Saturday night and I get home, plop on the couch in front of the TV, watch an hour, and then fall asleep. Television is still on. Earlier, I happened to run across AMC showing The Shining and made a mental note to avoid as the night got old. As I tossed and turned through the night on my uncomfortable couch I catch glimpses of what show is playing on the TV. In the quiet of the early morning, I see that the television is back to AMC. Jack Nicholson's frozen, grim visage greets my sleepy eyes as I try to focus on the television. How did I get back to AMC or did I not change the channel the last time to avoid this creep show? I don't think I did it, but I can't be too sure. I'm hoping for a better explanation, but there are goose bumps on my arms.

I like all things creepy by which I mean mainly ghostly. A spectre haunts my imagination. Ghosts, to me, are a million times cooler than any vampire, werewolf, or zombie. It's because I can't really know if they aren't real or not. It's because the shades and spirits spring from my own imagination.

I wonder why I like ghost stories so much. In my own library, I have several compilations of ghost stories. Plenty of old Victorian frights, some smattering of modern spooks, and plenty of early twentieth century ghosts. Authors as great as HG Wells, Mark Twain, and Ambrose Bierce have creepy stories. They fill several books with some scary things. These books' spines are well worn and plenty of pages are dog-eared.

One of my favorites is from the Twilight Zone television show. In this book, there's the favorite "House on the Square" story. We tell this story all the time. I think it has to be a favorite just because of how it was introduced to me. The Twilight Zone book isn't mine. It's my older brother's. One night a long time ago in the house on Cedarhurst, the story kept him from sleeping, so naturally, he comes into my room to read it aloud. It's about ghost hunters debunking haunted places. One ghost hunter is a believer. The other is a skeptic. My brother then focuses on the central detail of the story -- the Penang lawyer. It was one of the ghost hunters weapons, but was used in the house on the square to signal the arrival of danger. *KNOCK* went the Penang lawyer. *KNOCK* *KNOCK* again. After finishing the story, my brother went back to his room. *KNOCK* across the wall separating us. Ha-ha very funny, but very creepy as well. From that moment, I had to read the book, and since it is a favorite to look for some creepy stories.

There are plenty other ghost stories I love -- "The Shadow in the Corner," "The Judge's House," "The Red Room." All are frightening enough to have me leave the lights on before I close my eyes to sleep. I like the goose bumps I get from reading them. I like the hair on my neck to raise as I flip the page. I like that cold chill down the spine wondering if that creaking out in the hall is the house settling. I like ghost stories.

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