Ghost Stories? I'll Pass.

What started as a nice day, ended terribly. We were looking forward to going to the annual storytelling festival held every year at the lake. This is one of our favorite events to attend and two of our favorite storytellers were going to be there.

Sweatshirts in hand, we headed to the lake for dinner and a night of great storytelling. The two we wanted to see did not disappoint. They were wonderful as always. After listening to them, I decided I wanted to walk down to the other side of the beach to listen to the ghost stories.
 
We weren't allowed to enter the tent until the current storyteller was finished. So we stood toward the back of the tent, listening and waiting until we could enter. After a cup of hot chocolate, the storyteller took a turn I wasn't expecting. All I remember hearing is so and so's dead baby in the cemetery. I turned to DH and said something, although at this point I can't even remember what I said, and walked off. I made it two or three steps and it happened.
 
It wasn't just tears streaming down my face. It was an all out waterfall. I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Can you say meltdown? I could still hear the storyteller going on and on about the dead babies in the cemetery are going to get you...blah blah blah... and I cried even harder.
 
DH pulled me off the sidewalk and to the side, hoping to calm me down. I couldn't. It was like I was having an anxiety attack. I wanted to stop, but couldn't. DH threw his arm around me and grabbed my hand with his other and led me up the hill, away from the tent and straight to the car. I tried to hold my breath as we passed the vendors and the lights. I really didn't want to bring anymore attention to myself. I was already embarrassed. Luckily, we made it out unseen. 
 
Thankfully my old friend, Xana.x, was waiting for me at home, along with a nice, hot bath and a sweet, cuddly puppy dog. Oh, and my husband, of course, who managed to sweep me out of there before making a fool of myself. LOL 
 
I guess it's just proof the pain never really goes away. You never know when it's going to hit you right smack in the stomach without notice. We'll still go back again next year; however, I can promise you I won't be back to hear anymore ghost stories.

More Like This

Recent Posts by kam21

Recent Posts

Comments

In order to comment on BlogHer.com, you'll need to be logged in. You'll be given the option to log in or create an account when you publish your comment. If you do not log in or create an account, your comment will not be displayed.