July 20, 2015
I was on a ghost tour in Cape May NJ recently. We were riding in an old-fashioned trolley and the guide was relating the haunted history of each house. In this house is the ghost of a jilted lover, she told us, and in another house the spirits of long-dead children still roamed the halls.
It was dusk and the mood was right. There were old Victorian mansions and smaller, centuries-old homes. She regaled us with stories of phantom men who wander the streets, and stories of business rivals who still duel in the night.
As we went down one particularly old, cobblestoned street, she warned us that he place in Cape May that scared her the most, that creeped her out more than anything else, was right ahead of us.
All eyes went forward, looking for the next old home or haunted alley.
We saw this:
This weird guy on the 12th hole of a miniature golf course caused her more sleepless nights than any ghoul or apparition ever did.
Me? I think there is something evil in the eyes.