This is the time of year when stories of hauntings and ghosts abound. I'm sure that at least 25% of the people reading this have their own strange tales to tell. I'm no exception, though now as of last night, I have several tales.My first "ghost story" happened when I was 10 years old. My Mother even remembers it well and tells this story too. My parents had been divorced since I was six, but my mother would take us every now and then to see my paternal grandfather, who was in failing health. We had planned on going to visit him one Sunday, but something came up and we changed our plans to the following Sunday. My Mother has always said I was his favorite, I guess cause I was the youngest and I found his conversations interesting.
In his youth, he had played horns with the big band leader Carmen Dragon, who was the father of "The Captain" Daryl Dragon of "The Captain and Tenille". He was also an artist, and he painted this one picture of a big desert rock, kind of like a Mesa, that would shift colors depending where you stood looking at it. It was really cool. I used to like listening to his stories and sitting next to him on the piano bench when he played the organ and taught me how to play "Chopsticks".
The Saturday night before our planned visit, I remember waking up in the middle of the night finding my Grandpa sitting at the foot of my bunk bed. I sat up and talked to him for a little while, still drowsy since I had just woken up (or I was still dreaming?). It was dark in the room, but I could seem him clearly, sitting there at my feet, and for some reason I remember a kind of diffused blue light. I couldn't recall all that he said, but I do remember him telling me goodbye (and probably telling me to be good too, lol).
The next morning while we were getting ready to go visit him, I was standing at the sink washing up the breakfast dishes. I can't remember exactly why, but my mind started dwelling on thoughts of death and I kind of started freaking out about it. This wasn't the first time I'd done this as a child, and I think it has something to do with my Catholic upbringing and this children's picture bible we had as kids. There were really evil, scary pictures of hell in it (shudder!).
My Mom was sitting at the table when I started crying and saying, "I don't want to die!" She thought I was saying I didn't want her to die, and tried to comfort me, saying she wasn’t going to die for a long time. But I tried to explain to her that wasn't what I was afraid of. I was frightened about the nothingness after death, and that it scared me shitless (well, I didn't say shitless at 10, lol). I told her about the “dream” I had the night before and talking to Grandpa and how he's so old and sick now.
She was still trying to calm me down and talk rationally about death, when the phone rang. It was my Dad letting us know that my Grandpa had passed away during the night. A couple days later, we drove the hour-long trip to go see his body. There really wasn't going to be a funeral since he was going to be cremated, just a viewing. They took us into this one room (the crematorium!) and there was this very large cardboard box on a stainless steel table. They lifted the lid off partway so we could see his face and shoulders, and there my Grandpa was.
You would think they would have had the decency to at least put a shirt on him or something, but I guess since they were getting ready to put him in the oven (I know that sounds morbid, but I was 10!) they figured why bother. I looked at him, and it was awful! No one should subject a child to that. I knew that that really wasn’t him though, only his shell. He was already gone and had got to say his last goodbyes to me. But seeing his corpse like that really hurt me a lot.
My second tale happened around 6 years ago, about this same time of year. My children and me were staying at my ex-husbands house, along with my ex boyfriend Steve. It was a 2-story ranch house that was built by the original owner on the shores of Rough River Lake here in Kentucky. One day while my boyfriend and one of my sons were upstairs watching TV, I was downstairs with my other two sons preparing dinner.
I was at the stove tending to a boiling pot of water while my sons were on their hands and knees searching the kitchen cabinets to the right of me for some pasta. I went over to help them look when all of a sudden the kitchen faucet turned on. Not a little “drip drip drip” mind you, but a steady stream of water. All three of us turned around to see who had came down because none of us had heard anyone walking down the open staircase, but there was nobody there.
I looked at them and they looked at me as I turned off the water and we all went upstairs together. My son was right where we had left him, in the middle of a video game and my boyfriend was sleeping. I asked him anyway if he had came down and turned on the water, even though I knew there was no way he could have done it without being seen or heard, and of course he said no.
All three of us were creeped out by that time, but went back down to finish cooking the spaghetti anyway. Every now and then we would take turns looking at the sink trying to think of a rational explanation as to why the water turned itself on, but we couldn't come up one. A month or so later I was talking to this little old lady who lived down the road and mentioned the mysterious faucet story.
That's when I found out that the old man who had built the house all by himself, had died inside the house in his recliner while his wife was away. He had been dead a little while before they eventually found the body. His wife remained in the house for a while but it got to be too much for the elderly woman to keep up with and she sold the house to my ex-husband (Insert twilight zone theme music here).
My third story happened last night, while I was sleeping. I used to have a friend named Kenny Simpson, who was the brother of one of my best friends when I was in Junior High school. Years later in my late teens, Kenny and me hooked up and started fucking. It surprised me that he had such a big thick dick for such a short guy (he was 5'5" tops), and he could eat pussy good too!
We were pretty good friends and became fuck buddies on and off for a brief period of time, and the sex was always hot! I moved to San Francisco several months later and not long after that I lost touch with him. Years later I found out that Kenny had gotten shot and killed by his older sister's ex while he was trying to break up their fight ("You bastard!" yea, I’m a south Park fan).
As they say, death comes in 3's and 2 other people I knew also died later that year, much to my dismay. I hadn't thought about Kenny in a long time, but one of the things I remember the most (other than the hot sex) was he was also an avid fan of "All My Children" (a soap opera). If I ever missed a day’s show, I could always call him up and find out what happened.
I don't know if it's because I've been talking to Steve again (he was one of Kenny's best friends), but last night I think Kenny's spirit visited me in a dream. I have been really horny and yearning to get laid, but I want someone to fuck me who cares about me, you know what I mean? It feels so empty afterwards, sex with no feelings. I'm not talking about sex with women though, I always have feelings when I'm making love to a woman.
Well, Kenny must have known how depressed I've been about it, and visited me last night to help me out of my funk. I've had a lot of sex dreams in my lifetime, but they've always been about real live people, and never dead ones (OK, Clark Gable doesn't count, lol). Also they usually end without fulfillment, but this “dream” was definitely the exception to the rule.
I don't remember how it started out, but all of a sudden Kenny was there with me in my bedroom, with lust in his eyes and hands all over my body. Our clothes disappeared and his lips seemed to be everywhere on me at once, burning me deliciously wherever they touched. He lowered his head and spread my pussy lips and started licking away. Oh, it felt sooo good!
This is usually the point in my dreams where I wake up and go "Awww, man!" and grab for my toys, but not this time. I felt like he wanted me to squirt in his mouth and he didn't stop eating my pussy until I finally did. He grinned at me, and I can still see the look in his eyes and picture his thick and throbbing cock. He was ready for me! He pulled my legs up and apart and rubbed his hard dick all over my soaking wet pussy.
I put my ankles on his shoulders and raised my hips to meet his ready cock. He slipped it in, inch by inch while I felt him stretch my pussy wider. I could feel myself getting ready to cum again before he even was all the way in and I saw him grin. Shoving it suddenly deep and hard, I exploded around his cock, my juices running down my ass cheeks and onto the sheets.
Grabbing my ankles as I moaned louder, he punished my pussy with each thrust, making me cum and cum and cum again. Smiling at me from above, he gave me this look like "Are you ready for this now?" but never once said a word. I arched my back, shoving my pussy deeper onto his cock as my silent answer, and I felt him flood his cum deep inside me as my pussy clenched in it's own waves of orgasm.
Smiling at me, he released my legs, and I smiled back, thoroughly satisfied. I closed my eyes once again and reveled in the feeling of satisfaction running throughout my body as I drifted back off into another area dreamland. When I finally woke and got up in the morning, I remembered the dream (or was it?) with a grin. Thanks Kenny, I needed that.
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