Abigail Baker

When I was a kid, we lived in a newly constructed home on a cul-de-sac surrounded by wild North Carolina woods. The neighborhood game was Ghost in the Graveyard and the objective was, much like Hide-n-Seek, to hide and make it back to home-base before the “Ghost” caught you. This wasn’t Hide-n-Seek I guess because it involved the outdoors, dark, spooky woods, and the possibility that a real ghost might actually chase you home. At least in my childlike mind the possibility existed. I once told my father that I *saw* real ghosts after one particularly thrilling game. These ghosts were not my neighbors, but real, green, translucent ghosts spinning in a circle and laughing at me. That they looked like Slimer from Ghostbusters meant nothing. They were real, Goddamn you!

I remember the courage it took to find the very best hiding spots during a cool, autumn night of Ghost in the Graveyard. The best places were, as you might expect, the scariest ones, ones that even the “Ghost” would not dare to go. If you were brave, you scored yourself ample time to make for home-base as the Ghost chased less well-hidden victims. Naturally, there was always, always a rush of adrenalin whenever I’d emerge from my secret spot and make like hell for salvation. The dash was a cross between trying not to pee my pants and spiraling vertigo. If I could overcome both and dodge the Ghost, I was QUEEN!!!! The Queen of Falling Creek Court. And I was safe on home-base.

All grown-up on the REAL home-base.

There were times when I was the Ghost, but few times. Perhaps I was just too good at the game. I could hide from keen eyes like no other on Falling Creek Court. After all, the way in which to become the Ghost was to be the last one to make it to home-base. I never ever wanted to be the last kid, rushing from her spot, sweating bullets, flailing to make it to safety. Not that any kid wanted to be that person, but for me it was exceptionally terrifying. (I still jump from the door to the bed for fear of monsters grabbing my feet.)

I’m an adult now. Well, I think I am. And my observations from my dark hiding spot, is that life is just one continuous game of Ghost in the Graveyard. Some of us run marathons from these nightmares and others watch from the shadows, relieved that the ghosts have left them alone for once. True to my childhood roots, I’ve found myself hiding in the very best spot for many years now, one so secret that no ghost, no matter how clever, will ever find me. But my spot is a scary place. I’m in full-blown pee-pee stance. There are spiders… SPIDERS!!!… and creepy crawlies and dark shadows. It’s lonely here. It’s not suitable anymore.

The ghosts are off chasing some unfortunate adults around a tree. Home-base is clear as crystal at the moment. It is now or never–I will not be the last one to tag home-base. So, I break out of my pee-pee stance and hone in on the target—that steel medallion in the middle of the cul-de-sac that holds salvation.

I’ll make for safety in three… two…