A short story from my childhood

[81911SC]

I didn't believe in ghosts until I was 9. I thought it was just stuff adults made up to scare us. I grew up in south Florida and although most of the buildings and houses there are pretty new, there are a few older places like St. Augustine, which is actually one of the earliest U.S. cities. My uncle had a place there that supposedly was built in the late 17th century. It almost became a historical landmark before my uncle bought it.

My brother and I stayed there one summer and it was probably one of the creepiest times of my life. Every night, my brother and I would hear moaning coming from outside the door (he and I stayed in the same room), and sometimes we'd wake up in the morning and there would be handprints on the door inside the room, even though we would lock it.

One night about 3 weeks into the summer, things changed for the worst. My brother passed out early from fishing all day, but I somehow worked up the nerve to see if I could actually see the ghost. When I heard the moaning, I tried to sneak the door open so I could "catch" the ghost, but when I opened it up, nothing was there. I decided it might be better if I pretended to be asleep, so I got into bed and hid under the covers.

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later I saw the sliding glass door ease open and a figure came in. I couldn't tell if it was floating or not, but it kinda made its way over to the bed. I started freaking out, but I knew I had to keep pretending I was asleep to make sure I didn't scare the ghost away before I could get a closer look.

As I laid there, the ghost bent over and slowly pulled the sheets down. I cracked my eyes open and couldn't believe what I was seeing. The ghost looked just like my uncle. It must have been an ancient dead relative of his. As I kept my charade up, the ghost reached into my shorts and started touching my thighs, working its dead hands up my legs until finally his cold, clammy hands wrapped around my tiny unit and tugged on it until I got an erection. I was so terrified of the ghost that I just sat there and took it without making a move. This probably happened about 60-70 times during the summer. Each time I was too terrified to move, although a couple nights I accidentally moaned out of fear.

To this day, I'm scared to death of ghosts and I wish I could get the guts to tell my uncle to get the hell out of his house before something terrible happens to him.

[redrumracer]

your weird or have a lack of normality

[yogi08]

ive learned to never take any of your posts seriously, but its an interesting story to say the least but then it gets weird.

[81911SC]

I love this one


I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first--" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with the drugs, I like to tell them this story.

[Revmaynard]

I didn't believe in ghosts until I was 9. I thought it was just stuff adults made up to scare us. I grew up in south Florida and although most of the buildings and houses there are pretty new, there are a few older places like St. Augustine, which is actually one of the earliest U.S. cities. My uncle had a place there that supposedly was built in the late 17th century. It almost became a historical landmark before my uncle bought it.

My brother and I stayed there one summer and it was probably one of the creepiest times of my life. Every night, my brother and I would hear moaning coming from outside the door (he and I stayed in the same room), and sometimes we'd wake up in the morning and there would be handprints on the door inside the room, even though we would lock it.

One night about 3 weeks into the summer, things changed for the worst. My brother passed out early from fishing all day, but I somehow worked up the nerve to see if I could actually see the ghost. When I heard the moaning, I tried to sneak the door open so I could "catch" the ghost, but when I opened it up, nothing was there. I decided it might be better if I pretended to be asleep, so I got into bed and hid under the covers.

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later I saw the sliding glass door ease open and a figure came in. I couldn't tell if it was floating or not, but it kinda made its way over to the bed. I started freaking out, but I knew I had to keep pretending I was asleep to make sure I didn't scare the ghost away before I could get a closer look.

As I laid there, the ghost bent over and slowly pulled the sheets down. I cracked my eyes open and couldn't believe what I was seeing. The ghost looked just like my uncle. It must have been an ancient dead relative of his. As I kept my charade up, the ghost reached into my shorts and started touching my thighs, working its dead hands up my legs until finally his cold, clammy hands wrapped around my tiny unit and tugged on it until I got an erection. I was so terrified of the ghost that I just sat there and took it without making a move. This probably happened about 60-70 times during the summer. Each time I was too terrified to move, although a couple nights I accidentally moaned out of fear.

To this day, I'm scared to death of ghosts and I wish I could get the guts to tell my uncle to get the hell out of his house before something terrible happens to him.
__________________

[OneSlow5pt0]

lool

[AnthonyF]

your weird or have a lack of normality

L..O...L!! reps man!

-Ant.

[Friggintitsman]

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