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  • I just recently found out that one of my friends from grad school, Eric, used to live right next to the most haunted house in Savannah.

    My family and I were on a haunted walking tour of Savannah when we happened upon his street and watched as a new SCAD student hung a curtain over the lonely ground floor window of his old place.

    The tour guide invited the brave in our group to walk over to the most haunted house in Savannah and place our hands upon the brick wall. He warned, however, that the experience may not be pleasant depending on our susceptibility to ghostly activity.

    I walked towards the house fearlessly with my sister-in-law and placed my hands over cool brick where windows once had been.

    I thought about the family that had once lived there, especially the ones who didn't live to tell the tale. I began to hear a high pitch screeching in my ears, but decided it was someone's radio playing loudly in the distance. Then I felt energy being sapped out of my arms, leaving tingling nerves and muscles behind.

    That's when I let go.

    I'm not one to believe in ghosts, mostly because my experience of them has been limited, but ghosts of the past proceeded to rise to the surface as I remembered drunken nights out in 2003 when we would stumble back to Eric's apartment after a night out at the Velvet Elvis or Pinkie Masters. I also remembered a night when we hung out in the parking lot that sat outside his door, I just can't remember exactly why. I also vaguely remember a film I helped out on that was either shot in or around his apartment, but that's when my memory gets especially vague.

    It was at that moment I then realized that I do believe in ghosts. I believe in the ghosts of memories past, memories that keep us all tied together no matter where we go and what we end up doing. I believe in the ghosts that haunt me (most for good, some for bad), that make me who I am today.

    I believe.

    Nice to read you on here Eric :)
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