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An Irish Ghost Story April 1, 2014

Posted by nrhatch in Fun & Games, Humor, Joke.
Tags: , , , ,
33 comments

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.

Wikipedia ~ Hitchhiking (in Public Domain)

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.

Wikipedia ~ Ghost (in Public Domain)

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, 2012

Posted by nrhatch in Fiction, Fun & Games, Word Play.
Tags: , , ,
17 comments

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.

Wikipedia ~ Campfire (in Public Domain)

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.

Source: Wikipedia ~ Jersey Devil (in Public Domain)

“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.”

Wikipedia ~ Lightning (in Public Domain)

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, 2012

Posted by nrhatch in Poetry, Spirit & Ego, Synchronicity & Mystery.
Tags: , , , , , ,
48 comments

IMGP3393bWhen we are gone
do we care
about all we left behind?

Do we worry
or wonder
about our claimed legacy?

Do our daydreams
dissipate
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?

Related posts:  Spring Grove Cemetery (Christine M. Grote) * The Undertaker Always Calls On Halloween (Andra) * Dust to Dust (Colonialist) * Do Dogs See Ghosts? (Kate Shrewsday)

Ghost Tale From The Charleston Jail October 17, 2012

Posted by nrhatch in Blogs & Blogging, Bulletin Board, Writing & Writers.
Tags: , , , , ,
12 comments

IMGP4171Just in time for All Hallow’s Eve, Andra Watkins, The Accidental Cootchie Mama,  has transformed her tale of torture set in the Old Charleston Jail for submission to America’s Next Author competition.

To read, review, and rate Andra’s haunting tale, visit:  The Chair.

Love it?  Tweet it!

Andra is putting some airline miles on the line for the person who tweets, shares and otherwise talks up this story the most.

She and MTM are hosting a party for Lou Mello on January 11, 2013.

Andra plans to redeem some airline miles to bring a reader to Charleston for the party.

Just think . . .

Cats-eyesIf you win, you’ll have a chance to visit the Old Charleston Jail in person.

Tell the ghosts that Andra sent ya!

For details, click:  A Vote You Won’t Regret.

Aah . . . that’s better!

Building A Mystery June 21, 2010

Posted by nrhatch in Music & Dance, Writing & Writers.
Tags: , , , , , , , ,
7 comments

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 . . .

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