When I was 10 years old, my parents moved to Riverside. It was the first new house they bought in California, and we were the second family on the street. The front yards had been hydroseeded, but no grass was growing yet. In a few months, we got some neighbors on one side of the house. They had two sons, one of them a year younger than me. I became friends with him, we were both named Mike. He is the one who gave me my first boombox that I recorded with. Anyway, he would talk about how the house he lived in next door was haunted. Weird things would happen, but I never believed him. Ghosts, voices, etc. It’s a new house, that’s ridiculous. A few years go by and we were in the same Boy Scout troop. There was an opportunity to go to Philmont, but my parents were too cheap to send me, but he was going. He told me the voices told him not to go, that their train would not make it. I told him not to worry, train travel is safe, and there is no way anything bad was going to happen, and to enjoy the trip. So he goes on the trip, and it turns out that a thunderstorm near Kingman created a flash flood that knocked out a trestle and the train he was on derailed. I don’t think anyone died, but my troop was on the news for helping people evacuate from the train. I still don’t believe in ghosts, but I have to admit that was an amazing coincidence.