Happy freakin New Year everyone. Now that 2008 is upon us in full force, we fnd ourselves in the most depressing time of the year. You know, that dead period where the days are gray and everyone is mourning the loss of the magic they felt during the holiday season. I, for one, celebrate this time of year. If you’re literate, you should know by now that I hate December and the jolly tidings it brings. Dead winter depression and a good mid-winter barbecue is just the ticket to turn my frown upside-down. Yet, I have found something completely different to gripe about (big surprise there). It’s time for me to move again.
Did I ever tell you how much I hate moving? In the past two years, I have moved four times, making me one very unhappy monkey. This year, my ghostbusting buttocks will be shuffing their way down to the Bridgeport area as a favor to a friend. It actually works out for me; I work down in Bridgeport (yes I have a real job). Still, here I am complaining. It’s just one big annoying ass hassle of a process. While the packing and actual moving day tasks are no picnic, the thing I despise most about moving is the search for the new place.
By now you’re either pissed that I haven’t mentioned ghosts or you’ve turned the page. For those of you still with us, have no fear. Here comes the 180 degree turn that will drag all this rambling back on topic. During my search for a new place, a realtor showed my friend and me a condo down in Black Rock. She had mentioned that we could have it furnished if we wanted. As she opened the door and we walked in, we saw the spitting image of a place I would never want to live (180 quickly approaching). Oh, it was furnished for sure. The problem was, the furnishings looked like they belonged to an 80-year old woman. Don’t get me wrong; I have no problem with the elderly. I just hate their decorating choices. We walked around the apartment, cracking jokes about tiny sofas and wood furniture adorned with carvings of Sitting Bull. The realtor was the frst one to make the connection (get ready for it). The person living here must have died and the landlord just didn’t know what to do with all the stuff. Next, we entered the bedroom (here it comes). Staring at the bed, pressed and perfectly made, I had the strangest feeling that someone else was in the room with us. With my eyes still on the bed, I said that I think the woman who lived here actually died in the house. That was about the time the realtor decided to leave.
Back in the car, I asked my buddy if he had felt anything weird in the bedroom. “Dammit, now you want to live here because you think there’s a ghost living there.” You bet your bottom dollar I do! I would love to have a ghost for a roommate. I’d even drop an ad in the paper looking for one. “Single white male seeks spirit or spectre to share and haunt apartment. Must love dogs.” I would never leave the house! Hell, I talk to myself all the time anyway. At least here I could tell people that someone else is actually listening to it.
Now that you know my feelings on the subject, let’s discuss the possible ramifcations of living with a ghost. I have heard many stories from people who really have lived in haunted houses. The lucky ones lived with a peaceful spirit who was content to quietly help out around the house by closing cabinets and turning off lights. Yes, even the dead remember how much they hate electric bills. In these cases, the ghost has no problem with cohabitation. They’re not damaging property and playing Beetlejuice to try and get rid of these strangers who are living in their house. Beside the whole not paying rent thing, they make pretty good roommates. The people who I have spoken to in these situations claimed that they just got used to odd noises and things never being in the same place they left them. It wasn’t so bad; they just dealt with it. Besides, they always had an interesting story to tell at parties.
On the other side of the fence, we have the people who were not so pleased to be living among the dead (pun intended). They found themselves living with angry and destructive ghosts. You know, the disrespectful roommate that you hate but can’t seem to get rid of. I have a friend who lost a lot of sleep in a situation like this. He was living in the attic of a house that was seriously haunted. He used to wake up all night, swearing that someone had just screamed six inches away from his face. The house had a constantly rotating group of roommates. Initiation consisted of being alone in the house and hearing an upstairs door slam shut all on its own. There are much worse stories out there, and some of these spirits get downright nasty. I have heard about cases of violence where people get attacked by unseen forces. Look at the Warrens and their story of Annabelle, the possessed Raggedy Ann doll. Sometimes you’re not safe anywhere, even in your own bed. Most of these people just end up moving, hoping they won’t get followed.
Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think I’ll be taking the haunted apartment after all. Nothing against the ghost, I just wasn’t a fan of the place. Did I mention the backyard consisted of a huge field of humming power lines? I’ll keep my fingers crossed that the next one will be haunted as well. Hopefully I can find something nicer than the last one. If I do, you can bet you’re all invited for tea and séance. I’ll make sure to keep you posted.
Be safe, and happy hunting. Chris the Ghostbuster can be reached at
The Ghost Of Christmas Past
by Chris Garafola
Ho Ho Ho, Happy Holidays!!! Oh excuse me, should I be saying “Ha Ha Ha”? Is that a little more politically correct? Bull honky I say! Who cares? Seriously, I’d like to meet the person who was so offended by that phrase that they needed to tell the world. How much time do they have on their hands? It’s ridiculous. How dare they mess with Santa like that. I guess we know who’s going on the naughty list this year. Ok, I guess I’m done with that for now. I mean, I am the guy who’s been bashing this holiday for years now. Believe me, there is no love lost between me and the big fat man in red. That jolly jerk ran over my grandma with his reindeer as she was walking home one Christmas Eve.
This entire thing has left a bad taste in my mouth. I’m sick and tired of being told what I can’t do. I’m sick of people ruining it for the rest of us, which brings us to the topic of the month. Being a ghostbuster is tough business. This line of work can be harder to operate than running a meth lab (the author of this article does in no way, shape or form condone the operation of meth labs). It’s not easy to do the job without drawing attention. The authorities are watching us closer than O.J. (the author of this article does in no way, shape or form condone O.J.). The law is definitely not on our side these days. Do you know why that is? Well I’ll tell you! For years, idiots have been tarnishing our good name by running around and destroying all of the world’s haunted spots. We’re not allowed to go anywhere anymore without getting special permission by the authorities (no easy task, I assure you). It wasn’t always like this. Let me elaborate while we take a trip down memory lane and visit some of the ghosts of Christmas past.
Before we move on, let me tell you exactly who has been messing up the ghostbusting trade. Partiers: damned be your name. Don’t get me wrong! I’m only 25 and I haven’t grown out of the partying phase yet. Still, I never went out destroying allegedly haunted private and state owned property in the process! Ok, there’s definitely been some destruction involved but I usually knew the owners and I sometimes helped clean up. Seriously though, there are so many great haunted sites that are completely off limits now because of the consistent amount of damage that the sites have suffered due to drunk or drugged up morons with a lighter fixation.
On the other hand, we have a different breed that is drawn to these places. While this type tends to be less destructive (to the actual property), they provide us with considerably more bad press. I’m talking about your devil worshippers and their ilk. No, I’m not talking about Satanists; there is most definitely a difference. True Satanists tend to be a million times more intelligent and interesting to talk to. I met a really cool one recently up in Naugatuck. Anyway, the bastards I’m talking about are the ones who decide to try and summon demons in the forest, killing small animals and engaging in haphazard rituals. First of all, they don’t even know how dangerous this actually is. Second of all, most of them aren’t smart enough to know. Luckily, most of them only succeed in taking another step towards future careers in the world of serial killing. Some are already there. Don’t think for a minute that true cold-blooded murders haven’t occurred in these types of situations.
I’m sure all of you can recall certain supposed haunted places you checked out as a teen. Hopefully you didn’t set any of them on fire. Let’s take a look at a few of these. Anyone remember The Jesus Tree on the border of Brewster and Danbury? If you’re a local, I’m sure you do. This tree supposedly had an image on it that resembled Jesus on the crucifix. Following the tree were 12 smaller trees. Coincidence? Regardless, the place was a magnet to all kinds of partiers and devil worshippers. Sure, there were plenty of innocents who just drove by, hoping to see something spooky. I was a bit too young, but I hear stories about a bunch of freaky people who used to violently guard the place. Not too far up the road, a young guy was fatally shot in the head and then was found in his car. Coincidence? The tree was finally cut down in the early 90’s.
If you’re a local or a loyal reader, you should know about Dudleytown by now. This was such a perfect place to go looking for ghosts, until the inevitable antics of the careless partiers and the psychos. They came, they saw, they conquered, they left all their garbage. I’ve seen beer bottles, cans, empty baggies and syringes all over the place up there. Eventually, the partiers ended up burning down four acres of forest. Of course they’re going to close the place! Right around that time, The Blair Witch Project was released. Dudleytown is a scary place in the middle of the woods so naturally the movie brought up a flood of people. I have seen some pretty weird people up there, once in mid-ritual. No, I didn’t stick around to watch. I’m definitely not the only one who has seen the devil worshippers at work. Everyone finds his or her leftovers, including the discovery of a cow spine covered in blood. The state police have the place strictly off limits. Although the Mohawk Trail goes right through there, no hikers are allowed.
These two places are not the only victims to disrespect and destruction. Countless cemeteries and abandoned buildings all over the country are closed to the public due to these types of problems. I know you’ve all heard me rant about this before. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum from here on out. I leave you with my one wish for the holiday season. This Christmas, don’t buy me goodies or gadgets. Just promise to stop screwing up all of my favorite haunted places.
Be safe, and happy hunting. Chris the Ghostbuster can be reached at
Happy freakin New Year everyone. Now that 2008 is upon us in full force, we fnd ourselves in the most depressing time of the year. You know, that dead period where the days are gray and everyone is mourning the loss of the magic they felt during the holiday season. I, for one, celebrate this time of year. If you’re literate, you should know by now that I hate December and the jolly tidings it brings. Dead winter depression and a good mid-winter barbecue is just the ticket to turn my frown upside-down. Yet, I have found something completely different to gripe about (big surprise there). It’s time for me to move again.
