As Part of a Heart-Healthy Diet, the White Lady is Soluble in Terror...

I gotta tell you...Count Orlock (from the F.W. Murnau film Nosferatu) is messed up. That guy's body is HORRIFIED. Total repulsion! Sure, he's creepy and everything, but he's gotta be the ugliest vamp ever. It looks like he was greased by a steamroller at age 46! And he's got a serious case of f'ed up shoulders, let me tell ya. And instead of going the normal route and having eyebrows, he has these caterpillars he decided to put there instead. And those fangs! They're buck fangs! Get this vamp some braces...
But that's not what I came here to discuss. Well, it kind of is, but the main draw is this: I think the White Lady is stalking me. For those of you not in the know, the White Lady is the closest thing to a local haunt that Janesville really possesses. But she definitely suffices. As in most of the legends fitting the "White Lady Archetype," our White Lady lost a child (in childbirth? by some other means? who knows...) and soon afterward became despondent and killed herself. (In Mexico and in Gary, Indiana, she is known as La Llorona, the Weeping Woman. She is supposed to be the ghost of an Indian who had an affair with a Spanish nobleman. When she gave birth to twins, the Spaniard severed all ties with her, and she killed her babies in a river, and went mad, running about the streets of Mexico City in a white, bloodstained dress. She killed herself sometime soon afterward.) Now, she roams about at various locales about town (Oakhill Cemetery, Riverside Park, Happy Hollow Road, the woods around Kevin Clutson's house) in a flowing white gown. She has glowing red eyes, and long fingers that almost look like claws. You do not want to run into her in a dark alley. Or anywhere, I presume.
Anywho, I've mounted a couple of expeditions to find her with various degrees of success (by that I mean that I never found anything conclusive, but weird stuff did happen from time to time...babies wailing and whatnot), and I proposed another one to my friends Zach and Eric. That night, I could've sworn that I saw something white rush out of the corner of my eye outside my front door, and while I was posting an entry later on, I kept hearing odd sounds on my porch. Of course I didn't investigate what they were. I can put on my heroic face in the woods with a group of friends, but not in my own freaking house. That sounds a tad topsy-turvy; I know, I know. I should be more confident in my own abode, but basically: I didn't want to confirm that I lived there to her. Sheesh. I don't want the White freaking Lady to know where my house is. I'll never sleep at night again. It's bad enough with Bigfoot on my trail...
Just remember that when you open the door to the supernatural, that it doesn't always swing shut when you want it to. Sometimes the supernatural thinks the party's just started and keeps bringing in more punch. I know that that's a terrible analogy. My sincerest apologies.
Later, fiends. Don't take any wooden nickels.