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| The worst thing about having a ghost in your house is the douchey ghost hunters. |
Three boys go into a haunted house. One brought a knife, one brought a gun and one brought some cough drops.
They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flashlight. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seemed to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.
Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.
As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.
They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They saw a fully set dining table covered in cobwebs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets, and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.
Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?
They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.
"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".
They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.
But the third said, confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.
The stairs creaked and groaned evilly under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hell, they knew, but none would turn back.
And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seem to claw at their very souls!
Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?
"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"
In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay, and disease! Brutish, incorrect lengths had been forced together, buckling the wood and bulging the steel at points, as if death, itself, were attempting to escape. It was festooned with beast-like emblems and decrepit artifacts: skulls, antlers, skins, totems, and drenched in the color of blood!
It was TRUE! The house really was haunted!
"OOOoooOOOoOOooOoOouuUUUUUuuuuUOOuouOUO"
Now the boys realized with sheer horror that the insane moaning was definitely coming from the coffin!
Before the boys could turn and run, the coffin began to shake! They froze.
Then it suddenly LIFTED off the ground! They gaped in terror!
Shaking violently and rising, the coffin started to turn. It turned and turned, and gained speed. It was spinning in the air before them! A mix of terror and fascination gripped them. Unable to look away. Unable to run. It spun faster and faster AND FASTER!
"OOOoooOOOoOOooOoOouuUUUUUuuuuUOOuouOUOOOOOOOoo"
The first boy with the knife slashed in the air in front of him, as if to stab away at the evil! Then he dropped the knife and ran back up the stairs, never to be seen again.
The second boy with the gun fired warning shots at the ceiling, BANG! BANG!, but then thought better of it, dropped his gun and also ran up the stairs, and also was never to be seen again.
The third boy stood there calmly, reached into his pocket, and popped a cough drop into his mouth. He sucked on it for a bit.
And the coffin stopped...
Image: ©Æ Firestone / / Storyteller
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