Like probably millions of American children in the 80's, playing with G.I. Joe figures was a major component of summer fun for myself and several friends. On one occasion, Joe, Gary, my brother Matt, and myself had taken up positions in the garage belonging to Joe's grandmother. The battle was heated, the stakes high. In particular, Joe and I were engaged in a deadly battle, my Snow Cat against his MOBAT, when his grandmother called us to the house for Kool-Aid; we loved her Kool-Aid, because she bought the pre-sweetened kind, but then used the recipe for unsweetened Kool-Aid mix, so the battle was paused for refreshment. Careful to leave everything exactly where they were, we filed out of the garage, closing the main door and keeping an eye on the side door, which we closed behind us, for fear of someone tampering with the action. We drank our Kool-Aid together; no one went into that garage.

Thirst slaked, we returned to the battle; my position was seriously disrupted, however, by the fact that the Snow Cat was missing. A frantic search of the garage revealed it was perched on top of a filing cabinet; it was too tall for any of us to reach, so the cabinet had to be tipped over halfway and the Snow Cat caught as it fell.

Well, we didn't especially want to be in the garage anymore, so we retreated outdoors to consider a plan of action. Inspired perhaps by "Ghostbusters" a program of testing was agreed upon. We decided to offer the spook a piece of Bazooka bubble gum (I don't remember the reasoning behind that decision); a drawing of straws decided I was to be the one to enter the side door, cross the garage to the stairs to the other side, walk up as far as I dared, and toss the gum onto the second floor (not really a floor, just the solid ceiling; it had enough space for a kid such as we were to walk around on it without bumping one's head on the roof).

So into the garage we went, me leading the way, prepared to run at the slightest provocation. I went up the stairs, far enough so I could look around the ceiling area with my flashlight, leaving the gum on the floor, or the ceiling depending on where you're looking from, before panic set in and we fled back down the stairs, across the garage, and out.

After a suitable time passed, it was decided that someone must go in to see if the gum was still there. No one especially wanted to do this, and I don't remember who was ultimately nominated, but it didn't really matter, because when we opened the side door again, lying on the floor, right at our feet, was a piece of Bazooka bubble gum; (unwrapped).

As far as I know those were the last paranormal events to take place in what was otherwise a perfectly innocent, ordinary, small town garage.