“YOU HAVE PICKED A very spine-chilling evening to attend our tour. Ladies and Gentleman, my name is Mr. Greg. I will be your curator for this trip.” Our guide’s complexion was frighteningly pale. He had a bushel of chest hair, creeping out of his shirt, and exhibited a chilling vacant stare. He wore a polo shirt that he tucked into his slacks. Mr. Greg resembled a retired history teacher who was far too overdressed for the oppressive southern heat.
“Where are you from, young man?” Mr. Greg asked.
“Hong Kong,” I said. He seemed disappointed with my answer, as he gave me an assuring smile. “I must go over some rules and regulations before we depart. Absolutely no flash photography will be allowed on this tour.”
“How convenient,” I thought. “This was twenty dollars well spent.”
As we crossed an abandoned graveyard, Mr. Greg started boasting about ghostly sightings form previous tours. These were mostly hokey tales. I was not interested in such stories. I wandered off from the group and started taking pictures of the headstones, with my cell phone. Some of the dates went as far back as the 1600’s. Suddenly, like a flash, Mr. Greg appeared out of nowhere.
“I told you no photography! I’m afraid I am going to have to kick you off the tour!”
“Good! I didn’t want to be a part of your tour, anyways!” I angrily walked to my car and drove home.
The next day I returned to the haunted ghost tour office, to register a complaint.
“Can I help you?” the gothic receptionist at the front desk asked.
“Yes, my name is Roger Smith and I attended the ghost tour last night.”
“I’m afraid you are mistaken,” the receptionist said. “Last night was the first night we did not do a tour in over thirty years.”
“What? How could this be? I attended the tour with Mr. Greg. There was an entire group of people with me!”
“Mr. Greg fell ill and is no longer with us. There was no tour last night!”
“He is no longer with us in that he is retired, or no longer with us in that he is dead?” I asked.
“Yes!” the receptionist said.
Without warning the lights faded and an arctic chill consumed the room. The receptionist vanished. “What is going on?” I thought. I hurriedly exited the building and returned to my vehicle. As I departed, I heard a haunting voice howl in the distance, “Never Return!” Many years passed, as I heeded his warning, never to speak of these matters, or return, until this very instance.
Image Credit: ©House Beautiful
MEET THE AUTHOR:
BRIAN SIMMONS is a middle school, social studies teacher in John’s Island, South Carolina. He graduated from East Carolina University, with a B.A. in History. Brian is a United States Navy Veteran, who served in Operation Iraqi Freedom. He currently lives in Charleston, South Carolina with his wife Linda.
