xCJx

 We were dumb in those days. Unnecessarily brave. We sought out danger; we thought it couldn't harm us. We looked for evil, justifying it to ourselves by calling it excitement, a cheap thrill. We'd done our rounds to the local haunts -- Hissom Memorial Center, an abandoned asylum for the mentally handicapped; Rolling Oaks, a well-manicured cemetery with an over-abundance of shadow people; Sparky's Graveyard, the final resting place of an Indian caretaker, beheaded by the metal roofing of his shed during a storm; old Highway 97, where a young man was struck by a car on a rainy night, and his ghost still tries to make the trek home each time