Hush Little Baby, Don't Say A Word, And Never Mind That Noise You Heard, It's Just The Beast Under Your Bed, In Your Closet, In Your Head

--"Enter Sandman", Metallica

One thing I've noticed around here since Breanne's been on her extended leave is the lack of good scares around here. I mean--I love all her posts to bits and pieces, but it was always her ghost stories that I loved. It may have something to do with the fact that a lot of the other stories she regaled you all with were stories were there for or, if not, I'd already heard before. While they still had some impact, a story is never quite as good as the first time you heard it. Nope, her ghost stories were mostly new to me since she knew what a great kick out of them I always got. She would even go so far as to not give me one inkling about a new idea she was working on. When you saw it posted here that's often the first time I had the opportunity to read them too.

I've always held an uneasy alliance with ghost stories that scare the beejeezus out of me. On one hand, I've always been titillated by the supernatural. Even as far back as third grade, when I used to check out books like Strangely Enough and The Strangest People You'll Ever Meet, two of the most downright horrifying collection of true-life ghost stories you'll ever read, I've had an insatiable hunger for stories that could really frighten me. On the other hand, almost every good story involving ghosts or witches or the occult has haunted me weeks, months, even years later. I still have the image of the woodcut Tiger Trainer from the story of the same name seared into my memory. I can't even stand to look at an empty doorway for fear of seeing that very image standing before me. Of any subject, ghosts and ghost stories always present me with a love/hate relationship.

Ever since Lucy's stories have stopped appearing here, it's occurred to me that surprisingly I might be addicted to that kind of fear. Like anything one might have grown up with, one spends years and years complaining about how one doesn't like to be scared by stupid stories that probably aren't true. One bitches to his friends that if he ever reads another ghost story it will be too soon. Secretly, though, he hoards them like dwarven gold because he gets a thrill of them. Then, when they're gone, even though he has no more reason to fear much, he sort of misses them. He sort of misses the fear, if only because he had already gotten use to them and if only because without them it leaves a quirky hole in his life that he never knew the fear filled.

Yes, it's true I miss the way she can spin a tale just before I go to bed to make me think twice about drifting off to sleep (she's really good at emoting every single element to ratchet up the suspense).

That's not the reason I'm kind of jonesing for any sign of a new story. The reason I'm in desperate need of a good scare is the fact that without them I cease to be a whole person. A man without fear leads a rather boring life. If everything in life can be handled with utter certainty, then what's the point of doing anything? We all need one thing to weaken us if only to prove that we can be stronger. We all need something to challenge our courage if only to prove that we have it in the first place.

We need the fear just like we need air to breathe.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers