No Bones About It...

Almost every regular person is afraid of something. Spiders or growing old, abandonment or the dark. They range from the rational to the irrational. Some fears can be life saving while others hinder living a normal life. Yet it's something that makes us unique individuals.

You could say that I have a certain level of phasmophobia (fear of ghosts). I've been startled on more than one occasion during an investigation by something I cannot explain as 'of our natural known world.' That doesn't mean I haven't been terrified by mundane, comical reality though. A bat, boom of thunder, or a cat in the right circumstances have all made me jump. Then of course, there are some of you who are quite aware of my fear of heights (batophobia) and bridges (gephyrophobia) which has had some hilarious results.

I've heard that the best way to conquer fears is to face them. For the most part, I have, be it investigating haunted places, crossing high bridges in major cities, or looking out windows from skyscrapers. Yet there's one fear I've had since childhood (which, interestingly enough, is not a named phobia) which I have avoided at all costs... until now.

Skeletons.

In my early years, I experienced a recurring nightmare. I was in a narrow alley, with brick walls on three sides. On the fourth side, blocking my only means of escape, was a gang of several animated, grim, menacing skeletons slowly closing me into a corner before I woke up in a panic. Cartoon skeletons or illustrations don't bother me. It's the real (or at least life-like) skulls and skeletons that give me the creeps. Technically, this should be called "osteophobia" (quite literally 'fear of bones'), but the closest category for it is necrophobia: fear of death and dead things.

It sounds absurd, I know. They're inside all of us, so you would think something as common as a skeleton (while normally covered with flesh) wouldn't be such a big deal. But for me, it can be. But now, I get a chance to face this fear daily. In my effort to gather creepy, odd, and supernatural artifacts I now have a child-sized resin skull sitting on my bookcase.

To be honest, just glancing over at it is a bit unnerving at times. Even though it's not real, I can't bring myself to face those empty eye sockets in my general direction. I'm sure that in time, it will desensitize me enough that I won't be as uncomfortable in the presence of bones. It reminds me of a conversation from the movie Clue between Professor Plum and Mrs. Peacock.

"What are you afraid of? A fate worse than death?"
"No, just death. Isn't that enough?"

What is it about our immortality that is so frightening? Death is inevitable; no one can escape it. Yet it scares us and can become an obsession. Skulls are undoubtedly the strongest symbol of our limited life span. To gaze at a skull is to face your fate. If we know it's coming, why is the knowledge unbearable for many of us? Perhaps the answer is the unknown aspect. Is it a new beginning, the door to an afterlife, or just lights out? Yet the skull will not answer the question...

In the Shadow of Death...

As time ticks down for me to embark on following one of my dreams it should be a cheerful time. But it's not. I should be excited and elated. I am in part, but not wholeheartedly. It's difficult to be so happy about something in the wake of so much sadness across the nation. Sadness in the form of so many people younger than myself who will never get to experience so many of the wondrous things the world has to offer.

There have been an alarming number of suicides, predominantly among teenagers, in the past two months involving gay individuals. The most recent happened on Friday when 14-year-old Brandon Bitner of Pennsylvania ran in front of a truck to end his life. This follows a long line of other widely-publicized deaths: Tyler Clementi, Justin Aaberg, Seth Walsh, Carl Walker-Hoove, Raymond Chase, and many others. Though teenage bullying was often the culprit there have been others, such as 26-year-old gay youth activist Joseph Jefferson, who had other unknown motivations.

It may seem to reflect an increase in gay youth suicides though it's more likely that media exposure is simply alerting us more to the problem. Benjamin Radford, editor of Skeptical Enquirer, went so far as to say that the numbers are grossly inflated and exaggerated and based on outdated information, even quoting Joel Best from his book Damned Lies and Statistics. (I find it astoundingly obtuse to say that statistics lie... and back up your argument with statistics.) Personally, I don't care if the number is ten or 10,000 suicides. It shouldn't be happening period.

Many people have made a stand on bullying and suicide prevention lately. I want to make it a point to do the same. Teenage bullying is not unknown to any of us. Most of us have suffered from it and survived. But regardless of age, bullying is a real issue that needs to be addressed. Bullying is a cowardly act based on fear and insecurity. It's not okay to taunt, attack, and harass someone for being different. And it's not okay to sit idly by while people attack others for who they are. You never know how far that one act will go or to what lengths it might drive the victim.

In dealing with the paranormal aspect of the world, you're surrounded by death. But it still leaves a major impact. And I'm not so far removed from understanding suicide from all angles. It took me a whole year to come to terms with the suicide of a college friend Chris Stutler who never lived to see his 30th birthday. I once talked a complete stranger (who turned out to be a friend of a friend) out of killing himself. And in my own life I'm a survivor of a failed suicide attempt during my early 20s. I know how it feels to want everything to be over. I also know that sometimes it's only after you do something that you wonder what you just did (and why you did it).

But there is always something more to live for. It's nearly impossible to accomplish everything you could possibly imagine in the span of one lifetime. Even worse is never trying, not doing it for fear of being unpopular, or simply giving up on everything life has to offer. Never allow someone else's narrow-minded view of the world to color your life and dreams. The experience of life is what you make of it and what you create of it. If you feel the need to end everything talk to someone first. You are never alone. Life is never so bad that it can't get better. Don't let a bully cheat you out of your own chance of happiness. Believe in yourself and chase your dreams, whatever they may be.

What a Strange World, Indeed...

It's been a while since I've taken a break to glance over some of the unusual (and often less-depressing) news from around the world. To be honest, it's been more difficult these days to find enough amusing news with a creepy twist. I blame the economy. It's making people far too serious. But never fear; I've scrounged the internet for

The Sweet Thrill of Blood-Sucking...

There's a sanguineous creature lurking in Puerto Rico. But this isn't your ordinary Chupacabra tale. Locals near Guánica fear a nocturnal winged phantom believed to be a gargoyle. As he/she/it has been so named, "the Gargoyle" is believed to be responsible for a series of attacks on living creatures and one human being. Livestock victims look oddly similar to the Chupacabra corpses with slashed throats. Mr. Valdo was attacked near Guánica Lagoon nearly 15 years ago by a large, winged creature leaving severe claw marks on his back and abdomen. The "Gargoyle" is described as a very large bird-like creature which smells strongly of sulfur (doesn't EVERY vicious cryptid?) and attacks healthy animals, draining them of blood.

Like any night-flying monster, it is believed to have a lair. Only a few months ago, Officer Miguel Negrón heard loud, powerful wings beating and the scratching of tin roof at the old abandoned Guánica Sugar Mill. Oh, sweet sanctuary! Let's see: we have an unexplained creature terrorizing locals, an abandoned building, a creepy tropical location... it almost sounds like an episode of Scooby Doo come to life!

Don't Speak in Tongues and Drive...

Everywhere, people seem to love spending copious amounts of money for personalizing the plates on their cars. Yet one woman in Sweden was denied her choice in vehicular statements. Law requires any request to be examined, ruling out anything deemed "offensive" or inappropriate. "Luzifer" didn't make the cut. Annsofie Tedfors hadn't intended to cause a major heated debate. It was both the name of her business and beloved feline and she "just wanted to pick a memorable name". But as they say, the Devil is in the details...

Répondez S'il Vous Plaît...

Josiane Vermeersch was unable to contact her son regarding the death of his uncle. Believing he was merely ignoring her after an argument over the summer, she attended the funeral near Lilles with the rest of her family. While leaving the cemetery one one of them noticed a new, wooden grave marker nearby in the poor section bearing the son's name and date of birth. Josiane collapsed from shock. The son, Olivier, passed away from natural causes over a month prior. Just a little reminder not to go to dead angry...

When Psychic Vision Isn't 20/20...

Australians have been eager to solve the disappearance of six-year-old Sydney-sider Kiesha Abrahams since she vanished around the beginning of August. Weeks later, an Aboriginal elder named Cheryl Carroll-Lagerwey had a dream about Kieska's murder and believed she knew the location of her body. Police began their search at the specified location at Nurragingy Reserve and discovered the dismembered body of an adult female. The victim is believed to be another Sydney woman who went missing in June. In all fairness, Carroll-Lagerwey does not believe herself to be psychic but does feel she has "a third sense". She told a Reuters reporter, "I have certain strong feelings about people who claim they are psychic. I don't think it will help if we enter a discussion on that."

Don't Go Into the Light!

There's an old saying that there's always a light at the end of the tunnel. A pessimist generally twists this to say that "the light at the end of the tunnel is usually an oncoming train." And just last week, a band of ghost hunters found themselves face to face with such a calamity in North Carolina.

While investigating Bostian Bridge near Statesville--the site of a railroad disaster over a century ago--a real freight train barreled across the bridge, killing 29-year-old Chris Kaiser and injuring two others. The engineer noticed the group gathered on the last remaining stuccoed brick bridge in the region and blew his whistle while attempting to bring the train to a stop as quickly as possible. Kaiser pushed his girlfriend off the tracks before being struck and thrown into the ravine.

On August 27, 1891 Train No. 9 approached the bridge. Hugh K. Linster, the baggage master, was retiring from his work on the Richmond & Danville Railroad that day and asked a passenger for the time to check the accuracy of his new watch. It was 3:00 AM. At that very moment, the train jumped the tracks, careening into Third Creek far below and killing some 22 people and injuring 26. On the 50th anniversary of the wreck a stranded motorist looked on in horror as she witnessed a train plunge into the creek and erupt into a fiery inferno. Several people who found themselves on the tracks at the time of the accident on the day of that fateful disaster claim to have witnessed a uniformed railroad worker asking them the time.

With the growing popularity in becoming the next Jason Hawes or Zak Bagans, more people than ever are setting out in pursuit of real ghosts. This has also led to an increased number of accidents and arrests for adventurers and trespassers. Too many of these individuals fail to exercise a certain amount of common sense. As the North Carolina case shows, the most important rule is always have an escape plan. When we watch horror movies we always yell at the stupid teenager who runs upstairs and hides in a closet from her attacker. It's like shooting fish in a barrel! Entering a train tunnel or walking onto a bridge that is still in use is just as foolhardy. If you see a light coming down the tracks, never assume it's an ethereal one.

Now I don't discourage people from visiting allegedly haunted sites. In fact, I encourage people to form their own opinions of belief in ghosts and find out for themselves by visiting public places and businesses with rumors of paranormal activity. Seeing is believing, after all! However, what I mean by this is to stay at a haunted inn, take a nighttime ghost tour, or take a hike in a haunted park. Don't stand in the middle of railroad tracks or a haunted stretch of roadway. Odds are you might become the next ghostly tale... and none of us would like that form of experience.

Infantile Behavior...

Another interesting week draws to a close. Keeping busy with a plethora of things, checking up on friends, and receiving my first onslaught of negativity from an unexpected (well, expected... but not expected) source. Shocking? Slightly. Crushing? Not at all. I know who I am and what I believe, and this year has been educational about the definition of friendship. If not marching to someone's drum or telling people what they want to hear makes me a bad man, then hooray for being rotten!

But it's an interesting world out there with plenty of views. And while a lot of the news is on the depressing side, there are some things that aren't so dire and jaded.

Take, for example, Jose Alvarenga of Paraguay who opened his infant son's coffin this week to find that he wasn't dead, as doctors had told him. While it's good news for the new father, it doesn't bode well for doctors and staff at the unnamed hospital in Asuncion. If you can't tell dead from living, perhaps medicine isn't the proper field for you.

Then back to the United States, where in Florida sightings of what is described as a "baby Bigfoot" have been reported in the Baker County area. While it might be an orangutan, the mystery creature has an apparent sweet tooth. Among the witnesses was a bear hunter who lost a few jelly donuts too the furry caper. Subsequent attempts too lure the pint-sized furball out in the open with confectionery treats have failed.

That's all for now when it comes to abnormal childlike behavior. Bear with me as I struggle with graphics, barrel ahead toward autumn and Halloween, and blaze a few trails in the world, as well as my own life...

Dead Comedy Lives Long in History...

"This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It's a stiff! ...Bereft of life, he rests in peace! ...He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!"

While Monty Python became famous for these memorable lines from their "Dead Parrot Sketch", the joke itself predates the British comedy routine... by nearly 1,600 years!

A recently republished collection of some of the world's oldest jokes, Philogelos: The Laugh Addict, contains an ancient Greek witticism written in 4 AD about a man returning a recently-purchased dead slave to his seller. "By the gods, when he was with me, he never did any such thing!" replies the seller.

Fortunately for John Cleese and the rest of his comedic comrades, there were no copyright infringements made on the joke since it was written without prior knowledge of the Greek farce. Besides, the author is long since dead... and unavailable for refund, as well.

If you've never watched the Monty Python sketch, or care to revisit it, here's a clip from a live performance in 1976:


You can also get your own plush "sleeping" parrot in remembrance of the classic British comedy skit.

Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah,...

Disco may be dead, but it just might save your life. Don't believe me? Just ask a doctor.

A study conducted at the University of Illinois College of Medicine experimented with ways to teach people the proper 100 compressions per minute for performing CPR. Their conclusion? Listening to "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees helped 15 doctors keep the proper rhythm.

The song contains 103 beats per minute, which very closely mirrors the required rate. After five weeks practicing CPR while listening to the song, participants performed better at keeping the proper pace.

They also remarked on the irony and fittingness of the song.

"The theme 'Stayin' Alive' is very appropriate for the situation," said Dr. David Matlock who headed the small study. "Everybody's heard it at some point in their life. People know the song and can keep it in their head."

So the next time you hear "...somebody help me; somebody help me, yeah", just think back to that song that won't get out of your head...

And yes. You might just say the DJ saved your life.

Hold the Cadavers, Please...

Pappu Sweet Center and Catering in Wolverhampton, UK, was shut down and fined this week. Police were called back in August to a report of a sudden death and couldn't believe their eyes. Not only were the conditions in the kitchen unfit for food preparation, but the body of a dead man was reclining nearby on a sofa.

One cook was chain smoking and spitting on the floor repeatedly. Fly-laden chicken was defrosting in an adjoining room, oozing blood and fluids onto the floor. A dead rat was found beneath a pot and rodent droppings were discovered in many areas.

Sounds appetizing, right?

After conducting a post mortem, the dead man was found to have died of natural causes, but environmental health officers closed down the business, owned by Jaswinder Singh.

City council officer Nick Edwards is grateful and hopes to send a message to anyone preparing food in unsanitary conditions.

"We are pleased that the council's actions," he said, "have resulted in the courts banning this individual from ever running a food business again."

The Forgotten Civil War Tragedy...

Without a doubt, Pennsylvania is known for Civil War casualties and tragedy. The 1860s saw many deaths of both Union and Confederate troops. Ghosts of dead soldiers are a common theme at war-related locales, yet there may be some undiscovered spirits from one of Pennsylvania's great Civil War tragedies waiting to be discovered. I do not speak of Gettysburg. I am referring to Shohola.

For those unfamiliar with the town, Shohola is a small village seated along the Delaware River along the Pennsylvania/New York border some 60 miles northwest of New York City. As its name (a Lenni Lanape Native American word meaning "place of peace") implies, it is a quiet, unassuming place. Only a metal sign in town hints at the great tragedy which occurred approximately a mile west of downtown resulting in the deaths of dozens of soldiers from both sides of the battle.

It happened on July 15, 1864. A train loaded with over 800 Confederate prisoners bound for the Elmira Prison departed Point Lookout, Maryland. 128 Union soldiers were scattered throughout the train, guarding the prisoners-of-war. Engine 171 fell behind schedule after a delay hunting down a few escaped Confederates and pulled into Port Jervis nearly four hours late.

This same afternoon, Engine 237 pulled down the Erie Railroad tracks laden with coal. The engineer and his 50 coal cars stopped at Lackawaxen to verify that the track ahead was clear. He asked the telegraph operator Douglas "Duff" Kent the status of the track. Though Kent had been warned that another special train was due, the tardiness of the locomotive coupled with Kent's known abuse of alcohol jumbled up messages. Engine 237 left Lackawaxen Station and rumbled through Shohola at 2:45 PM.

Just west of town, the Erie track follows a blind furve through the earth known as King and Fuller's Cut. It was here that the two locomotives met head on. There was only enough time for the engineer of the 237 to jump from the cab before collision. Both the engineer and fireman of the 171 were killed instantly when the wood from the tender leapt into the engine, crushing them to death. The fireman of the 237 met a similar fate, though the crushing logs did not kill him outright; he was pinned against the boiler where he slowly scalded to death, warning rescuers not to come close for fear the locomotive would explode. The first few passenger cars of the train loaded with soldiers telescoped into each other, each compressed to a depth of several feet. countless others were tossed like matchsticks and showered with wood splinters and shards of glass. The corpse of one Union guard sat perched on the reared-up tender still clutching his gun.

Officially, 17 Union soldiers died at the wreck or over the following week from their injuries. An estimated 80+ Confederate soldiers died in the wreck and a lucky five prisoners took the opportunity to flee, never to be found. The dead Confederates were buried in a 75-foot trench not far from the wreck while the Union dead were given proper burials. An investigation found the telegraph operator to blame. He was said to have remained ambivalent toward the accident after hearing the news in his drunken stooper and even attended a dance that very night. The angered townspeople sough vengance against him, but he fled for his life and was never seen or heard from again.

It took nearly 50 years for the Confederate victims to receive a proper burial. Between 60 and 72 bodies were disinterred from the mass grave and buried in Woodlawn National Cemetery in Elmira on June 11, 1911. No one knows for sure if all the victims were accounted for.

A new set of tracks exist today, winding through a stone-lined pass at the accident site along the Delaware River. Citizens of Shohola lay flowers at the wreck site each year in memory of the accident. Often in cases of such disastrous accidents, at least a few souls linger on at the site in quiet memory. If there were ever a place ripe for hauntings, it would be these woods outside of Shohola where nearly a hundred lives were lost almost 150 years ago.

With Chips on the Side...

Something fishy is happening along the Nepal-India border. Those unwise enough to bathe in the waters of the Great Kali may find it to be their final cleansing. Teenagers have gone missing and a few spectators have watched helplessly as people are pulled into the river.

By what, you ask? Killer catfish.

It may sound like the plot of a low-budget science fiction movie, but giant catfish (called Goonch, or more specifically Bagarius yarelli) are killing people. And just like any good movie script, the locals have a theory to accompany this taste for human blood and flesh.

The river is a popular place for funeral pyres. They conclude that the partially burnt corpses sink into the river bottom where catfish feed. Over the years, these Goonch have munched away on the dead bodies and found that although we are often menacing, we are also mighty tasty morsels. With the newfound pallet, the fish have taken to snagging live humans to feed their hungers.

Don't be fooled by visions of deep-fried catfish on plates. These monsters have been hooked at upwards of six feet long and weighing in at 161 pounds. Biologist Jeremy Wade recently launched an investigation of the Goonch catfish and will report his findings on a television documentary. Flesh Eating River Monsters is slated to air on UK's Channel 5 on October 23.

They Really Bought the Farm...

Cows in Tennessee are feeling a sense of unease.

Union County residents along Hickory Valley Road noticed vultures circling a pasture near their property last week. Upon closer inspection, the bodies of eleven cows were found scattered across the property belonging to E. G. McCoy of Knoxville. Assuming the animals had been shot, police were notified. The Tennessee Department of Agriculture disagreed with the verdict.

According to their workers, and those at the University of Tennessee's Animal Clinic, there were no signs of bullet wounds. In fact, no cause of death could immediately be determined. Sergeant Mike Butcher (aptly named) of the Sheriff's Department said that biopsies of the bodies were taken Thursday and investigators are awaiting the results.

"Nobody's seen anything like it," Butcher stated. "It's a first for us."

Four other cows survived. No evidence of foul (or bovine) play could be found. A few local residents claimed to witness UFOs the same night, but authorities aren't ruling anything out at this time.

Of course, if you want to witness your own cow abduction by an alien, you may not have to wait for extraterrestrial life forms. Designer Lasse Klein is working toward production of an Alien Abduction Lamp, complete with human and cow for teleportation.

Just a Sorcerer Loser...

A football match in the town of Butembo in Democratic Republic of Congo turned deadly last week. Not from overzealous fans, but hexing.

Nyuki was losing against the local team, Socozaki. In an effort to sway the odds in their favor, Nyuki's goalie performed a little ritual in an effort to curse the opposition. A brawl started between players, resulting in an all-out riot.

Eleven people were killed. Several others were seriously injured.

Africans take witchcraft as seriously as their football. Throughout the summer, dozens of people have been killed in western Africa for practicing black magic.

And to think fans of American football claim to be rowdy...

The Other Kind of 'Down Under'...

Last week in England, a man returned from the dead... well, sort of.

Michael O'Neill decided a change of scenery might do him a world of good. He departed on June 2nd, unannounced, from his Middlesborough residence on a vacation to Australia and didn't bother to tell anyone about it. With his last-minute trip, notifying neighbors and friends slipped his mind.

Neighbors became restless with worry and the police were called when no signs of life came from Mr. O'Neill's home. Upon breaking in, they found the place deserted. Friends were shocked and saddened to see in the newspaper the reports of the death of Michael O'Neill, leaving behind two brothers: Terry and Kevin.

In an interesting twist, the obituary was for another man, nearly the same age, in his town, who also had brothers with the same names as his own.

O'Neill returned home on August 11th to find his door broken in. As he headed around town, friends were approaching him, filled with shock and relief. One neighbor did receive a postcard from abroad but word hadn't spread fast enough. Yet some people still mistake him for a ghost.

"They can't believe it's me and I'm still alive," O'Neill told The Telegraph. "I'm a nervous wreck because everywhere I go people keep grabbing me!"

Deconstructing Dead Toons...

South Korean artist Hyungkoo Lee's exhibit, Animatus, is currently in Basel, Switzerland at the natural history museum. An odd place for an art exhibit, right?

Well, not for skeletons.

The resin pieces were meticulously crafted using techniques used by palaeontologists to approximate the skeletal structure of creatures. Mr. Lee just happened to have the ingenious idea of turning it on our favorite cartoon critters.

Wile E. Coyote, Road Runner, Donald Duck, Elmer Fudd, Bugs Bunny, and several others.

The morbid creations have caused quite a stir and many laughs. The exhibition runs through August 31st.

A Queer Spirit Among Us...

As I closed my eyes last night, drifting off to sleep, a shadow passed through the moonlight in my bedroom window. Even with my eyes closed, I could detect the change in brightness. Instantly, I somehow knew who it was. In all my research for gay ghosts around the globe, I had forgotten one.

I forgot what time of year it was. July 8th had slipped my mind.

Chris.

I still remember the first day I met Chris. I was killing time in the office of the Lesbian Gay Bisexual Union on the campus of Kent State University. My conversation was interrupted by an intruder. A tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed creature stood in the doorway, dressed in the deep blue uniform worn by drivers from the Campus Bus Service. He introduced himself hurriedly, not having much time. He would return later to meet everyone and have a proper conversation.

He was a new, returning student at the university. After living for the previous 5 years illegally with his boyfriend Marcel in Germany, he had returned to the States and decided to continue his education. He was a very interesting person with a certain wit and sarcasm to him that came across in a humorous way. I was still quite painfully shy in those days, but gradually he worked his way into my circle of friends.

Our friendship took an odd turn one evening. I visited him at his apartment in Cuyahoga Falls. Marcel was very moody and after a few sharp words in German, left for bed. Chris and I stayed up and watched Victor, Victoria on laser disk. We both needed a bit of an escape, so he pulled out a bottle of vodka and some cranberry juice and we each had several cocktails. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but one thing lead to another. I had a bit of a crush on Chris so I couldn't resist crossing that invisible friendship line in the sand.

We talked about it days later. He told Marcel what had happened. I felt incredibly awkward. We stayed friends, though I did distance myself. Months later, he called me out of the blue. It seemed like casual conversation, but I could tell by his voice something was wrong. He apologized for sounding so quiet. He and Marcel had an argument. Marcel had thrown him down a flight of stairs and broken a few of his ribs. It was the first time I began to worry about him.

We became casual friends after that point. The only time we really would see each other was when we crossed paths at his usual hangout, a small bar in Akron called Adams Street. We would catch up, joke, laugh, and drink, letting all the trouble go away for the moment. We never really discussed the bad things in our lives. One of the last times I saw Chris there, he told me that his life had taken a turn for the better. He had found the courage to leave Marcel, found a new, wonderful man, and moved to Tonawanda Avenue in Akron. He gave me his phone number and I said I'd keep in touch.

I'm infamous for being lousy at calling people.

Quite some time passed before I found myself in Akron again, back at Adams Street in hopes of running into Chris once more to catch up on the latest news. I remember sitting down at the bar, feeling someone step up behind me so close it made me jerk around. There was no one else within arm's length of me. I couldn't think of what to order, when a very loud voice inside my head told me 'vodka and cranberry juice'. I sat back, contemplating whether or not the bar was haunted and struck up a conversation with a friend of mine.

That was the night I learned of Chris' death. Almost six years ago to the day.

From what I was told, Chris has battled depression quietly most of his life. He was alone on the night of July 8th (his boyfriend worked nights). He hit his low point and didn't spring back. His boyfriend found him the following morning. He had hanged himself with a telephone cord.

It took me a while to grasp his death. I spent over a year telling myself I should've been in better contact. I could've prevented it somehow. Slowly, the pieces fell into place from that evening. Had it been Chris who stood behind me when I heard the news? The coincidence was too uncanny. There have been several times over the passing years when I believe his presence was around. A friend of mine with psychic abilities whom I trust told me he does linger around occasionally, even giving me ideas for my writing. It has been years since I've visited his grave, but I don't believe in that tradition. I know he's not actually there anyway. It's just his body.

Chris was the first person to tell me about any local ghost stories, which began my interest in the Cuyahoga Valley. In some ways, he was another first: the first gay ghost I ever encountered.