Living With Ghosts

I lived as a boy in a haunted family, in a haunted house on a haunted street.  My Mum never believed in ghosts. That’s why she turned out all the lights when she put me to bed at night.  Some of those ghosts still live with me, inside my head.  They come to haunt me every day.

Do you believe in ghosts?  I have one who lives right behind me.  I used to think he was my shadow but then he’s much taller than me.  I catch a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye and he stays there just long enough to prove he’s real.  And another one hides inside the walls and cracks his knuckles like giant walnuts in the middle of the night.

That’s why I hate hotel rooms.  You never know if someone died in your room.  Right there in your bed.  And when you check-in, it’s not as if they say, “Oh, that’s the room where that poor man died on the toilet.  You’re not afraid of ghosts are you?”  And then you wake up in the middle of the night and there’s a man dressed all in black in your hotel bathroom and you call the front desk to complain.  They just hoped you weren’t psychic or have a sixth sense when they put you in that room.  Well, they were wrong.

If you want to know from the grand master of ghost stories, Stephen King, then this is what he said:

Monsters are real and ghosts are real too.  They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.

You are not alone.  So don’t let the ghosts win.  Especially the ones inside your head.

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