I remember those ghost stories, too--"The Golden Arm"--"The Black Velvet Ribbon." There was always some kid who told them really well.
I remember the first time I heard the Golden Arm. I was 8 and on a week's vacation with my parents at a beach resort. One of the guys who lived there, and old Irish man, set up a bonfire, and gathered all the kids. He told us the Golden arm story.
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How come some people get to live in California, when other, much more deserving people have to live with skeeters in the back yard?
Bloom where you are planted, hun. Or, maybe, come up and visit a certain Northeastern city. Warm our chilly hearts with your Southern sarcasm -- errr.... I mean charm. ;-)
