RACHAEL CONROY: I whip out that Ouija board, put my hand on the planchette, and I ask the question, "Ouija, how old am I gonna be when I die?"

CHACHANNA SIMPSON: I see fangs, brown fur... Oh, my God.

That is not a bird.

That is a bat.

ZACH LENNON-SIMON: My hotel looks like something out of The Great Gatsby, my favorite novel.

Entering the hotel, it starts to resemble more The Shining.

(laughter) WES HAZARD: Tonight's theme is "Spooky."

There are moments when the usual becomes uneasy.

Maybe it's a sound we can't explain, a feeling we can't shake, a question that we're afraid to ask.

Whether it's ghosts, body chemistry, or the sheer power of our own imaginations, it's in those moments that we're reminded that what haunts us doesn't always live in the dark.

♪ ♪ CONROY: My name is Rachael Conroy.

I'm from Holliston, Massachusetts.

I'm a mom to three amazing children.

I also have my own financial planning and investment management business where we work mostly with women that need help with financial planning and money management.

How have you seen women's relationship with money and financial independence evolve over time?

Our clients are our friends, and I just like being there for them and seeing them accomplish their goals.

I don't think that my clients are necessarily changing, but when their portfolios change, they become more confident.

Switching over to storytelling.

I'm wondering, you know, was storytelling part of your life or your career prior to this?

I mean, I understand this is your first time on stage, but do you incorporate storytelling at all in your work?

Was storytelling a big part of your family when you were a kid?

My mom is a huge storyteller.

She took that space in the family.

So I always sort of just listened.

I didn't participate.

I wasn't a storyteller.

My mom right now is suffering from dementia, and she's losing her words.

And it's just interesting how... the timing of this, now I'm sort of stepping up.

And I'm so excited to have this opportunity to kind of take over her role and be a storyteller.

"What if."

What if you knew for almost your entire life how old you would be when you die?

I'm six years old.

My parents move me from beautiful Cape Cod, Massachusetts, to Houston, Texas.

I'm in a different world.

We move into this neighborhood with hundreds of families, and it seems that everyone we meet wants to talk to us about their God, their faith, how much they love their church.

Although my parents politely decline every invitation we get to go to services with them, they still welcome us.

They kindly refer to us as the Yankee family.

I instantly have so many new friends.

I'm ten years old, and there's this craze that's taking over.

It's called the Ouija board.

This is a board game, and on it has the letters A to Z, the numbers zero to nine.

It comes with this three-pronged triangle with a circular window at the top.

This is a game piece.

It's called a planchette.

You put it on the board, you place your hand on top of it.

You ask Ouija a question, it spells out the answer-- magically.

Man, we want this game so bad.

I go straight to my parents and ask them, and they say no.

My friends go to their parents, ask them the same question, and their parents say no.

And then they start a-preaching.

"If you allow a Ouija board into the home," they say, "you are allowing an evil spirit "to infiltrate your sacred space.

"And those answers, those are the answers from the devil himself."

Well, duh.

This makes us want this game even more!

(laughter) We talk about it all the time.

We practice questions with one another.

We don't know when we're coming face-to-face with Mr.

Ouija, but we are prepared.

It's a Saturday morning, and I'm going to my girlfriend's house for a play date.

The second I get there, she grabs my hand and that of another friend and yanks us into her closet.

She digs through piles of clothes, and there it is, the infamous Ouija board.

We know we don't have much time.

We don't even bother asking where she got it from.

We just get right down to business.

"Ouija, does Bobby love me, and are we gonna get married and have babies?"

(laughter) "Ouija, am I gonna make the cheerleading team?"

We also asked a question the entire country was asking at the time.

"Ouija, who shot J.R.?"

(laughter) We packed up the Ouija board and ran outside, psyched that we didn't get caught.

I am outside, and I'm feeling unsettled.

There's this question that I had, it's been burning in my soul.

I couldn't possibly ask it in front of my friends.

They would think I was a total freak.

But I needed to know.

So I decided I was going to excuse myself and "go to the restroom."

And I fast walk back to that house.

I detour right to that closet.

I whip out that Ouija board, put my hand on the planchette, and I asked the question, "Ouija, how old am I going to be when I die?"

Instantly, my hand starts skating across the board.

I promise you, I am not moving it.

It lands on a five.

It backs up, does the figure eight back to the five.

55?

Do people even live to be that old?

(laughter) That's what I'm thinking, I'm ten.

I am so psyched.

I put the Ouija board back and I strut my stuff out of that closet.

Because me and Bobby, we're gonna be happy together forever.

(laughter) I get outside, I make no mention of this to my friends, but 55, it is now branded on the forefront of my brain.

I'm in my teens and 20s.

I think about it from time to time.

When I ask myself that question, I really say, "What if?

Who cares?

55's an entire lifetime away.

I got some partying to do."

I'm in my 30s.

I become a mom.

I have the three most precious babies in the whole world.

My mortality, it matters now.

I gotta keep these babies safe forever.

I also have to feed them, bathe them, get them to bed, continue working full-time, commute in and out of the city, come home, make them dinner, (deep breath) get them to practice, help them with their homework.

I am so busy, I don't have time to answer that question, what if.

I just gotta keep moving ahead, one foot in front of the other.

I'm now rolling into my 40s.

Isn't it crazy how time goes so fast when we get a little older?

I do the math.

15 years.

What if?

I start looking at my life a lot differently.

I'm focusing a lot more on my experiences, way more than the stuff.

Gratitude is becoming part of my daily practice.

My friends are my lifeline.

I have a group of women that I can call on, and within minutes, they are there for me.

Food, wine, positive conversation.

These years, they're not always easy.

These girls make me feel safe.

They make me feel loved, make me a better human, and bring me so much joy.

I'm also finding my faith in my 40s.

I was around God my whole life, but I never had it.

Now, I really believe... That there's something bigger and better out there.

I'm not afraid to die.

I think that helps me when the doctor says those words to me.

"Rachael, you have breast cancer."

At no moment am I scared.

I don't cry, I'm not staying up at night.

I just know I'm gonna be okay.

It's not my time.

I am not 55.

A few months ago, I woke up on my 54th birthday.

The first thing I thought about-- "What if?

"What if this is my last full year on this earth?

Rachael, what are you going to do?"

So I did the only thing I knew.

I Jumped out of bed and I ran into the other room.

I was vacationing in Colorado with my best friends.

I told them about my Ouija board story.

I allowed them to celebrate me that day.

It was one of my best birthdays ever.

I vowed to feel that joy and that love every day.

I'm trying to tell everyone in my life how much I love them.

I am smiling at strangers.

It gets awkward from time to time, but they typically smile back.

(laughter) I'm holding onto my kids a little longer than they would like.

I'm saying yes to every invitation.

I'm going to be so wonderfully tired.

When I look back to that closet.

It was no evil spirit that spoke to me that day.

It was a gift from the universe.

I never married Bobby.

I did make the cheerleading team.

I got a 50/50 run rate here.

(laughter) I hope I'm around to tell this story for many years.

I do not want to die.

But if there was any truth to what that Ouija board told me that day, I just want everyone to know, my life, it has been extraordinary.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) SIMPSON: My name is ChaChanna Simpson, and I am from the great state of Connecticut.

I like to say that it's great because I'm there.

I am a copywriter by day, and at night or on the side, I'm also a storyteller and writer.

How did you get into copywriting?

I got into copywriting because I enjoy being right.

I love grammar and I just love being able to say, "Okay, this is how it's supposed to go."

And speaking of words and language flowing together, we are here tonight for obviously live storytelling.

What made you first decide to finally get on stage?

I went to a storytelling show in my town, and I just loved... seeing the performers, and I thought I could do that.

And there was someone who was having a workshop on storytelling.

So I went to the storytelling workshop.

I worked on a story, I got on the stage, and I have not come off since.

You know, I'm wondering tonight, when you share your story, what would you most hope that the audience takes away from that experience?

I most hope that the audience takes away that courage comes in all forms.

It's Friday night.

I'm sitting at home on the couch eating a sausage pizza, watching House of Cards, season two, episode one.

Out of the side of my face, I see a bug dancing.

I swat it away; "Stupid bug."

In the seven years I have lived in this apartment, I have discovered every insect in my town has originated from here.

(laughter) I have seen carpenter bees, centipedes, millipedes, insects I don't even know what they are.

And one morning, I woke up to find tiny baby spiders living their best life all over my windowsill.

Mm.

When I see yet another insect, I don't pay it any mind-- until I see it grow bigger and fly across the ceiling.

That's when I toss my sausage pizza, jump up, and run to the bathroom, slamming the door.

Immediately, I recognize my mistake.

It's dark in there.

The light switch is on the other side of the door.

(laughter) I don't know where it came from.

I don't know if there are more of them.

More importantly, I don't know if I've just locked myself in the room with all of them.

(laughter) I jet across the hallway, dive into my bedroom for safety.

Then I start doubling over in laughter at my situation.

I'm an adult.

I'm a grown woman, terrified to go out that room.

That bird might get me.

(laughter) I pull myself together enough to formalize a plan.

I am going to run to the front door, yank it open, allow the bird to follow the light into the hallway to become someone else's problem.

I gather my courage, I start a countdown.

Three, two, one.

I run to the apartment door, I open it wide.

I crouch a little bit to watch it fly over; it does.

I see fangs, brown fur-- "Oh, my God, that is not a bird, that is a bat."

(laughter) It doesn't fly out, but I do, into the hallway, to become my neighbor's problem.

(laughter) Knocking on the door, I don't know what I'm gonna say.

As soon as it cracks open, I blurt out, "Hi, I'm your neighbor from across the way.

I have a bat in my apartment.

Do you have any suggestions?"

(laughter) He looks at me.

"Was that you I heard screaming a few moments ago?

I thought you were listening to a loud movie."

My neighbor comes over with two tennis rackets.

We search the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, the living room.

No bat to be found.

I grab my purse, my jacket, my shoes, my keys.

I am not staying in an apartment with a rogue bat.

I'm going to my mama's house.

(laughter) Two blocks over, I reach my destination.

The house is dark, she's not home.

Rude.

That's okay, I have a key.

I text her.

"There's a bat in my apartment.

I'm staying at your place."

Saturday morning, I wake up in a pullout couch in my brother's old bedroom, which my mother has turned into her playroom.

Surrounded by Beanie Babies and plants, I ponder, how does one get rid of a bat in their apartment?

(snaps) Then it clicks-- I know someone.

I know a home inspector who has a weekly radio show.

I can call him for help.

I dial into the show, explain my situation, ready to take in the solution.

What I get is laughed at.

He is amused I'm afraid of a bat.

His guest joins in the fun.

They're both mocking me.

When they finish having their fun, I finally get information that's useful to me.

He tells me to call a bat specialist.

A bat specialist.

I Google "bat specialist."

I find the bat marshal.

(laughter) He meets me at my home.

We search the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room.

No bat to be found.

He tells me, "That makes sense.

Bats are small.

"They crawl into tiny crevices, making them nearly impossible to find during the day."

He suggests I wait until the bat pops out at night, then call him.

(laughter) There is no part of this conversation I'm enjoying... Yet.

Saturday night, I'm in the apartment, on the phone with my best friend.

While I'm on bat watch, while Harry Potter is battling He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, I am struggling to stay awake.

It's 11:30.

All the stress, all the fear, all the energy has drained out of me.

My friend tries to convince me that I can stay up.

I can do it.

I thank her for her service, disconnect the call, and go to bed... at my mama's house.

(laughter) Sunday morning, I wake up, furious with myself.

I've wasted a perfectly beautiful Saturday being afraid of a bat.

This is beneath me.

I march back into the bat cave to carry on as if it's a regular day.

I do laundry.

I wash dishes.

I even take a nap on the couch to show that bat I am not afraid.

(laughter) When night falls, I crawl into my own bed, wrapped around in three blankets, just to be safe.

Monday morning, when I arise... unscathed, not a vampire, I claim victory.

I never see that bat again.

Maybe its dead carcass is still in the apartment.

Maybe it came out the way that it came in.

But I learned something about courage.

Sometimes, it's going to your mama's house to regroup and then coming back, heart pounding, legs trembling, to face whatever is next, bat or not.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) LENNON-SIMON: My name is Zach Lennon-Simon, born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, where I still live.

I am currently working as a nanny, and I've been telling stories for about 12 years now.

What is it about storytelling as an art that appeals to you, both when you're taking in other people's stories and as a performer yourself?

Everyone tells stories.

You talk to your bodega guy, you talk to your family.

You tell them the things that happen in your life.

The art form of storytelling takes anecdotes and gives them bigger meaning, or assigns them the emotional value that we experience when we're going through something.

I'm wondering if you could talk about humor in your work.

Do you feel that humor is a particularly important element for you?

And if so, why?

We all look for humor in our lives to ease the burden of life itself, and that's kind of heavy.

Um, I have lived a long life struggling with depression and anxiety.

And I know personally that a laugh doesn't cure everything, but it does help bring us back to where we're at, and it helps keep us grounded.

You can be going through the saddest thing in your life, but there's gonna be some funny moments, and we should acknowledge them and thank them for being there for us.

I break up with my girlfriend of eight months because I realize she's kind of a mean person.

The last thing she says to me is, "You're a coward.

"You'll never be anything in life, and you're paying for these fries."

(laughter) Maybe she's right.

That's why I fly to San Francisco.

I'm entering my 30s, I've never been anywhere.

I'll try to do something now with it and prove that I'm not afraid of anything.

I also don't have a lot of money, so I just booked the cheapest hotel I can find, hoping for the best.

When I get to San Francisco, it's gorgeous out there.

71 degrees, in February?

Oh!

A miracle.

My hotel looks like something out of The Great Gatsby, my favorite novel.

Entering the hotel, it starts to resemble more The Shining... (laughter) My least favorite novel to be in.

(laughter) It's dark in there.

There's an energy... you don't want to be in.

For instance, I get in the elevator, press the fourth floor, to go to my room, it takes me instead to the basement.

(laughter) There is a long series of doors, all painted white, all with locks on the outside and slots in the middle.

There's also an absence of complete sound, except for me rapidly pressing the four button to go to my floor.

(laughter) I get into my room, I throw my bags down.

I'm excited to hit the town and see the sights.

I never end up seeing the sights because I get lost pretty immediately.

I spend an hour trying to find out where I'm supposed to go, and then another hour trying to find the hotel again, deciding tomorrow will be the day I actually do this tourist thing.

I get in the elevator with a mom and her teen daughter.

They press the third floor, I press the fourth floor, it goes to the basement.

(laughter) The daughter is ecstatic about this.

"See, Mom?

See, I told you!"

"Yes, dear, hm."

The daughter turns to me and says, "This is where they kept the more violent prisoners.

"The ones too vicious for regular jail.

People died down here."

Why are you telling me this?

(laughter) "It's just really exciting, don't you think?

"All that death.

"Who knows what energy is still in the walls.

Don't worry, it's only scary if you're alone."

(laughter) Uh-huh.

"Goodbye!"

(laughter) I get off on my floor, go to my room.

I start pacing, trying to figure out how much trouble am I going to be in, when I hear a knock on the door.

I open it.

There's a woman, older and taller than me.

She's wearing a long winter's coat, even though it's 70 degrees outside.

A scarf covers her entire neck, and she leans to the right.

I cannot explain this, so just trust me-- there was an anachronistic energy about her that said, we are from different times; by a wide margin.

She says, "Where's Michael?"

Confused, I say, "My father?

He's back in Brooklyn."

(laughter) She goes, "Well, where's the K?

Where's the Special K?

I need my stuff."

I go, "I don't know what Special K is.

I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?"

"I... honestly can't tell you.

I gotta go."

I close the door.

I look through the peephole to make sure I saw what I saw.

She is staring... right back at me.

(laughter) She's tracking every movement I make.

For one minute.

Then she steps back... and goes to the left.

I open the door a smidge, just to see which room she came from.

She's gone.

She simply vanished into thin air.

I do what I think everyone would do.

I close the door.

I barricade it with a chair.

(laughter) I turn on all the lights.

(laughter) I vow to stay up all night, because that was a violent ghost.

(laughter) I believe in ghosts.

I wish they didn't believe in me... (laughter) ...or visit me.

I find the presence of ghosts to be alarming, to say the least.

They remind me of death, and I don't want to die.

I hear it's bad.

(laughter) The first hour of my ghost watch goes pretty smooth.

I start thinking maybe I'm over exaggerating and getting a little too frightened.

The second hour, a little noise starts to enter through the vents.

Hotels make noises, sure, but this one seemed to specialize in it.

What starts as a... (grumbling noise) ...slowly builds, so by 3 A.M., it becomes, (rasping): "Where's Michael?

Where's Michael?"

I start to wonder, will I get reimbursed if I die in this hotel?

(laughter) The sun rises, and so do I. I pack all my bags, I race down the hallway, lights angrily flickering as I go by them.

I check into a nice, clean corporate hotel across town.

I throw my bags down.

I go out to the town determined to do what I came here for.

I haven't slept.

I don't know where I'm going.

I don't know anyone in this town.

I'm about to cry.

That's when I call my best friend, Caitlin.

I tell her everything about the ghost, about my plan here.

I say, "Maybe my ex-girlfriend was right.

"Maybe I should just cut the trip short.

"I should go home.

"Just be in the town I've always been in.

"Live my life doing the same old thing, and die a regular death someday."

She cuts me off and says, "Zach, Zach.

Just choose one thing, and do it."

I said, "Wait, wait..." "Choose one thing, then do it."

I look up.

There seems to be a giant chess piece of a building on the San Francisco skyline.

I wonder how it got there.

I walk to it.

It takes me about an hour.

When I get there, there's a plaque saying, "Welcome to the Coit Tower."

You can go to the very top of it.

You can see the whole city.

I see gardens.

I see a street fair.

I see the Bay, with a little rock quarry extending beyond.

I'm not really a body-of-water-type person, because I can't swim, but the rock quarry seems safe.

So I head out to the rock quarry-- again, another two hours-- I get there, and there's a plaque waiting for me as well.

It says, "Welcome to the Wave Organ."

Now, the Wave Organ was created in the '80s by an architect.

He took these old... like, abandoned PVC pipes, and he bent them around the rocks.

The rocks eroded over time, so that the pipe and the rock became one.

The rock, the pipes, the water, the sea breeze.

They all combine and produce a unique sound that I've never heard before in my life.

It's the most gorgeous song I'll ever hear.

I realize, I'm actually not afraid of death.

I'm mostly just afraid that I'll miss my chance of living.

But on that rock, listening to that Wave Organ miles and miles from my home, I've never felt more alive.

Thank you very much.

(cheers and applause) ♪ ♪