Ghost Story – 30 BP

In this contest I would like you to write a Ghost Story for me.

Now, I have one stipulation about this story I am commissioning. The story must involve forumwarz member ChilePepino in any context. Far be it from me to censor art, but I must insist that ChilePepino be a character in any story for this contest. Also, I mustn’t forget that it has to be a ghost story above all.

Lets have these stories be of a reasonable length and in English.

The submission period of this contest ends in two weeks, but maybe three.

Oh, and others will be bumisting me in judging this contest, but I don’t know who they are yet. And there might not be any.

For those of you that writing isn’t a strong point, I will accept a drawing or the like. As long as it tells a story with ChilePepino in it. And be a ghost story most importantly.

Now lets hope some people enter.

So it was a full moon, and ChilePepino was in Vietnam together with Claine to enjoy the Moon Festival together.

While they were having dinner in the streets of Hue, a group of children in strange costumes approached them. Turned out they wanted to welcome the foreign strangers with a show of lion dance.

The swift movements of the lions really captured their minds, and in an instant, they found themselves following the teenage lion dancers atop a windy hill. Up above the sky, the moon was shining brighter than ever, and under the moonlight, they were terrified to discover the situation they were in.

Standing in front of them were two big, scary-looking lions. Not the lion costumes, but real lions, with long tongues, staring at them. The children controlling them already disappeared, or maybe they weren’t there to begin with. And before they could do anything, the lions jumped at them. One lion ate Claine right away, while the other was playing with ChilePepino a little more.

On the verge of death, an idea suddenly popped out of ChilePepino’s mind. “The lion has a long, fierce tongue. Let’s try this!”

“Huge monstrous male reproductive organ of justice, I summon you!” shouted ChilePepino, and in the flick of an eye, his new giant weapon popped out of his pants. Instantly, the lion dropped on his knees and started to lick ChilePepino’s male reproductive organ pbumionately with his fierce tongue. Shortly after that, the other lion joined his comrade. Things kept going like that for a long while, and finally, tired to death, ChilePepino fell into a chaotic dream.

Came into consciousness the next morning, ChilePepino found himself in a warm and peaceful room. Apparently the villagers found him naked with his male reproductive organ bitten away by a mysterious creature, two sets of lion skins, and the remaining of his friend Claine. Hastily, ChilePepino burned everything to ashes, and returned to his country, never daring to come back ever again.

A couple months ago my friend’s cousin ( a single mother) had gotten a new cellphone. After a long day of work, she placed her phone down on the counter and started watching T.V. when her son came to her and asked if he could play with her new phone. she told him to not call anyone or mess with the text messages and he agreed to do so. At around 11:20pm when she was getting tired, she decided to go tuck her son in and go to bed herself. She proceeded to his room to see that he wasn’t there. she went to her room to find him sleeping on her bed with the phone in his hand. Browsing through her phone, she noticed only minor changes such as a new background, banner, etc. and headed towards the pictures section. She began deleting the pictures he took when she came across the last one… When she saw it, she couldn’t believe it. It was her son, sleeping on her bed, but it was as if the picture was taken by someone else above him. It shows the left half of what had appeared to be an elderly woman’s face. She looked down at the time-stamp, 11:06pm, and she looked toward her clock, which read in its eerie red glow 11:05pm. She quickly turned around to see a silhouetted figure of an hunched over elderly lady. “Its past your bed time young lady… And we all know what happens to little girls that don’t go to bed on time.”

This is *MY* story, not some bull**** that happened to my 3rd cousin’s friends aunt. This happened to me, and frankly it still scares the **** out of me. I won’t even enter the town this place is in. A Place Called Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery. It’s in the southern Suburbs of Chicago, and for all intents and purposes it is a ****ed up, defiled graveyard in the middle of the ****ing woods. Beyond being just a graveyard it was a mob dumping ground, and like all weird places, a rumored cultist hotspot.

In 2002 I was 22 and into the supernatural, looking for any kind of thrill I set out to find some of the more haunted spots around Chicago. Regarded as the most haunted cemetery in the U.S. this definitely piqued our interests, so I gather up what little info I can which was vague mapquest directions and word of mouth accounts with a handful of pictures of mist and orbs from some ghost hunters sites. I set out with 2 of my friends and we started scouting around about 20-30 acres of forest preserve.

After a solid hour of scouting around and only finding a broken shovel and what appeared to be some shallow graves, which we laughed off as an impromptu pet graveyard, we come up with nothing. Tired of following trails we cut a straight line through the woods to get back to the car. On our way through the woods we hit a Black top asphalt road… ****ing Jackpot! We start walking toward some chain link fence to the east and hit the most ****ed up graveyard I have ever seen. Headstones were smashed and overturned, it looked like someone had try to dig up a grave… Holes in the fence everywhere. This. Place. is. ****ed. Bad feelings and cold spots. Hair on the back of everyone’s neck is starting up… in August. After a half an hour of milling around the Cemetery we decide to leave.

On our final look over the bachelor’s Grove, I notice that the road continues past, that it keeps going east. After a quick vote we decide to see where the road leads. So we start trekking down the road for a while it goes from decently maintained to cracked to overgrown to chunks of pavement wrapped around trees. Walking was tough, but we pressed on for an hour and a half before we got tired of climbing over trees and not wanting to negotiate another creek after pbuming two already. We turn back and walk 3 minutes and we hit the cemetery. What the ****? We were in the woods on this paved road for damn near two hours and it takes us 3 ****ing minutes to get out? Where were the creeks? WHAT THE ****!! I start ****ing my pants. We sprint to the car and tear out of there. We sit in silence. 30 minute drive home.

That night our driver, ChilePepino had to work at a pizza joint and I decide to take the night off. Sitting in my room listening to music. I can hear my name being calling. **** in my room is rustling. I force myself to go to sleep to get the night over with. In the middle of the night I woke up and couldn’t breathe. Gasping for air… it feels like an elephant in on my chest. When it’s over I sit up and watch movies all night. Sleep is no longer an option.

The next day we all meet up and everyone looks harrowed. No one could have slept at all the night before. It turns out the ChilePepino’s grandmothers urn left off the shelf after 15 years of sitting in the same spot and shattered against and adjacent wall. John’s wall started pouring water until he started screaming at it. I kept quiet about not being able to breathe. It still happens to me, sometimes… I have no history of asthma. But every once in a while I hear voices and without fail I wake up breathless in the middle of the night. So if I could give one piece of advice it would be stay the **** off that road.

Edit: Name’s changed to protect the guilty

The true story of ChilePepino

Every once in a while there appear things that most sane people cannot understand, yet these happenings are so real that they change the lives of those who live to tell the tale. Such is the tale of ChilePepino, the old man who tricked death only to find immortality a cruel punishment.

On a cold night, the year 1594, there came a ship to an island so remote that no news ever arrive. But this was no ordinary ship, this one came out of the ocean straight into the harbor, without the usual arrival of the crew by boats first. Come to think of it, nobody ever remembered to have ever seen a sailor from it, and yet it came and set anchor in the shallow waters. That night no light or sound came from this mysterious apparition as it stood motionless and somewhat mystical. People who saw it that night feared there may be pirates aboard it planning night raid on the small town, but could not spread such disturbing rumors without a fact upon what was really going on. Nobody dared approach it until the following day when some braver men decided to inspect it as it was making everyone both curious and nervous. These nine picked up a boat, ropes and ladders needed to climb on-board and head for the mysterious ship without knowing what they would find. And indeed what they found surpbumed their imagination, for they found gold, silver and wine and not a single soul or body, just a diary – but this diary was locked with a key. They carefully brought all the cargo in the town and took the diary to a locksmith, for it was beautifully crafted in leather, ivory and gold, encrusted with precious stones whose names they did not know and they did not want to see it ruined.

This is where our tale takes on a bone chilling turn, for the locksmith who went by the name ChilePepino opened it and was the first to read the terrible recordings contained within it’s pages. The ship set sail three month before from Port Quin on the South Western coast of England and carried the last survivors of a terrible disease that nobody ever heard of. These were rich men with their families who tried to escape certain death and chose run away as far as possible taking with them only what could fit on this ship and leaving their former lives and wealth behind. In it’s records Chile found that Death does not give up and tends to do its job and this time succeeded for the food was infested with the rats which spread the terrible disease. After the first week many fell ill with fever and sickness took them anther week to consume their lives, for Death was most certainly not in a hurry and enjoys watching it’s work unfold. The bodies of the deceased were tossed into the sea as tradition required and also everyone agreed this was best, but the disease did not leave the ship with the bodies, rather chose to stay and continue the horrid show put on stage.

One after the other all the bodies were dumped into the angry sea which took them without questions, all but one, the keeper of this journal. The entries end one month before the arrival and nobody can tell what became of the this man, yet it is certain that him, just like the others, did not reach his destination.

So now with the cargo in town ChilePepino feared the disease arrived with it and sadly he was right. The rabid rats came lurking in the streets searching for fresh food. As you remember, Death enjoys a slow meticulous show and the stage just got bigger, so it was time for a bigger story. After one week, the first fell ill and the foreplay begun. This show was to be grand, actually was to be so good that Death decided to have someone tell the story, for it was to majestic to be forgotten on a small island in the Atlantic. Guess who was chosen for this task… the locksmith who opened the lock of the diary, but it would no be that easy, there was another task for him, if he wanted to survive. He was to burn the lifeless bodies of everyone who died and put a cross in the field for each name. Understanding what the cirgreat timesstances were and where things were going, ChilePepino accepted this task, but with one condition, that he will remain alive until he finishes writing all the names of the dead, so that no soul remains unmentioned on Earth and Death agreed. As I previously told you, the island was so isolated that ChilePepino thought that there will be a long time before someone else sets foot on it to write his cross, such that he will have a lot to live. And truly he was right. As the days pbumed he burned the bodies his neighbors, his friends and his family. With a heavy heart he wrote their names on each cross and placed them in a rigorous order. In the end he finally made one cross for himself without a name and wrote his tale on piece of hide that he carefully placed in a bottle and threw it into the ocean. Years pbumed an nobody ever found the bottle and came to the island. After a while, he lost track of time because of the memories that hunted him at night and the loneliness of the day. He just wanted to die, but a deal with Death is not something anyone can break, so he could not and grew older and older.

After some longer time his body begun to wither and his flesh to die, yet there was nothing he could do but carry on his pitiful existence that was no longer a life since before he could remember. Eventually his whole body turned to dust and he was left nothing more than a soul doomed to walk the Earth not living and yet not dead, without a hope of ever finding rest. What seemed an escape was nothing but a leading role in Death’s scripts, a role which kept his existence bound to a place he could not escape and a life he could not end.

He was now a ghost, a shadow of a man who was too afraid to die and too smart to lose. Yet he lost everything that was of any value and was left with a curse that torments his bodyless soul each moment for eternity, because for him not even time pbumes anymore and his trap is holding him from ever reaching in death the ones the knew and loved.

This was his story, but can become your own if you don’t award me the two brownie points.

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PS: Now ChilePepino’s existence manifests on this very forum where he is still searching for a way out of his situation.

chilepepino is a heron. he ahev a long neck and he pick fish out of the water w/ hsi beak. if you dont repost this on 10 other gardens he will fly into your kitchen tonight and make a mess of your pots and pans

One night, not so long ago, ChilePepino was very sleepy and decided to head to bed. As he got undressed and laid down he though about how nice it would be to get some rest after a long day of work. His head hit the pillow and his mind began to wander. ChilePepino began to dream that he was touching himself. This dream felt really real and ChilePepino suddenly realised that he wasn’t dreaming. A strange icy hand was caressing his male reproductive organ.

“What the ****,” ChilePepino cried. “Who’s there?”

The strange sensation stopped. ChilePepino eventually went to sleep. The next morning ChilePepino got out of bed and prepared himself for another busy day. He totally forgot about the events of the night before and hopped into the shower to wash up. Working himself into a frothy lather, ChilePepino accidentally dropped the bar of soap. As he bent over he heard a strange moaning sound and felt an icy finger circle his brown eye.

“Who’s doing that?” ChilePepino screamed. “Show yourself!”

Slowly a figure began to materialize out of the shower mist. It was a spooky ghost with a pencil thin moustache.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” ChilePepino asked.

”I’m Jasper, the overly friendly ghost,” the spirit proclaimed as he began to sodomize ChilePepino. ”Please, it’ll be easier if you don’t struggle…”

THE END

If you must.

Apparently this contest is not over yet.

Imagine being around a campfire for this, and someone’s telling it to you.

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It was a dark and stormy night, much like this one.

Chilepepino was on his way home from the late shift, driving down the tree-laden lanes which led to his home. His car bumped, and the steady thud-thud-thud told him that a tire had gone flat. “ffff****k”, he muttered, as he pulled the car over, under a street lamp, and got out to inspect the damage and begin the long, arduous task of changing the tire.

He popped the trunk, undid the restraints holding in the jack and tire iron, when suddenly – BOOOOOOOOM! A bright light, the flashing of a lightning bolt too close, followed by utter darkness. “greatt,” he thought, “teh lighttningg mustt havve cutt teh powerr.”

But it was only a temporary outage. The light came back on in a matter of moments, and Chile began to once again reach for the tools. But the tire iron —

Was GONE!

Confused, and scared, he heard a sound behind him — a scuffling of a shoe on the pavement. He turned around. And that was the last act he ever did. The tire iron smashed into his face, crumpling his skull. The last sound he ever heard was an empty, hollow voice, saying one word: “Free”.

The place that happened isn’t far from here. And ever since that fateful night, the locals have been hearing strange noises when it’s dark. A scuffling of shoes but no one’s walking. The sound of heavy metal against pavement, when nothing’s moving. And an ethereal voice saying something which sounds like “i needd a victimmm”.

The noises are loudest when it’s dark, and stormy. Like tonight…

Have a good walk back to your tents, campers. Just follow that road…