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Kyle and I, always putting on the bravest front, volunteered to sneak around to the side porch and have a look through the parlor window, while Becky and Joe kept watch out front behind an unassuming row of hedges. Little did we know the scope of our witless adventure at that moment. In retrospect, a cheap bottle of whiskey and a lame party would have probably been a wiser choice for our group that fateful Halloween night.

Keeping low, we climbed the half-rotted steps and shimmied across the porch to the faintly glowing light that bled out from the dirty glass. On a whispered count of 3, we lifted our heads just enough to peer into that old mansion, and what we saw can never be erased from our memories. There, in the flesh, was old Lady Crutchfield, hosting what appeared to be a soiree for the dead.