It was Friday, October 30, 2015: the holiday known as All Hallow’s Eve Eve. We’d been hit with hard rains of late—much needed, of course, but nonetheless making for a positively ruffianly evening. I had hoped to visit the new home site in better weather, but as it didn’t look like that would be happening any time soon, I decided to brave the elements and head north.
In response to my complaints, the builder had finally taken those piles of sticks and assembled them into something vaguely house shaped. Pleased though I was to see what one might describe as progress, the dark and moody evening drove away any chance I might enjoy this visit.
I parked the car but left the lights on. “Better safe than sorry,” I thought to myself. Double checking that I wasn’t about to lock my keys in the car, I closed the door and approached the foreboding structure.
For reasons I couldn’t pinpoint, a strange feeling overcame me. It was probably nothing more than the wind picking up (and bringing with it the renewed threat of rain) but I felt a cold chill. I rubbed my arms and crept forward slowly, trying to ignore the fact that my current situation also brought the hairs on my neck to full attention.
I thought about turning around and leaving. “I’ll just come back tomorrow. I’m sure it will be much better viewing then. Yes, it was a mistake coming out tonight.” But then I thought of the long drive home (one of the reasons for moving in the first place) and talked myself into staying at least a few minutes.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I pointed it at one of the rooms and snapped my first picture. Unsure if the flash went off, I double checked the picture. Was that . . . ? I looked up at the building, saw nothing, then back down at the picture. It was very faint, but I could definitely see something in the picture that wasn’t there in front of me.
I stood for a while, pondering my next move. I looked back at my car, lights still glowing in the gloomy night. Against my better judgment, I decided to press forward. I moved to the spot that will be my front porch next year and snapped my next picture.
Now there was no doubt about it! A shrouded figure hanging in the air in front of me, flanked by two ghost orbs. I suddenly found myself thinking happily of the days when my house was nothing but stacks of lumber in the front yard. Stacks of lumber are never haunted.
For reasons I still cannot explain, I did not turn and run. Compelled perhaps by morbid curiosity, I moved forward a few more paces. I didn’t even need my camera this time. As clear as day, Ghostface from the film series Scream appeared right in front of me. Scream I did, as you can well imagine, and he vanished as quickly as he appeared. Fortunately, I was able to snap one quick picture.
Why I did not at this point bolt for my car, I will never know. Driven by some mad desire, I walked to the back of the house, only to be confronted by the greatest horror yet. Is . . . is that what I think it is? No . . . no, it cannot be.
The floating, disembodied head of Carrot Top.
I bolted back to my car, raced home, and dove under the safe covers of my warm bed. I’m never going back.