In an effort to engage in hands-on, investigative reporting, three intrepid members of Generation’s editorial staff trekked to the woods outside Clarence, New York last Wednesday night in search of a first-hand experience with hauntings, ghosts, and all things paranormal.

The measure of our success is questionable, but the joy is in the seeking, as all ghost-hunters know. Just so we’re clear, I am certainly not one of those. I don’t like ghosts. I don’t like the idea of ghosts. I get scared watching those ghost-hunting shows on TV, so much so that I don’t sleep well for days. I haven’t seen a horror movie since I was ten, and I will refuse to see one until I die. I am probably not the best person to take to a supposedly haunted location, especially one located in the midst of deep woods where white supremacist rallies are reportedly held and where people have allegedy disappeared.

Delaware Road in Clarence, New York, located in a sparsely populated area on the outskirts of the suburban town in the middle of what quickly becomes farmland, is haunted. Or so we were told. On the drive to Clarence, we did little but scare ourselves. It’s hard not to feel like you are in a horror movie when the roads become bumpy, the moon shines over the tops of bare, black trees, and an ethereal fog rolls in, so thick it seems almost fake.

We arrived at the road and pulled the car into the parking lot of a small bar located on the corner. I heard country music coming from inside. A good sign. Ghosts don’t like country music.

Looking down the road wasn’t that bad. Just like looking down any other pitch-black road surrounded by thick forest where the ghost of an old man supposedly walks with a lantern to confuse those who attempt to find him. Visibility ended about 100 feet in front of us, and we’d forgotten flashlights. Oh, people have also been reported to get beat up while searching for ghosts, probably by local kids who think it’s funny. Unfortunately for us, no one had a baseball bat. We were in poor shape.

After some hasty deliberation, we got out of the car, put on sweatshirts, and began walking. It was silent except for the occasional call of a crow and the distant chirping of crickets. There was no hushed rumble of cars, no voices except for our own.

The lights from the bar, now a few hundred feet behind us, dimmed as the fog swirled around us, circling above our heads like a thick sheet and flowing in waves in front of us. The moon was to our right, casting a shadowy glow over the trees. I couldn’t see more than twenty feet in front of me.

We laughed and joked about the possibility of ghosts. Though the prospect stuck in the back of my head, I was more scared about the possibility of cars speeding down the road and running us over. “No Trespassing” signs were posted on tree trunks every few feet. A tree trunk shone white in the moonlight and my heart jumped as we passed it. It seemed to move. I did not feel welcome.

An opening in the forest appeared to our left. Tire tracks and skid marks were visible all down the road, as if people had been driving and suddenly turned around. Some of the tire tracks led into a small driveway. “Time to go,” I thought, frantically. In front of a hidden driveway leading to some house of hell was not any place I wanted to be on a Wednesday night. Our footsteps were the only noise I could hear. It was quite literally deathly quiet.

“What’s that?” I asked quietly, hoping that my question would go unanswered.

“What’s what?” Andrew answered. “You’re an idiot. Little lady can’t handle some ghosts?”

“No, seriously,” I whispered. “Shut up. I see something.” Something behind a tree seemed to have shifted, and reflected a bit of moonlight. It was small, and moved back and forth in a small circular pattern. I took a few steps toward the side of the road. A ditch separated me from where the trees began, but I could still see the light. It had receded farther into the forest but was still moving.

Suddenly, it flashed brighter and bounced up and down, as if it was taking steps toward me. My heart began thudding and pounding through my chest. I heard Andrew and Tara scream and begin running. The light grew until it resembled the brightness of a campfire, hovering in midair. A buzzing noise filled my ears and out of it, I heard a deep voice speaking, like that of an old man.

It said, “Ghosts aren’t real, idiot. Happy Halloween.”