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jimbo;1032882 wrote: once upon a time i sat by the camp fire





my foot got hot then burst into flames ... i was sitting too close





THE END :)


oh now thats real scary, have you read ours?

jimbo;1032882 wrote: once upon a time i sat by the camp fire





my foot got hot then burst into flames ... i was sitting too close





THE END :)


... I thought I was alone.........and it was too quiet, until I heard a blood-curdling scream coming from the fire. It sounded like a man's voice. But there was no one there. Then, I remembered the cake, and I realized that whoever it was would be invisible for awhile. I asked to the invisible man, "Who are you? Are you all right?" Silence. Then a deep voice answered, "No, mate.....I burnt me toes." and when he added, "ya tosser, "and chuckled, I knew who it was. My buddy Jimbo. Suddenly, my back began to tingle and my hair was standing up. I heard, "Gotcha!" and knew Odie was behind me.

So, I sat again by the campfire, rubbing my hands together, waiting for my friends to become visible again. A casual witness would have thought that I was talking to myself. But you do crazy stuff with and for friends.

So, as the night deepened, AFTR tried to ignore her skin crawling and the moaning and laughing around her, she continued talking. She still couldn't see her buddies yet, but she did feel their presence. She felt like she was being watched and kept scanning the area from time to time.

" When I was a kid, I shared a bedroom with two sisters. But my bed was near the closet. And that closet door........at night..........was supposed to always be closed. If it wasn't, I would get up out of bed and close it myself. There was something about the inside of a closet at night. Like the closet door was the only protection between my safe world and the netherworld of imagined horror."

This really happened....

I was out camping with a boyfriend, on a disused airfield in The New Forest. It was out of season, but still open to camping. We pitched our tent, there was no one else for miles. The toilet block was just 30 metres from where were. I had my torch, we had a fire, it was safe. As always happens with me, late that night, or early that morning, I needed to go to the toilet. I pulled on my boots, and took the torch.

The night sky was pitch black, there was no other lighting, my torch beam was pathetic and only covered a couple of feet ahead of me. I managed to get to the toilet hut, an old breeze block building, opened the heavy wooden door, and quickly ran to the cubicle. The lights did not work in the toilets. I sat and held the torch for dear life. It was so cold. so dark.

I heard a bang. then a cough, and someone moving in the cubicle block next door, the mens side. I heard footsteps, boots, taps running, more coughing, then the door open and slam shut. I pulled up my clothes, and ran as fast as I could out of there. I told myself it was my boyfriend. But did not wait around to check. But when I got back to the tent he was fast asleep. There were no other cars or tents around us. I figured maybe he had got back before me, and was asleep already.

I fell asleep. The next morning I asked if he had taken a pee, he said not all all night. I told him what i had heard. He told me I was mad.

When we moved along to another site the next day we got a brochure. It said, the airfield was said to be haunted by the ghosts of airmen, and sitings had been found in the toilet block before.

I am careful where I camp now.

Violetmay;1035882 wrote: This really happened....

I was out camping with a boyfriend, on a disused airfield in The New Forest. It was out of season, but still open to camping. We pitched our tent, there was no one else for miles. The toilet block was just 30 metres from where were. I had my torch, we had a fire, it was safe. As always happens with me, late that night, or early that morning, I needed to go to the toilet. I pulled on my boots, and took the torch.

The night sky was pitch black, there was no other lighting, my torch beam was pathetic and only covered a couple of feet ahead of me. I managed to get to the toilet hut, an old breeze block building, opened the heavy wooden door, and quickly ran to the cubicle. The lights did not work in the toilets. I sat and held the torch for dear life. It was so cold. so dark.

I heard a bang. then a cough, and someone moving in the cubicle block next door, the mens side. I heard footsteps, boots, taps running, more coughing, then the door open and slam shut. I pulled up my clothes, and ran as fast as I could out of there. I told myself it was my boyfriend. But did not wait around to check. But when I got back to the tent he was fast asleep. There were no other cars or tents around us. I figured maybe he had got back before me, and was asleep already.

I fell asleep. The next morning I asked if he had taken a pee, he said not all all night. I told him what i had heard. He told me I was mad.

When we moved along to another site the next day we got a brochure. It said, the airfield was said to be haunted by the ghosts of airmen, and sitings had been found in the toilet block before.

I am careful where I camp now.




omg, you must have been freaking out with this, number 1, your boyfriend was sound asleep when you returned...........I would have never gotten back to sleep then..............then, no. 2, you read some phamplet on hauntings there.

so after all of that, how did you feel and what went through your mind?

AFTR is so relieved that her friends have reappeared around the campfire. Violet has told a really scary tale..........about an unexplained occurance. Maybe you experience something like that, and the terror doesn't really hit you til afterwards.

When it's over, and you're safe.

Anyone else have a tale to tell? The night is still young..........and inviting.

Attached files

This really happened, althoug not scary!

Myself, hubby and son went camping to a place I always wanted to go, the complete campground was covered in high high standing trees, we were surrounded.....never seen so many like this before.

around 9pm it started to get dark, I was freaking out, there was no light from the sky whatsoever, the trees were to tall to let the light through.

I had just seen the park rangers in their ATV, and I asked what time do the put the park lights on?:-5:-5

Never even thought..........there are no lights to put on!:-5

as everyone roared in stitches..........I sat there crying, I so afraid.

Then to have to get up to go pee, take the lantern down this road.........OMG!

Yes, indeed, Odie. During the daylight hours, the forest is a lovely place to go hiking, explore the streams, admire the animals. The light filtering down through the trees is beautiful and almost reverant.

But at night..............the place becomes another world.

along-for-the-ride;1038087 wrote: Yes, indeed, Odie. During the daylight hours, the forest is a lovely place to go hiking, explore the streams, admire the animals. The light filtering down through the trees is beautiful and almost reverant.

But at night..............the place becomes another world.


we camped many a time after this, we always had the light of the sky, stars and moon.........at least I did see some light those times.

Hoss;1038226 wrote: My dad has written hundreds of stories that are good campfire stories, I will get his permission to post my favorites.


Welcome to the campfire, Hoss. Come, sit yourself down, and warm yourself. We would love to hear some of your dad's campfire stories.

Attached files

While we await for Hoss to share one of his dad's campfire stories, I will share this one.

"There was a fellow nicknamed Nomad who wasn't afraid of anything alive. But anybody who was dead scared the wits out of him.

One night, Nomad was out riding his motorcycle in the country when he got caught in a bad thunderstorm. The rain was coming down in sheets. Nomad started looking for a place to take shelter.

But at the first place he came to he didn't even slow down. It was an old deserted cabin, probably as dry as a bone inside. But Nomad knew for a fact that it was haunted, and he wasn't going to stay there.

A few miles farther, he came to an old abandoned church standing all alone in a field. It hadn't been used in years. All the window glass was gone, but it still had sections of roof intact. So Nomad parked his motorcycle and ran inside.

It was dark as it could be in there. Nomad groped around until he found a pew and sat down. It was nice and dry, just as he had thought it would be, and he stretched out his legs and made himself comfortable.

Suddenly there was a big flash of lightening, and Nomad saw that he wasn't the only one in the church. There were people sitting in almost every pew. They all had their heads bowed as if they wre praying, and they all were dressed in white.

"These must be ghosts sitting in their shrouds," Nomad thought. "They must have come in from some graveyard to get dry."

Nomad jumped up and ran down the aisle as fast as he could, right smack into one of the ghosts. And the ghost, he went.................."BAAA-A-A!"

An awsome story, Hoss. Thanks to you AND your dad for sharing.

It does seem that in our darkest moments of fear and despair, our faith can be our comfort and our strength.

along-for-the-ride;1045732 wrote: While we await for Hoss to share one of his dad's campfire stories, I will share this one.

"There was a fellow nicknamed Nomad who wasn't afraid of anything alive. But anybody who was dead scared the wits out of him.

One night, Nomad was out riding his motorcycle in the country when he got caught in a bad thunderstorm. The rain was coming down in sheets. Nomad started looking for a place to take shelter.

But at the first place he came to he didn't even slow down. It was an old deserted cabin, probably as dry as a bone inside. But Nomad knew for a fact that it was haunted, and he wasn't going to stay there.

A few miles farther, he came to an old abandoned church standing all alone in a field. It hadn't been used in years. All the window glass was gone, but it still had sections of roof intact. So Nomad parked his motorcycle and ran inside.

It was dark as it could be in there. Nomad groped around until he found a pew and sat down. It was nice and dry, just as he had thought it would be, and he stretched out his legs and made himself comfortable.

Suddenly there was a big flash of lightening, and Nomad saw that he wasn't the only one in the church. There were people sitting in almost every pew. They all had their heads bowed as if they wre praying, and they all were dressed in white.

"These must be ghosts sitting in their shrouds," Nomad thought. "They must have come in from some graveyard to get dry."

Nomad jumped up and ran down the aisle as fast as he could, right smack into one of the ghosts. And the ghost, he went.................."BAAA-A-A!"




:yh_rotfl:yh_rotfl:yh_rotfl:yh_rotfl

Hoss, thanks for sharing it was a bloody one!:wah:

So we all are still sitting around the campfire and someone brings a big paper bag of chestnuts and a grill-type thing. We are actually going to roast some chestnuts on an open fire. While we listen to them pop, I will tell another campfire story.



A woman lived alone on the top floor of an apartment house. One morning her telephone rang.

"Hello'" she said.

"This is the viper," a man said. "I'm coming up."

"Somebody is fooling around," she thought, and hung up the phone.

A half hour later the telephone rang again. It was the same man.

"I'm the viper," he said. "I'll be up soon."

The woman didn't know what to think, but she was getting frightened.

Once more the telephone rang. Again it was the viper.

"I'm coming up now," he said.

She quickly called the police. They said they would be right over. When the doorbell rang, she sighed with relief. "They are here!" she thought.

But when she opened the door, there stood a little old man with a bucket and a cloth. "I am the viper," he said. "I vish to vash and vipe the vindows."

Attached files

Thanks fuzzy......................scary sounds indeed.



So we are all still sitting around the campfire, when suddenly someone clears his throat, and says "I have a story". This person is just a shadow on the other side of the fire. "Go on, stranger. Share your story with us," AFTR offers. "Thank you, ma'am, " her replies. Silence for a moment, then......

" I work the swing shift, from 10 in the morning til 6 pm at this factory. Like the hours...........like the job..................just like to be.............home before dark. In the summertime, it's no problem. But winter..............." The stranger suddenly gets up and walks closer to the fire. We can see his face now. His eyes are so sad, haunted as he stares down into the campfire. He is silent for awhile, then looks up and shows the saddest smile we have ever seen. He glances at each of us and continues, "Winter.............is a different thing all together. Takes me just half an hour to drive home. On a normal day."

" There are no openings in the earlier shift at this factory and the night shift is...just....out of question for me. At home, I got a wife and three kids. All depending on me. And our home is out in the country, just down a path in the woods. Safe, sweet, and cozy. Our heaven." He suddenly looked up as if from a daydream, and looked around at us.

"Go on, sir," AFTR coaxes softly. "Do tell us your story."



TO BE CONTINUED

Attached files

along-for-the-ride;1095239 wrote: So we all are still sitting around the campfire and someone brings a big paper bag of chestnuts and a grill-type thing. We are actually going to roast some chestnuts on an open fire. While we listen to them pop, I will tell another campfire story.



A woman lived alone on the top floor of an apartment house. One morning her telephone rang.

"Hello'" she said.

"This is the viper," a man said. "I'm coming up."

"Somebody is fooling around," she thought, and hung up the phone.

A half hour later the telephone rang again. It was the same man.

"I'm the viper," he said. "I'll be up soon."

The woman didn't know what to think, but she was getting frightened.

Once more the telephone rang. Again it was the viper.

"I'm coming up now," he said.

She quickly called the police. They said they would be right over. When the doorbell rang, she sighed with relief. "They are here!" she thought.

But when she opened the door, there stood a little old man with a bucket and a cloth. "I am the viper," he said. "I vish to vash and vipe the vindows."




just saw this one!:yh_rotfl:yh_rotfl:yh_rotfl

love it when old threads come back!:guitarist:guitarist

The stranger continued his story. "When I first started my job, I did work the night shift. I was a kid just out of high school and working at night and sleeping half the day was appealling to me. I was saving my money to get my first car. I'd seen a sweet '66 Mustang for sale and had my eye on it." The stranger paused as if apologetic, and say, "That seems like a long time ago."

"One morning, after I got off from work I walked to the diner to get my usual breakfast-supper meal before I went home to sleep awhile. I went in and sat at the usual booth. I looked up and that's how I met my wife, Dawn. I had never seen her before. She took my order, and we got to chatting, and she said she was new in town and just got hired as a waitress there. It was love at first sight for me, and was elated to find out she felt the same about me. We fell into a routine where I would go home and sleep awhile and meet her when she got off work at 3:pm and spend time with her till it was time for me to go to work. We never got to be together at night as I would be working. Next morning, after work, she and I would spend a little time at the diner while I ate.

This went on for a whole year or near abouts. I had saved enough to get a car.

It wasn't the Mustang, but that was okay by me. I told Dawn I was going to try to get day shift so she and I could go out together at night. At first, she looked almost frightened, but then she hugged me and smiled. That smile warmed my heart so that I said to her, 'You and I know how we feel about each other. Let me find us place to live and then we can get married. I have enough money saved up for a down payment on a little place out in the country. Neither you or I have any other family, so maybe we can start a little family of our own.' Well, Dawn's face lit up and she said she wanted to be my wife and have a family more than anything in the world. That was truly a wonderful moment."

The stranger had been smiling, but suddenly looked so solemn again. His eyes wandered away from the fire then from tree to tree beyond us out into the night.



TO BE CONTINUED

Then the stranger rubbed his eyes and came closer to the fire once again. He sat down next to us.

"We got married on a sunny morning at a little white wooden chapel. The preacher's wife was our witness. The day was so bright and green. We went straight to our cabin and spent the whole day together.........just the two of us. Like............there was nobody else in the whole world...............just us. We found time to hike in the woods and rested near a creek where we had a little picnic. While we were sitting there, Dawn said so softly, ' I do love you so much. I never want to lose you.........ever. You have come to be everything to me.' Very sweet words.............I felt the same about her and said so...............but I couldn't imagine what was behind those words."

"My boss gave me a week off with pay as a wedding present, so I sure was looking forward to enjoying this honeymoon with my new bride.We fell asleep in each other's arms that night. That was the last peaceful sleep I've ever known. "

TO BE CONTINUED

The stranger continued.

"The night was still pitch black when I drowsily reached over to cuddle closer with my new bride. I reached over, but there was no one there. I slowly sat up and turned on the little lamp next to the bed. I figured she may have stumbled to the bathroom in the dark. The light revealed that the bathroon door was ajar. I called for my wife.......No anwer. I got up laughing, "Dawn........are you okay?" No answer. I walked over to the empty bathroom. Our cabin is small, so it didn't take me long to realize that I was alone. I started to panic and rushed to the front door. I threw it open and shout, "Dawn...........Dawn! Where are you?" No answer. The night breeze blew into my face and brushed over my shoulders and down my back. I stepped back inside, grabbed a jacket and slipped some boots on my feet and grabbed a flashlight. Then I went outside to start my search. I followed the flashlight beams all through the woods surrounding and hollered my wifes name. Our car was still parked outside, locked ,with a cold engine. After awhile, I jumped in the car and drove those backroads til I thought I was about out of gas. I was scared. I was puzzled. I was terrified. At daybreak, I was sitting out in the car in front of our home, and I was bawling my heart out in frustration and fear that something bad happened to my wife and I didn't protect her.

The morning sun was rising, when I got out of my truck. I was aware that my motions were not unlike that of an old man. I moved slowly and painfully up the porch steps and into the cabin. I pushed open the door.

TO BE CONTINUED

And sitting there on the floor was Dawn. She jumped up and we rushed together and embraced. Speechless at first. Then, I felt some anger want to boil up inside me, and I stood back and glared at her, "Where have you been? I've been crazy with worry."

She looked up at me and said simply, "This is the awful truth. I've been here all along. I followed you all night into the woods. I brushed your tears when you wept. Then, daylight came and you see me here." I was stunned into a heavy silence. Questions filled my head. I looked into her eyes and saw that she was indeed telling me the truth. I finally muttered, "What the hell.........."

She took my hand and led me to the sofa and we sat down. Our eyes met again.

She began to speak and tell her story. "I don't know what happened to my family long ago to cause this.......but we have been cursed. This has been happening to me for as far back as I can remember. When nightfall comes, I don't really disappear, although it does seem that way to you because you can't see me. What happens is this...............I become the night. As long as there is darkness in the air, I am bound to drift through the night. You will feel a breeze on your face..........that is me. You may hear the rustling of the leaves on a nearby tree. That is me. And when the sun finally begins to rise, I can be here again as myself. In the daylight." She stopped and looked down and sighed. " I waited til now to tell you this because I thought it might be a little easier to explain...after it happened the first time here with you. I'm so sorry. I was wrong. Nothing could have made it easier for you. There is no cure for this. I have to live with this for the rest of my life." Then, she looked into my eyes. They were filled with tears and filled with love. ".......but you don't have to, my love. If this is too much for you...I will leave."

I took my only a brief moment to decide how I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

Ofcourse, it would have to be with her. I could not imagine my life without her.

So we hugged and accepted each other as we are. Our love has been blessed with children.........beautiful children............just like their mother. During the day we laugh and play and dine together and share chores just like any other loving family. I cherish those moments.

It is the night I dread. Every night I still live in fear that I will never see them again. Then in the wonderful morning.....there they are again. In my life."



The stranger ended his story. We all suddenly became more aware of the night surrounding us and the nocturnal loneliness this man endured for love. He got up to leave and said, "Morning shall be here soon. I better run along home. My family will be there waiting for me. Thank you all for the company. "

He walked away down the path to the woods, turned around once to wave, then disappeared. We were silent for a long time.

(Please go back to post #70 of this thread to begin my story about the stranger. I hope you like it.)





Click on the photo below. This campfire is still burning.

Attached files

Ghost Train

retold by

S. E. Schlosser



I was a railway fireman back in those days, working on the CPR line in Alberta. I did a hard day's work and earned me a fair wage. I was young then, and my pretty little bride was just setting up housekeeping in the little cottage that was all we could afford. Life was good, and I thought everything would continue rolling along that way.

Then came that fateful day in May of 1908. I was working nights that month, and my buddy Twohey was the engineer. We were about three kilometers out of Medicine Hat when a blazing light appeared in front of the engine. It was another train on a collision course with us. Twohey yelled at me to jump, but there was no time. The light was right on top of us. I thought we were dead. Then the oncoming train veered off to the right and ran passed us, its whistle blowing and the passengers staring at us through the windows. But there was only a single track in that stretch of hills, and it was the one we were on. I looked over at the shrieking, rumbling Ghost Train and saw that the wheels were not touching the ground!

Well, we were mighty spooked by the incident. Twohey decided to take some time off from engineering and began working in the yard; but I kept working the night shift as a fireman, not wanting some Ghost Train to drive me away a job I enjoyed.

A few weeks later, I was stoking the fire for an engineer named Nicholson when we heard the shrill whistle blast through the calm night air. We were on the same single track just outside of Medicine Hat, and the brilliant light of the Ghost Train burst out of nowhere, blinding us. Nicholson gave a shout of terror and I thought my heart would stop. As before, the Ghost Train veered off to the right at the last possible second. I saw it race passed us on tracks that did not exist, its passengers staring curiously at Nicholson and I from out of the windows.

That did it. I wasn't about to go back on the tracks after that. I did yard work for the rest of the month of May and a few weeks in June. Finally, I decided that enough was enough, and I gritted my teeth and resumed my role as fireman.

I was firing up an engine in the yard one evening in early July when the report of an accident came in. The Spokane Flyer and a Lethbridge passenger train had a head-on collision on the single track three kilometers outside of Medicine Hat, on the exact spot where the Ghost Train had appeared. The Lethbridge locomotive had derailed and its baggage car was destroyed. Seven people were killed in the accident, including the two engineers. One was my buddy Twohey, and the other was Nicholson.

The Farmer's Secret

Long ago, about the early 1930's, there was a man lost out in the backcountry of Georgia. Due to the fact that he was a man, asking directions was beneath him, so instead he just wandered back roads trying to find his way. Eventually he ran out of gas out in the middle of nowhere, but he remembered passing a farmer's house not to far back, so he gets out and starts walking.



Finally he gets to the farmer's house; unfortunately it is already extremely late at night, so the farmer invites him to stay the night.



The farmer shows him his room and tells him that there is one condition to his staying and has the man follow him. They go out to the barn. The farmer begins moving a huge quantity of hay bales to the other side of the barn to reveal a rug. He rolls up the rug to reveal a trap door. The farmer opens the door and he and the man proceed to walk down many steps.



They keep going down and down and down (this part is very monotonous so I'll keep it as simple as that). Finally at the bottom of the steps they come to a huge iron door. It takes both of them to open it far enough to just squeeze through. The door opens up to a room containing an extremely large maze. They work their way through the maze and to another door, this one made of glass.



Again it takes the two of them to open the glass door. In this room is a very large cage with a HUGE pink gorilla in it. The farmer tells the man that he must never touch the gorilla. The man agrees and they go back (you tell all the steps to getting back). They shut the trap door, put the rug over it, and move all the hay back.



They go back to the house and go to bed. But, the man cannot sleep due to the fact that he is concentrating so greatly on what would happen if he were to touch the gorilla. He decides he is going to go find out.



He goes out to the barn. Moves the huge quantity of hay bales to the other side of the barn to reveal the rug, this take quite awhile due to the amount of the hay. He rolls up the rug to reveal the trap door. The man opens the door and he proceeds to walk down the many steps.



He keeps going down and down and down and down and down and down and down and down, etc. Finally at the bottom of the steps they come to a huge iron door. It takes the man a great amount of effort to just open the door enough to squeeze his body through with a minimal amount of pain. The door opens up to the room containing the extremely large maze. He begins to work his way through the maze and finally to the other door, the one made of glass.



Again it takes him a great amount of strength to open the glass door. He goes over to the cage, where the gorilla remains asleep. He reaches his hand through the iron bars and lightly touches the gorilla on his little toe. All of a sudden the gorilla awakes and goes into a fit!



The man runs to the glass door and pushes it shut with a great amount of strength and adrenaline. Runs through the maze, and just as he is about to go through the iron door hears the glass door shatter. He again goes through the iron door and pushes it shut with a great amount of strength and adrenaline.



He runs up the stairs and just as he reaches the top he hears the iron door rip like a sheet of paper. He shuts the trap door, but feels it is meaningless to replace the hay if the gorilla could just rip the iron door like that.



He runs down the road and out to his truck, climbs in and attempts to start the engine forgetting that his truck is out of gas. The gorilla runs up, RIPS the roof off of the truck, reaches in and.... touches the man saying, "TAG, YOU'RE IT!

Dancing with the Devil

retold by

S. E. Schlosser



The girl hurried through her schoolwork as fast as she could. It was the night of the high school dance, along about 70 years ago in the town of Kingsville, Texas. The girl was so excited about the dance. She had bought a brand new, sparkly red dress for the dance. She knew she looked smashing in it. It was going to be the best evening of her life.

Then her mother came in the house, looking pale and determined.

"You are not going to that dance," her mother said.

"But why?" the girl asked her mother.

"I've just been talking to the preacher. He says the dance is going to be for the devil. You are absolutely forbidden to go," her mother said.

The girl nodded as if she accepted her mother's words. But she was determined to go to the dance. As soon as her mother was busy, she put on her brand new red dress and ran down to the K.C. Hall where the dance was being held.

As soon as she walked into the room, all the guys turned to look at her. She was startled by all the attention. Normally, no one noticed her. Her mother sometimes accused her of being too awkward to get a boyfriend. But she was not awkward that night. The boys in her class were fighting with each other to dance with her.

Later, she broke away from the crowd and went to the table to get some punch to drink. She heard a sudden hush. The music stopped. When she turned, she saw a handsome man with jet black hair and clothes standing next to her.

"Dance with me," he said.

She managed to stammer a "yes", completely stunned by this gorgeous man. He led her out on the dance floor. The music sprang up at once. She found herself dancing better than she had ever danced before. They were the center of attention.

Then the man spun her around and around. She gasped for breath, trying to step out of the spin. But he spun her faster and faster. Her feet felt hot. The floor seemed to melt under her. He spun her even faster. She was spinning so fast that a cloud of dust flew up around them both so that they were hidden from the crowd.

When the dust settled, the girl was gone. The man in black bowed once to the crowd and disappeared. The devil had come to his party and he had spun the girl all the way to hell.

The campfire is still burning and the night is still young and dark. Click on the fire below and stare at the fire.

Anyone else have a tale to tell?

Attached files

There's a distinct chill in the air again...and it's not because the temperature outside has dropped. Can you feel it? It's time to sit around the campfire and tell the tales. Tales that make us shiver and look around in the dark surrounding us and wonder. What is really out there?

Attached files

Here's our first campfire story for Autumn 2010:

The Scarecrow

I live on a small farm, far out in the country. Every year, my dad puts out scarecrows in our fields because he thinks they're effective in not only keeping the crows out, but evil spirits as well. I guess he's a little superstitious. The scarecrows he sets out are the same ones, year after year. After so much wear and tear, they were showing their age.

This October started out just like any other October. The weather was turning cool and the leaves were beginning to change into brilliant orange and yellow colors. One Saturday, us kids got together and decided to make a new scarecrow. Being creative, we gathered our supplies and got to work. This scarecrow was to be different. This was my special design. I wanted a creepy scarecrow, much scarier than the others. Hours later, we finished up. Indeed, he was the ugliest, most frightening scarecrow I've ever seen. I was so proud.

Mom called us for supper so we planted the scarecrow out in the cornfield, where I could see it from my bedroom window. Not giving it any more thought, we went in and ate. Soon, the wind picked up and it began lightening. No storm was forecasted but it looked like we were in for a rough night.

Light rain began falling as I went up to bed. I was worried about my new scarecrow so I peeked out my window. What I saw shocked me. He was there alright, but not where we had placed him. It appeared to me that he was several feet to the right. Puzzled, I stood at the window and watched intently. The lightening was bright and every time it flashed, I could see my scarecrow. The problem was, it looked as if he was moving when the sky was dark, only to turn up in another spot when the sky lit up.

Thinking that I must be imagining things, I put my pajamas on and went to bed. Later on, a loud CRACK of thunder woke me up. By now, the rain was pounding down, making it difficult to see out my window. I slipped on my shoes and snuck outside to check on my scarecrow. Not sure where he was, I walked around in the thunderstorm, half blinded by the cold, stinging rain. Clumsily, I stumbled over a fallen branch and fell face down in a patch of mud. When I looked up, there was my scarecrow glaring down at me. His eyes were huge and glowing red. I couldn't pick myself up fast enough. I ran screaming to the house and never looked back.

After tossing and turning the rest of the night, I woke up to bright sunshine and the smell of bacon. Not wanting to tell my parents what had happened, I sat quietly and ate breakfast. Anxious and apprehensive, I then went outside to look around. My dad was already looking for damage to the buildings, but I was looking for my scarecrow. I could see the other scarecrows, all in their usual places but my scarecrow was nowhere to be found.

Full of confusion, I began crying. Not because of losing the scarecrow, but because of pure, unadulterated fear. My father told me that he probably blew away and would be discovered in a field during harvest. I knew better. Some how, some way, that scarecrow came alive. How, I don't know.

Ten years later:

Years have passed and to this day, I have never seen my scarecrow again. What happened that stormy night? Do scarecrows really keep out evil spirits or can they be possessed by one? I don't live on that farm anymore, but I've never ventured outside during a thunderstorm again.

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Big Liz

A Maryland Ghost Story

retold by

S.E. Schlosser

The Master of the plantation was a firm supporter of the Confederate President and had committed to send as much food as he could to the Southern army. Things were going well at first, until the Yankees began attacking the Master's supply lines. The Master suspected a traitor among his slaves, and soon discovered that the Yankee spy was a slave-woman named Big Liz. She was a behemoth of a girl who could pick up two full-grown pigs, one under each arm, and cart them over to the slaughterhouse without assistance. If he confronted her directly and she fought back, she would take him to pieces.

So the Master came up with a different plan to rid himself of the spy. He approached the giant girl and asked her to assist him with a special task. He told her that President Jefferson Davis had entrusted him with a large chest full of gold. To keep it out of Yankee hands, he wanted to bury the chest where it would never be found. The girl's eyes gleamed when she heard this false report. The Master knew she was already planning to betray the existence of the chest to the Yankees.

The Master made Big Liz carry the heavy trunk several miles out into the swamp land and asked her to dig a deep hole for the trunk. He sat at his leisure while she worked and strained for hours against the muddy ground, which kept oozing back into the hole. When the slave girl was completely exhausted, the Master decreed the hole to be large enough for his war chest. Wearily, Big Liz dropped the shovel and pulled the heavy chest down until it lay at her feet. Then she started to climb out of the deep hole. But the Master barred her way, and Big Liz gazed up at him in sudden fear as he loomed over her. "Traitor! Yankee spy!" The Master hissed. "There is only one path open to a traitor."

The Master swung his sword at her, and the sharp edge of the blade cut cleaning through the slave girl's neck. Her head went rolling away into the tall grass as her body toppled across the chest. The Master heaped dirt over the chest and the body of slave girl who had betrayed him. Briefly, he considered finding her head and burying it in the pit with her body, but it was too dark to go wandering in the dangerous marshland, and he knew that scavengers would make short work of the head when they found it.

As the Master walked toward home through the dark swamp, he became aware of a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, as if someone were watching him. The Master walked faster as clouds obscured the light of the moon. The Master's teeth chattered as a breeze cut through him like the sharpened blade of the sword at his side, and his straining ears picked up the sound of footsteps on the path behind him.

The Master was filled with a terrible, superstitious dread of demons and witches and ghosts. He broke out into a panicked run, fleeing up the path as fast as his legs would carry him. To his relief, he saw the lights of his house rise before him, and knew he was home.

As he rounded the back corner of his house, he was confronted by a massive, dirt-encrusted figure that glowed with blue fire. The smell of rotting leaves and marsh grass filled his nostrils as his eyes raced up and up the tall creature, until they rested on the stump of its neck, where a head had resided only an hour before. Then he heard a chuckle from the creature's side, and he saw the phantom's head tucked under her arm.

The Master stumbled backward, gabbling desperately in fear as the ghost placed her head upon the ground with one hand and grabbed the collar of his shirt with the other. The murdered slave girl snapped the Master's neck in two and dropped his dead body to the ground beneath his bedroom window. Then Big Liz gathered up her severed head and vanished into the darkness.

They say that on the anniversary of her death, the ghost of Big Liz still may be seen roaming the swamp lands near her old home. Anyone foolish enough to walk near her grave will be driven away by the phantom, which to this day still defends the place where the Confederate chest is buried.

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The campers were filled with dread. As the chilling night air clung to them like some Invisible cloak, they wondered If they would survive another night. The air hung with the smell of death as they waited to know who would be taken next..... Oh look, a Bee.

Is this your story, oscar?

Why is the humble Honey Bee so Scary?

Back in 1977 - a quarter century ago - I was challenged to confront the BEES!

It happened on holiday with colleagues from work. We were visiting the 'West Country' near Lands End in Cornwall and had arrived the most southerly part of England: Lizard Point.

At high tide the area becomes an island only half a mile off shore, but at low tide, it is possible to walk across to ‘The Mound’. The island hosts a monastery that nowadays is the central tourist attraction for the area. A second thrill can occur taking the short boat trip when dolphins are frequently seen 'escorting' the vessel on its daily trips.

In summer the coast of Cornwall is heated by warm waters of the Gulf Stream, which bring welcome warmth all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. It releases it's heat upon the first land mass it encounters after flowing across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. The warmth although quite gentle is steady all the year round and allows semi-tropical plants: succulents and cacti, to survive outdoors well north of their usual latitude.

Of course there is one 'minor' side effect. Insects also flourish. Without the chilling winters that infest the British shores, local bugs thrive year round. Even in the early spring they are in abundance - and searching for 'food'.

It was in this scenario that a foot-weary group of hungry tourists sat down at their picnic table for a long awaited rest. Out came the packed lunches, cakes (muffins), sodas and hot tea. It didn't help that I had thoughtlessly made Honey & Lemon Curd sandwiches. After a few minutes one or two Honey Bees came to visit. None of us paid much attention at first since bees are a common part of British summertime. Then a few more arrived, and A Few More, and A FEW MORE, and A LOT MORE, and then THE WHOLE DAMNED HIVE seemed to be visiting... ... ...

The table emptied in record time, emptied of Humans that is. The bees were very much at home. It should be said in deference to the bees that they were only flying around and investigating the source of all the aromas we had introduced within their territory. They weren't attacking us although the noise was very disconcerting.

As we backed away a colleague mocked me for being afraid. He knew that I had been delving into my mind with hypnosis and using hypnotic techniques to 'improve' myself. He challenged me to confront the fear. In doing so he made me aware of my ‘irrational’. It was a challenge that I was happy to accept.

At first I thought about using Simple Hypnotic techniques to override my fear, to strengthen my control of the phobia. Then another idea struck, an alternative option. Earlier that year I had read Arthur Janov's books on Primal Therapy. One feature that seemed useful. It was the idea that if a neurosis could be overloaded it would break down and the forces that drove it would break into consciousness. That could - via something known as ‘connection’ - completely eliminate the phobia. I decided to try that approach.



Turning to the picnic table and its abundant swarm (for that's how I was perceiving the bees) I began walk slowly towards the unholy terror. I could feel my body tense up. The fear became Panic. I had to use wakeful hypnotic suggestions to push me forward despite every cell of my body quivering like a jelly in a Californian Earthquake. The terror was immense and I was grateful to my audience. As they watched me face the fear, and it was very obvious that my fear was growing, their 'encouragement' gave me the courage to continue. At about six feet from the swarm progress had become almost a stand still.

Again I used hypnotic suggestion to force me to advance a few inches at a time. I was panting heavily, tears welled into my eyes making vision almost impossible.

Suddenly I was hit by massive flashbacks to my childhood - back at four or five years old. I was in a bulky old-fashioned armchair arched backwards over it. My mother was holding my head inverted so she could drip medication into my nose. The only problem is that she was in her normal mode: TOTAL PANIC. She was clearly terrified and her panic was contagious. Intuitively I responded to the panic and was in a state of extreme agitation: panting like a dog in a heat wave. Obviously in this state every attempt by my mother to drip the medication into me resulted in chocking inhalation that intensified my panic. This angered her - it made her so furious that she threatening me with a beating if I didn't stop 'fighting her.' Surely she realized that pure panic could not be dissipated by mere threats. It only aggravated the situation.

I felt fear from long, long ago. Not only the fear of choking on the nose drops, but the fear of a beating if I couldn't control the panic. Panic that she herself had induced. If only I didn't need the nose drops I would be safe. I would not be in danger if only I could keep the drops out of my nose.

I felt those ancient thoughts as clearly as I had that day back in 1953. I felt the thoughts and watched them in fascination as they generalized.

I would only be safe if I could keep the drops out of my nose.

I would only be safe if I could keep EVERYTHING away from my nose.

I would only be safe if I could keep EVERYTHING away from any facial orifice: my nose, my eyes, and my ears.

And further still:

I would only be safe if I never have to lean over backwards ever again.

The flashbacks took only a fraction of a second but covered many such incidents over a span of several years. In the split second that they flooded my body and mind I felt the terror of my childhood and a strange stillness overtook me.

When looked at the bees again they were just flying insects. There was neither affection nor dislike for them. My breathing had returned to normal and my body was relaxed. Without effort I strolled into the buzzing forest of bees. That they could creep into a facial orifice was not even disconcerting. Sitting down amongst them I picked up the honey sandwiches and began to eat. The bees were crawling over my hands and the bread. I simply waved the sandwich to shake them away and continued eating in complete indifference.

My friends were quiet for several minutes before calling to me (from a distance.) They wanted to know what had happened. How was I able to be doing ‘that’? Later they would recant the story from their prospective, without the time distortion I’d experienced. According to their descriptions: I had started walking towards the table, gradually slowing down. For an instant I had tensed up and froze, then almost immediately resumed a normal walk, sat down, and began to eat. Clearly the memory flashbacks were instantaneous although they seemed to take up many minutes of subjective time.



On that day the primal techniques seemed to have been successful. Now twenty-five years later the results are as strong as that day back in 1977. Today I can say with certainty: ‘The techniques did work.’

Nowadays the Honey Bees and all flying insects are to me at least just an inconvenience, just a nuisance. I had made a connection to my hidden past and affected a cure. This was clearly the way to go. But the Primal Institute was in a foreign country and to live there for a year was beyond my resources. I had to wait decades, until the end of the century, before the opportunity to follow up this success arrived.

This experience has been the light at the end of the tunnel. A glimpse of what a life free from fear can be. My task now is overcome the fear of people that has hounded my life. It is a task that I am now ready to face.

Attached files

Fifty-Cent Piece

A New York Ghost Story

retold by

S. E. Schlosser



There is a story told in Troy and Albany about a couple returning home from a trip to New England. They were driving home in a carriage, and were somewhere near Spiegletown when the light failed and they knew they would have to seek shelter for the night.

The husband spied a light through the trees and turned their horse into a small lane leading up a hill. A pleasant little house stood at the crest, and an old man and his wife met the couple at the door. They were in nightclothes and were obviously about to turn in, but they welcomed the travelers and offered them a room. The old woman bustled about making tea and offering freshly-baked cakes. Then the travelers were shown to their room. The husband wanted to pay the old couple for their lodgings, but the old lady shook her head and the old man refused any payment for such a small service to their fellow New Yorkers.

The travelers awoke early and tiptoed out of the house, leaving a shiny fifty-cent coin in the center of the kitchen table where the old couple could not miss it. The husband hitched up the horse and they went a few miles before they broke their fast at a little restaurant in Spiegletown.

The husband mention the nice old couple to the owner of the restaurant and the man turned pale.

"Where did you say that house was?" he asked. The husband described the location in detail.

"You must be mistaken," said the restaurant owner. "That house was destroyed three years ago by a fire that killed the Brown family."

"I don't believe it," the husband said flatly. "Mr. and Mrs. Brown were alive and well last night."

After debating for a few more minutes, the couple and the restaurant owner drove the carriage back out of town towards the old Brown place. They turned into the lane, which was overgrown with weeds, and climbed the hill to the crest. There they found a burned out shell of a house that had obviously not sheltered anyone for a long time.

"I must have missed the track," said the husband. And then his wife gave a terrified scream and fainted into his arms. As he caught her, the husband looked into the ruin and saw a burnt table with a shiny fifty-cent piece lying in the center.

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Click on the link below for two campfires that are waiting for us:

http://www.forumgarden.com/forums/peopl ... ost1339260

along-for-the-ride;1339389 wrote: Click on the link below for two campfires that are waiting for us:

http://www.forumgarden.com/forums/peopl ... ost1339260


ahhhhhhhhhh it is so soothing!

we used to have them all summer until the wee hours of the morning..gosh I miss that.

Once there was this family who moved into a house that everybody in town said was haunted. The family didn't believe anybody.

When they moved in they heard somehing in the attic. It said, "I'm the Ghost of the Red Eye."

So the dad went up in the attic and heard, "I'm the Ghost of the Red Eye," and he ran down the stairs screaming, got in bed and hid under the covers.

The next night they they heard it again. So this time the mom went up to investigate and she heard it too. She came running down screaming to death and hid under her blanket.

The next night the older brother went up to investigate the same thing happened to him. The next night the little sister went to investigate the same thing happened to her.

But the next night the baby went up to investigate and heard, "I'm the Ghost of the Red Eye," but she said . . .

"You better shut up or you'll be the ghost of the black eye."

:wah:

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Classic Australian Poetry – The Camp Fire, by Barcroft Boake (1866-1892)



Reclining near his golden fire,

Alone within the silent bush,

He slowly smokes his evening briar

And listens to the hovering hush.

The flames are points of falchion-blades,

Light-giving in their wheel and dance;

They gild the underleaf that fades

Above into a glooming trance.

The boles around rise to the night,

Ashen and grey, in solemn-wise,

Opening a heaven of starry light,

Dark violet-blue of nameless dyes.

Thoughts, many as the leaves in the wood,

Touched by the autumnal cold,

That fall and lie in drifting floods,

Draw home with legendary gold.

Fanned from the fire of a burning brand

Lights the bronzed glade with vivid glow;

On earth he whispering lays his hand:

‘Mother, to thy calm rest I go.’

***

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It's that time again. Let's sit around the crackling hot campfire and warm our hands. Anyone have a tale to tell?

Golden Hand

excerpted from Spooky Oregon

retold by

S. E. Schlosser

He never paid much attention to the neighbors living on his city block until the day the pretty middle-aged widow moved in two doors down from him. She was plump and dark with sparkling eyes, and she always wore dark gloves on her hands, even indoors.

He went out of his way to meet her, and they often "bumped" into each other in the street and stood talking. One day, as she brushed the hair back from her forehead, he caught a glimpse of gold under the glove on her right arm. When he asked her about it, she grinned coquettishly and told him that she had lost one hand a few years back and now wore a golden hand in its place. In that moment, a terrible lust woke in his heart - not to possess the lady herself, but to possess the solid gold hand that she wore under her long black gloves.

He courted the widow with every stratagem known to him; flowers, trips to the theater, gifts, compliments. And he won her heart. Within a month, they were standing in front of a minister, promising to love one another until death parted them. Within another month, he was a widower and had buried his ailing wife in the local cemetery - without her golden hand. It had been so easy. A slow poison, administered daily to resemble a wasting disease. No one - not his wife, not the family doctor, not their neighbors - suspected murder. And the night after the funeral, he slept with the golden hand under his pillow.

It was a dark night. Clouds covered the moon, and the wind was whistling down the chimney and rattling the shutters of the town house. He was deeply asleep when the door to his room slammed open with a loud bang and a wild wind whipped around the room, scattering papers and books and clothing and table coverings every which way. He sat up, startled by the sudden noise, and his pulse began to pound when he saw a greenish-white light bobbing slowly into the room. Before his eyes, the light slowly grew larger, taking on the shape of his dead wife. She was missing one arm. "Where is my golden hand?" she moaned, her dark eyes blazing with red fire. "Give me my golden hand!"

He tried to speak, but his mouth was so dry with fear that he could only make soft gasping noises. The glowing phantom moved closer to him, her once-lovely face twisted into a hideous green mask. "You stole my life and you stole my hand. Give me back my golden hand!" the dead wife howled. The noise rose higher and higher, and the phantom pulsed with a strident green light that smote his eyes, making them water.

He cowered back against his pillows, and the hard shape of the golden hand pressed against his back. And then he felt the golden hand twitch underneath him as the mangled green phantom that had been his wife swooped down upon him, pressing his face against the pillow in a suffocating green cloud. He tried to scream, but it was cut off suddenly by a terrible pressure against his throat, cutting off his breath. The world went black.

The next morning, when the housemaid came into the room with her master's morning cup of tea, she found him lying dead on the floor, with the golden hand clutched around his throat.

Come closer and click on the fire below to warm your hands.



Here's a story for ya, while you. ahum, warm up.....

White Wolf



A Texas Scary Story

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

She snapped awake out of a deep sleep, screaming aloud in terror. In her nightmare, a large white wolf had been chasing her around and around the house, gaining on her with every step until it finally pounced on her and ripped out her throat. She lay shaking for hours, unable to sleep after such a terrifying dream.

But morning finally arrived, and the day was completely normal. Celia forgot all about her dream, until the moment her parents reminded her that they would be going out that night to celebrate their anniversary. Celia turned milk-white. In her dream, the white wolf had come to kill her while her parents were out celebrating their anniversary! She started shaking and begging them not to go. Her parents were astonished at her behavior, and finally shamed her into staying home alone that night.

Fearfully, Celia locked herself into the house as soon as her parents left, checking every door and every window. She tried to laugh it off as she got into bed, and finally she shook off her irrational fear and fell asleep.

Celia snapped awake suddenly, every muscle tense. She heard the tinkling of falling glass from a broken window, and the snuffling sound of a snout pressed to the floor. It was the sound of a hunting wolf. A werewolf. Real wolves did not break into houses when there was plenty of game outside. She could hear the click-clicking of the creature’s claws on the wooden floor. The musky, foul smell of wet animal fur combined with the meaty breath of a carnivore, drifted into the room.

She could hear the werewolf’s panting right outside her bedroom. Then her body was out of bed and she sped through the bathroom and down the back stairs. She heard a soft growl and then the sound of animal feet pursuing her as she raced down the steps and tore open the back door. A glance at the window beside her showed a reflection of the werewolf leaping down the last few steps behind her.

Celia’s feet screamed in protest as she ran painfully across the sharp gravel driveway toward the tool shed with its shovels and baseball bats. Anything she could use as a weapon. But the huge, red-eyed wolf was suddenly between her and the toolshed, stalking toward her. The cold wind pierced her skin as she turned and fled around the side of the house. She gasped as the white wolf howled and took off after her. She could hear the terrifying sound of the creature’s pounding feet.

Faster, faster, she commanded her legs, panting desperately against the fear choking her. She would run around the house and back down the driveway, she thought with the clarity of sheer horror. She felt the wolf snap at her back leg and felt the sting of teeth. She put on speed.

The wolf veered away from her suddenly, and she felt a rush of hope. She couldn’t hear the wolf now, couldn’t see it in the cloud-darkened night. She kept running around the house, heading back toward the tool shed. To her intense relief, she heard the sound of a car coming down the road in front of her house. Her parents were back and would save her from the wolf!

Then her heart stopped in panic as she turned the last corner and saw the shape of the white wolf as it stood balanced on the porch railing right in front of her. It sprang upon Celia, huge teeth tearing into her flesh and ripping out her throat. She fell under the weight of its body, hot blood spilling all over the ground, and died seconds after she hit the ground. One minute later, her parent's car pulled into the driveway, its headlights blinding the white wolf as it pulled toward the house. Frightened, the wolf backed away from its kill and then ran away.

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It's time to gather around the campfire again and tell some tales. I'll start.



Stone Soup (French/Hungarian/etc.)

A traveler had been walking for many days when he came upon a village. The traveler was hungry and tired, but had nothing to eat, and had no money. What he did have was a cooking pot, and so he set out to make the best of things.

He built a small cooking fire just off the road in the center of town, and put his cooking pot on it. He filled the pot with water.

As he waited for the water to boil, some villagers stopped and asked him what he was doing. “I’m making Stone Soup, he said. “It’s an ancient and mystical recipe handed down through my family. Then, he took a round stone out of his pocket and dropped it into the pot.

The traveler started to tell stories of all of the places he had been and the interesting things he had seen. Several villagers stopped to listen to him, and the traveler began to attract a crowd. The traveler kept telling stories, only to stop to taste his soup. “Hmm¦ coming along nicely, he said. “A little salt would really help bring out the flavor. A village woman scurried off to get some salt, curious.

The traveler continued to tell stories, of ships and animals and long distances on the plains. More villagers gathered, and the traveler would only stop to taste the soup. “Delicious¦ but an onion and a few carrots would really make it perfect. A villager that had an onion and some carrots to spare ran to his cellar to get them.

The traveler went on with his stories, of kings and battles and secret treasures. Every few minutes he would stop, and taste, and comment. “A piece of beef might really be delicious. “Perhaps some celery¦ Each time a curious villager would run home and come back with a new ingredient.

Finally, the soup was ready. The traveler was gracious enough to share the soup with all of the villagers – a delicious magic soup made only with a stone.

Not a scary campfire story; a nice one to begin with. Got any salt?

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