Rambling Ned's Ghost Story

Roland: Tell us a ghost story, Ned! A real scary one!

Ned: Okay then, let me get a flashlight...Ahem...*cough*... As you may already know, there are four brothers Grubnik: Ed, Ted, Bob, and myself. But did you know that there was originally a fifth brother Grubnik? His name was Fred... Fred Grubnik. Fred was the youngest of the bunch (even younger than Ted) and had an unsatiable curiousity. When anyone anywhere did anything, Fred pestered them until he knew every last detail about who it was and why they were doing that and when they would be done and if they would ever do it again. It's not that he had never heard the expression "curiousity killed the cat;" he just thought it didn't apply to him because he wasn't a cat. One day, he came across a bottle of glue with a warning label as follows:

Warning: Harmful or fatal if swallowed. Highly flammable and inflammable. Extremely toxic. Do not eat. Contents under pressure. Aim away from face. May be extremely hot. Avoid skin and eye contact. Do not inhale during or after application. Contains chemicals known to cause cancer in the state of California. Prolonged exposure may cause headaches, dizziness, fainting, nausea, diarrhea, dry mouth, fatigue, loss of hair, loss of sight, loss of hearing, loss of appitite, arthritis, uncontrollable sweating, seizures, inflammation of joints, foot-in-mouth disease, the bends, emphezema, death, and a number of other things that our lawyers are just now finding out about. By opening the bottle and using this product, you effectively waive all legal responsibility on our part for any medical condition caused by our glue. Not intended for use by children under three.

Fred wondered why it needed such a voluminous warning label. Long story short, Fred died. But that's not the end of my story...

Ronald: Let me guess... He came back as a zombie, right?

Ned: No. It's a ghost story. It has to have a ghost in it. So, anyway, we moved from Arkansaw City, Missouri to here in an attempt to overcome our grief. One day, I was standing outside in the woods behind our new house when a bunch of witches came up to me and asked me where they could find the Thane of Glamis. I said I didn't know, and they politely bid me good-day. But it was dark by then, and I was hopelessly lost. So I timidly wandered through the woods, fearing that I would be mauled by the jackals and lemurs that stalked the forest at midnight. But what I was really, truly afraid of was the legendary Ferrari. Few people know that the Ferrari sports car is named after a real animal, but it is. The Ferrari is a hideous beast which is half jaguar, half mustang, half cougar, half fire bird, half viper, and half something else. If you think something couldn't possibly have that many halves, you obviously have never seen a Ferrari before. Anyway, I was walking and muttering "I hope I don't run into the Ferrari. I hope I don't run into the Ferrari. I hope I don't run into the Ferrari..." when the Ferrari jumped out of the bushes. It knocked me out with one swipe of its scaley tail, then picked me up with its sixteen legs and flew back to its mountain lair somewhere in Nevada, where it planned to eat me. The Ferrari is a vicious animal but, luckily for me, it was not very smart. You see, it tried to swallow me whole and it choked on me and it died. I immediately started home. Well, maybe not immediately. I spent three or four weeks in Vegas, gambling and flirting with waitresses. The two dollars I had in my pocket quickly became $17,000,000.53. I went home to tell my parents I was finally moving out when a bunch of government agents barged in and told me I had to pay a $17,000,000.54 fine for killing the Ferrari because it was on the endangered species list. I was pretty mad because I had to move back in with my parents.

Ronald: I thought there was supposed to be a ghost in your story...

Roland: Yeah, Ned. What gives?

Ned: I was just getting to the ghost part. As I was saying, I had to move back in with my parents after I paid the fine for killing the Ferrari (my defense that it was self-defense didn't work because I wasn't in Texas). I had to share a room with my slightly younger brother, Bob. What's worse, mom grounded me for killing the Ferrari (she must of thought it was some kind of rabbit). I had to stay in the same room with Bob every day, listening to him whine about the ghost in the closet. It was pitiful. He did not even have the courage to poke his head above the covers on his bed. One day, I was moping around when I found a candy bar sitting next to my lunch. I thought it was part of my prison rations, so I ate it. All of a sudden, the lights out and a very angry ghost appeared. "Give me back my candy bar! Give me back my candy bar!," it cried. I tried explaining to it that I didn't know whose candy bar it was, and I just assumed it was mine, so I ate it. Naturally the ghost wasn't too happy about that. "Very well. I now have to kill you to avenge the unwarrented consumption and digestion of my favorite candy bar. And maybe I'll kill your loser brother while I'm at it because it might be fun. Bwahahahahahahahahaha!" And with that, the ghost disappeared back into the closet.

Natrually Bob was upset about this, and it took some time for hime to come out from under the sheets. However, I decided it was time for action. It was time to go into the closet and "put the smack down" on the ghost. I snuck into the kitchen and gathered all the snacks I could (hey, I figured that if I was going to be punished for sneaking out, I might as well found a coliander to protect my head and a wooden spoon to thwart ghosts with. Everyone knows that ghosts don't like trees, and a wooden spoon is the next best thing to a tree. I took as many tasty snacks as I could for later (I figured I'd be grounded for another two years). I also decided that I should bring Bob along, just in case I needed to throw him to the ghost so that it would eat him instead of me. That might sound cruel, but "que sera sera." At any rate, we took a deep breath as we prepared to enter the closet. Well, I was preparing to enter the closet. Bob was so scared that I had to literally drag him in. Inside the closet was an interstellar-galactic-intradimensional-multiplex-intergalactic-void-wormhole-vortex-type-hole-dealie that lead to the ghost's... home-place-dealie. Yup. It was just your run-of-the-mill parallel universe, except it was populated by a ghost that was trying to kill us.

At any rate, we walked in as the ghost was brushing its teeth. Don't ask me why it was brushing its teeth. I guess ghosts must enjoy having good oral hygene. It started shouting something about candy bars, but I wasn't paying attention because I was too busy trying to thwart it. I lifted the heavy wooden spoon over my head, shut my eyes, and swung it as hard as I could. I must have missed, because I didn't hit it. I tried a second time, but I struck out again. The third and final time I swung so hard that I lost my balance and fell down. It was all up to Bob, since I couldn't get up. But he was too timid to stand up and fight! The wuss just timidly piped up and asked: "Would you like this candy bar I found in my brother's snack stash?" The ghost was so surprised at this selfless act of generosity that it apologized and gave him a number of useless items, such as 12 diamonds, 34 rubies, 7 emeralds, a loaf of banana bread, and a golden head that could talk and tell the future. Humph! Anyone can be nice.

Roland: You're just upset because Bob took your candy bar and gave it to the ghost without asking, aren't you?

Ned: No. Not a chance. Nope. Not me. Anyway...

Me: Aren't you done yet?

Ned: No. As I was saying...

Me: But you already finished with the part about the ghost.

Ned: Let me finish! We had just returned from our amazing closet adventure when a new terror began to terrorize us...

Ronald: What is it now?

Ned: It was THE HAND! THE HAND OF A VERY OLD MAN!

Roland: Oooh, I am so scared.

Ned: You should be, for you see it wasn't just the hand of just any old man. It was the hand of a very old man. You see, 1127 years ago, some old drunk named Zeke made a bargain with some gypsy because he was drunk. The gypsy cut off Zeke's hand and said that if he could find it within 1000 years, he would live forever. Otherwise, he would die. This sounded good to Zeke because he was drunk. The gypsy told Zeke to look for the hand because it would look for him. Of course, Zeke forgot about this bargain the next day and he never thought about looking for his hand because he was drunk all the time. A thousand years later, Zeke died. But the hand kept looking for him anyway.

Zeke's hand followed us out of that dimensional-rift-hole-thing and started terrorizing us. Ted, my youngest brother, was home from college and needed a shoebox for a diarama. At least, I assume he was in college because who in their right mind would makea diarama if they weren't in school. Come to think of it, he was never in his right mind. Anyway, when Ted opened the shoebox, the hand jumped out and grabbed his face. He tried to say "Help! Help! I'm being attacked by the hand of a very old man!" but all that came out was "Mph! Hmphm! Mbngtkdbdhndfabryldmn!". Ted fainted from the lack of oxygen and the hand crawled away. When he came to, he told us what happened. Of course, we didn't believe him. Even the talking gold head didn't believe that a severed hand could crawl around and attack people.

Well, the hand roamed the house at night flipping on light switches, pressing buttons, turning on appliances, and making scary hand shadows on the walls. That really freaked Ted out, so he vowed to capture the hand. One night, Ted woke Bob and I up after midnight to help him set up his traps. He went to the kitchen, where the hand was trying to learn how to use chopsticks. Ted challenged it to an arm wrestling match and lost. (Ted isn't exactly the strongest peanut on the tree.) So he grabbed the hand and dunked it in the sink. He held it under the water with all the dishes until it shriveled up.

This only made the hand mad. It started flicking our ears and poking our eyes and slapping us and trying to choke us. So we decided to run away and hide for a while until it calmed down enough for us to implement our Secret All-purpose Secondary Contingency Plan B. We gathered up all the rings and gloves and bracelets we could find and piled them in the living room. When the hand came to try them on, we caught it in an empty mayonaise jar. We later sold it to a one-eyed preacher (who incidently collected things in jars, like some sort of purple goo) for 50 bucks and it never bothered us again.

Me: Are you even remotely close to being done?

Ned: No, I am not. After we sold the hand, nothing interesting happened. I got a haircut, and then Ted finished his diarama, and then Mr. Crispy bought a new hat, and then...

Me: JUST GET TO THE BLOODY POINT!!!

Ned: ...Sorry. Say, have you ever heard the legend of Captain Kittyhand?

Ronald: Is it related to your story?

Ned: Yes. Yes it is. You see, Captain Kittyhand was a pirate. And since he liked cats, and was always holding one, they decided to call him Captain Kittyhand. Somehow he managed to get his ship, the S.S. Rutwick, out onto the middle of Lake Chlorine. Lake Chlorine is situated in the middle of what is now St. Lucas, which is 3,200 miles from the ocean. Like I said, I don't know how he got his ship out there either. Anyway, all the pirates died of starvation (Captain Kittyhand was too stubborn to go ashore to ask for directions) and the boat sank. But some people say that the ghosts of those pirates haunt the town to this day. Those who stay at one hotel say that you can hear something in the middle of the night going creak... slam... crash... thud... creak... slam... crash... thud... creak... slam... crash... thud... creak... slam...

Ronald: We get the idea, Ned.

Ned: Crash... thud... creak... slam... crash... thud... creak... slam... crash... thud... That was later proven to be just the owner falling down on his way to the bathroom because he couldn't see that well and kept tripping over the furniture. At a certain motel, people claim that something goes scratch... scratch.... thump... scratch... scratch... thump... scratch... scratch... thump...

Me: STOP IT NED!

Ned: Of course that was debunked as well. It was simply the kindly little old grey haired lady who owned the place, hitting her cat with a broom for scatching on the walls late at night. My point is that all those stories are made up, and mine is the only true one.

One afternoon, on the 400th anniversary of the sinking of the S.S. Rutwick, a young lad named Johnny was fishing. He was obsessed with fishing. Wherever there's fishing, there's Johnny. He was the only one out fishing on Lake Chlorine because everyone else was so superstitious that they wouldn't go outside. Well, Johnny snagged a huge treasure chest full of gold. He was so excited that he would have gotten up and danced if he wasn't on a boat. He was sitting there counting it when he heard a strange voice coming from deep in the lake that said, "Arrrrr! Give us back ourrrr treasurrrre! Arrrrrrrrr!". Johnny's response was, "Heck no!" The lake was eerily calm and silent for a moment, then the water frothed and bubbled until it was blood red. The ghost of the S. S. Rutwick rose out of the water to reclaim its treasure. Needless to say, Johnny rowed to shore faster than a tomato on fire. He carried the chest to his car and began to put a few miles between him and the lake. "I'll be safe as long as I'm on land," he said. Or so he thought. For when he looked back, he saw the ghost ship rise out of the water and fly after him. No matter how fast he drove, the ghost ship was right behind him ramming his car from behind. Johnny swerved off the road, hoping to lose it, but he crashed into a tree. "It's ok," he thought. "It's only 30 miles to my house. I can probably make it on foot..."

The next morning, all the police found was the wrecked car, a lot of blood and algae, and drag marks leading to the lake. Therefore, they concluded that Johnny was killed by an axe murderer hiding in the backseat and his corpse was dragged to Lake Chlorine and thrown in. But we know what really happened to poor old Johnny. Hmm... I guess it really didn't have anything to do with my story after all.

Me: Ned, if you don't finish this story soon... I'll... die. Of boredom. Yeah. Hack. Cough. Various other dying noises. Thud. I'm dead. Thanks to you.

Ned: Ha! Ha! Ha! Well, anyway...

Roland: What ever happened to Fred?

Ned: Fred? Who's Fred?

Ronald: The brother who you made up earlier.

Ned: Oh! Fred! Well, at any rate, Fred was dead. Dead dead. Dead dead dead. Except for the fact that he was a zombie. For some reason he had come back as a zombie. In fact, there were a lot of zombies. Yep, there were a whole lot of zombies doing zombie things. You know, zombie things like watching trees grow and having staring contests. And they still did things they did during life, such as eating, sleeping, going out on dates, and not going out on dates. But the strangest thing they did was that every once in a while they would gather around in big circles and... talk. They would just talk on and on for hours about nothing in particular with absolutely no focus.

Me: (Kinda like someone we know...)

Ned: I heard that! As I was saying, during one of these unanimated reanimated discussions, the topic of the living came up. Now, I don't need to tell you that zombies hold a tremendous enmity against the living. Even they don't know why they hate us so much (though it probably has to do with the fact that we're alive and they are not), but they all agreed that something had to be done. They just didn't know what. A couple of days later, they decided to form a massive army and do whatever to living people. They appointed Fred as their leader because he won the chili cook-off with his Dirt-and-Rock Chili. Of course, he didn't know what to do either. So they all shuffled about aimlessly for quite some time.

Months later, Mom heard something rattling around outside. She thought it could be a raccoon, so she sent out Bob to investigate. When he came back, he said something along the lines of "Don't worry, Mom. It wasn't a racoon. It was just a massive army of horrible zombies that have come to devour us all." You get the idea. Anyway, Bob wasn't worried, but I sure was. I knew that if you are attacked by a zombie, you'll either turn into a zombie or a very boring person.

Me: So, when did you get bitten by a zombie?

Ned: Urrgh! Let me finish! For the first couple of hours we sat around quietly in the dark hoping the zombies go away. But when we looked out the window, we saw that they had only progressed a couple of feet. (Zombies are notoriously slow.) That's when we decided to fight back, since we were getting bored anyway. Generally speaking, when you're fighting monsters, you want to hit it with silver bullets or stall it until sun-up or blow it up in a massive explosion. Since we didn't have silver bullets or dynamite, we wadded up balls of aluminum foil and threw them at the zombies. It was useless.

Just then, Mom came out to see what we were doing. When she saw Fred, she said: "Young man, what do you think you're doing? Go back to your grave this instant and think about what you've done." He shuffled off, but the other zombies (particularly the zombie ducks) were more persistent. They chased us for hours in a flurry of running and screaming and grabbing and flailing and biting and quacking and kicking and shuffling and pecking and fighting and punching and struggling and panting and dodging and exploding.

Ronald: Exploding? What exploded?

Ned: I don't know. Some stuff, I guess. But anyway, all the zombies blew up and died. Again. The end.

Ronald: What? that ending sucks! It was too short, and didn't explain a thing!

Me: Shh! Just be glad he's stopping!