I'm not crazy
No, he screams I’m not crazy. He accusatively points at the book. The book had to be lying to him. It had to be a trick; he was above these petty superstitions. He crumbles the paper up, I must be method writing. Oh who am I kidding? Something weird is going on. The grounds keeper did warn him. He shook away the thoughts, I’m not superstitious. I’m taking the day off. He packs away the typewriter and heads into living room to his 72’’ TV. He throws on M.A.S.H. and watches a few episodes. At first all is well and the ills of the day are forgotten. Then he sees recurring nude girl walking across the camp, which is impossible because the show is PG-13. He reaches up with the remote to pause the screen. The screen freeze, the girl does not. Someone or something was calling to him. He yanks the power cord and runs from the room. He huddles against the opposite wall in the hallway comforts himself with words and telling himself to get a grip. You’re letting this take hold, you above this.
He walks back into the room where the TV was thankfully still turned off and thank god for that. The outlet was too left of the entrance to the room next to large hutch. The room was decorated with wooden paneling covering the bottom half of the walks with wood trimming. The couch was clearly old, with weathered leather couch going from once black to gray. He plugs in the TV, sat down and turns it on. Everything is normal, Hawkeye is complaining about something in the swamp with gin moonshine. “Strange,” he says “I wander what caused me to think this way. What is going on here? If I entertain the notion of ghosts, if only for a moment, why would ghost be at the root of this event? They say their energy simply a repeating pattern in life, interacting with the world past their time. I don’t believe in evil, everything is an endless shade of grey. Everyone is unable to define itself forever taking shape. Since science is simply the supernatural finally explain. But why me and why this time?” His mind asks, why not you? You’re a wizard of Wall Street and a person who debunks ghost stories. That’s it this has to be some kind of hoax of poor taste. He pulled out the disk and scrutinizes it, it was his. Did they swap it? He rewinds it finding the girl is nowhere to be seen. Hmm, he says scratch his five o’clock shadow. He decides to make coffee and debate this situation. The reason was staring him in the face; he just needs to see it and this he knew not only in his mind but his heart.