Subject: Fiction story
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 08:06:30 -0700
The Hungry Haints of the Forest by Jorge Prado
Late one night, in the presence of his wife, a violent man brutally
ended his young stepson's life. Not with sticks, nor with stones, but
with
heavy kicks, he broke his bones.
And though he thought it was the perfect crime; one he sought to
forget with time. Soon he found this would not be the case; the boy's
agonizing sounds, from his mind, will never erase.
Thus, an exit will never be found, from this prison that he built;
this violent man is doomed to drown forever, in an ocean of his guilt.
Jorge Prado, "Ocean of torment" (October, 1999)
It was a dark fall night in the year 1876. Young, Wilson Adams, swiftly
rode
his horse through the fog-laced woods. He could barely see where he was
going, but Wilson desperately needed to get home; never in his life,
had he
been so late.
Just earlier that day, after a long ride away from home, Wilson and his
horse had stopped near a stream of water. The thirsty horse had drunk
from
the stream while Wilson-exhausted from his long ride-had decided to
enjoy a
short nap. He had chosen a comfortable spot underneath the shade of a
large
tree, and in no time all, he was out like a light. Unintentionally,
that
short nap had turned into a seven-hour slumber. Wilson awoke startled
to the
howl of a nearby timber wolf. He quickly sat up and looked around.
Cold, and
quickly becoming engulfed with fear, Wilson realized...he'd over slept!
He
immediately rose to his feet and reached for his pocket watch; he was
shocked to discover that it was a quarter till midnight.
"Oh no! I gravely over slept!"
Wilson quickly climbed on his horse and immediately rode away, hastily
galloping into the dead of night. Wilson, at the time, was only
fourteen
years old. He had never been deep in the woods, so late at night; he
trembled profoundly from fright. He kept thinking back to all the
chilling
stories he'd heard throughout his young life about the legendary,
trolls of
the forest; the town's children had a name for these infamous trolls,
they
called them...haints.
Among the most legendary of the haint stories, was the one about a
ten-year-old boy named Harry Bishop. Young Harry had vanished into
these
very same woods about thirty years prior, and all the town's children
believed that the woodland haints had been the ones responsible for
both,
his disappearance and murder. It was said that little Harry was taken
from
his warm bed; dragged into the cold, dark forest; then viciously
devoured
alive.
In those frontier days, the mere mention of woodland haints often
brought
fear to minds of young children. Naughty children were often told by
their
parents to either behave or be taken at night by grotesque,
flesh-eating
haints. This warning usually kept would-be mischievous children in
check.
The truth about Harry Bishop, however, was that he was the offspring of
an
extramarital affair his mother had two years into her marriage to Bill
Bishop. Soon after Bill discovered that young Harry was not of his own
flesh
and blood, he grew incredibly bitter towards him. He continuously
abused
little Harry: mentally, verbally, and even physically. And to make
matters
worse, Harry's mother was blind to her son's exploitation-or she
pretended
to be blind-and so, she often failed to intervene. All this lack of
love and
respected, had finally led to Harry's departure from home...well, at
least
according to Bill's report.
It was Bill Bishop himself, who actually visited Sheriff Jack Ramsey's
office and reported that his stepson, had sometime during the night,
vanished from his bedroom. The sheriff had wasted no time; he
immediately
assembled a large search party composed of deputies and town's people.
The
large group thoroughly scavenged every inch of the forest, but
mysteriously,
neither Harry nor his dead body, were ever found.
Sadly, young Harry Bishop led a dreadful short life, which was only
finalized by a mysterious and possibly horrific ending. He was not at
fault
for his mother's infidelity, but he undoubtedly bared the punishment.
Many of the townsfolk knew of Bill Bishop's hatred towards little
Harry.
Bill was immediately suspected of having murdered his stepson, and an
investigation soon followed. Unfortunately, however, without Harry's
dead
body to convict him, Bill suffered no judicial punishment for his
doubtless
crime. Mrs. Bishop on the other hand, became very isolated after her
son's
disappearance. She grew extremely depressed and withered away into an
early
death; she may have been the only one-besides her husband, Bill-who
knew the
truth about her son's sudden disappearance.
Thus, the legend of Harry's excruciating death by "haints" was born.
Wilson
had only heard the stories, but he had never actually seen a woodland
haint.
The only person in Wilson's entire town, whom claimed to have actually
seen
a woodland haint, was Henry Bradley. Henry was a blind old man of about
eighty-five; he was a very friendly old man, who enjoyed having company
over
for conversation. Wilson and some of his friends had often visited Mr.
Bradley. They enjoyed hearing all about the night Mr. Bradley came face
to
face with a woodland haint, and amazingly enough, lived to tell about
it.
The story in a nutshell, described how Henry, when he was just a young
lad
of about sixteen, had become stranded in the deep dark woods while
transporting empty animal cages to his father's zoo. According to his
story,
Henry's wagon had become inoperative after one of it's wheels had
abruptly
split down the middle. Henry had climbed off the wagon to inspect the
damage, but when he did this...a horrible creature suddenly approached
him.
Henry described the creature as being about four feet tall, with arms
longer
than it's legs. Henry said it walked on all fours, like an ape. He also
said
the creature was bright green all over; hairless with slimy skin; and
it
reeked of rotting flesh. He went on to say that the creature didn't
have
eyes, but didn't seem to need them. He also said that the creature's
mouth
was quite large and full of tiny pointed teeth.
Mr. Bradley's description of the haint's appearance always sent chills
down
Wilson's spine. It was actually the haint's grotesque appearance that
Mr.
Bradley claimed, had caused him to go blind. As the story concludes:
Henry
didn't have much time to react, so the quickest thing he thought to do,
was
enclose him self into one his father's cages. Henry was safe throughout
the
night from haint's deadly reach, but he was forced to stare at the
haint's
grotesque appearance that entire night as it tried desperately to
breach the
cage that housed it's dinner.
Wilson didn't know whether Mr. Bradley was a true survivor of a real
haint
encounter or just a very imaginative person. But one thing was for
sure;
Wilson didn't want find out firsthand whether the legends were false or
genuinely factual. He blindly galloped through the seemingly, infinite
woods. The fog was so dense; Wilson's foremost fear was to accidentally
crash into a tree. His fear, however, was gradually reduced when the
fog
began to finally thin out.
Soon after the fog had become translucent enough for him to see a
distance
away, Wilson noticed a figure looming up ahead. The figure was that of
a
small cottage. It was a daunting sight, since the only dwelling Wilson
remembered seeing through these parts, was that of an old run-down,
vacant
cabin. This cottage, on the other hand, was well lit from inside and it
was
apparent that people lived within it's walls.
Conclusively, Wilson decided that it was best to stop and seek shelter.
He
felt that continuing his journey under such uncertain conditions had
become
much too dangerous.
When Wilson arrived at the cabin, he tied his horse to a near by tree
and
quickly made his way to the cabin's entrance. The door was wide open,
but at
the moment, no one seemed to dwell inside.
"Hello? Is anyone in here?" Wilson's fear was once more aroused by the
eerie
silence that followed his call. His terror then became greatly
amplified
when he noticed red stains splattered all over the interior walls and
floor
of the cabin. The stains appeared to be fresh splotches of blood.
As Wilson nervously peered into candlelight lit cabin, he began to
worry for
his safety. Surely, someone had been severely beaten inside this
cabin-perhaps worse-and Wilson did not want to become the next to
suffer
such a horrendous faith. His knees began to tremble from fright; he
wondered
if haints, could have possibly been the culprits behind such a gruesome
scene.
Just as Wilson was preparing to leave, he heard the distinctive sound
of
someone weeping. The cries seemed to originate from a distant dark
corner
inside the cottage. Wilson was petrified, but his moral desire to help
conquered his fear. He walked inside and cautiously approached the
spooky
corner. When Wilson was close enough, he saw that the mournful cries
had
come from a very small boy. The boy looked to be about eight or nine,
years
in age. In his arms, the boy held the motionless, bloodied body of a
small
dog. The dog was clearly dead; it had been obviously beaten to death.
On the
floor next the boy, Wilson caught a glimpse of the apparent weapon: A
thick,
blood drenched, wooden club.
"Are you alright, little boy?"
The small boy struggled to control his emotions. "Yes, I'm fine. But
I'm
afraid that I've murdered my father's beloved dog."
"Why?"
"Well, when I discovered pieces of my most favorite kite scattered all
around the rear of the cabin, I immediately knew the dog was to blame.
I
became very angry. I only meant to punish him. I struck him a couple of
times with this wooden club, and when he began to howl from the pain, I
tried to silence him by striking him again...and again...and
again...until
he howled no more. I only sought to seize his dreadful cries; I never
meant
to kill him"
The boy used his shoulder to wipe tears from his face; he was obviously
regretful for what he had done. Wilson could not help but feel sorry
him;
such an experience could undoubtedly haunt him for the rest of his
life.
After pausing for just a brief moment, the little boy continued...
"Please! You must help me."
"Help you? Help you how?"
"Well, if my father discovers what I've done, he will surely punish me.
I
must bury the dog outside, in the forest, before he returns. I also
have to
clean away the bloodstains from inside the cabin. I can't do all this
by
myself; I desperately need your help. Please say that you will stay and
help
me!"
The boy paused once more; he could tell that Wilson was trying to
analyze
the situation. But before Wilson had a chance to respond, the little
boy
added...
"Upon my father's arrival, I will simply invent some story about the
dog
running away. My father will have to believe what I say; without the
dog's
dead body, he'll have no other choice.
Wilson, being the honest person that he was, would much rather not be
involved with such a deceitful plot; he considered, for a moment,
walking
away and not looking back. He turned his head and looked outside.
Through
the opened door, he could see his horse, which was still tide to the
tree.
He thought about how easy it would be to simply take his horse, and
continue
on his journey home.
'After all, this is entirely his doing, why should I stay and help him
thwart the risk of punishment.' Wilson secretly thought to himself.
But as Wilson looked again into the watery eyes of the desperate little
boy,
he came to realize; his heart would never allow him such cold-hearted
conduct. He then placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, and said in a
soft,
reassuring tone of voice...
"Relax. You have a new friend in me, and I could never abandon a friend
in
need."
The subsequent smile displayed on the boy's face expressed his
heartfelt
relief and gratitude. He wasted no time and quickly made his way out
the
front door as Wilson followed from behind.
Thus, the two boys walked forth, gradually disappearing into the
blackness
of the forest. The little boy was leading the way, carrying in his
arms, the
mortally injured body of the small dog. Wilson followed from behind,
carrying a shovel over his shoulder and a lantern in his hand. They had
walked only about thirty feet into the forest when the little boy
suddenly
stopped, pointed at the ground, and shouted...
"Here! This is where you should dig!"
Wilson gaped at the little boy, whom had become too overly exited over
this
one particular spot. Wilson thought it to be a disturbing moment.
Nevertheless, Wilson maintained his silence and simply proceeded to dig
the
final resting-place for the poor unfortunate animal. Pretty soon,
Wilson had
completed his task. The dead animal now lay underneath three feet of
dirt,
and the little boy seemed to now be breathing a bit easier. Thus, two
boys
made their way back to the cabin.
After giving the cabin a thorough cleaning from the inside, the two
exhausted boys then turned in for the night. They each took a place on
the
soft, thick rug, which lay near the warm fireplace. And in no time at
all...both were snoring away.
The next morning, Wilson awoke to a frightful realization. Everything
that
had been in the cabin the night before...was now gone...including the
little
boy. In fact, it seemed as if Wilson had slept through years of
deterioration. The desolate cabin bared no resemblance to cabin from
the
night before. Even the soft, warm rug on which Wilson and his friend,
had
fallen asleep, was gone. In it's place was nothing but a hard, cold
wooden
floor. Wilson didn't know what to think as he peered towards the broken
down
fireplace, which was heavily covered with cobwebs; one would have a
hard
time believing that it had housed a roaring fire just the night before.
A cold chill ran down Wilson's back, as he realized that he had
unknowingly
played guest participant to some kind of ghostly cabaret. He wondered
if
perhaps, his young host had actually been a ghost, or maybe...even...
editSomething had just dawned on Wilson...something that could possibly
explain the whole ordeal. He jumped off the floor as quickly as he
could and
almost tripped as he ran outside. With shaky hands, Wilson released his
horse from the tree and jumped on it's back. He rode speedily through
the
forest; he was heading towards the direction of the small dog's grave.
When Wilson arrived at the grave, He looked down at it with awe; his
eyes
opened wide to the sight of heavy plant-life covering the grave area.
He was
almost certain that deep beneath that grass covered dirt, awaited the
long-overdue answers to some old exhausted questions. So, without
further
hesitation, Wilson jumped off his horse and looked around for something
that
would help dig into the grave. After only a short while, Wilson had
found
what he'd been searching for. It was a long, flat piece of rock-it was
the
perfect substitute to a shovel.
Wilson had been digging for about a half-hour now; he had burrowed at
least
three feet into the grave, but hadn't yet found anything. He was
beginning
to doubt his theory. But just as Wilson was preparing to quit, he
discovered
something. It wasn't the corpse of a small dog. But instead, Wilson had
unearthed something about four feet in length and tightly wrapped in
some
kind of an old cloth. Wilson used his hands to dust away some of the
loose
pieces of dirt from it's surface. He sat still for a moment, as he was
trying to mentally prepare himself. Then, with hands that trembled from
nerves, Wilson removed the cloth.
Instantly, a stream of tears ran down Wilson's face. It was a small
human
skeleton; like that of a child's. The jaw, ribcage, and some of it's
other
bones had been crudely broken. Obviously, the child had been beaten to
death. By now, Wilson was crying loudly; he felt a great deal of pain
in his
heart. He knew to whom the skeleton belonged to. The child's name was
actually inscribed into a thin, golden bracelet that was wrapped around
it's
bony wrist. The inscription read: H. Bishop.
All his life, Wilson had been cautioned about woodland haints; but in
Harry's case...the monstrous haint had come in the form of his
stepfather.
Suddenly, Wilson felt compelled to tell everyone the truth about
Harry's
disappearance. He mounted his horse, and rode speedily through the
forest,
never slowing down as he headed towards home. If felt like the longest
ride
of his life, but when Wilson finally arrived at his families' cabin, he
was
immediately showered with hugs and kisses by both his parents. They had
missed him profoundly, and they were extremely relived to see him alive
and
safe. Wilson, himself, was overwhelmed with joy; he basked blissfully,
in
his parents' love. He only wished that Harry's parents had been as
caring.
Later that morning, during breakfast, Wilson told his parents all about
his
eerie encounter with Harry Bishop's ghost. His rapt parents never even
blinked as they listed to the spine-tingling details of the
awe-inspiring
night. Wilson, himself, was surprised to learn that his father, Karl,
had
actually visited the deserted cabin in which Wilson had spent the
night.
"Son, it's my opinion that last night, Harry Bishop did not enter your
world
of the living, but instead, you crossed over to his world of the dead.
I
believe that you and I, at one point during the night, occupied the
same
cabin...but we existed in two different worlds."
Wilson sat motionless at the breakfast table; he was mystified by his
father's theory.
"Pop, I'd really like to speak with Sheriff Ramsey; I think he should
be
informed of my findings."
"I think that's a good idea, son. We'll pay ol' Frank a visit, today,
after
breakfast."
Wilson and his father arrived at Sheriff Frank Ramsey's office at about
12
noon that day. They were greeted warmly at the door by the sheriff, who
also
happened to be a good friend of Karl's. Once inside, the sheriff
offered his
guest a seat and a cold glass of lemonade, he then inquired as to the
nature
of their visit.
Wilson wasted no time. Between sips of lemonade, he told the sheriff
all
about the human skeleton he'd found buried in the forest with the name
"H.
Bishop" clearly inscribed into it's wrist bracelet. The sheriff paid
close
attention to Wilson's story; it was a story of great interest to him.
His
father, Jack Ramsey, had been the town sheriff at the time of Harry's
disappearance. Jack, like most of the town's people, had suspected Bill
Bishop of murdering his stepson, and he too had been gravely
disappointed
with the lack of evidence against Bill. Jack had long since then
searched
for Harry's remains; he'd persisted, even after his retirement.
Alas, Jack Ramsey died at the ripe old age of 72, without ever
satisfying
his wish of seeing Bill Bishop on trial for the murder of his stepson.
Now,
it appeared that his son, Frank, would fulfil that wish for him.
A few days later, after Wilson's initial discovery, Harry Bishop was
given a
proper burial in a cemetery. Many of the town's people
attended...including
Wilson.
Almost immediately, after Harry's burial, there was a warrant out for
Bill
Bishop's arrest. It took the sheriff, less than two weeks to track him
down.
He had been living by himself in a small shack about fifty miles from
the
murder site. Sheriff Ramsey and a few of his deputies served the
warrant at
about nine O'clock that night. They had knocked several times to no
avail;
finally, they entered by force.
Bill was discovered dead on a rocking chair. Apparently, he had been
dead
for at least two years. His skeletal remains were still intact and
fully
clothed. Upon further examination, the sheriff discovered a note in
Bill's
bony hand; evidently, it was written right before his death. In the
note,
Bill confessed to Harry's murder; he also asked for Harry's
forgiveness.
According to the note, Bill hadn't had a moment's peace since the
murder;
he'd suffered profoundly from guilt.
Furthermore, Bill wrote of how he dreaded nights...that's when the
cursed
noises would begin. The noises were of a child crying-out in agony-the
unrelenting wails of Harry Bishop, no doubt.
The end
Jorge Prado is an amateur story writer from South Gate, Calif.
He can be reached at his E-mail: Pradojo@mail.northgrum.com
From: "TONG"
To:
Subject: water closet ghost
Date: Mon, 18 Oct 1999 16:36:00 +0800
One summer I went to my auntie's big house in a valley of America.
One night when I was sleeping,I heard a deep, long sound coming from the toilet in my room----a deep,scary long
sound.I was so cerious that I went to see what happened.When I opened the door,the sound stopped.There was nothing
even an ant. I closed the door and I went to sleep again.there was no more sound coming from the toilet this time.Instead,it
had some light footsteps coming from the corridor this time.i was so cerious.I went out to look for the reason.When I opened
the door,I heard footsteps,but I didn't seen anyone except a shadow-------a long shadow.
Next morning,I asked my auntie for the reason.She said there was a woman had killed by a thief robbing her
jewels!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(NAME) JASON S.
(EMAIL) orgy101@fiberia.com
(Location) undisclosed
(STORYNAME) beyond the wall
(Story)
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In a town, in upstate New York,aguy on his will he wanted to
buried in his wall.Yes , and he was. No one lives thier
now. So last year, a call came from that house and to 911.On the
phoneline,a voice came on and said he is going to
kill me and heard cats. So when cops got thier and there was dust
everywhere, there were dead cats in there, and where
the man was in the wall there were footprints coming down the walls,
and there was no phone in the house.Now till this
day, this house still stands in the Pike, north of Cuba.
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(NAME) Big D
(EMAIL) lgranamante@hotmail.com
(Location) Dallas, Texas
(STORYNAME) The Jealous Boyfriend
(Story)
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It all started when I decided to take a part time job as a bouncer, the
rest of the guys there were bigger so they started making fun of me for
being the smallest and the shortest out of the group. The manager saw
how one day I roughed up this guy, he was tall, 6'4" at least and I'm
only
5'9", he saw how I never backed down from him and how a couple of the
other guys didn't want to jump in and help. But I roughed him up good.
My boss pulled me to the side and told me that I can be a lot
better and maybe get the respect of the other guys if I got bigger.
Next day I decided to go out and buy some exercise equipment and in a
couple of weeks I started to get ripped, I was already strong as an ox
but
didn't have the size but I was getting there. One night as I worked
out
I felt as if someone was watching me, I thought it was my girlfriend at
first
but when I turned around there was nothing there. I felt this
presence
every time I worked out, nothing out of the ordinary was happening so I
never mentioned to my girlfriend.
About 2 weeks after I first felt that presence I started to smell
perfume and someone or something get on the bed with me after I took a
shower
and went to bed. I got used to it after a while that I started
greeting her when it got there and saying goodnight to it before I went
to sleep. It
would always get on the side my girlfriend slept and since my
girlfriend worked nights it was always available. After growing up in a
big family I
got used to closing my bedroom door, my girlfriend would always tease
me about it saying that there was nothing for me to hide anymore. So
one
night after taking a shower and going to bed I felt it get in the bed,
I joking around said "about time you got here, I was starting to feel
neglected"
and with that I felt as if it wrapped its arm around me the way
spouses
do each other. I blew it off since nothing ever happened until my door
was
violently open, the way someone would open a door when they're very
upset. I looked up expecting to see my girlfriend at the door but there
was nothing there, then the room got very cold, I could see my breath
that's how cold it was. Whatever was at the door wasn't friendly, I
then
heard what I can only describe as 2 footsteps and then everything was
quiet for about 2 seconds and that's when I felt something come down
and hit me square in the chest and almost knock the wind out of me, it
knocked me back into the bed and then as I was trying to catch my
breath
when my pillow came crashing on my face with such force that I felt as
if it had broken my nose and it was holding the pillow down with so
hard
that I started kicking and swinging my arms hoping to
hit whatever was on top of me.
After what it seemed an eternity I managed to grab hold of something,
and I somehow knocked it off me but not letting go, I got off the bed
and
started walking towards the door when I walked right in front of my
mirror. I looked up only to see myself standing in front of the mirror
with a
bloody nose and with my arms stretched out, but somehow you could see
hand prints on my clothes as this thing was trying its best to get
away,
I
freaked out and threw whatever I had in my arms into the mirror, I
heard the mirror shatter as I got out of the room and closed the door
behind
me. I grabbed the key and locked the room as the thing kept on
slamming itself on the door and it also had this evil-growl like laugh
that sent
chills through my spine. I started to walk towards the living room
when
the front door opened and my girlfriend walked in. Seeing the blood in
my
face she started to ask me if I was OK, when the door to my room broke
into a million pieces, I quickly grabbed my girl, got in her car and
drove
out of there. We moved out next day.
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(NAME) Tara
(EMAIL) n/a
(Location) Lancaster, PA
(STORYNAME) visit
(Story)
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My grandfather (my mother's father) was my best friend, he lived about
one city's block from my house on a big farm, I spent most of my
childhood on that farm. Many weekends I would sleepover at pa-pa's
house, I always went to bed early as a child so when pa-pa went to bed
he would always open my bedroom door and check in on me. He was always
concerned about me, as I was his favorite. I looked up to pa-pa, when
I looked at him I saw a strong loving man that would
do anything for his family. But the years went by fast and papa was
struck down by several strokes. It was very hard for me to watch him
deterioate. I prayed for God to come and take him home where he would
have no more pain. One night my paryers were answered, that night I
came home from work and my brother was standing in the drive way
waiting for me, I knew what happened, papa was gone. At the funeral I
did ok, unitl the close family members had the last and final vewing of
the body, I lost it, I cried so loud you could've heard me outside. I
missed him so much. Now about two months down the road, I was dateing
a jerk from Phili, he was an acholoic, we had a big fight one Saturday
night and I came home around 2:30 am. (some more background... because
these fights happened often my mother would always check on me to make
shure I was alright since I came home so late) I had just went to bed
and I turned off my night light, so I was still wide awake. I laid
down so !
I could see my bedroom door. Just as I laid down, I saw the hall light
turn on, foot steps comming up the stairs, then my bedroom door opened
and I saw a tall thin figure standing in my doorway for a few seconds.
Then it truned around, closed the door, walked back down the steps,
turn off the hall light, and continue to walk down to the kitchen. The
next morning I asked my mom if she had checked on me last night, she
said "no". Later at dinner I asked my dad if he had checked on me, he
said "no" and I know it was not my brother because he was on Montana
for a boy scout trip. And I had locked all the doors before i went to
bed that night. The only thing I can think of is papa just checking on
little girl for one last time.
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(NAME) Kate
(EMAIL) ivoryfire@hotmail.com
(Location) Northern CA
(STORYNAME) Papaw
(Story)
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I am the first grandchild of DNC. I keep his name out of the story for
privacy purposes. I was not raised in my family, but was adopted at
birth and never had the chance to know my grandfather. His greatness
and character are legendary and everywhere I have been since I learned
of his exsistence, I hear stories of a man who loved his family and
fellow man, worked hard, believed in God and stood his ground.
I met my birthfather 4 years ago and the journey of discovering what my
birth family was like, finally began. I had just missed meeting my
grandfather as he had passed away the year before I found my dad. But
in the true style that was his own, he had to have the last say, and so
he did. You see, he seemed to know me, yet I did not know him. I
believe he learned about me upon his passing.....
I have had several experiences where I felt his presence, but the one I
recount here was by far the strongest.
During a particularly tumultous time in my life, when the trials had
gotten to be more than I felt I could live with, I struggled very
sincerely with ending my life at the age of 33. There was an emotional
tumult going on in me and within my faily, and the years of emotional
war I had been through had finally taken their toll. Enough was
enough....I wanted out.
I remember I went to the barn on our property. I was standing on the
second floor above the hay storage area. I had rigged a harness rope
tight and hung it over the balcony...making sure it would not give. I
had not been around horses..or worked with them throughout my life, but
my grandfather had. Buying, breaking and gently molding them..healing
their abuses and reselling them a whole animal....was his gift. Barns
were not foriegn to him. I felt his presence standing over me as I
knelt by the balcony railing looking down onto the dirt floor of the
large barn. I said nothing, knowing he was there. He waited. I
continued my stubbon determined path of destruction, but then again he
was no stranger to stubbon behavior. It was in the Irish family blood
line..and to him I was simply acting like a tried and true family
member....he waited.......
I called to him in despair finally...telling him "Dana, I'm out of
here. You are disappointed....but I cannot take the toll here. The work
is too hard. The trial too long.."
He whispered back to me, within the recesses of my mind, in a wisdom
that was far from my own..."Your work will be equally as hard here.
Leaving there does not mean the end of your work. Nothing will change,
you will simply be here and not there."
I stopped....realizing I was hearing from beyond the grave. Beyond the
nightmare...from a man who stood on the other side....and was telling
the truth. That was my first conversation with Dana.....and every time
I call my father and tell him I think I heard from his dad..he asks me
what I heard....
I repeat every word..every thought whispered, every impression
and my dad always says "Sounds just like something Dad would say".....
We are truly never alone. He is with me still, even now as I
type, but in his own characteristic Irish horseman way, he is a silent
guardian. Fiercely protecting what he calls his, never saying much.
Always faithful, always true...knowing there is more to listening that
to speaking.
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(NAME) lynn
(EMAIL) goat51@hotmail.com
(Location) in
(STORYNAME) ouija
(Story)
one night at my grandmothers house a few friends of mine
decided to get out my ouija board to play. it got realy cold in the
room we were playing in. as the room got colder our hands on the board
started to get numb. we were reading some really weird stuff we got so
scared at the phrase "your grandmother is dead." we ran down the stairs
to check on her, she was alright. we got to the door to the room and
the ouija board was moved but no one had moved it. not even thinking
about it we started to play again. i layed my head down on the floor
(which was thick carpeted)i had a glass on the table right beside me as
soon as i sat up the glass fell right where my head was and shattered.
we haven't played the board since then.
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