About eight or ten years ago, I had a job with a contractor named Mike who specialized in restoring old houses. Although we operated throughout the Northeastern part of the United States, we did most of our work in upstate New York. Most of these jobs were simple, such as renovating kitchens, installing energy efficient windows, repairing dry-rotted wood. One job, however, would prove to be a lot more difficult than we could ever expect.
It all started when we received a call from a man named Greg, who lived and worked in the city with his wife Linda. Both in their early 40s, Greg was an analyst at some big insurance firm and Linda did something that involved accounting, although I never really understood what. Although they were happy with their careers and their place downtown, they had always wanted a nice place in a quiet area to spend their weekends and time off. Continue reading
When I was 11, my parents sent me away to this summer camp for an entire month. It was somewhere in upstate New York, but I forget what the exact area was called. At any rate, it was the sort of place where we slept in sleeping bags, drank bug juice, sung campfire songs, roasted marshmallows – the whole deal. One night everyone in my cabin decided to sneak out and break into the camp’s walk in freezer to get ice cream, despite the rumors that there was a ghost haunting the campgrounds.
We sat around waiting after the lights were turned out, when we were supposed to have gone to bed. After a while, we carefully peered out the window to make sure nobody was out with a flashlight, knowing we’d get in a lot of trouble if we were found out. After all, we figured, they made that ghost story up to scare us into not leaving our cabins after dark. Tip toeing out the door, we quickly (although probably not that quietly) made our way across the camp to the hut the kitchen was in.
The skinniest kid we were with climbed through the small window and opened the side door of the building. We were giddy with the feeling that comes with doing something mischievous as a kid at camp. After entering the kitchen, we started to walk down a hallway to where the walk-in freezer was, which we knew would be filled with everything from cheeseburgers to cartons of orange juice to the ice cream we sought. As we rounded the corner, we came upon a ghost sitting at a table, eating fudge swirl ice cream from a huge tub with his hands.
We all stood there in shock, starting at the ghostly figure. A moment after the eerie scene sunk in, the ghost looked up at us and we saw – it was Bill fucking Murray! He stood up, face and hands covered in ice cream, and waved his arms wildly in the air. Without a pause he said, in a ghostly tone, “OOoooohh!! Noooo one will ever belieeeeve yooou!!” At that, we all screamed and scrambled out of there in a panic.
To this day, I can’t take Ghostbusters seriously.