A few years ago I came back quite late from a local living-history event I'd taken part in. I was the house when, at about 1 a.m., I remembered that I hadn't picked up the mail. Still in my cream-colored silk gown, hoopskirt, and dancing slippers, I went out the front door and walked quietly down the path to my mailbox.
Just as I stepped out from beneath the trees that shaded the path, two teenagers came walking down the street. It was a neighbor boy and a girlfriend of his.
The boy saw me silently drifting out from between the trees and screamed, "OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT!" He turned and ran wildly back into his house, slamming the front door behind him. The girlfriend followed him, not as fast, and pounded on the front door, calling plaintively, "Sammy! Sammy, let me in!" He wouldn't open up, though.
Hah. I bet he had a great time at school the next week when his girlfriend told all her friends what a chicken he was.
It was only later I learned that when I wear that white gown, with my dark-blonde hair and tanned face you can only see the white dress in the darkness. It must have looked to that kid as if he was seeing a headless ghost-woman.
I find that this outfit works GREAT at Gettysburg on summer nights. Gives the tourists something to talk about when they go back to Iowa.
My speaking area is next to a large bushy tree. Visitors on the driving tour cannot see me until they get past the tree, which is when they slam on the breaks and do a double take. And I would never ever lead them to believe I was a ghost by staring blankly off into the distance and stepping back behind the tree after they spot me. lol