Philip Hackbarth

When I was working as a camp counselor in rural Maine a few years ago, we had what we called a "spook night" -- a kind of Halloween in July. As part of this event, the campers were brought in the camp bus to an abandoned house across the road from a cemetery (there were no other houses for miles). Here they would see a few of us counselors cavorting about as ghosts (white sheets) in front of this "haunted house."

It was dusk on this very, very untraveled road and the five of us were on the side of the house getting our sheets on and a car drove by and spotted us. We were in a festive and fun mood and we waved to them. Minutes later the car drove by again, we waved again and once more the same thing -- it was just the locals enjoying seeing us in our costumes.

A while later it was dark and the bus load of campers had arrived and we ghosts were slowly moving about. I was the ghost in the middle of the road. Suddenly, a car drove up and stopped with me directly in the beam of its headlights. When I recognized the car as the police, I and the other ghosts quickly disappeared into the cemetery.

The police had received a call saying that the Ku Klux Klan was holding a meeting here and they had come to investigate. The director explained the whole thing and we returned to camp a little more spooked than the kids.

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