Stay-Cation Tuesday Update - Ghost Stories

(Above) A purported picture of the Fox 45 ghost taken
in the basement promotion office of the TV station in 1993.
The ghost is said to be the spirit of one of the victims
of an 1872 fire that occurred on the site of the station.

Spring break continues and so does our backyard camping trip extravaganza Stay-cation. We slept out once again in the frigid Southern California springtime. The temperatures dipped well into the upper 50's overnight as we huddled together in our back patio tent telling ghost stories.

I regaled the boys with my tale of the Fox 45 Ghost. That's right, when I was a young man, I used to work at a haunted TV station. For years I heard stories about the slamming doors and the rattling chains and the mysterious people wandering the hallways. But I always chalked those stories up to the alcohol and lack of sleep. It was not until I came face-to-face with the Fox 45 Spectre that I did truly believe, for my own eyes and ears would not be deceived.

It began innocently enough. I was working the swing shift in my promotion producer gig, 2p - 10pm. This meant I spent the last 4 hours of my workday either editing in edit bay or writing at my desk down in my basement office with only a few other people left in the building. Being surrounded by lots of TV's and humming equipment meant there was little reason to get creeped out, there was simply too much noise. But that was soon to change.

I had just returned from dinner. My usual meal consisted of two slices of the greasiest pizza on the planet from a joint up the street. The pie tasted delicious, but it was not unusual for the grease and cheese and spices to cause my innards to begin grumbling. So it was nearly 7pm when I retired to the basement bathroom to try and ease my pizza miscomforts. I was using my time on the seat wisely and was putting new cover sheets on the TPS reports when I heard a noise just outside of door. Noise? Who would be making a noise, there's no one else in the building?

Well, almost no one. You see, I worked with a couple of technicians who's work took place on the other side of the building. I had long suspected that these technicians were sneaking down to my promotion office after hours and stealing the logo coffee mugs. In fact, it was one of those technicians who had taken a bite out of an eclair I had accidentally left in the refrigerator one night. Revenge would be mine. I would catch them in the act of stealing from the promotion office!

I quietly and carefully wiped, pulled up my pants, put my ear to the door and listened. The thief was right outside of the door, rooting through the box of mugs. Excellent. I waited until the footsteps came right to the door. Then...

I opened the door! Nobody was there. They must have heard me and ran. So I ran in pursuit. I ran and ran and ran looking under desks, behind doors, under coat racks. No dice. I missed them once again.

I returned to the bathroom to finish my business and once again was deep in my work, putting new cover sheets on the TPS reports. Within minutes, I heard the footsteps return. Again, I wiped, pulled up my khakis and girded for a sprint. I listened at the doorway. This time, they spoke. There must be two of them. I pressed my ear to the door to listen to their words: "Eclair" the voice said, "eclair." Oh, this is personal. I waited patiently for the voice to get closer. I waited. I waited.

Wham! I opened the door... no one there. I sprinted for the steps. There was only one way out of this basement and I could catch them if I hustled. I reached the bottom of the steps and looked up. No one there. Wham!

There were still back in the storage room, digging for mugs (and presumably another one of my eclairs). My back stiff, my face scrinched in anger, I walked briskly back to the storage room to confront the technician. As I turned the corner, I saw... it.

The spectre wore clothes from the 1800's, burned and frayed, hair long, beard matted in knots. He turned, his face a wormie mess, "Eclair!" it said. "Eclair!" it hissed, its horrific breath shooting up my nostrils. Those eyes. Those eyes! He shoved the eclair in his mouth, took a bite and threw the rest to the ground. Before I could react, the ghost evaporated into the solid wall, disappearing as quickly as he appeared.

I again sprinted for the steps, this time in a Scooby-Doo-like dash for safety. I didn't stop running until I was out the front door and standing on street. All I could think of was that I was going to go home for the night and forget about writing and editing. I refuse to work in a haunted office. There was only one problem. My keys to my car were still in the basement, on my desk. Down there. In that basement office. With the Fox 45 ghost. "Noooooooooooooo!"

The End?