Our theme for the month of October is “haunt.”

Simply put, I am not a Halloween girlie. I hate scary movies, and I’ve certainly never been to a haunted house. I did however attend Fright Fest at Six Flags one year. It ended with me screaming and sprinting (faster than I’ve ever run) away from a zombie carrying a chainsaw. Because I’m sorry, what kind of person is chasing an eighth grader with a chainsaw? Let me know.

I’ve never understood the appeal of hunting down more spooky things during the Halloween season. Real life is scary enough for me, especially these days. Anxiety creates plenty of horror stories to parade through my head at any given moment. No need to watch a chilling movie to get the heart pumping; a simple trip to Trader Joe’s on a busy day can accomplish that!

Not yet knowing my aversion to all things spooky, my mom read me the most adorable and also heart-wrenching poem as a youth. The main character was a ghost.

I have scoured the internet for this story, but my searches have been unsuccessful. Maybe it was so sad they wiped it from the worldwide web. But at least once a month, I quote this rhyme (mostly when I’m being dramatic, usually because my boyfriend won’t stop making dinner to give me a hug…rude!).

Even though I can’t find the story, I can still quote parts of it from memory. This is half because it rhymed, and half because the words (plus the accompanying illustrations) always made me cry.

“Ghosty Ghosty all alone, no one to come to the telephone.

Ghosty Ghosty all alone, he dropped his ice cream cone.”

Okay, that’s not exactly how it went, but that’s pretty close. And believe it or not, there were MORE tragic lines about poor Ghosty. I’m sure it had a wholesome ending where Ghosty found a friend, but all I remember is the little sad ghost-blurb outlined on the page with a smashed ice cream cone on the ground next to him. WHY?

Sticks & stones may break my bones, but words certainly do hurt me.

The Ghosty story still haunts me, partially because I can’t remember how it ends and partially because those were the saddest things I could think of at that age: Ghosty was lonely. And without ice cream. Feeling that loneliness through the page had a profound impact on me.

As a writer, words probably haunt me more than most. In looking back at things I wrote a decade ago, five years ago, or even last month, I can see so clearly ways I could have worded something more eloquently. Or snappier or more precisely. I think of better ideas for a theme once the day has passed. As we all are, I’m haunted by things I’ve said, by things that were said to me, by things I didn’t say, and by things I’ll never have the opportunity to say.

But I also remember the kind words my friends spoke over me when I told them the truth of how sad I was feeling. I remember how my Grandpa used to say “guess what?” just so we would say “what?” and he could say “I love you.” I remember how my dad now does this too. I remember all the words written in Scripture, the spoken Word from a God that loves us. And I remember I’ll never be as alone as Ghosty was. Or thankfully, as spooky.

Olivia Harre

Olivia graduated from Calvin in May 2018 with a double major in business and writing. She now works as an editor in Nashville, Tennessee and is eating her way through the restaurants of her new town. She enjoys weekend trips with friends, petting other people’s dogs, and drinking coffee like a Gilmore Girl.