I grew up in rural Ottawa, Canada. Our kitchen window faced acres of cows and, in the distance, the Gatineau hills. Feeling isolated out there generally scared me the most. Many times I had planned out how I would escape a home invasion.
A sucker for a thrill, however, I would test my fright limits.
One night I was alone in the house. I turned off all the lights and put on the family’s vinyl record of haunted house noises. I distinctly remember feeling scared not so much by the noises, but of how far I’d have to run to be with another person if I got seriously frightened. I don’t think I lasted more than five minutes listening to it.
What’s funnier is that I experienced actual ghost activity in that country home over the five years I lived there — and they didn’t scare me as much as that experiment did. My imagination can definitely get away from me!
The Devil's Muse 