Possessed by a Ghost

Although I don't believe in ghosts, there was once a time when I was convinced I was either being possessed or attacked by one.

It all happened in my church basement, which is a truly creepy place. During youth group meetings, we would turn off all of the lights in the basement and play hide-and-seek, an activity that was fun, yet terrifying. Additionally, we'd sit by candle light and tell frightening tales to the point I was convinced I might be killed during the night. Though we were a church group, we spoke far more of spooky spirits than the holy variety. As terrified as I was, I pretended as though I were one of the brave ones, insisting to my friends that their fears of specters were unfounded.

For a while, the youth group operated a seasonal haunted house from one section of this same basement because the eery, dank environment was the perfect setting for one, until certain members of the congregation thought it was pretty blasphemous to glorify ghouls and murder and put an end to this tradition. I can't say I disagree with their perspective, but it sure was a lot of fun while it lasted. Although the haunted house had to cease, it was never sufficiently cleaned up; spray-painted messages of DEATH and STAY AWAY remained on the walls, and various makeshift "torture" devices were strewn amongst the rooms. This condition proved problematic when a new custodian for the church up and quit after a week, explaining that our church was haunted and apparently condoned ritualistic killing.

Obviously, this situation needed to be addressed, so it was left to the youth of the church to clean up the mess and turn that section of the basement into something more appropriate, like a rec room. Naturally, this necessitated a new paint job, so we obtained paints and brushes. I sloppily applied paint to the walls when all of the sudden I felt a surge through my body. Specifically, it felt as though both of my wrists had been fiercely karate chopped and then the pain pulsed through me. No one was close to me, however, so without an explanation for why that occurred, I decided to ignore the incident and continue painting.

I painted for about another ten minutes until a similar rush of pain attacked me internally. Again, it was as if I were grabbed by the wrist and overcome. This time I asked allowed what had happened, but none of my friends had any sense of what I was talking about. Frightened, I began contemplating the source of this feeling. Was it... was it a ghost? I didn't believe in ghosts, or at least, I didn't want to believe in ghosts, and I certainly didn't want to believe I was experiencing anything ghoulish.

As I persisted in painting, I wondered whether a ghost might resent me covering up its satanic imagery. Despite my effort to maintain some common sense, I panicked that perhaps a ghost was now possessing me. While battling logic and paranoia, I felt the same sensation overcome me a third time, only this time I refused to let it get the better of me so I continued painting as if the pain were not bothering me. This decision was swiftly followed by a fourth and fifth pulsation, at which point I recognized something distinctive about my action. I was painting over an electrical outlet. Wet paint... electricity... might I be shocking myself? Being not too bright, I decided to put this theory to the test and paint over it again. Indeed, it wasn't a ghost, it was an electrical shock. Then, being absolutely not bright at all, I tested it again, you know, just to be sure. Owww! Yup, still a shock. Clearly, I shouldn't fear ghosts, as they'd probably attempt to possess bodies smarter than mine.