By Lisa Calvi, Postmedia News
Are those swings moving on their own? I blink hard. Look again. Ever so slight movement. Up the flagpole; a faint flutter. Whew. Just the wind.
On my sunrise walk, I've stumbled upon a playground in Jerome, Ariz. Despite the early heat in the air, goosebumps rise on my arms.
The playground is the one from the book I've been reading, Haunted Arizona. At this hour, the playground is empty. Of humans, at least. According to the book, swings in this playground have been known to thrash wildly with neither wind nor children about.
Ghost hunting in a not-so-scary Sonata
No replies to this topic
0 user(s) are reading this topic
0 members, 0 guests, 0 anonymous users