Haunted Balls
Q: I bought some old lawn bowling balls at a thrift store. I thought they would be great in my hall entrance way, displayed in a large basket or bowl. Excited about my find, I rushed home and unpacked my heavy treasures.I didn’t have a basket big enough to accommodate all eight of them, so I just placed them on the hardwood floor. I awoke from a deep sleep to a thundering noise. Upon investigation, my cat and I discovered one of the balls rolling down the hallway. Could the balls be haunted? I gave them away.
A: If you had no intruder, I would interrogate the cat.
Q: Some friends of mine and I visited an old Confederate cemetery across the river from Fort Smith, Arkansas, in the small town of Lavaca on Halloween. When I looked over to my left at the grave markers, I and everyone else started to see a mist rising from behind the markers. I slammed on the gas, but the car wouldn’t go faster than 5 mph with a mist of soldiers floating around us. In the rear view mirror, I could see at least three or four old soldiers there with their hands on the trunk of the car. We finally got out of there. No one would ever go back with me. Have you heard similar tales?
A: Well, this is the first time I’ve heard of a bunch of ghostly confederate soldiers helping to push some old car out of a cemetery.
Q: I was in the shower when the door opened. I stood there with suds in my hand and hair. Out of nowhere the curtain flew open. A man was standing before me. He was short, stocky, with a thick five o’clock shadow. He was wearing an old-fashioned black hat, a white stripped shirt with an old dirty torn jacket. His hands were meaty and had black gloves on with the fingers sticking out. As quickly as he appeared, he disappeared. Could I have been visited by the ghost of someone who used to live there?
A: I don’t know. Did Charlie Chaplin used to live there?
Q: As I approached a bush during a walk in the woods, a twig beneath my feet snapped and an old, ugly woman suddenly jumped out. She was small, fat, middle aged and completely naked. In her left hand she held a long, gnarled twig. She glared at me, raised her left hand and pointed the twig at me, chanting. Several times I heard the word “Satanas.” Since then, I have had nothing but bad luck. Could this woman have put a spell on me?
A: Perhaps. To end the spell, you’ve got to change your evil ways, baby.
