A HOLLOW OF HAUNTINGS AND HORROR

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

See Me! 1

Hi!


   I wonder if you've noticed Meuki or Bandit? Horrorful laugh or Cute? Cute. I know, I know. I couldn't help myself when I saw them. They're just plain adorable! Any of you who are having a horror blog and are having a hard time finding elements for it, please use this! They're great to keep you company!

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Ghost Graveyard

(I'm just giving you an example for the poem)

I'm walking through a ghostly graveyard
Full of ghosts and ghouls
They'll walk up to your face right now
And give some deadly HOWLS!

They just may be your friend or foe
Or someone you've never seen
But they'll say a hoarse "How do you do?"
And you'll be scared as you have NEVER been!

Well, my friends, my readers
There's nothing to be afraid
For one day, your fate's the same
As the Holy Creator said!

Do not copy the poem for your entry. You shall be disqualified if you do.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Raw head and Bloody bones

(I found this from the following link: http://www.americanfolklore.net)

To all my readers: If any of you are children or people who are afraid of bloody and fleshy scenes, I strongly recommend that you do not continue.


Raw Head and Bloody Bones

A Missouri Ghost Story
retold by
S. E. Schlosser



Way back in the deep woods there lived a scrawny old woman who had a reputation for being the best conjuring woman in the Ozarks. With her bedraggled black-and-gray hair, funny eyes - one yellow and one green - and her crooked nose, Old Betty was not a pretty picture, but she was the best there was at fixing what ailed a man, and that was all that counted.
Old Betty's house was full of herbs and roots and bottles filled with conjuring medicine. The walls were lined with strange books brimming with magical spells. Old Betty was the only one living in the Hollow who knew how to read; her granny, who was also a conjurer, had taught her the skill as part of her magical training.
Just about the only friend Old Betty had was a tough, mean, ugly old razorback hog that ran wild around her place. It rooted so much in her kitchen garbage that all the leftover spells started affecting it. Some folks swore up and down that the old razorback hog sometimes walked upright like man. One fellow claimed he'd seen the pig sitting in the rocker on Old Betty's porch, chattering away to her while she stewed up some potions in the kitchen, but everyone discounted that story on account of the fellow who told it was a little too fond of moonshine.
"Raw Head" was the name Old Betty gave the razorback, referring maybe to the way the ugly creature looked a bit like some of the dead pigs come butchering time down in Hog-Scald Hollow. The razorback didn't mind the funny name. Raw Head kept following Old Betty around her little cabin and rooting up the kitchen leftovers. He'd even walk to town with her when she came to the local mercantile to sell her home remedies.
Well, folks in town got so used to seeing Raw Head and Old Betty around the town that it looked mighty strange one day around hog-driving time when Old Betty came to the mercantile without him.
"Where's Raw Head?" the owner asked as he accepted her basket full of home-remedy potions. The liquid in the bottles swished in an agitate manner as Old Betty said: "I ain't seen him around today, and I'm mighty worried. You seen him here in town?"
"Nobody's seen him around today. They would've told me if they did," the mercantile owner said. "We'll keep a lookout fer you."
"That's mighty kind of you. If you see him, tell him to come home straightaway," Old Betty said. The mercantile owner nodded agreement as he handed over her weekly pay.
Old Betty fussed to herself all the way home. It wasn't like Raw Head to disappear, especially not the day they went to town. The man at the mercantile always saved the best scraps for the mean old razorback, and Raw Head never missed a visit. When the old conjuring woman got home, she mixed up a potion and poured it onto a flat plate.
"Where's that old hog got to?" she asked the liquid. It clouded over and then a series of pictures formed. First, Old Betty saw the good-for-nothing hunter that lived on the next ridge sneaking around the forest, rounding up razorback hogs that didn't belong to him. One of the hogs was Raw Head. Then she saw him taking the hogs down to Hog-Scald Hollow, where folks from the next town were slaughtering their razorbacks. Then she saw her hog, Raw Head, slaughtered with the rest of the pigs and hung up for gutting. The final picture in the liquid was the pile of bloody bones that had once been her hog, and his scraped-clean head lying with the other hogsheads in a pile.
Old Betty was infuriated by the death of her only friend. It was murder to her, plain and simple. Everyone in three counties knew that Raw Head was her friend, and that lazy, hog-stealing, good-for-nothing hunter on the ridge was going to pay for slaughtering him.
Now Old Betty tried to practice white conjuring most of the time, but she knew the dark secrets too. She pulled out an old, secret book her granny had given her and turned to the very last page. She lit several candles and put them around the plate containing the liquid picture of Raw Head and his bloody bones. Then she began to chant: "Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones."
The light from the windows disappeared as if the sun had been snuffed out like a candle. Dark clouds billowed into the clearing where Old Betty's cabin stood, and the howl of dark spirits could be heard in the wind that pummeled the treetops.
"Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones."
Betty continued the chant until a bolt of silver lightning left the plate and streaked out threw the window, heading in the direction of Hog-Scald Hollow.
When the silver light struck Raw Head's severed head, which was piled on the hunter's wagon with the other hog heads, it tumbled to the ground and rolled until it was touching the bloody bones that had once inhabited its body. As the hunter's wagon rumbled away toward the ridge where he lived, the enchanted Raw Head called out: "Bloody bones, get up and dance!"
Immediately, the bloody bones reassembled themselves into the skeleton of a razorback hog walking upright, as Raw Head had often done when he was alone with Old Betty. The head hopped on top of his skeleton and Raw Head went searching through the woods for weapons to use against the hunter. He borrowed the sharp teeth of a dying panther, the claws of a long-dead bear, and the tail from a rotting raccoon and put them over his skinned head and bloody bones.
Then Raw Head headed up the track toward the ridge, looking for the hunter who had slaughtered him. Raw Head slipped passed the thief on the road and slid into the barn where the hunter kept his horse and wagon. Raw Head climbed up into the loft and waited for the hunter to come home.
It was dusk when the hunter drove into the barn and unhitched his horse. The horse snorted in fear, sensing the presence of Raw Head in the loft. Wondering what was disturbing his usually-calm horse, the hunter looked around and saw a large pair of eyes staring down at him from the darkness in the loft.
The hunter frowned, thinking it was one of the local kids fooling around in his barn.
"Land o' Goshen, what have you got those big eyes fer?" he snapped, thinking the kids were trying to scare him with some crazy mask.
"To see your grave," Raw Head rumbled very softly. The hunter snorted irritably and put his horse into the stall.
"Very funny. Ha,ha," The hunter said. When he came out of the stall, he saw Raw Head had crept forward a bit further. Now his luminous yellow eyes and his bears claws could clearly be seen.
"Land o' Goshen, what have you got those big claws fer?" he snapped. "You look ridiculous."
"To dig your grave…" Raw Head intoned softly, his voice a deep rumble that raised the hairs on the back of the hunter's neck. He stirred uneasily, not sure how the crazy kid in his loft could have made such a scary sound. If it really was a crazy kid.
Feeling a little spooked, he hurried to the door and let himself out of the barn. Raw Head slipped out of the loft and climbed down the side of the barn behind him. With nary a rustle to reveal his presence, Raw Head raced through the trees and up the path to a large, moonlight rock. He hid in the shadow of the huge stone so that the only things showing were his gleaming yellow eyes, his bear claws, and his raccoon tail.
When the hunter came level with the rock on the side of the path, he gave a startled yelp. Staring at Raw Head, he gasped: "You nearly knocked the heart right out of me, you crazy kid! Land o' Goshen, what have you got that crazy tail fer?"
"To sweep your grave…" Raw Head boomed, his enchanted voice echoing through the woods, getting louder and louder with each echo. The hunter took to his heels and ran for his cabin. He raced passed the old well-house, passed the wood pile, over the rotting fence and into his yard. But Raw Head was faster. When the hunter reached his porch, Raw Head leapt from the shadows and loomed above him. The hunter stared in terror up at Raw Head's gleaming yellow eyes in the ugly razorback hogshead, his bloody bone skeleton with its long bear claws, sweeping raccoon's tail and his gleaming sharp panther teeth.
"Land o' Goshen, what have you got those big teeth fer?" he gasped desperately, stumbling backwards from the terrible figure before him.
"To eat you up, like you wanted to eat me!" Raw Head roared, descending upon the good-for-nothing hunter. The murdering thief gave one long scream in the moonlight. Then there was silence, and the sound of crunching.
Nothing more was ever seen or heard of the lazy hunter who lived on the ridge. His horse also disappeared that night. But sometimes folks would see Raw Head roaming through the forest in the company of his friend Old Betty. And once a month, on the night of the full moon, Raw Head would ride the hunter's horse through town, wearing the old man's blue overalls over his bloody bones with a hole cut-out for his raccoon tail. In his bloody, bear-clawed hands, he carried his raw, razorback hogshead, lifting it high against the full moon for everyone to see.


You can read more North Carolina ghost stories in Spooky South by S.E. Schlosser.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

To Paul & my fellow readers

Dear Paul,

        Thanks for visiting the place! Oh, and I have found some sites & blogs you may like to visit (horror):

http://www.bloggerbeware.blogspot.com
http://www.ghostsandstories.com
http://www.americanfolktales.com

To find more, just go to Google and type 'horror stories'. You may find some stories to add on your site.

                                                                                               Thanks,
                                                                                                  Natasha

Friday, December 10, 2010

Send a chill down your spine...or mine? 1-APPLICATION/FORM

Name:

Age:

Blog URL:

Blog Name:

Are you writing a poem or story?:

If writing a poem, write it like this:

            (TITLE) 




(poem...................................................................................)

                                                   -by ___________ (your name)



         (TITLE)

By_________ (your name)



(story......................................................................................)



Authorization of blog owner: Yes

Blog Owner Signature: PrincessNatasha
 

Send a chill down your spine...or mine? 1

Dear Reader,

         I am Natasha.As you may know, my blog is dedicated to my horrorble and terrorble friends.Well, there just might be something for you out of the blue...or darkness, to win.This is what YOU have to do to win:

       Send in a horror story by the title of 'Something's over here...' .The maximum amount of words is 10,000, so don't you dare worry.If you're no author, send a poem. I shall give a separate prize for that.The maximum amount of letters are 10,000, but if you do it by words, it's 5000.The poem title is 'Ghost Graveyard'. Please, do  NOT copy. I shall give the form in a separate post; in 'Send a chill down your spine...or mine?     1-APPLICATION/FORM'.


                                                                  Thanks for your time,
                                                                            Natasha

P.S. The closing date of the competition is APRIL 1st 2011.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

At the Gate

At the Gate
by Myla Jo Closser




A shaggy Airedale scented his way along the highroad. He had not been there before, but he was guided by the trail of his brethren who had preceded him. He had gone unwillingly upon this journey, yet with the perfect training of dogs he had accepted it without complaint. The path had been lonely, and his heart would have failed him, traveling as he must without his people, had not these traces of countless dogs before him promised companionship of a sort at the end of the road.
The landscape had appeared arid at first, for the translation from recent agony into freedom from pain had been so numbing in its swiftness that it was some time before he could fully appreciate the pleasant dog-country through which he was passing. There were woods with leaves upon the ground through which to scurry, long grassy slopes for extended runs, and lakes into which he might plunge for sticks and bring them back to—But he did not complete his thought, for the boy was not with him. A little wave of homesickness possessed him.
It made his mind easier to see far ahead a great gate as high as the heavens, wide enough for all. He understood that only man built such barriers and by straining his eyes he fancied he could discern humans passing through to whatever lay beyond. He broke into a run that he might the more quickly gain this inclosure made beautiful by men and women; but his thoughts outran his pace, and he remembered that he had left the family behind, and again this lovely new compound became not perfect, since it would lack the family.
The scent of the dogs grew very strong now, and coming nearer, he discovered, to his astonishment that of the myriads of those who had arrived ahead of him thousands were still gathered on the outside of the portal. They sat in a wide circle spreading out on each side of the entrance, big, little, curly, handsome, mongrel, thoroughbred dogs of every age, complexion, and personality. All were apparently waiting for something, someone, and at the pad of the Airedale's feet on the hard road they arose and looked in his direction.
That the interest passed as soon as they discovered the new-comer to be a dog puzzled him. In his former dwelling-place a four-footed brother was greeted with enthusiasm when he was a friend, with suspicious diplomacy when a stranger, and with sharp reproof when an enemy; but never had he been utterly ignored.
He remembered something that he had read many times on great buildings with lofty entrances. "Dogs not admitted," the signs had said, and he feared this might be the reason for the waiting circle outside the gate. It might be that this noble portal stood as the dividing-line between mere dogs and humans. But he had been a member of the family, romping with them in the living-room, sitting at meals with them in the dining-room, going upstairs at night with them, and the thought that he was to be "kept out" would be unendurable.
He despised the passive dogs. They should be treating a barrier after the fashion of their old country, leaping against it, barking, and scratching the nicely painted door. He bounded up the last little hill to set them an example, for he was still full of the rebellion of the world; but he found no door to leap against. He could see beyond the entrance dear masses of people, yet no dog crossed the threshold. They continued in their patient ring, their gaze upon the winding road.
He now advanced cautiously to examine the gate. It occurred to him that it must be fly-time in this region, and he did not wish to make himself ridiculous before all these strangers by trying to bolt through an invisible mesh like the one that had baffled him when he was a little chap. Yet there were no screens, and despair entered his soul. What bitter punishment these poor beasts must have suffered before they learned to stay on this side the arch that led to human beings! What had they done on earth to merit this? Stolen bones troubled his conscience, runaway days, sleeping in the best chair until the key clicked in the lock. These were sins.
At that moment an English bull-terrier, white, with liver-colored spots and a jaunty manner, approached him, snuffling in a friendly way. No sooner had the bull-terrier smelt his collar than he fell to expressing his joy at meeting him. The Airedale's reserve was quite thawed by this welcome, though he did not know just what to make of it.
"I know you! I know you!" exclaimed the bull-terrier, adding inconsequently, "What's your name?"
"Tam o'Shanter. They call me Tammy," was the answer, with a pardonable break in the voice.
"I know them," said the bull-terrier. "Nice folks."
"Best ever," said the Airedale, trying to be nonchalant, and scratching a flea which was not there. "I don't remember you. When did you know them?"
"About fourteen tags ago, when they were first married. We keep track of time here by the license-tags. I had four."
"This is my first and only one. You were before my time, I guess." He felt young and shy.
"Come for a walk, and tell me all about them," was his new friend's invitation.
"Aren't we allowed in there?" asked Tam, looking toward the gate.
"Sure. You can go in whenever you want to. Some of us do at first, but we don't stay."
"Like it better outside?"
"No, no; it isn't that."
"Then why are all you fellows hanging around here? Any old dog can see it's better beyond the arch."
"You see, we're waiting for our folks to come."
The Airedale grasped it at once, and nodded understandingly.
"I felt that way when I came along the road. It wouldn't be what it's supposed to be without them. It wouldn't be the perfect place."
"Not to us," said the bull-terrier.
"Fine! I've stolen bones, but it must be that I have been forgiven, if I'm to see them here again. It's the great good place all right. But look here," he added as a new thought struck him, "do they wait for us?"
The older inhabitant coughed in slight embarrassment.
"The humans couldn't do that very well. It wouldn't be the thing to have them hang around outside for just a dog—not dignified."
"Quite right," agreed Tam. "I'm glad they go straight to their mansions. I'd—I'd hate to have them missing me as I am missing them." He sighed. "But, then, they wouldn't have to wait so long."
"Oh, well, they're getting on. Don't be discouraged," comforted the terrier. "And in the meantime it's like a big hotel in summer—watching the new arrivals. See, there is something doing now."
All the dogs were aroused to excitement by a little figure making its way uncertainly up the last slope. Half of them started to meet it, crowding about in a loving, eager pack.
"Look out; don't scare it," cautioned the older animals, while word was passed to those farthest from the gate: "Quick! Quick! A baby's come!"
Before they had entirely assembled, however, a gaunt yellow hound pushed through the crowd, gave one sniff at the small child, and with a yelp of joy crouched at its feet. The baby embraced the hound in recognition, and the two moved toward the gate. Just outside the hound stopped to speak to an aristocratic St. Bernard who had been friendly:
"Sorry to leave you, old fellow," he said, "but I'm going in to watch over the kid. You see, I'm all she has up here."
The bull-terrier looked at the Airedale for appreciation.
"That's the way we do it," he said proudly.
"Yes, but—" the Airedale put his head on one side in perplexity.
"Yes, but what?" asked the guide.
"The dogs that don't have any people—the nobodies' dogs?"
"That's the best of all. Oh, everything is thought out here. Crouch down,—you must be tired,—and watch," said the bull-terrier.
Soon they spied another small form making the turn in the road. He wore a Boy Scout's uniform, but he was a little fearful, for all that, so new was this adventure. The dogs rose again and snuffled, but the better groomed of the circle held back, and in their place a pack of odds and ends of the company ran down to meet him. The Boy Scout was reassured by their friendly attitude, and after petting them impartially, he chose an old-fashioned black and tan, and the two passed in.
Tam looked questioningly.
"They didn't know each other!" he exclaimed.
"But they've always wanted to. That's one of the boys who used to beg for a dog, but his father wouldn't let him have one. So all our strays wait for just such little fellows to come along. Every boy gets a dog, and every dog gets a master."
"I expect the boy's father would like to know that now," commented the Airedale. "No doubt he thinks quite often, 'I wish I'd let him have a dog.'"
The bull-terrier laughed.
"You're pretty near the earth yet, aren't you?"
Tam admitted it.
"I've a lot of sympathy with fathers and with boys, having them both in the family, and a mother as well."
The bull-terrier leaped up in astonishment.
"You don't mean to say they keep a boy?"
"Sure; greatest boy on earth. Ten this year."
"Well, well, this is news! I wish they'd kept a boy when I was there."
The Airedale looked at his new friend intently.
"See here, who are you?" he demanded.
But the other hurried on:
"I used to run away from them just to play with a boy. They'd punish me, and I always wanted to tell them it was their fault for not getting one."
"Who are you, anyway?" repeated Tam. "Talking all this interest in me, too. Whose dog were you?"
"You've already guessed. I see it in your quivering snout. I'm the old dog that had to leave them about ten years ago."
"Their old dog Bully?"
"Yes, I'm Bully." They nosed each other with deeper affection, then strolled about the glades shoulder to shoulder. Bully the more eagerly pressed for news. "Tell me, how are they getting along?"
"Very well indeed; they've paid for the house."
"I—I suppose you occupy the kennel?"
"No. They said they couldn't stand it to see another dog in your old place."
Bully stopped to howl gently.
"That touches me. It's generous in you to tell it. To think they missed me!"
For a little while they went on in silence, but as evening fell, and the light from the golden streets inside of the city gave the only glow to the scene, Bully grew nervous and suggested that they go back.
"We can't see so well at night, and I like to be pretty close to the path, especially toward morning."
Tam assented.
"And I will point them out. You might not know them just at first."
"Oh, we know them. Sometimes the babies have so grown up they're rather hazy in their recollection of how we look. They think we're bigger than we are; but you can't fool us dogs."
"It's understood," Tam cunningly arranged, "that when he or she arrives you'll sort of make them feel at home while I wait for the boy?"
"That's the best plan," assented Bully, kindly. "And if by any chance the little fellow should come first,—there's been a lot of them this summer—of course you'll introduce me?"
"I shall be proud to do it."
And so with muzzles sunk between their paws, and with their eyes straining down the pilgrims' road, they wait outside the gate.

Ghost Sightings in USA-3

Alcatraz
Golden Gate National Recreation Area
Fort Mason, B201
San Francisco, CA 94123


Alcatraz Photo
Click image to go there now!
This world famous penal institution began as a lighthouse in the 1800s, transformed into a US military fort, then to a military prison, a civil prison, a federal prison, and finally, a national recreation area. It is located on an island in the middle of San Fransisco Bay. Prior to recent history, Indians used the island to punish breakers of tribal law, leaving them isolated on the island for extended periods or completely banishing them to life there amoung evil spirits.As a federal prison, Alcatraz' reputation was forbmidable and it boasted the fact that no one had ever succesfully escaped in 29 years. On the inside, life was a dreary blur of endless days. Prisoners were given very few comforts or any luxuries

whatsoever. Some of the cell blocks were notorious for solitary confinement under extreme conditions of isolation and deprivation. Some prisoners were tortured.Some of the most famous visitors were men of notorious criminal careers: Al Capone, George "Machine-Gun" Kelly, Alvin Karpis and Arthur "Doc" Barker. Ghost sightings and manifestations at the abandoned prison have included: an entity with glowing eyes, sobbing and moaning sounds, foul smells, clanging noises, banjo music, cold spots and winds, and the apparitions of prisoners and soldiers.
Visitors to the island can take self-guided and audio tours of Alcatraz. A captioned video program of its history is shown every 30 minutes in the museum. Tickets sell out a week or so in advance, so call (415) 561-4900 9-4 daily to find out more information.
Or take a private tour of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate area. Click the picture above for more information.

Ghost Sightings in USA-2

1891 Castle Inn
New Orleans, Louisiana


Another location of ghost sightints is The Castle Inn of New Orleans is located at 1539 4th Street in the Garden District of New Orleans, Louisiana. It is an elegant mansion located 100 feet from St. Charles Avenue and is a seven-minute streetcar ride to the French Quarter. It is a bed and breakfast that is reputedly haunted by at least two ghosts: that of a little girl and that of a mischievous man. The little girl drowned in a small pond that used to exist on a plantation of which the property used to be a part. She is said to now roam the neighborhood looking for her mama and frequent the Castle Inn. She is known for turning the water on and off, brushing up against visitors’ legs, bouncing playfully on the beds and making the sounds of little feet running through the hallways.
The man was a former paid servant and horse carriage driver. He loved music, wine and song and loved to play pranks on people. He has been heard coughing and whistling in the corridors, is infamous for moving and hiding objects and manifests himself as a “transluscent man,” often seen in mirrors or in one’s peripheral vision. He plays tricks on guests and loves to play with electronics. He supposedly died in a fire he started by either smoking in bed or overturning a heating pot. Legend has it that he was so drunk, he didn’t awake and suffocated in the smoke. It is believed that he remains in the mansion because he wants to, and never believed he belonged in the servants’ quarters.
Rates for rooms at the 1891 Castle Inn range from $125.00 to $250.00 US per night, but in the off season, Miss Karen will work with you depending on availability, how well she knows you and “what kind of car you drive”! There is obviously levity and humor going on at 1891 Castle Inn, so visit their website at www.castleinnofneworleans.com and boo! a room. You might see a ghost!

Ghost Sightings in USA-1

White House

White House Photo
Click the image above to go there now!
Ghost sightings at the White House are legendary and have been reported by such first ladies as Eleanor Roosevelt, Grace Coolidge, and Mrs. Woodrow Wilson. In fact, many presidents have confessed to feeling the presence of our former leaders who, they say, seem to want to help and give their support. But visiting dignitaries and staff have also been witness to the eerie encounters, which are well documented and openly admitted by the nation’s capital.The most frequently detected apparition is that of Abraham Lincoln who has a propensity for knocking on doors. Several presidents such as Theodore Roosevelt, Herbert Hoover and Harry Truman experienced being interrupted by the ghostly rappings and Grace Coolidge saw Mr. Lincoln gazing out a window in the Oval Office. Other reports include Lincoln sitting on his bed tying his shoes as well as standing at a window in his bedroom looking out over the grounds.
One First Lady was said to be visited by the ghost of Dolley Madison when she wanted to make changes to the rose garden and even Abigail Adams has been spotted doing her laundry. Some say Mamie Eisenhower haunts the kitchen. Ghost sightings have included Andrew Jackson pacing the halls swearing up a storm and a British soldier has also been seen there. That soldier reportedly died on the grounds in 1814. There have been cold spots, breezes and doors that open and close on their own. Reports of activity have even been reported as recently as a few weeks ago.
Staff at the White House admit that it is very spooky there at night. It has been said that the scariest area is the First Family’s personal quarters. When all the lights are turned off at night, the house is dark and every sound resounds through the halls.
You can tour the White House alone or in groups. But we wouldn’t recommend going alone. If you do have a ghost sighting, you’ll want a witness around, as cameras are not allowed in the White House.

Come all ye' terrors and horrors of doom

Come all ye' horrors
And terrors
Of doom
Now's the time
To enter your room

Chorus:
  We terrors and horrors
  Of Mansion Mymothers
  We came to test all ye' terrors
  And horrors of doom

After you see ghouls
After you see souls
Of those passed away

You will say 'Holy Mother'
Or a common 'Brother'
And say

Chorus:

Don't be afraid...

Welcome to the Horror Hollow! Bit chilly, isn't it? Anyway, now, some of you don't believe in things that go BUMP in the night, ghosts or ghouls, etc. Well, though you thought it's just a superstition, it isn't. Haven't you ever heard an eerie sound while in bed, footsteps or even see a tree branch move? Now's the chance for you to admit. Don't you dare keep it bottled up inside you. While writing this post, my ghost & ghoul friends are surrounding me. Don't be afraid or scared, they're waiting to hear...