Musing on Haunted Houses. And getting creeped out.

All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro….

*    *    *

That’s what I read this morning at 4.

It was the start of today’s Writer’s Almanac.

Now I don’t intend to check my e-mails first thing in the morning. It just happens because I’m turning my phone alarm off.

So today I read that poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

And I got a little creeped out.

With my imagination that is not hard. I just hear my son talk about that zombie show and I have to shut my brain off. (Before it gets eaten.)

When I learned they filmed part of it on I-20 — I hate to drive over it now.

But I don’t think about scary things that much.

Until this morning when I read Longfellow.

I was okay till I had to go out  — in the dark — and start the car up 10 minutes before leaving for the pool.

Or rather, I was okay till I went back out to my car and realized the car had been unlocked for 10 minutes.

And maybe an astute psychopath just happened to be walking by my house and noticed my car was running……

I turned on all the inside car lights and looked under the seats.

This was after looking under the car as I approached, so no zombie hands would reach out and grab my ankles.

*    *    *

It was a great Halloween.

Lots of Trick-or-Treaters.

But  now the house has gotten so very quiet.

I’ve got to go find my husband.

Surely, he’s still here.

Somewhere?

How was your night?