Halloween Spooky Tales! Day 1
By Jamie McBride Steans
Ok, I'm going to attempt to write a Halloween tale for you. You kinda put the kibosh on anything ultra creative by insisting it be true.
The house I grew up in, a 2 story with large attic and basement, was built in 1905 (Aught-5!) by early Lawtonian William H. Quinette. This was a great house for kids and my older brother and I spent hours playing in the vaulted-ceilinged attic (complete with large wasp nests and large wasps) and three roomed basement. The only place I refused to go was the storm cellar, which had no light and to my recollection harbored a spider convention.
When I was about eight years old, my dance instructor revealed to me that when she was in high school she had been friends with a girl who used to live in my house.
Dance teacher: "You know it's haunted, right?"
Me: "No it's not."
DT: "Yeah, the guy that built the house died in the master bedroom. [Dance teacher's friend's name] saw his ghost on the front stairs once."
Me: "No she didn't"
But it was too late. Even though I didn't believe in ghosts, my dance teacher had successfully managed to totally freak me out. For five full years not once did I use the front staircase after dark, terrified that I would meet face to face with old Bill Quinette. For five years after that I would only use those stairs on occasion at warp speed (yes, I did this well into my teens. shut up). I never did see a stupid ghost and it's a miracle I did not fall and bust my ass on the stairs while fleeing the imaginary Mr. Quinette. Maybe he liked us and didn't want to scare us away. I can only hope he appeared to greet the next owners after they felt it necessary to paint my old room orange.
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