A Spooky Story

When I got up this morning, there was a pot of hot coffee ready.  That’s all.  End of story.

Oh, except for the part about how I live alone.  And I did not make that coffee.

Oh, and guess what: It’s Halloween!  O-o-o-o-o-h!  And I just happen to live in The Last House on the Left.  O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h!   Coincidence?  I think not.

I looked around nervously.  Could there be someone hiding in the garage who had prepared the elixir?  And if so, did he make it for me, or for himself?  (Of course it would be a he.)  Was he just about to pour a steaming cup when he heard me stumbling down the hall?  Was he out there now, fists clenched in frustration, whispering, “Rats” – or worse?  (After all, that’s where I keep the chainsaw.)

And if he made it for me, what was his motivation?  To scare the living bejesus out of me? Or get me fully awake for the horror to come?

But no, the door to the garage was locked with a deadbolt on the kitchen side.  He couldn’t have slipped through that door and then locked it, too.

I poured my coffee, added cream and sugar, humming softly like everything was normal.  I started meandering about the house, cup in hand, acting casual.  I caressed the leather sofa in the living room and then peered over; was he behind it?  No…  I set my cup on the bar in the party room; was he crouched underneath it?  No…  I glanced toward the fireplace; was he standing erect inside, with just his jeans and jackboots showing?  No…

I continued wandering.  Down the hall, into the guest room to gaze out at the sunny day; was he pressed up against the wall behind the curtains?  No…  I stepped into the office, turned the computer on while looking back over my shoulder into the closet; was he lurking there?  No…  In the guest bath, I put the toilet lid down while I peeked behind the dreaded Psycho shower curtain; but was there a figure with a raised arm holding a big knife?  No.

At that point I breathed a sigh of relief.  I had exhausted the possibilities.  Because he couldn’t be in the same master suite from which I had just emerged minutes before.

Could he?

Well, clearly I spend too much time with Investigation Discovery TV.  Yes, I watch serial murderers while grading student papers.  It tempers my desire to kill.  (No, not my students; the grade school/middle school/high school teachers who somehow managed NOT to teach them how to write using proper English grammar, punctuation and spelling.  Now that’s a horror.  But I digress.)

Secure in the knowledge that there was no hatchet-wielding psychopath in my immediate vicinity, my mind turned to other possibilities.  Could I have made the coffee myself?  That was impossible.  I had gotten up around 4:00 to pee, but I went straight back to sleep.

I do sometimes set the coffee pot up before I go to bed, meaning that I put in the filter, the French Market New Orleans coffee, the water, and a dash of cinnamon (mmm).  But I don’t set the timer because I’m too lazy to get out the instruction booklet that came with it and figure out how.  Especially when it’s 10:30 and I’ve already been dozing on the couch, or I can’t wait to get back to that great novel that’s open on my Kindle.

Could I have accidentally set the timer while fumbling with the pot?  Perhaps it had been previously set for 7:00 a.m. and had just dripped its last drop when I came into the kitchen.  Frankly, that’s the only explanation that makes any sense to me.

I never considered the possibility that it might have been a ghost or a goblin or a zombie or some other kind of non-human perpetrator.  Even the shows I watch are all about true crime and forensics.  I’m the I Fucking Love Science type, not the metaphysics type.

But I do know this:  It was almost an other-worldly experience to get up to the smell of that coffee, already made.

So I think I’ll just go and dig out that instruction manual now, while I’m wide awake.

Care to share a spooky story of your own?

Aging Elvira

I’ve played Elvira for many a Halloween. 

This year I decided to kick it up a notch with

Aging Elvira.

119 thoughts on “A Spooky Story

  1. That is crazy . I like how you didn’t run out of the house . you tried to think what if you had set the coffee your self. whoever made you coffee was nice. You know I have a few experiences with ghost encounters. One is my grandfather every year around his birthday I dream of him then he will appear out of no where. when he does show up he smiles and disappears. I wish he could bring me coffee. I am glad no one was at the house to harm you. just a freshly made coffe ready for you to start your day.

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  2. Im surprised that you were calm enough to act normal in your house and pretend you didn’t see the person that made the coffee is there was one. Im not a believer in ghosts, but that’s because I’ve never had an experience myself.

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    • I don’t believe in them either, so it was easier to keep a calm head, search the house, and decide that it must have been the timer.

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  3. What a creepy story, my guess was that you had a timer on it and it was automatic but since you mentioned that you never figured out how, that was chilling. Also, I LOVE your Halloween costume, she is one of my favorites, as are you!

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  4. So brave. Knowing me, I would’ve walked out and hired the Ghostbusters. I can’t handle anything spooky especially in spooky season. I believe it was probably the timer. I wonder if its happened since with the coffee.

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  5. I would of reacted the same way and looked around to find something/someone. I hope it is not someone though. Nevertheless, there is something magnificent about the smell of coffee. Fun fact about me is that I set time for a whole month to search for the best coffee; meaning I tried many and now I can say I have found the one “Bru instant” coffee.

    I really enjoyed reading your post Professor Hoggan!

    -Omar Mercado Soto

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    • Wow, a coffee lover like me! I’ll have to try yours. My favorite is French Market New Orleans coffee, which is really strong and I make it with heated cream and brown sugar, plus a little cinnamon. Yum!

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  6. When I first started reading the post, I gave a little chuckle. Definitely my kind of humor. It was funny that you decided to pour yourself a cup of the hot coffee that mysteriously appeared in your kitchen. Definitely a great idea. When I head “Yes, I watch serial murderers while grading student papers. It tempers my desire to kill.” I just about lost it. I love this story! I would classify this as a comedy in my book. 😉

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    • Thank you! And you know what, Myra? I never thought I was funny until I started writing this blog. Some posts are serious, but some definitely brought out my humorous side.

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  7. I’m super scared of ghosts and anything that deals with them but for some reason i like to scare myself more and read about them so for sure this blog title got to me! If I had woken up to that I probably would’ve freaked out and left the house lol. I have had my own fair share of ghosts and things of that like so maybe that is why I would’ve left instead of trying to see who’s in the house. I most likely would not have tried to go near the coffee either. With my ghost experiences, I have heard them, seen them or they have done something totally weight. My first ghost experience was when I was in junior high or high school at my parent’s house and I saw a lady in red standing in our living room who looked exactly like my friends mom who was over at that time but she was already outside in the car. So ghosts and me are a no no and the dark is not my friend!

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  8. what a creepy story! Good thing you handled the situation very calmly and didn’t called the cops immediately. if you’re going to ask me, i think you just forgot that you had set the timer on it. Great story by the way. 🙂

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  9. Undoubtedly a creepy story. I have had similar experiences and never really come to a realistic conclusion on how the event may have occurred. I love science and the brain is a powerful tool. But I do not question the existence of spirits.

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  10. This is neat. I like how I can see the vivid image as I read. When you touched the sofa I felt the soft leather on the tips of my fingers. I could imagine myself doing something like that. Yet, who am I kidding; I would of ran out.

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