I’m a skeptic. I never believe something someone tells me. I always do the research and I believe that qualifies as continuing education.
We now live in a world with real zombies. I don’t enjoy zombie books or movies, but in the year 2012 we have bath salt eating zombies. Hooray for us.
We’re a bit different in the Mullican house. If you’d like to find out why (and maybe get a chuckle) you can find out by reading: The Reason I do not Write Romance; Where’s my Bio Hazard Suit; When Prissy Just Won’t Do; My DNA Ends up in the Weirdest Places or yes, it’s titled: Shaving my Kitty. Rereading some of these has given me a good laugh.
If you would have asked me a decade ago, if I would have been on the phone being interviewed by a ghost hunting team, I would have laughed in your face. But today, I had just such an interview. Over the last five years or so, we’ve had… issues in our home. The kids no longer believe the bullshit excuses I’ve come up with so it’s time for help. Thanks to shows like Ghost Hunters, people are less afraid to admit such a problem exists.
Now I’m certain that if we have ghosts, they think I’m just as scary when they see me Yelling At My Laptop. This is probably the reason they like to throw stuff around my house. I’m okay with people thinking I’m bat-shit crazy, nuttier than rat shit in a pistachio factory or maybe just a little eccentric. Yes – we have ghosts. I have evidence. And if you don’t believe in them, stay a night in my house… walk down my hallway without turning on the light. Grown adults can’t do it. My kids can’t do it. The spousal unit and I seem to be the only ones able and I still get the creeps. I usually talk to the cat on my way down the hallway as a distraction.
Great, now I’m the crazy cat lady too. Phenomenal.
If you haven’t left yet, welcome aboard the crazy train where lamps fall over, growls come from thin air, my animals chase non-existent things into corners and growl, items lift off of tables and walls, random disappearing people walk down the hall and our imaginary friends crawl into bed with us. Oh yes, there is a boogey man. No, I no longer tell my children, “there’s no such thing as ghosts.” And no – your comforter is not a magical barrier against all things scary.
I think I will start to name the mischievous little bastards.
I cracked a joke via Twitter that with two large breed dogs (1 American Bulldog at 120 lbs and a 5 month old English Mastiff who is now dwarfing the bulldog) and a room full of guns that I wasn’t afraid to be home alone at night, “not even from bath-salt eating zombies.) Truth is, I can deal with the zombie. I can kill it. How do you deal with something that’s already dead? Something that is frightening otherwise pretty damned brave children?