I am so sad. Last night during Varmint’s softball team’s bonfire, we told ghost stories. I told a hum-dinger of a ghost story. I even set it up with Coach Doug beforehand where he would go hide behind a tree near the bonfire and at just the right time, moan like a monster and then come out to scare the jumpin gee willikers out of the bunch of 10-year-old girls.
I set up the scene admirably. I had a guy mysteriously murdered centuries ago at about the same spot where the old tree behind them grew. I told gruesome details. I explained how, in the dark of the night, if you were still enough, you could hear the old murdered man moaning by the tree.
Coach Doug Moaned.
I mean, it was a scary moment for ME and I was telling the story!
And the girls. These young, imaginative, impressionable, innocent girls, laughed.
This incredibly wrought, complex, totally realistic and believable story that had chills going down my own spine….and they laughed.
Either they are growing up too fast, or I am an enormous sissy. I cannot believe at 10 years old I would have been so nonchalant about such a story – complete with moaning man in the dark in the background.
Maybe they are numb from all the violence on TV?
Maybe they had a false sense of security because they were en masse?
Maybe Coach Doug needs to work on his moaning.
I need to come up with a better story before the next bonfire. I want to have them screaming at the end of it. Maybe I’ll tell them something REALLY scary, like how big the country’s deficit will be when their generation is old enough to be responsible for it.
That ought to make them scream, and run to the hills.