Hell Spawn

Now I’m not saying that the kids on my Ghost and Graveyard Tour in Alexandria the other night were anything but well-behaved and cute as bugs. But…

They were all fifth graders, they were divided up into small groups (that should have been a tip-off), and I got all boys. I don’t care how many chaperones are with them, a group of early adolescent male primates are enough to try anyone’s where with all. I’m convinced that Lord of the Flies was not fiction. The 19th century anarchist philosophers surely must have been with all boys.

One guide (who shall remain nameless) referred to his group as “Children of the Corn”, and was glad he brought his crucifix that evening.

At the start of my tours, I always lay down the ground rules: follow me—I know where I’m going; cross all streets with the light or at a stop sign; keep the noise levels down to a dull roar; save all questions to the end of the tour. Immediately, four hands shot up, and we were off and running.

When we got to the end of the tour at Christ Church cemetery, the sound levels truly could have woken the dead, some of whom slept through the Civil War. “What happens if you touch a tombstone?” “I don’t know,” I replied, “maybe you’ll be haunted.” “COOL!!” as they ran amok among the headstones. “I touched two! Maybe I’ll be haunted by two ghosts.” “Oh yeah? I touched three.”

My favorite question, though, was from a kid who asked if I were a ghost. “You have to tell the truth if you are.” Where the hell did he come up with that rule? “Don’t you know that ghosts always lie?” I asked. “So to answer you question, no, I’m not a ghost.” And left him to ponder that one.