We had no idea what we were talking about.

But we realized the only way we could pull this off and get the lovely young ladies so scared that they would grab us around the neck and hug us for comfort was to come up with an unbelievably creative story and weave it in such a way that terror would fill the interior of my Chevy Impala.

There was an old house outside our town which had been abandoned for a long time–so long that moss was growing up the exterior walls, and also bats flying in and out of broken windows. We decided this was the best place to go to establish the foundation for our tale.

When we arrived in the pitch-black surroundings, we noticed in the upper left-hand corner window, there was a faint glow, as if someone had placed a candle. It was so eerie that I knew the god of story-telling, wherever he or she may be, had prepared it just for us.

I began my fable.

“In this house an old man killed himself up in that very left corner window, by hanging from a nearby rafter, swinging in the breeze.”

As I pointed to the window, there was suddenly a shadow that swept across the faint glow, floating back and forth.

It was damn spooky–so much so that the girls went absolutely stark-raving nuts, screaming–and I nearly eked out one myself. We huddled together in the car, staring up at the mysterious phantom illumination.

After a few minutes I got so freaked out that I started the car and took off, much to the chagrin of my friend, who still wanted to continue the fear-mongering (perhaps to the point of turning it into a make-out session.)

But you see, even though I made up the lie, and knew it was not true, I had convinced myself of its validity, to the point that I was thoroughly prepared for that old ghost, at any moment, to descend upon us with a big, old-fashioned “boo!”

Let me see: I generated a lie which I began to believe and because I was convinced of it, acted as if it was the truth.

Hell … I became a politician.