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Have a good ghost story?
(3 votes) (report abuse)
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Not much
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(6 votes)
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Is the Chronicle a news--paper or a story--book? This isn't of interest to many readers. |
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RE: Not much
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(5 votes)
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| I gotta say, c, that a good ghost story might be more interesting than a lot that is written on these pages...more believable, too. Sorry I don't have one. | ||
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RE: Not much
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(1 votes)
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| i'd love to read some good ghost stories! | ||
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RE: Not much
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(3 votes)
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| Cwrite, lighten up. You've been such a grump lately. Do you need a hug? :-) | ||
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here's one
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(1 votes)
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Went on a vacation once over half way around the world, as I lay in bed one morning I could hear my young daughter fall and cry, I woke up instantly and asked my husband if we could drive into the village and use a phone, we did, I called and my mom answered and said everything was fine, but the "dream" still bothered me the whole time until we arrived home, mom met me at the door and said "I need to tell you something" and I said " I already know, my daughter fell and got hurt." Mom said, "she was playing on the swing set and her arm got caught on the bar next to the slide and she twisted her arm, and it's in a sling"..I knew it all along, and my neighbor confirmed the story because it was on her swing set that this happened, just freaky that's all. Come on cwrite, you gotta have one? |
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here's one
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(4 votes)
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This is not a Ghost story. This is a telepathy/ESP story. I saw a ghost once. His name was Casper and he was friendly. |
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Really scary story
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(3 votes)
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When I was in college I moved into my grandmother's house right after she passed away to rent the place till the house could be sold. This was just before Halloween. Back in those days, you had best be at home Halloween night with goodies because kids didn't mess around when it came to tricks. Well it was a slow night and after a few beers and smoking something that only recently has become legal for medicinal purposes I was staring at the window. And my grandmother's reflection came up on it and she wasn't happy looking. Of course I can't ever recall that she ever looked happy about anything. Hey, top this one, someone! |
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mbecker
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(4 votes)
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| They really pay you to sit around and think up genius posts like these, dont they? You got a sweet job. Here's a ghost for you...the Daily Chronic in 5 years! | |
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RE: mbecker
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(1 votes)
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3 stars.. I'm torn. I don't like the personal attack on this becker guy. But your ghost story is pretty funny. |
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the banshees will haunt you forever
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(1 votes)
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no ghost story here but Do you all remember the movie Meet me in St Louis? It has the most fantastic Halloween vignette, especially the sequence in which Tootie is walking up to Mr. and Mrs. Braukoff's house. Anyway, definitely worth a look if you are into film and/or musicals. |
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one star?
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(0 votes)
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| don't you dare hate on Judy. | ||
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SWEET!
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(1 votes)
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Jim is my older brother. When we were kids he was quite a bit bigger than me and as a result I was often victim to cruel and unusual punishments. The one I remember the most was during the fall when Jim offered me a glass of Coke with ice after we had been playing in piles of leaves all day. Being thirsty, I naturally gulped it down. He stood there with a grin of devious pleasure after I drank it. Knowing that something wasn’t right I asked, “What?” “You’ll see,” he said nodding towards the empty glass in my hand. About that time, I could feel it, a sudden burning sensation on my tongue that was racing down my throat. I grabbed my throat and knew that my face must be beet red and my eyes bulging like boiled eggs. Gasping like a strangling victim I asked, “Poison?” “Nope,” he said chuckling, “Tabasco sauce, lots of it!” “You rotten @$%#!*,” I choked out as I ran to the sink and lapped cold water from the faucet as fast as I could. The heat lasted for hours. I knew then that, despite his superior size and Hulk like body, revenge was in order. Revenge served up like a helping of ice cubes made of dry ice, on a chilled plate, cold, very cold. Patience, planning and timing were required. That and a quick getaway to a heavily barricaded safe house stocked with hard goods and water to last for months. As violent, impossible scenarios ran through my head like trailers from a horror film, I finally landed on the possible. This was an idea that would not result in a sentence of life in prison but might induce a heart attack on the part of the victim, making death by natural causes the only plausible explanation. After a short mourning period, I would then get the bigger room with a better view and all toys within. Ok, that was not likely to happen but a guy can dream, can’t he? You see, being fall, Halloween was not far off and this celebration would only serve to add the ambience needed to make it real special. Looking at my crude illustrations and scribbled notes with the knives, guns and camouflaged booby traps crossed out with giant X’s, I began to giggle. The giggle grew into laughter and the laughter into a maniacal cackling that would have made the Joker proud. My squinty eyes shifted from left to right. I folded my plans and hid them in a safe place, put on a face of innocence and I waited. With the patience required of the fifteenth person in a grocery store checkout line, I waited. My brother’s bedroom closet shared a wall with the attic. The attic was conveniently accessed by a small door from my sister’s bedroom closet. A fact only I knew because I helped my dad one day as he put insulation in there. I had to push the insulation through the small door so he could lay it out. He told me to never to go in there and never tell the others, because it was not safe. Being a good son I had obeyed. Obeyed that is until the attic door appeared in my sketchy blueprint for revenge. When one is a child, toys come and go, break or just plain lose the magic they once held when you first got them. Such was the case of the two Walkie-Talkies our parents bought us last year. Seems changing the batteries was too much of a hassle thus they were cast into the bone yard of toys and old tennis shoes in our bedrooms. I found mine under my bean bag with a wad of hard green gum, fuzzy with carpet fibers, stuck to the back. My brother’s was hard to locate. I had to search when he was gone having to be careful not to disturb the orientation of his things. As crazy as it looked, there was an order to it filed away in his head and he would know in an instant that someone had been in there. I would certainly be high on his suspect list once he had cleared my Mother. On several forays into his room I eventually found it in the far corner of his closet, duct taped to my old teddy bear like a jet pack on an astronaut. I removed it and carefully placed the teddy, duct tape and all back in the corner. Perfect! October 30th, a fresh set of batteries and some tape. I was in business. I crawled into the attic navigating my way to the wall that was my brother’s closet. I pulled the Walkie and tested it and turned the volume dial on max. Leaving it on, I took the tape and taped the Walkie to the wall. I then went into my brother’s room. I punched the button on mine. “Testing, one-two, testing.” I smiled and said, “Over and out!” Laughter ensued, crazy, diabolical laughter. I went back into the closet and turned the Walkie off. That evening our parents let us stay up and watch spooky movies, again perfect! I took an opportunity to sneak upstairs while everyone was watching TV and go into the attic and activate the Walkie. Shortly, everyone went to bed. Twenty minutes to twelve O’clock. The midnight hour, the witching hour, the hour of sheer terror! Reaching beneath my pillow I pulled my Walkie-Talkie out and pressed the button and in a deep voice said, “Jimmy—jimmeeee! I am a ghoooost! I am here to take you to my grave Jimmy!” I waited but there was nothing. I tried again, nothing. No screaming, no jumping in surprise and running out the door, nothing! Could the battery be dead? No, I had tested mine and it lasted for several hours. He must be asleep and not able to hear it. I decided that I would go down and tell him that I thought I heard something. That would wake him up and I could go back to my room and try it again. Yes, that would work. I tried again, nothing. Nothing! I would have to wait until tomorrow. New battery and system check. That was better anyway as my sister would be at a slumber party. After counting the bounty of our take made from stalking the neighborhood in our plastic masks, certain that we had truly scared everyone (Even though we were barely four-feet high and had monster voices that sounded more like an angry cats.), I snuck up stairs as my brother was re-counting his candy loot. New battery and flashlight in hand, I opened the little, Hobbit-like door and crawled in to reset my equipment. Just then I felt my hand catch something. There was click and then something hit me in the face! I shone the light. A horrible, deformed green face with bulging blood-shot eyes scowled back at me. I fell back and screamed and screamed. My shoelace was caught on a nail in the floor joist. I couldn’t get free! I was going to die! It was the closet monster I had told my parents about years ago. I told them it was true. I was going to have my head ripped off my heart pulled out and be eaten by the monster! Monster poop! That is what I would be! Then I heard laughter, diabolical laughter, laughter rumbling its way up the stairs as herd of buffalo. It was Jim’s laughter. He stepped into the room holding his stomach. I aimed the light once again into the attic and there, dangling by a noose was the teddy bear, my teddy bear wearing my brother’s “ghoul “mask from last year. Deflated, I flopped back staring up at the ceiling. “How did you know?” Jim smiled, and holding up a small car said, “Hot Wheel, I keep it right behind the edge of my sliding closet door.” How could I have missed that? I looked at him and asked, “And the attic?” “Oh, dad told me the same thing when I helped him run an electrical line through there.” He laughed and made a stern face trying to look like dad, “Don’t tell anybody about this door, ok?” I laughed. He laughed too. I laughed again, a long hard laugh. You see, my Mom told me that revenge has its drawbacks. I can see that now. But I have heard it said that revenge is sweet as well. Just like that “special” caramel apple I made my brother when I was helping my Mom make them. The apple he now had sitting in the center of his candy pile. Did you know that you can’t taste a laxative mixed with caramel? Sweet! Peace |
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