Digressing in the Dark

I admit it.  I’m a die hard fan of the SyFy Channel’s Wednesday night marathon runs of “Ghosthunters”.

I’m not a fan, however, of the way the SyFy Channel spells sci-fi.  It’s dumb.

But I’m fascinated by this crack team of investigators called TAPS.  That stands for The Atlantic Paranormal Society.

A hoax?  For real?  It makes no difference.  It’s entertaining to watch this group of supernatural seekers, led by two professional plumbers who snake out toilets by day and  ghosts by night.

The plumbers, Jason and Grant ( yeah, we’re on a first name basis here) are employed by RotoRooter.  Oddly, I’ve never seen a RotoRooter commercial pop up during the course of the program.

Maybe just mentioning RotoRooter is advertisement enough, like I’ve just done here.  I would endorse RotoRooter instead of just mentioning them, but they’d have to pay me.

And I charge Super Bowl ad rates.  Of course, if they’d throw in some free plumbing services, I might be able to offer a deep discount.

But I digress.

I’ve never written that in a column before: “But I digress.”  I just wanted to write it this one time because that’s what a lot of columnists who are much more influential and affluent and journalistically employable than me write when they get off the beaten path and need to get back on track.

Personally, I think it has a rather haughty ring to it, what you’d expect from a columnist who’s influential and affluent and employed.

I prefer something like this:  “Whoa!  I really got off track there, didn’t I?  Anyway, as I was saying……….”

So TAPS heads out in their fleet of ghost hunting vans, with all their fancy electronic infra-red ghost hunting gadgetry, to explore allegedly haunted houses,  prisons, churches, museums, and insane asylums (such as Fox News studios, Tea Party headquarters, and Sarah Palin’s house--the one with a view of Russia).

Oddly, the TAPS team rarely finds conclusive evidence that a particular locale is haunted.  Their recorders do pick up disembodied voices and other strange noises (like Sean Hannity attempting to sound like a credible newscaster) and the TAPSters themselves will occasionally catch a fleeting glimpse of a possible apparition. 

Their favorite thing is to look at each other with a puzzled stare and say, “What was that?”   The tension is just freakin’ overwhelming.

Now I haven’t really haughtily digressed here.  I’ve just told you all of the above so I can tell you this:

I used to be afraid of the dark.  And well into my early adult years.

I don’t mind saying this because I’m in good company.  Andrew Dice Clay, the arena-filling macho comedian who tongue-lashes everything and everyone in sight with vernacular viciousness, was also afraid of the dark in his early adult years.

I got that tidbit of information from Yakov Smirnoff, the comedian who’s not been afraid of anything since he came to America from Russia.  In Russia, he was afraid of everything, especially the view of Sarah Palin’s house.   (Andrew Dice Clay told me that.)

Whoa!  I really got off track there, didn’t I?

I was terrified of the dark when I was a child.  Actually, I was afraid of what lurked in the dark.

If I woke up in the middle of the night, I found the darkness oppressive and scary.  I was just sure some ghostly, menacing form was going to appear at my bedside.

So what did I do?  I hid under the covers, where it was even darker.  Then I’d plug my ears so I wouldn’t hear any wailing or chain rattling.

I was in a state of apoplexy.  My throat would feel swollen with fear and I couldn’t even call out for my mom.

One time, I actually managed to call out.  I don’t know whether it was Mom or a ghost that answered me.  “Go back to sleep, idiot!”

On the other hand, I loved being scared in the daylight.  Movies and books about haunted houses were favorites of mine.  For me, there was nothing like a good old-fashioned ghost story.

When darkness fell, I regretted my indulgence.   My mind would conjure up every tale of the supernatural I had ever heard, seen, or read about.  And I just knew that the entire goblin community resided in my bedroom when the lights were out.

Sometimes when I was scared,  I would pray.  The problem was that I was afraid of Jesus, too.  I welcomed his spiritual existence, I just didn’t want to see him or hear him.

I’m no longer afraid of the dark.   But I faithfully believe in ghosts.

In our house, we often hear what sounds like a person walking right in front of us, across the living room floor.  At night, I hear a noise like the bedroom doorknob is turning followed by the sound of the door actually opening.

I’ve even heard voices, faint but distinguishable, calling my name.  “Idiot….idiot!”

I’m not scared, though.  I figure if a spirit is trying to make contact, go for it!  I’ll listen.  Hell, I don’t have that many friends, anyway.

Now, if Jesus was to appear to me, then I might be afraid.  I figure he could only want one thing:  me. 

Well, then again, maybe not.

Maybe I should call Ghosthunters and ask them to do a sweep of the house with their equipment.  Or a broom.

But I digress.




Copyright 2010  by Wendel Potter

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