Let's imagine that last night, I was "hypothetically" really stoned. Y'know: kinda like the admission OJ made with his book If I Did It - a steadfast denial coupled with a surprisingly suspicious and accurate retelling. Course I wouldn't dream becoming a hippie, and especially wouldn't go blogging about it later - but if I hypothetically did, say, oh, around bedtime just last night, here's a very involved stoner thought I may have had.

It all started because I thought I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye. Course, there was no one there - it was actually because my room was filled with so much smoke, it was catching the light and playing tricks with my eye. But it did get me thinking about how weird it is that the human race is afraid of "ghosts", the supposed souls of the dead that still haunt the earth.

In an era where scientific knowledge can explain most of life's big questions, with concrete theories about evolution and how we came into existence, it's weird that people can still believe in such absurd fairy tales.

Although, I thought to myself, the fear probably stems back to ancient times - because the people back then knew so little of the workings of the world around them, they were simply scared and plucked theories from the sky to try and make sense of it all. I mean, if you didn't know that a big bang millions of years ago set off a chain of chemical reactions that would lead all the way up to the moment of your birth, you'd probably freak out too and start making up fables to explain away the fact it's possible for you to merely exist.

That, I told myself, is totally how the Bible came about.

It was a different time, obviously - with little societal structure and involvement from institutions like government and police like we have, it was probably necessary to invent a greater purpose of existence just to encourage proper moral behaviour from people that would have little motivation to do so otherwise.

Enter, stage left, Jesus and company. Now, hate to burst any bubbles here, but knowing what we do about the scientific reality, there's absolutely buckley's chance that a person was sent to earth to die for our sins, only to come back to life shortly after for a thrilling encore. It's just not possible, otherwise Six Feet Under would have definitely run a few more series.

Then, in a thrilling moment of synchronisation that can only come from being extremely ripped, I made the connection.

Jesus was a zombie, and the Bible was nothing more than the ancient equivalent of I Know What You Did Last Summer - a horror story to scare the bejesus out of you on a quiet night in. "The divine intervention is coming from inside the house!", that kinda thing.

Except somewhere along the line, the tone of the story must have been edited. The ancient studio executives probably felt the story didn't have a strong enough Hebrew-wood ending, and changed it so they all live happily ever after (in purgatory).

The viewing public has a memory like an elephant though, and the biblical bloodfest featuring a brain eating messiah hell bent on repenting lived on through word of mouth and spooky stories by the camp fire. Friends would gather round close and shreek, "I heard that if you pray three times while looking in a mirror,  Jesus will come to life again and eat your brains! It happened to my friend Mohammed's friend Mary."

Gradually though, the fallen saviour was omitted from the story (think "purple monkey Chinese dishwasher") - but the legend of resurrections lives on.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I concluded we're still afraid of the undead. Oh, and I suppose by association, ghosts.