Last year, I told you a spooky tale, a true story, about a time I was certain — so certain! — someone was in the house with me. 

I have another chiller for you, something for the crunching leaves and dark afternoons. 

When I’m home alone, I turn my bedroom lights on while the sun is still bright. I don’t want to walk into a dark bedroom later. 

Because, you know, ghosts. 

My bedroom — a former attic — tops a staircase shared only by my storeroom. 

And we all know about the demon squatting in my storeroom.  

He’s the reason it’s a mess. Not me. Worst Roommate Ever could do an episode on him. 

When it’s dark, and I’m alone, and I pass the Demon Storeroom to reach my bedroom, I — I want the lights on. 

One evening, many years ago, I ascended the stairs to my bedroom to find not its usual cheery brightness but a yawning dark so deep even shadows were swallowed whole.  

I turned the light on earlier. I know I did. 

But it was off. 

This happened several times over the ensuing weeks. I’d leave the bedroom light on. Later, I’d find it off, the dark beckoning me with its faux promises of safety. 

I was parenting a baby and a toddler then, so I reasoned — Yellow Wallpaper-ed? — myself into thinking I was too busy, too fatigued to know if I actually turned on the light. 

So for a few weeks, I looked at that light switch as I turned it on. And I’d say, “This is Thursday. It’s Thursday and I’m alone for the night and I’m turning this light on.” 

Yeah. The light was always off. 

And don’t tell me it was my kids. They were babies. 

Please. Don’t you think I thought of that? 

It wasn’t visitors, either. I’m an introvert. I don’t have visitors.  

Well, other than the ghostly kind. 

Now, I knew exactly what was happening. We had recently suffered a spate of deaths. It was clear to me our house was haunted by some — or all — of our deceased loved ones. 

I mean, obviously. 

I thanked our ghostly houseguests for checking in on us. I assured them we were fine. I told them they were freaking me out. I told them to go to the light. 

There’s peace and serenity in the light. Did we learn nothing from Poltergeist? 

I told my husband to do the same. 

“No,” he said. “Call the electrician.” 

That was when things became more … obvious. 

One afternoon, home alone as the kids napped, I heard a terrible clatter, like every pot I owned dropped from the ceiling to the hardwood floor. 

There was nothing, of course. The kids were still tucked in bed, sound asleep. The house was in order. 

“I told him to tell you he’s fine,” I said to the air. “He won’t listen. Also, you’re still freaking me out.” 

A few weeks went by. Lights that should have been on were off.  

You know, the usual stuff. 

I was home alone again. The kids were napping again. 

I was walking through my dining room. The chandelier was on because I see, now that I’m writing this, how much electricity I waste in my feeble efforts to ward off ghosts. 

The light turned off.  

Not a flicker. 

It turned off. 

Before I could make it to the light switch, the light was on again. 

“I’ll try again,” I sighed, a cold sweat on my belly and my neck hairs standing on end. 

I told my husband about the clatter. About the light. 

“I don’t really think it’s ghosts,” I said. “But I think it’s ghosts. I need you to tell them you’re fine.” 

To my absolute surprise, my husband looked at the ceiling “I’m fine,” he said. “Please leave.” 

Do I think — in that moment — my husband was open to the supernatural? 

No. 

You’re cute, though. 

I think he was tired of every light in the house burning bright for hours each day.  

But of course, the activity stopped with his proclamation.  

Which makes him just as good as Father Merrin and way more alive. 

When I look back on that time, it’s such a blur. Births and deaths and lights, so many lights. Did it really play out that way? Did lights switch off on their own? Or were the lights my own creeper woman, scrabbling behind the yellow wallpaper? 

Well, hey. We’ll never know. 

But I’ll hang around while you turn on your lights.  

Let’s hope they stay that way. 

Happy Halloween!