An Irish Ghost Story April 1, 2014Posted by nrhatch in Fun & Games, Humor, Joke.
Tags: April Fools Day, Fun & Games, Ghosts, Humor, Joke
John Bradford, a Dublin University student, was on the side of the road
hitchhiking on a very dark night and in the midst of a big storm.
The night was rolling on and no car went by. The storm was so strong he could hardly see a few feet ahead of him. Suddenly, he saw a car slowly coming towards him. It stopped next to him.
Desperate for shelter and without thinking, John got into the car and closed the door . . . only to realize there was nobody behind the wheel and the engine wasn’t on. The car started moving slowly.
John looked at the road ahead and saw a curve approaching. Scared, he started to pray, begging for his life. Just before the car hit the curve, a hand appeared out of nowhere through the window.
Paralyzed with terror, John watched as the hand turned the wheel.
When John saw the lights of a pub appear down the road, he jumped out of the car and ran to it.
Wet and out of breath, he rushed inside and started telling everybody about the horrible experience he had just had.
A silence enveloped the pub when everybody realized he wasn’t drunk.
Suddenly, the door opened, and two other people walked in from the dark and stormy night. Like John, they were also soaked and out of breath.
Seeing John at the bar, one said to the other, “Look Paddy, there’s that fooking idiot that got in the car while we were pushing it.”
Happy April Fool’s Day!
E-mail from an unknown author (sent by Joe M.)
Campfire Tales November 13, 2012Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Fun & Games, Word Play.
Tags: Campfire, Ghosts, Jersey Devil, Pine Barrens
Remember sitting around the campfire, or elsewhere in the dark, telling ghost stories designed to scare each other silly?
Or just to be silly?
One person would start. Play would pass to the right. With each person, in sequence, taking the story a bit further.
Wanna play right now?
I’ll start a story.
In the comment stream, readers can add to the story, anything from a sentence fragment to a few paragraphs. Once someone posts a comment, that’s the new jumping off point for the story.
Each person joining in the telling of this Campfire Tale should read the start of the story and comments already posted before adding to it.
Ready? Here goes:
The camp counselor, Derek, looked around the campfire.
Flames flickered in the center of the circle, casting faces in alternating light and shadow ~ creating a surreal strobe effect much like a revolving lighthouse in the midst of a storm.
A sudden crack of thunder in the distance caused several campers to jump, then struggle to reclaim their composure before anyone noticed.
The wind creaked through the trees. Derek smiled. The stage was set.
He looked at the campers, many of them spending a night in the woods for the very first time, “Have any of you heard tell of the Jersey Devil?”
Thirteen white faces stared transfixed at Derek.
One or two nodded assent. Others shook their heads from side to side. All maintained eye contact as Derek began to tell the tale . . .
“The Jersey Devil lives in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, where he . . .”
Freddy gulped, “Isn’t this campground in the Pine Barrens.”
Derek nodded, “It is. We’re on the Jersey Devil’s home turf . . . that’s what brought him to mind.”
Hank chuckled, nervous laughter echoed by other campers. Everyone leaned forward on their logs, eager to hear more.
Derek cleared his throat, “After giving birth to her 12th child, Mother Leeds, a reputed witch, stated that if she had another, it would be the Devil. Then, in 1735, Mother Leeds went into labor on a stormy night.”
Karl leaned forward, watching the lightning flash in the distance.
“During labor, Mother Leeds claimed that the child’s father was the Devil himself. When the child was born normal, everyone present breathed a sigh of relief.”
Derek paused to let his campers breathe.
“Then, it happened! While the midwife looked on, the baby changed form to a creature with hooves, a horse’s head, bat wings and a forked tail.”
Ralph scoffed, “Me thinks you speak with forked tongue, Derek.”
Derek ignored Ralph, “The creature growled and screamed in fury. It lashed out and killed the midwife before flying up the chimney, circling the village twice, and heading toward the pines.”
Scotty gasped as his eyes tried to pierce the darkness encircling the circle ~ they were surrounded by pines.
Brad whispered, “What happened then?”
“In 1740, a clergy exorcised the demon for 100 years and it wasn’t seen again until 1890.”
Karl said, “I remember what happened next.”
Ralph scoffed, louder than before, “Nothing happened. It’s just a story designed to . . .”
Lightning flashed. A loud crack of thunder pierced the night.
A pine tree slammed to the ground close enough to cause the ground to shake under their feet.
Campers shifted positions, huddling closer to the fire.
Hank glared at Ralph, “Shut up, you moron. The Jersey Devil hates it when people refuse to believe in him. Just last year . . . “
OK. Your turn.
Pull up a log and join Campfire Tales. Feel free to jump into the thread of the story more than once. Have FUN!
When We Are Gone October 30, 2012Posted by nrhatch in Poetry, Spirit & Ego, Synchronicity & Mystery.
Tags: Death, Ghosts, Mystery, Poetry, Spirit, Time, Twilight
Do we worry
about our claimed legacy?
Do our daydreams
into twilight memories?
Or do they linger behind?
When we are gone
are our cares
fast forgotten and erased?
Or do we take
one last look
over pale ghostly shoulders?
When we are gone
does time stop
for us, dead in its tracks?
Or do we linger longer?
Building A Mystery June 21, 2010Posted by nrhatch in Music & Dance, Writing & Writers.
Tags: Angels, Building A Mystery, Ghosts, Lilith Fair, Sarah McLachlan, Sweet Surrender, Tim Buckley, Vampires, Voodoo Dolls
Rik’s post, A Musical Note: Tim Buckley ~ Sweet Surrender, transported me from cyber post to cyber point.
After reading Rik’s wise words, I watched Tim Buckley sing Sweet Surrender on YouTube . . . which reminded me how much I enjoy listening to Sarah sing her version of Sweet Surrender . . . which made me pause to watch Sarah tickle the ivories on Angel . . .
Which led me around to Sarah singing Building A Mystery with its talk of vampires, voodoo dolls, ghosts in the halls, sandals in the snow, know-it-all grins, smiles that won’t wash away, and looking out the window without our shadows getting in the way:
You come out at night
That’s when the energy comes
And the dark side’s light
And the vampires roam
You strut your rasta wear
And your suicide poem
And a cross from a faith that died
Before Jesus came
You’re building a mystery
Here’s Sarah singing Building A Mystery ~ something most of us do, day by day, as we live our lives:
In uncertainty lies all possibility . . .