Been thinkin’ about…scary ghost stories

I climb into my truck at nightfall, trusty Basset joining on the console. Key in ignition, watchful reverse into the alley. Bright crescent moon in the Southwest peeks through poplar branches. Truck tires on gravel, then edge-of-town asphalt. Yellow street lamps light the way, one block, two blocks... At the edge of light, a figure darts across the road. I blink. Human form, running motion. Except — the figure was gray, ragged portions of the body missing. And it is sprinting at preternatural speed. In a fraction of a moment, the outline is gone, but not so quickly that my hound dog doesn’t track the movement. Skye Boy saw whatever I saw as well.

For the rest of my short drive to the gym, my thoughts are occupied. What did I just see? A later drive down my street yielded no strange shadows. The truck windshield was not smudged. And my Basset had indeed seen the same fleeting, sprinting gray human shadow I had. Perhaps ironically, after a number of years as a folklore researcher and paranormal investigator, it seems I had seen my first ghost. It would happen, of course, during the Yuletide season.

The modern Christmas season is far removed from ghosts, and the holiday becomes a brightly lit anti-Halloween for many. Family, lights, a sacred star with holy babe, lowly and lowing nativity kine, a time of school programs and candlelit church services, new sweaters and alcohol-free eggnog. Only two pop culture references remain to hint at something more —

Back in 1963, Branson's lovingly remembered Andy Williams sang of "scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago," in that holiday classic, "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." And many of us still curl up on our couches to re-watch one or more versions of Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol," a story filled with more ghosts than any one story knows what to do with. Yes, an Old English Christmas was less cozy matching pajamas and more dark tales than we care to admit. 

Dickens' work, even with all its ghosts, did a lot to center and English — and consequently an American — Christmas around charity and goodwill. Nonetheless, hints of the old Christmas' spirit remain, a season full of tragic ghostly brides, crossroads gallows, phantom hounds and a wild procession through the sky, originally led by Odin (or Wotan) upon his eight-legged horse Sleipnir (one leg for each tiny reindeer). It is not coincidence that Santa's magical reindeer Donner (Donder) is named for the Germanic name for Thor, Viking god of thunder. Where do you think we get the word “thunder,” incidentally?

Such elemental energies cause distress for some but for me, there is no deep contradiction between my Christian faith and our past. The Bible is filled with supernatural realities, metaphysical happenings that defy our modern, secular minds. From astrological Wise Men following a prophetic star to awe-inspiring angels singing to shepherds, from a grand cosmic tapestry of origin to the sky itself darkening over the “Place of the Skull” with three crucifixes, our faith is not one of secular and commercial plodding but instead enchantment, dark profundity and holy meaning. Scripture challenges us to open our minds beyond the commercial traditions of the last 50 years and embrace an eternal story of good and evil, played out over vast stakes. 

In such a vein, the old tales fill me with hope, no matter how chilling. Here, just beyond the candlelight, we find shadows of our own ancestors, faces, voices, some loving, some questioning, some frightening. Americans are often lost in the most recent past, unable to see beyond the history we were never taught. And so, as we begin the Christmas season and hopefully not regard Thanksgiving as more of a speed bump, I will raise a glass of wassail to my ancestors, remembered and forgotten, and I will hope, in some unknown way, they can hear my toast. I will long remember the strange and ragged visage that dashed before my truck as I was simply heading to the gym to lift weights, and wonder of its meaning. And hope, perhaps beyond hope, that memories of those long dead give us conviction to strive toward our brighter natures, guiding our paths to more Scrooge and less Marley, more goodwill and light, and less haunted and fearful this holiday season.