carl weathers and i hunt ghosts

I neither believe nor disbelieve in ghosts. Trying to find them has been an occasional hobby of mine, dating back to when I first received my public library card and immediately checked out all the paranormal books I could find, with the exception of the books aimed at my eight or nine year old age group. I wanted books that looked at the situation scientifically and with a healthy dose of skepticism. I also wanted the poltergeists and the bleeding walls.

At least I did until I actually started venturing out to these places.

I say that I don’t believe or disbelieve in ghosts, but the lump that forms in my throat while deep in the woods at a Civil War battlefield or in an old cemetery at sundown says otherwise. That is why I always bring along my dog, who will be henceforth referred to as Carl Weathers to protect his identity.

There is a supposedly haunted church on my side of Murfreesboro that I checked out on Saturday afternoon. It dates back to around 1820, I think, and was the site of the community’s “hanging tree” in the days when the community law was a bit more improvisational. The church itself is an old one-roomed building with a couple of cemeteries sitting over to the side. I couldn’t see much through the window and didn’t bother to see if it was unlocked.

There are supposed to be a number of ghosts here. There are a couple of ghosts from the children’s cemetery who are always described as playful and harmless, and another known as “the man in the black hat” who met his demise at the hanging tree. The folklore goes that if you see the man in the black hat you have overstayed your welcome and should immediately vacate the premises.

I don’t need to be told that. If you and I are ever ghost hunting together and our hunt becomes a success, I will be long gone before you turn to me and ask: Rex, what the fuck is that thing? A martini glass will be cartoonishly spinning in the space I just vacated. I might not come back for it.

I didn’t see anything on Saturday. Carl Weather might have, as he yelped quite a bit from the car when I ventured back to look at an older part of the cemetery at the edge of the woods. That was sign enough for me to leave, though we plan to go back sometime. He has no choice in the matter.