Just a story about the previous post's ghouls.

I had nearly forgotten this incident until I looked through the post again. This is so embarrassing...
I spent the better part of August designing, sculpting, painting, piping, gluing, dressing and standing these undead dummies, right?
I'd set them up three days out. Weather was going to be fine.
Two nights out from Hallowe'en, I came home from work about midnight, driving the vehicle that doesn't have the house keys on its keychain.
I got halfway up the front steps and realized I wasn't getting in that route.
The only other door I could use, which might be unlocked because I'd spent the afternoon going in and out of it?
The backdoor under the deck, down the hill, behind the house, and I could walk there in the pitch dark through that forest of zom --
Yeah. A misty October midnight, the barest bit of moonlight outlining a dozen zombies standing there, swaying slightly as a light breeze swept by.
I had to walk through them. Alone. In the dark. To an even darker porch and basement.
The nearly dead flashlight I grabbed from the car actually made things worse; it looked too much like a bad movie.
I walked through them slowly, thinking the entire time 'I am a 40 year old grown man and I built these damned things and I know they're fake and if one of them moves I am going to scream very very loud!"
Needless to say, none of them moved, I didn't scream, I walked (did not run) to the door, and all was right with the world.
Oh, I'm a real man, alright. Scared of my own stupid dummies.
But you know what?
I'll set them up, and wait for a dark night, and have you walk to the backdoor through them.

"Don't laugh 'til you can cut fish!"
-- Manuel (Spencer Tracy), Captains Courageous (1937)