“What are we going to see today?!” I asked Mom when she stopped the Covered Wagon at the side of a 10-mile-long dirt wagon trail. Dirt wagon trails often lead to plenty of wilder-ness and adventure, and I was glad it was going to be the kind of adventure we have outside the Wagon rather than in it. “We’re going to a ghost town!” Mom announced.
When we got to the top and found the ghost town, I was underwhelmed (and that’s a lot coming from a dog off his leash). “This isn’t a ghost town, it’s a ghost house,” I pointed out. “And it’s not even ancient like Mark Dwayne. Look, the inscription says Niko was here 2019.” “You’re right,” Mom said. “This seems less like a historical site and more like somewhere people come to get drunk.” “What’s the difference?” “Maybe it’s just how many signs there are outside, and if somebody’s going to get mad at you for being drunk there.” “Do ghosts sleep on mattresses?” I asked, looking at the one piece of furniture in the room. It seemed like if you could walk through walls, sleeping on the hard floor wouldn’t be such an issue.
Oscar the Ghostbuster