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