In this week’s episode of “Paranormal Witness,” a family moves into a creepy old house in Arkansas and the fun begins: swinging chandeliers, ghostly apparitions, whisperings and slamming doors ensue. Still, the husband is like ‘there has to be a rational explanation.’
He says this even though every morning when the family awakes there is a broken glass on the kitchen counter. Yeah, you have a ghost in your house ‘cause if this crap is happening without a ghost, there’s no rational explanation.
One night their 11-year-old daughter is reading in bed and gets that ‘oh crap someone is watching me’ feeling. The fan in her room is turned off momentarily and then she can see the buttons being pushed to turn it on and off as it goes faster and faster until the motor burns out. And what does Dad think? What an imagination my kid has. That’s right, imagination burns up motors. Who knew?
The family decides to go on a little trip and leaves a girl to house-sit. It starts to pour and Mr. Skep calls up and asks her, “Can you go into the attic and make sure the buckets are placed properly to catch the rain?”
She says, “Even though I didn’t want to go into the attic, I’d do anything the family.” Including die? For someone who claims skepticism of the paranormal, he’s just setup the number one rule of horror movie screenplays – a girl alone in the house for some reason is compelled to go to the attic to check something out and surprise – a door is slammed behind you. It’s safe to say at this point she will no longer do ‘anything’ for the family.
Eventually, the wife who wants to prove what she already knows to be true, wants to prove it false and invites paranormal investigators into the home. The investigation is about to start and right before the moment they are going to go dark, a tree limb breaks in the backyard hitting a transformer causing it to blow. Rationalize that, Mr. Skeppinton.
On to another day where wifey is home alone and hears someone upstairs, becomes unglued and demands Mr. Skep come home immediately. If I made a frantic phone call every time my ghosts were pacing the floor at 3 a.m., someone would not be very happy. They have to live somewhere; live and let live is my motto.
So hubby comes home, goes into the attic and finds the love letters that the ghost has been trying to get these morons to find since they moved in. He actually sees the ghost this time. That, combined with research on the previous occupants and a death certificate, reveals the sad mystery. An unrequited love story of a woman who took it to the extreme by mixing herself a cyanide cocktail. There’s a moral to this story: when love goes awry, get a hobby and save yourself from an un-life of grief and haunting.
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