I want to be a Ghost Hunter

I am a bit addicted to this show.

TAPS - The Atlantic Paranormal Society.

Jason & Grant are the kind of guys I want to go camping with. Can you imagine the stories they could tell over a roaring fire, deep in the skeery woods? Dream come true.

I just discovered their rad website.

They are coming to St. Louis on 10/20, lecturing at UMSL.

I am so there.

Yup - I am a TAPS stalker.

Seriously, I love me some spooky stories. I have a few in my back pocket, a couple that happened to friends, and one situation that happened to me.

I'll lay the first of these stories out as spookily as I can, while I attempt to dodge finishing my homework. Names have not been changed, and the details are laid out to the best of my recollection. I swear. No embellishments, just the facts as I remember them.

Story #1
The Turntable Antichrist

My friend Kurt Hassebrock, who I've known since we were 7, told me this story one night as we were closing up at Bonanza. He's a very solid, down-to-earth guy, and he would not josh me. So I know it's true.

When he was a young lad of 6, he came home from school and went to the basement to listen to records...Kiss, I believe. As he was rocking out to "Shout It Out Loud", he heard footsteps upstairs, and ran up from the basement to greet his mom, assuming she was home from work. Snack time!

When he got to the top of the stairs, tummy rumbling, the air was still. Deathly still. Not a sound. The house was empty.

Completely empty.

Silent.

Still.

So, not thinking much about it, he went back downstairs to continue on with his rockfest. "Detroit Rock City" rang out of the stereo console, and Kurt shook his grade-school booty playing air-guitar like a master. After a while, he heard the creaking of footsteps from above.

He walked up the stairs this time, not that excited but still craving a snacky snack and a little tired from his jam session.

Again, the stillness was palpable.

Nothing.

Nobody was home.

Or was there?

Now the tot was a bit freaked out, but went back downstairs to hang out and wait. When he got downstairs, he settled into the beanbag to listen to the soothing sounds of Peter Criss singing "Beth"...

"Beth, I hear you callin - but I can't come home right now. Me and the boys are playin, and we just can't find the souuuunnndddd..."

It was at that moment, into the first stanza of this rock-n-roll ballad, he saw something move over by the stereo. On top of the stereo.

It was a fluttering of sorts. Fluttering, although there were no windows to produce a breeze.

On top of the pile of records, something was shifting.

Lifting.

Moving.

Levitating.

Something was levitating above the stereo.

Anne Murray.

Holy crap. It was Anne Murray.

Anne Murray was floating above the stereo.

In Kurt's rock-n-roll basement.

Actually, it was Anne Murray's album, Danny's Song. You know, the one with "Killing Me Softly With His Song" on it.

Anne Murray. Killing me softly. Killing the rock and roll mood softly with a bit of soft-rock horror.

Anne Murray wanted to kill Kurt Hassebrock slowly. With her evil, cheesy song.

And so, it was official.

Kiss were not spawned of the Devil. No, not Kiss.

Anne Murray was.

Anne Murray was the Antichrist.

Kurt ran upstairs, and his mom had just gotten home. He tried his best, breathless and frightened, to tell his tale of terror, but who believes a 6-year old kid? Especially one who's been listening to Kiss?

No one.

And so, Kurt stayed away from his sub-level rawk haven for awhile, but as most kids do, they forget, and he eventually went downstairs again and got his metal on.

But he never forgot Anne Murray, and her message to him that fateful day after school.

Anne Murray. The original soft-rock Antichrist.

And seriously, is this NOT THE FREAKIEST ALBUM COVER EVER????????




Stick around, dear readers, as Story #2 will be coming sooooooooooonnnnnnn......


boo.