Paranormal activity almost killed me

Since Cara and I moved in together a hundred or so years ago, my consumption of horror movies has increased exponentially. She likes them. And, truth be told, the genre has grown on me, partly due to some pretty quality stuff being released in the last decade or so. There’s also some outright garbage that can be enjoyable in its own right.

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A Ghost Story: The Stanley Hotel

So much for all that. I’m sitting up here by the Jesus billboard in downtown Estes Park, trying to keep the Rocky Mountain winds from ripping through my ghostly guts. I just lost my job haunting The Stanley Hotel.


I don’t know what came over me. It’s a plush gig. That’s not to say anyone can do it. Lot of ghosts show up here looking for work, but a lot of ghosts are just regular people. The surfer bro who still thinks knock-knock jokes are funny. The accountant with the braying laugh. The woman who wants to pet every dog that comes around. Those things aren’t scary. They’re just annoying. And no one likes an annoying ghost.
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