If it hasn’t been worked out quite yet, I like the tales of the supernatural. As dumb as I think they are, I can ever entirely stray away from the shows where a group of people go into abandoned buildings and salivate at the sight of dust specks and claims of supernatural presence. I’m essentially an addict and ghosts are my heroin.
Part of the reason I so enjoy these shows is that I’m not entirely sold on the existence of ghosts, demons, and anything in between. It would be exciting if they were, but I tend to have a difficult time carrying a belief in such ideas I’ve yet to have any personal experience with. I’m a stubborn and set in my ways, making me a difficult person to convince of much anything.
I do have a background in ghost hunting. As a young high school aged lad, my friends and I became the ones that would go into decrepit buildings that were supposedly “haunted.” I fulfilled the essential role of the reluctant friend who was there because I had a car and could drive, so naturally, my presence was required in any group. I try my best to appeal to any cliche that’ll have me.
I came to find out old, rundown buildings are not the ideal place when you’re accident prone and apprehensive. On one of our excursions, I fell through the floor of a house. I’m pretty sure we were trapped in a building with a homeless man at one point, and not once did I see a ghost. Needless to say, my life as a ghost hunter was a fruitless endeavor.
Maybe at some point, a spiritual entity will decide to grace my presence with their being and allow me to develop a definitive answer, as well as add something to my ever-growing list of fears. Until that day, I’ll just have to worry about common everyday worries, like measles because people don’t vaccinate their kids or sudden bear attacks.
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