It's Okay To Be A Coward

I go to the refrigerator for ice. As I pull open the freezer door, I sense a large presence behind me. It is dark, just past shadow color and looming over me. As I quickly turn it disappears. It takes time for my heart pounding to slow to a comfortable beat. I fill my Diet Coke glass with ice, closing the door a bit too hard. The slamming noise makes me jump. No shadow stands behind me, but then I knew that before I turned.

When the shadow comes I know it. Every hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand straight up as though they were frozen with fear. I can sense the shadow when it approaches as one might feel fear walking into a darkening forest at sunset. The darkness about the creature holds the fear. Fear so strong it smells of blood.

I do not know who this creature is, or where it came from, or why it is here. That’s why tonight I will catch this hideous dark being and expose it for what it is.

I’ve watched enough ghost hunting TV specials to know what to do, and a few indulgent charges on my card later I am the proud possessor of an ultra spectrum camera and EMF device. A digitial recorder was easier to pick up at the local Best Buy electronics department.  After setting up, with the camera covering the kitchen and powder covering my hardwood floors, I was ready to catch a ghost.

I saw that old-school trick on a TV show, but instead of using flour, I spread baby powder on the floor to track the spirit's footprints. The thought of ghostly prints left in baby powder on my floors was eerie, looking down to see them proved a bigger challenge than I thought. I couldn’t do it. What if I saw his footprints in that baby powder? What if it clearly indicated that he was standing behind me when I opened the freezer door? Suddenly, I wonder what the hell I am doing. I am not a ghost hunter, hell; I’m not even a brave person. It’s okay to be a coward if you are a girl. My brother told me that when I was six and I fell from the swing. It became my motto for life. It’s okay to be a coward if you are a girl. I never felt guilty that I didn’t try. No need to risk my life on monkey bars, or trampolines, or high diving in the community pool- no sir, not for me. It’s okay to be a coward if you are a girl.

I turned on the digitial recorder and ignored looking down for evidence.

“…recording June 20th, 2010 in the Shapiro home. This is Carol Shapiro and I am in the entrance to the kitchen.  The time is 1:40 AM,” I pause as my mouth is quite dry.

I turn off the recorder and lay it down on the counter. I finish pouring my Diet Coke and hurry to take a drink. I have barely swallowed when I feel it. It is standing behind me. I move my hand to the digital recorder and turn the power back on.

“Who’s there?”

Suddenly, the ultra-red spectra camera flashes. Something activated the sensor just as something was activating my sensors—the hairs on my arm and back of my neck on full alert. I whirl around afraid of seeing it face to face. Nothing was there.

I breathe out several times, calming my urge to run. I turn the recorder off, hit rewind and then play. I hear the intro and even the click of the machine as I turned off and then back on. I hear my voice again as it asked, “Who’s there?”

Before I heard the click of the camera in action there came a sound. It was foul, deep, and dark, matching its host completely. It was time for me to leave. I crossed the baby powdered floor carrying the camera and the recorder with me. I closed the front door and drove to my friend’s house.  Four miles from my house my breathing started to calm to a normal pace. It’s okay to be a coward if you are a girl. I felt no shame in running.

At my friend’s apartment, I placed the recorder on her glass coffee table and hit the play button. My friend and I have watched many ghost shows in our time. Sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn we would scare ourselves with the hunt for paranormal activities every Friday night. This was the first time that I was telling her about my ghost.

Sheryl does not hold the same motto as mine. She actually runs toward fear as if driven by some need to be brave- a hero. It’s hard to explain because I do not understand such behavior.  When she heard the digit recorder imprint of that hideous dark voice she leaned forward, sticking her ear as close as possible to analyze the demon’s words.

“I can’t make out what it's saying,” she was excited, her voice filled with amazement. “You really captured something here, Carol! You really did!”

“There’s a photo too, but I don’t know how you develop…”

She snatched the camera from my hand and popped open the side to reveal a small square object.

“This,” she pointed at me, “is all you do.” She slid the item into her computer and opened the photo. “Oh my God,” she barely whispered the sentence.

The photo clearly revealed the hideous shadow of my fears. It stood behind me as I had suspected. It was larger than I had imagined and far darker than I realized. I felt fear as I gazed upon the photo deciding right then and there that I would never set foot in that house again. I’d turn it into a haunted attraction, make some money at Halloween, give tours, but I would never live there again.

Sheryl had other ideas.

“I have extra batteries, Grab your coat and let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Back to your house. We need to strike while the night is hot with activity.”

“I’m not going back there, ever. It’s in your hands now. If you want to go ghost hunting, be my guest.” I tossed my house keys at her.

“Come on, Carol,” she pulled on my arm. “Don’t be a scaredy-cat, come with me.”

I settled myself on her couch, refusing to budge and huffing loudly. My closest friend in the entire world went out of the door, never to be seen again. Sometimes- I wonder what happened in that house- to Sheryl- to the shadow man that haunted me and hunted her. I never went back into that house. The police returned my camera and the digital recorder. There was no voice on the recorder and no photos captured by the camera. The police told me they found curiously small footprints throughout the baby powder and drag marks that indicated poor Sheryl didn’t go willingly.

Eventually, the house became the neighborhood haunted house where children dare one another to enter its cobwebbed halls. I tried to sell it, but most folks left during the tour and few real estate agents would list the place. Rumors grew into legends and some whisper that they see poor Sheryl running through the old house as a dark mass glides after her.

I’m glad I didn’t go back there. I’m glad my motto is: It’s okay to be a coward if you are a girl.