write a short story being with don't believe in ghosts
Answers
Explanation:
Walking back to the light switch, he flicked it on and caught a glimpse of someone disappearing into the next room. That was the viewing room. No one was supposed to be in there at this time of night. Thinking it might be kids who’d somehow gotten into the locked building, he went to investigate. No one was there. He checked the only other door into the room and found it locked. Now he was really mystified. He knew he'd seen someone come in here, yet he couldn't find anyone. He went ahead and finished his task. After checking again to ensure the building was empty, he locked up. The next day he mentioned his strange experience to someone who worked there and she turned pale. "I've seen them, too," she whispered. "They just watch me and then they're gone."
The person who told me this story did so with a measure of reluctance. "I don't believe in ghosts, but..." He wanted to assure me that he was a levelheaded man with no interest in the supernatural. But this had happened, he insisted. And he wanted to know what I thought. He didn’t believe, but then again….
I hear this phrase all the time. Whenever I travel, I ask about ghost stories. I like to collect different types of tales, especially from other countries. Even my own neck of the woods offers distinct tales from the Moravian time period unlike any I’ve heard elsewhere.
For example, in Bethlehem Ghosts, I included der Ausleger, the phantom undertaker who'd enter people’s homes or yards to drink the water they’d used to wash down the body of a deceased relative. (They were so disgusted by this spooky thing’s behavior that the entire community took up the ritual of tossing all death water into the cemetery. He could go drink it there!)
As I collect these tales, I’m always amused how often people qualify their experience of what they're pretty sure was a ghost with the phrase, “I don’t believe in ghosts, but…” They then proceed to tell the tale that indicates they clearly do believe in their experience and their interpretation of it.
In fact, there are sufficient numbers of these tales framed within the assurance of rational normalcy that I could use this title for a reality TV show. Maybe I should propose it!
Often, those who insist, “I don’t believe in ghosts, but…” are either living in the place where they experienced the alleged entity or they’re employed there. Thus, I can understand the qualifier. In the former instance, they want to reassure themselves. It's just a buffer between them and their own anxiety. In the latter, they want to ensure their future employment.
And there certainly are those people who are just embarrassed that such a thing has happened to them!
I’m most interested in those who tell me about experiences in a place they've visited, and they have no psychological investment in it one way or the other. Yet, they still want to tell it ... within the framework, of course, that they are “normal” individuals.
Partly for this reason, I go to Gettysburg during the Halloween season to sign books like Haunted Crime Scenes and Blood and Ghosts. As my co-author Mark Nesbitt and I sit at the table, people come in to tell us what they experienced in town or on the battlefield. (That’s how Mark has managed to write so many
Explanation:
Walking back to the light switch, he flicked it on and caught a glimpse of someone disappearing into the next room. That was the viewing room. No one was supposed to be in there at this time of night. Thinking it might be kids who’d somehow gotten into the locked building, he went to investigate. No one was there. He checked the only other door into the room and found it locked. Now he was really mystified. He knew he'd seen someone come in here, yet he couldn't find anyone. He went ahead and finished his task. After checking again to ensure the building was empty, he locked up. The next day he mentioned his strange experience to someone who worked there and she turned pale. "I've seen them, too," she whispered. "They just watch me and then they're gone."
The person who told me this story did so with a measure of reluctance. "I don't believe in ghosts, but..." He wanted to assure me that he was a levelheaded man with no interest in the supernatural. But this had happened, he insisted. And he wanted to know what I thought. He didn’t believe, but then again….
I hear this phrase all the time. Whenever I travel, I ask about ghost stories. I like to collect different types of tales, especially from other countries. Even my own neck of the woods offers distinct tales from the Moravian time period unlike any I’ve heard elsewhere.
For example, in Bethlehem Ghosts, I included der Ausleger, the phantom undertaker who'd enter people’s homes or yards to drink the water they’d used to wash down the body of a deceased relative. (They were so disgusted by this spooky thing’s behavior that the entire community took up the ritual of tossing all death water into the cemetery. He could go drink it there!)
As I collect these tales, I’m always amused how often people qualify their experience of what they're pretty sure was a ghost with the phrase, “I don’t believe in ghosts, but…” They then proceed to tell the tale that indicates they clearly do believe in their experience and their interpretation of it.
In fact, there are sufficient numbers of these tales framed within the assurance of rational normalcy that I could use this title for a reality TV show. Maybe I should propose it!
Often, those who insist, “I don’t believe in ghosts, but…” are either living in the place where they experienced the alleged entity or they’re employed there. Thus, I can understand the qualifier. In the former instance, they want to reassure themselves. It's just a buffer between them and their own anxiety. In the latter, they want to ensure their future employment.
And there certainly are those people who are just embarrassed that such a thing has happened to them!
I’m most interested in those who tell me about experiences in a place they've visited, and they have no psychological investment in it one way or the other. Yet, they still want to tell it ... within the framework, of course, that they are “normal” individuals.
Partly for this reason, I go to Gettysburg during the Halloween season to sign books like Haunted Crime Scenes and Blood and Ghosts. As my co-author Mark Nesbitt and I sit at the table, people come in to tell us what they experienced in town or on the battlefield. (That’s how Mark has managed to write so many