Have you seen the ghost of Tom?

Long white bones with the skin are gone.

Woo-w-r-ritty-chilly with no skin on. That erie ditty you just heard, it's a folk song. I encountered it for the first time in one of the most unexpected places, an elementary school concert.

I was in Knoxville, Tennessee, Halloween at the time visiting my goddaughter,

and her parents, of course. Like a good god parent, I attended her school function with enthusiasm,

but frankly, I was bored out of my head. These kids were cute and all, but there's only so many

off-key verses you can hear of Yankee doodle before you want to tear your skin off.

But after that song, the one about the ghost of Tom, my tune changed, so to speak.

The lights dimmed and all of the kids on stage pulled on these paper skull masks.

And let me tell you, watching dozens of skeleton children sing

those haunting words, sent a chill through my bones. I loved it. I watched rapped as the music

teacher conducted her young undead horde. She was a curly-haired young woman who waved her hands

with the intensity of a great maestro. That's when I noticed something

odd. Her left hand was clad in an elbow-length opera glove, a la Michael Jackson. Something told

me it wasn't for a dramatic effect. After the concert, I sang my goddaughter's praises, then

tracked down that music teacher. I congratulated her on a successful show

and she thanked me. Then, extending her opera gloved hand, she introduced herself as Melody.

Finally, I asked her, where'd she learn that creepy-ass song? Melody explained it was based on

folklore deep in the mountains of eastern Tennessee.

She knew it intimately.

She paused to tug on her satin glove.

In fact, she lived it.

...