story wood frame house appeared in the headlights. We put the spots on it and lit it up pretty good, but it was still downright spooky looking. My partner said they had run off a bunch of cloak-wearing freaks out of there one night, calling them "Satan worshipers." This revelation added a bit more spookiness to the place. The house even had pentagrams spray painted on it.
We got out and started to approach the house, fully armed, body armor, badges, batons, stun guns, all the stuff that made us very tough guys. I remember it was like really, really quiet, like strangely (Yeah, too quiet, Tonto) quiet out there. I took a couple of steps toward the house when suddenly an overwhelming, dreadful fear hit me. I can't describe it, I was just suddenly scared shitless and knew I shouldn't take another step toward that house. I looked across the hood at my partner, and he looked back at me with eyes as big as saucers. He said, "We gotta get out of here, now!" We got back in the car and got the hell out of there. We talked a little about it, but just felt too creeped out and sheepish about our fear - more like terror - to explore it. We had felt the exact same feeling, at exactly the same moment. We did not see, smell, or hear anything unusual, aside from the house itself. Neither of us felt the least bit frightened when we arrived and first got out of the car. We were just curious.
Coincidence? Was something really, really there, and some part of our subconscious minds warned us away? WTF?
One day, circa 1977, when Bo was about two years old, we lived in South Carolina in a two-story apartment. Bo was in her room alone, playing, and TFMCD heard her talking from an adjacent room. TFMCD thought she was just goofing around like kids so often do, but realized after listening a few moments that Bo was actually carrying on a conversation with someone. TFMCD could only hear Bo's side of the conversation, so figured she was talking to a neighbor kid through her window. She went in to check on her.
Bo was alone. The window was closed. The ensuing conversation went like this:
"Who were you talking to?" asked TFMCD.
"Gene," came the reply.
"Gene who?" We didn't know anybody around there by that name.
"Uncle Gene," said Bo, as though it was a silly question.
TFMCD paused. Uncle Gene, my oldest brother, had been dead since July, 1976.
"Where did Uncle Gene go?" asked TFMCD.
Bo said nothing, just pointed to the ceiling in the corner of the room.
Gene adored Bo, but she was only 10 months old when he was killed. To this day, she has no recollection of him. There is no question she heard us talk about him before that day, and certainly could have known her late uncle's name. Kids also can have very vivid imaginations. But is that what happened here? TFMCD's description of the conversation she overheard is pretty convincing that it was really, really two-way.
You decide. And when you figure it out, let me know. Hell, I'm a little jealous. He never paid a visit to me.
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these poor women.
No, I mean scared shitless by something you could not and still cannot explain. Things that go bump in the night, or things that make those two Roto Rooter guys from T.A.P.S. show up on your porch.
I have. Here's my Halloween stories:
In my cop days, I was patrolling a rural area on the outskirts of the city one night in a two-man unit. It was quiet, about 3:00AM, and my partner (who had worked the beat a lot, it was my first night out there) asked me if I wanted to see a "haunted house." Yeah, right. Let's go. He went down a back road, pulled on to an obscure dirt track with weeds actually higher than the roof of our unit. It was like driving down a pitch black tunnel. The weeds parted and a rundown two story wood frame house appeared in the headlights. We put the spots on it and lit it up pretty good, but it was still downright spooky looking. My partner said they had run off a bunch of cloak-wearing freaks out of there one night, calling them "Satan worshipers." This revelation added a bit more spookiness to the place. The house even had pentagrams spray painted on it.
We got out and started to approach the house, fully armed, body armor, badges, batons, stun guns, all the stuff that made us very tough guys. I remember it was like really, really quiet, like strangely (Yeah, too quiet, Tonto) quiet out there. I took a couple of steps toward the house when suddenly an overwhelming, dreadful fear hit me. I can't describe it, I was just suddenly scared shitless and knew I shouldn't take another step toward that house. I looked across the hood at my partner, and he looked back at me with eyes as big as saucers. He said, "We gotta get out of here, now!" We got back in the car and got the hell out of there. We talked a little about it, but just felt too creeped out and sheepish about our fear - more like terror - to explore it. We had felt the exact same feeling, at exactly the same moment. We did not see, smell, or hear anything unusual, aside from the house itself. Neither of us felt the least bit frightened when we arrived and first got out of the car. We were just curious.
Coincidence? Was something really, really there, and some part of our subconscious minds warned us away? WTF?
One day, circa 1977, when Bo was about two years old, we lived in South Carolina in a two-story apartment. Bo was in her room alone, playing, and TFMCD heard her talking from an adjacent room. TFMCD thought she was just goofing around like kids so often do, but realized after listening a few moments that Bo was actually carrying on a conversation with someone. TFMCD could only hear Bo's side of the conversation, so figured she was talking to a neighbor kid through her window. She went in to check on her.
Bo was alone. The window was closed. The ensuing conversation went like this:
"Who were you talking to?" asked TFMCD.
"Gene," came the reply.
"Gene who?" We didn't know anybody around there by that name.
"Uncle Gene," said Bo, as though it was a silly question.
TFMCD paused. Uncle Gene, my oldest brother, had been dead since July, 1976.
"Where did Uncle Gene go?" asked TFMCD.
Bo said nothing, just pointed to the ceiling in the corner of the room.
Gene adored Bo, but she was only 10 months old when he was killed. To this day, she has no recollection of him. There is no question she heard us talk about him before that day, and certainly could have known her late uncle's name. Kids also can have very vivid imaginations. But is that what happened here? TFMCD's description of the conversation she overheard is pretty convincing that it was really, really two-way.
You decide. And when you figure it out, let me know. Hell, I'm a little jealous. He never paid a visit to me.
