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I don’t believe in ghosts.

Perhaps it’s due to my age, my upbringing or my realist views, but who has time to fool with breezy apparitions that may, or may not, be a departed spirit?

Of course, it appears to be a trendy thing now — checking out hauntings and regaling friends with stories of bumps in the night.

My spooky old house is isolated and more-than-a-little creepy. It rests on top of a mountain surrounded by a giant lawn and more than 50 acres of hardwood forest.

We have no nearby neighbors.

In the 60-plus years my family has resided in the home, we have never had one random trick or treater. That’s right, no one wants to walk up the long, dark driveway for a fun-size chocolate bar.

It’s not worth the exercise or the adrenaline rush of wondering what’s lurking in the woods.

I have heard my share of good ghost stories, though. Probably the best came during my days as a high school cheerleader when we were en route to a game.

In those days, “the girls with pompons” had no funding and no school-supplied transportation. We had to rely on the generosity of parents.

During the drive, the mother of the player hauling us mentioned to a fellow cheerleader that she had to take her husband to his railroad job in the middle of the night and noticed the lights were on in her attic.

“What in the world were you all doing up there at 3 a.m.?”

This mom was known to be a bit nosy.

The cheerleader sighed, and then calmly replied, “We don’t have electricity in the attic, but people see the lights all the time.”

Our ears perked up at that tidbit of information, and we were soon listening to tales of all the strange happenings that had occurred in her house through the years.

There was also some historic folklore supposedly connected to the house, including one owner dying after she fell down the steps wearing a flannel nightgown and carrying a candle and a child losing his life when he fell into scalding water meant for a hog slaughter.

The stories gave us goosebumps, and provided great Halloween stories for the future.

In fact, the home has been profiled in the Daily Telegraph on numerous occasions as the haunted house on Lorton Lick Road.

I have also written stories about Lake Shawnee, a one-time amusement park that is believed by many to be haunted.

The park operated from 1925 to 1966. But its location is also the site where that area’s first white settlers, the Mitchell Clay family, made their home. Two of the Clay children, Bartley and Tabitha, were massacred by Native Americans in 1783. Prior to the Clay settlement, the area was the location of a Native American village and burial site.

While in operation, recreation seekers would go to Lake Shawnee to enjoy the abundance of entertainment opportunities.

A large pond offered boating, while a smaller pond, known as the swimming pool or “cement pond,” provided guests the opportunity to take a dip.

The park also had a Ferris wheel and large swing set where multiple children could ride as they twirled in circles. Today, the rides remain standing — giant, rusted icons of their once glory years.

But it was not all fun and games at Lake Shawnee. There were two horrific accidents at the park. A girl, between 10 and 12 years old, was killed when a truck backed into the path of a swing and, on July 3, 1966, an 11-year-old boy drowned after his arm became caught in a drain pipe.

Many believe these terrible events, as well as the earlier tragedies involving the Clay children, have resulted in Lake Shawnee becoming a hotbed of paranormal activity. Orbs, apparitions and other ghostly phenomenon have been reported by park visitors, according to the current owner.

On a recent night I sat in my kitchen and watched my hallway lights flicker. Earlier in the day my shower was cold after the hot water heater quit working. Meanwhile, gusts of wind rattled the old windows creating plenty of creaks and clatters.

Don’t try to scare me with creepy noises, as my fear comes from the horrors I know exist.

Serial killers. Child molesters. Meth heads willing to do anything to obtain a quick fix.

That’s my scary story.

That’s my year-long Halloween.

Samantha Perry is editor of the Bluefield (W.Va.) Daily Telegraph. Contact her at sperry@bdtonline.com. Follow her @BDTPerry.

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