Supernatural Memory

Sorry, I'm really starting to get into this concept, and so I will supply my avid readers with another memory tonight.
This must have happened sometime around third grade as well, though it might have been any time that I was in elementary school. It was during that space of time, after the news of Santa Claus's non-existance is broken to you, that you still cling to the impossible, when you want more than ever to believe in magic and flying reindeer and ghosts.
My mom, my dad, my mom's friend Eric from Savannah, Georgia, and I were all traveling through the Blue Ridge mountains in the fall, observing the pretty leaves (the trees' leaves were very vibrant, and they resembled red, orange, and yellow truffula trees); we stayed in a cheap, mountainside motel during the night. One evening, as we were driving through the mountains and watching the sun set, we saw this broken-down old house on the side of the road that looked unoccupied and very interesting. Eric, who had brought along a very nice camera, said, "Pull over a minute; I'd like to get some shots of this."
We got out of the car and watched him cross the street, getting pictures of the house from different angles; there was a car parked in the back of the house, though no one could possibly drive it, for it seemed to be crushed from the top, like an elephant had stepped on it at some point. My dad, glancing up and down the road shiftily, apparently anticipating interference in the form of the police, called over to Eric, "Hey, man; we should probably go. What if someone lives there?"
Eric turned. "They don't." he responded simply. "Come and see." The sun had almost fully set behind the trees that made up the background of the sad-looking house; holding my mother's hand, feeling an ounce of lovely, chilling thrill, I crossed the street. Eric gestured up at the windows on the side of the house; most of them were boarded up with rough pieces of wood; but some gaping holes in the boarding revealed the inside of the house, which seemed to consist of a huge, haphazard pile of wood that might have fallen in from the ceiling. No one, he seemed to be suggesting, could live in a house with a collapsed ceiling.
"Oh," said my dad. He and Eric walked half the perimeter of the house, taking shots, before my mom announced that we were cold and ready to head back to the motel. I remember, on the way back, my mom made some joke that "the ghosts of some hillbillies were going to chase us down in their pick-up trucks with rifles for invading their property." and everyone laughed.
Once we arrived back at the hotel, Eric downloaded the pictures onto his laptop and looked through them. When a perplexed look slid over his features, we asked him what was wrong.
Sitting behind him on the large, moldy, motel bed, we watched him click through a series of pictures of the same window, located in the upper lefthand corner of the house. This window, I recalled, had been completely boarded up. However, as the pictures progressed, - and it may have been a trick of the light, - but it appeared as though a hole grew larger and larger in the very center of the wood, until half of the window was unboarded. In the last few pictures, of which there were probably ten, it looked as though, in the space without the boards, there were two little pinpricks of light that could pass for eyes, and even a shadowy contrast that might have formed a face. Dotted about this picture in various random places were small gusty spheres of muted light that might have passed as "orbs" that those crazy people on television are always rambling about.
But anyways, we collectively decided that the light effects were probably due to some malfunction in the camera or to the fact that the photographer had been smoking a cigarette during the shooting. However, though the correct explanation of the phenomenon is probably rooted in logic, it's still fun to let yourself believe in these things every now and then, because there's just the slightest possibility that they do exist. spooky music playing. . .haha, just kidding.