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Column: Ghost stories
Tom Poland.jpg
Tom Poland
Great Aunt Annie, long-buried in some graveyard up Asheville way, told me ghost stories when I was a boy. I’d sit by a hissing wood stove on a bitter night and chills gave me goosebumps, but Old Man Winter wasn’t the culprit. Aunt Annie’s tales were stories about a dead woman on full-moon nights who walked through split-rail fences and mysterious white apparitions that spooked horses on dirt roads at night.