Usually it was a little chit like Quartermain. They’d lift their ghost stories from ghastly comic books they’d read and scare the shite outta the rest of us with them. Next thing ya know… there’s footsteps outside the tent. Or a banshee screeching in the far distance. Or soft, quiet maniacal chuckling out in the trees.
Of course now that I’m older nothing scares me at all anymore. Except maybe The Goat Man. Or maybe the Outhouse Monster.