“This is a huge cemetery—we’re in Historic Charleston. A crowd of people are gathered around a man in old-timey clothes who’s holding an oil lamp above his head. He rambles on about Charleston’s paranormal history, talking about Boo Hags, creatures who “ride” their victims by slipping into their skin and walking around wearing their bodies. “It’s best not to fight a Boo Hag,” says the guide. “They won’t kill ya unless you struggle—they may want to come back again for another ride later, see?” “A...t least we know Boo Hags and possession aren’t real,” I say to Thatcher, like we’re a couple sharing a private joke. His jaw twitches but he doesn’t respond; he just stares straight ahead into the night. The tour group is closed in tight around the guide, but a few other figures are hanging back a little bit. I recognize Ryan, one of the Guides who met me when I first got to the Prism. He’s with a girl who’s about our age, and both of them have the glow and the moon mark.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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