You know when you're a kid and you know you should not do something, but the urge is too powerful to ignore, so you do it anyway and then end up with your little sister chopping her long hair off to a pixie cut one hour before church services on Christmas Eve?  You never really grow out of it, do you?

This is me and 'reality' ghost stories like Most Haunted, A Haunting, Ghostly Encounters, Rescue Mediums, Paranormal State, what have you.  I know I shouldn't watch them, but I can't help it.  I'm drawn to them in an irresistable way.  But Meg...you'll be up half the night.  Yeah, yeah I know - I'll just leave all the lights on.  But Meg...you'll be overanalyzing every sound.  No, I'll turn the fan on so I won't hear anything.  And I'll bring the Little Miss and the phone to bed. Really, it'll be OK.

So I watch, and I start paying for it the moment I turn the TV off.  I have a litany of rules to follow to keep ghostly visits to a minimum: Don't look in the TV's reflection, the window reflections or mirrors in a dark room.  Double-check the doors, while whispering "There's no such thing as ghosts. And if there is, please don't visit me." to myself.  Brush my teeth...oh, heck. Just grab the kid and snuggle into bed - you can brush your teeth in the morning.  Don't look into dark corners (especially dark ceiling corners, thanks to The Grudge).  Close my eyes...What was that?? Was that a cat?  Don't be silly, Meg. It was nothing. It was the dishwasher. This is ridiculous. Wake up The Wee Miss and make her talk to me until I'm tired.

I gave in to the ghosty shows one recent night.  It was hot, so the fan was on.  The Wee Miss was sprawled out next to me, sleeping away.  Her little body is like a furnace, so I made her sleep closest to the fan.  I woke in the wee hours because something was tugging on the blanket.  Missy Moo.  The fan must be making her cold.  Here, take it. I'm too hot, anyway.  I snuggle back down and start to doze off.

I moved my legs and there it was again - another small tug on the sheet.  I prop myself up on my elbows and peek at Missy.  She's stolen the entire blanket, but she's not interested in the sheet.  Huh.  I must've imagined it.  I roll onto my side, and feel it again.  I roll back the other way, and sit up in a panic, smacking the area where I keep feeling the tugging (which just so happens to be my butt).  I try to kick the sheet away from me to check to see if it was a bug, but it's not moving.  My panic is increasing.  Get off me! Get it off! Get it off!!  The sheet isn't moving!  Something is holding it to me! 

I stand up, and the sheet stands up with me.  I run out in the hallway, and the sheet follows.  Oh my god. What the f*&k is going on?! What is it?!  I get in the bathroom and do some jerky high-knee raises while flailing my hands and making the noise usually reserved for roller coasters (don't judge me).  I finally gather up the courage to touch the sheet. Just a quick tap to make sure it's not alive.  It's not.  Phew!

I start pulling the sheet away from me...but it's stuck pretty good.  WTF??  I give it a good yank and I'm free!  I peek at the sheet and...stare.  Is that...?  What? Is it, really?  It is.

A half-chewed fruit snack was stuck to my butt.  Our resident ghost apparently doesn't like the green ones.  Just in case it we're not being haunted, I made a mental note not to allow the kids to eat while they watch movies in my room.  And no more ghosty shows!!