Ghost stories are not common in my family. Sure, a number of different family members have lived in an old farmhouse where things have ... happened. Weird things. Shaking beds. Screen doors flinging themselves open to welcome company. That sort of stuff. But nothing you wouldn’t see in a Disney movie.

But there is one exception. I do have an aunt who claims to have had numerous ghostly encounters. She believes that a spirit has followed her from house to house around the Wisconsin countryside most of her adult life.

She’s mentioned objects moving on their own, pans falling from shelves (that had no business doing so), prophetic dreams, self-rocking rocking chairs, things like that. She even believes one particularly intense altercation with a ghost led to a house fire.

Personally, I find that my mind, body, and soul are much more open to the unfathomable possibilities of our boundless universe after I’ve downed four or five cold ones.

One bit of paranormal phenomena my aunt has described is a phantom car that would pull into her driveway. You could hear it pull up and see it, and then – poofity poof! – it would mysteriously disappear. I’ve read of similar accounts from all around the world. And this has to be the least frightening ghost activity of which I’ve ever heard tell.

Why is this scary to people? If this happened to me, I’d be relieved.

“Crap, we’ve got company. Better put some actual pants on. Oh wait, it’s cool – their car supernaturally vanished.” Aaaaand it’s back to watching old Transformers cartoons on YouTube.

So, yeah, ghost stories are not common in my family. However, a strong appreciation for beer is not uncommon, and this might explain a few things. Personally, I find that my mind, body, and soul are much more open to the unfathomable possibilities of our boundless universe after I’ve downed four or five cold ones. After six or seven, I’m less “open to possibilities” than I am “one with the cosmos, able to phase my atoms and molecules through the infinite beauty and blackness of friggin’ life itself, man!” After that, I just get really sleepy.

Honestly, I wish we had more paranormal tales snaking through the branches of our family tree. Despite being a lifelong scaredy cat, I like being frightened as much as the next guy – as long as it’s under controlled circumstances. I might need a “chaser” after a scary movie, like an episode of My Little Pony to follow up a slasher flick, but hey, that’s normal – am I right? I’m right.

I’m particularly afraid of the dark. I slept with a hallway light on until I was in high school. Nowadays, these fears really only surface while leaving a basement. It doesn’t even need to be a dark and/or creepy basement. And the weird thing is that I literally need to be leaving for the fear to strike. If I’m in the basement, I’m fine. If I’m just standing on the steps, it’s all good. But when I’m walking (or, let’s face it, scrambling) up the steps with my back to the basement, I’m kind of overtaken by a blind rush of fear, and I need to get out.

Some part of my “lizard brain” must take over, tapping into ancient self-defense mechanisms. I assume our caveman ancestors evolved deep-seeded instincts to avoid dangerous things like inescapable spaces, raging bears, and spooky ol’ cellars, and that programming is still tucked away – life-saving reactions waiting to be accessed when needed.

Or maybe I watched too many Garfield Halloween specials growing up.

For whatever reason my fear is triggered, the jolt of adrenaline I get while bounding up my basement stairs is actually kind of fun. It’s a rush. I like it. And that desire to be scared, even just a little, is why I wish we had more ghost stories in our family.

Stories like that just make your family’s history that much richer ... as long as they happen to someone else. I want to hear these stores, not live them. After all, I still want to sleep at night.