Ghost Stories

You know those scary movies where the ghost, monster, and/or mother-in-law takes over a house and terrorizes the fuck out of some nice family?

That’ll never happen to us again.

“Uh, again?” You might ask…

Let me explain. We once lived in a house that was haunted. To the realtor’s credit, he did mention that it was believed to be haunted, but we were relocating for a job, and didn’t have the luxury to shop around all day looking for non-haunted houses to rent. And ghosts or not, the house was close to a Taco Bell.

We had lived in the house for about three months, without any signs of paranormal shit going on, when I started getting bored and wanted to find out where this supposed ghost was.

Not being any kind of professional ghost hunter or anything, (although, I did fuck around with a Ouija board once, back in high school) I had to devise a plan to to find the ghost. Or the monster. I really had no desire to find the mother-in-law, though.

So, one night after everyone went to bed, I left out some cookies and milk.

The next morning, I woke up not to the sounds of a haunting, but to an ass chewing instead. Apparently, the then eleven year old stepkid woke up, went to the kitchen, saw the milk and cookies, and thought he won the breakfast lottery. The ass chewing came in the form of my wife finding him eating the milk and cookies, and assuming he had gotten it for himself. Not wanting the kid to get into any more trouble than he usually gets himself into, I explained to my wife that I was conducting a high level ghost hunting expedition. That little conversation went something like this:

Me: Yeah, babe. The milk and cookies? I did that.

Wife: You’re just as bad as the kids! What’s wrong with you? Are you suddenly a diabetic or something that you needed to wake up before everybody else and get your fat ass cookies and milk!?

Me: No. They were fo….

Wife: Well, who the hell were they for then?

Me: *beginning to get very concerned this conversation wasn’t going in my favor* The Ghost.

Wife: *looking like she’s in some weird sort of physical pain* The what???

Me: Ahemmmmm….the uh, the ghost.

Wife: Ohhhh. Ok. The ghost. Phew! Just when I thought you were gonna say something moronic. So. The milk and cookies? They’re for the ghost?

Me: I, uh…I thought maybe. Uh. The ghost, you know…maybe the ghost was hungry.

Wife: Is the ghost Santa Claus?

Me: Ohhh yeah. I thought the milk and cookies thing reminded me of someone.

Wife: Moron.

So, that was my first foray into ghost hunting. Let’s just say that the second time, I was much more prepared.


Me: *bursting into the bathroom like a ghost hunting superhero* What’s going on? Is it the ghost?

Wife: *holding her foot out of the shower curtain* What. The. Fuck. IS THIS!!!???

Me: Oh. That’s cheese.


Me: Duh. For the ghost.

Wife: Oh. ok, then. So the ghost is A FUCKING MOUSE!!!???

Me: Well, no. It’s not a mou…


Me: It’s just I…I thought ghosts liked to, you know…rattle shower curtains and stuff. And the cheese was really all we had, snackwise. I was gonna leave those minty chocolate wafer things, but Emma ate all of ‘em.

Wife: Get out.

Me: What are you gonna do with the cheese? You just gonna let it sit there? On your foot? You want me to get it off?


Ok. So, maybe I wasn’t so prepared that time either, but what the heck? The last ghost experience I had was watching Scooby Dooby Fucking Doo, thirty years ago. And I don’t seem to remember Thelma or Daphne yelling like that.

About a week later, I woke up in the middle of the night to go pee (I had alot of Hi-C before bed). As I was washing my hands, I heard the shower curtain rattling. Or swooshing. Whatever noise shower curtains make. Anyway, I slowly pulled back the curtain and peeked inside…


Me: Hey! Dude! Uh. That actually didn’t scare me.

Ghost: Yeah, I didn’t think so. Name’s Norman.

Me: Oh, cool. Nice to meet you Norman. I’m Tom. I thought you guys were like the scaring people experts.

Norman: We usually are. You guys are different though.

Me: Yeah? How so?

Norman: Uh, no offense bud, but it’s your wife and kids.

Me: No shit?

Norman: Yup. At first I thought it’d be like all the rest of the folks I scare. Rattle some stuff. Make some shit fall down. Weird noises. You know, the usual.

Me: So what happened?

Norman: Honestly? You people scare the bejeebus out of me. The kids, with that constant jibber jabbering and running around? They don’t sit still long enough to scare. I tried knocking a poster down in the playroom, but they didn’t even notice! Thirty seconds later it was covered in a pile of Legos. And they don’t shut up long enough to hear me rattling anything. And the stepkid? Yeah. Just a smidge of advice? Stay out of his room. The stuff I see him doing in there just isn’t natural. And I’m a ghost for crying out loud! Sheesh. It even scares me!

Me: Damn. I’m sorry dude.

Norman: That’s nothing! The thing that really scares me is your wife. All that yelling and screaming. Holy crap! One day, I was jumping around in the attic, making all these noises, and she was yelling so loud you guys didn’t hear a thing! And then when she does hear me haunting around, she blames one of you guys, or the dogs for making the noise. In her defense though, you are kind of a moron.

Me: Yeah…Hey!

Norman: Anyway, if it’s ok with you guys, I’m gonna go haunt that newlywed couple that just moved in down the street. With them just being married, there shouldn’t be too much yelling, And I don’t think there’s any kids.

Me: I understand, man. It was nice talking to you.

Norman: You too. By the way, nice touch with the cheese in the shower! I love cheese! Adios. And good luck!

Me: Thanks! And happy haunting! So long, Norman…

And that was the last we heard of Norman. I told my wife about it, and she just looked at me like I was loony, saying I must’ve ate too much junk food right before bed. She also said, and I quote “Even if it is true, that ghost is an asshole. He don’t know me. Oh no, he don’t. He might think he knows me, but he don’t know shit. Asshole, stupid, cheese eating ghost.” Take that, Norman.

Anyway, even if nobody believed me, I’m happy I found out the truth. Sometimes, I find myself putting a piece of cheese in the shower, in the hopes that Norman might come back. It was actually nice talking to him about stuff.

And yes, I make sure I take the cheese out of the shower, or feed it to one of the kids before the wife steps in it.



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I write stuff. And I have Poodles. Big Poodles. The Poodles don't write stuff.

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