Ghost Stories

[dthurk]

Trying to keep 12 year old DD interested in camping and participating in the campfire ritual.  Does anyone have, know of, any good ghost stories to tell around the campfire?  I've looked online and printed a few out, but would like to have more really good ones.  If you know of any online, please post the links.  Thanks.

[AustinBoston]

I have a really scary one, at least if your kids are small.  In fact, they will never use the porta-potti or sleep in the pop-up again...

The Psychotic Pop-Up

An AustinBoston original story

I thought they loved me.  It sure seemed like they loved me.  There was the man and the woman, and their twin girls.  They loved to hook me up and pull me to a campground, and it seemed there was nothing but joy when they used me.  Weekend after weekend, they would take me to different campgrounds in the area, and it seemed there would hardly be a campfire where I was not brought up in the fondest terms.  They even brought me on some week-long adventures to other states.  Life seemed wonderful.

When I left the factory, I had already heard stories from pop-ups that had returned for repair.  Some had been on wonderful adventures with loving families.  Others had been on hunting or fishing trips.  A few had been abused...bearings never greased, water systems allowed to freeze, etc.  Those were heartbreakers, because they were all such wonderful pop-ups when they left the factory.  But the stories that gave me the willies were the ones about the dogs.  Seems some people have pet dogs, and those dogs have claws.  The thought of some dog's claws on my cushions and mattresses was just too much for me.

But my family did not have a dog, so I had completely forgotten about that fear.  

Then I saw it.  At first, I wasn't sure what it was.  I never thought to ask the other pop-ups what a dog looked like, but this must be a dog.  I was heartbroken.

My fears were not unfounded.  On the very next trip, they brought that little furball with the claws along.  I had no idea what they were doing when they spread newspaper all over my floor, but I learned.

I feared the claws, and I had heard about shedding, but nobody told me that dogs don't know how to use potties.  How they could let that fleaball do that to me -- me, their beloved pop-up -- well I just couldn't imagine it.  It must have been a mistake.

When they got home, I knew they would find it, and that would be the end of fluffymut.  Was I in for a surprise.  They seemed to actually be expecting these little puddles and piles.  I could not have been more insulted.

Over time, the puddles and piles disappeared, but I noticed something else.  They had completely stopped talking about me.  Everything was about the dog.  The dog this, the dog that.  They took the dog in their laps, and they slept with the dog on my beds.  Everyone wanted a turn sleeping with that floormop.  No one ever talked about me around the campfire.

Things went downhill.  That fall, although the man and woman winterized my water system, they did not repack my bearings.  Between that and a family of mice that found their way into my cupboards, I did not sleep through the winter like I had the first winter.

All winter long, all I could think about was that dog.  Jumping on my beds, barking, spinning around on my floors, barking, shedding everywhere, barking, barking, barking...

I had that whole sleepless winter to think about it.  It was clear that the dog had come between us.  It had ruined the loving relationship we had once shared.  I was now the twenty eight hundred pound pop-up in the campsite that nobody ever talked about.

I could change that.  I would change that.  I'd show that clawbeast what I was made of.

Spring came, and another camping season began.  Nothing had changed.  That scrawny clawball was still around, and still went camping.  It no longer left deposits on my floor, but it didn't matter.  I had to get rid of it.

I waited until their third trip.  I knew they would leave furball behind.  The thought of what I was going to do churned my insides, but I had decided I would do it anyway.

The day came, and scruffmut was left behind as they went off on a day trip.  All was now ready.  I just had to work up the nerve, and wait for the right moment.  Patience was my friend; I had all day.

Bark-bark hopped on to the front bunk as they drove away, barking to tell them they left him behind.  Why couldn't they see the difference?  I never, even once, complained about being left behind, but that thing did.  Then, as though he was just waiting for them to leave, he hopped onto the back bunk, curled up on a pillow, and took a nap.

With every car or truck that drove by, he would hop up on the front and look to see if it was them.  If another camper walked by with a dog, that barking would start.  And from time to time, he would shake, scattering more hair.  I was ready.

When the opportunity came, it came suddenly.  But I was ready.  Every time he ran from one end of me to the other, he took a different route.  He was on the move when he passed my potti, but I was fast enough that it only took one try.  I didn't know I could move so fast.  There was a small yelp, but that was it.  I was afraid part of him might get stuck in the plumbing, but it was not a problem.  I had to psyche myself out, however, to keep from getting sick, thinking about all that hair inside my pipes.

But it was done.  Or so  thought.

The family came back, and immediately got upset about furball.  The man and woman argued about who was supposed to make sure furball was inside me.  The two girls just cried.  They would never know.  But soon, they would be loving me again.

That camping trip ended badly, with everybody upset and crying and fighting.  But I did not expect what happened next.

On their next trip, they were no longer crying about that mut, but they kept talking about it.  What about me?  Don't they still love me?  But there was not even one word.  I was furious.  I thought they loved me.  It seemed so obvious.  But now a different truth was obvious.  They didn't love me at all.  They never did.  They were just using me.  How could I have been so stupid?  How could they be so thoughtless?

I would change that, and change it forever.  They would never use me again.

On the last night of that trip, I listened carefully as they talked around the campfire.  They talked about hiking and the mountains.  They talked about the furball.  They talked about their next trip, and about kindergarten in the fall.  Then I heard what I was listening for.

"I'll be right back," the man said. "I have to use the potti."

And I would be ready.  He walked over and opened my door...



Austin

[paulski617]

Wow, I've never really looked at life from a camper's eyes before.  Very good story.

[AustinBoston]

Wow, I've never really looked at life from a camper's eyes before.  Very good story.

It takes a sick mind... :eyecrazy:

Austin

[dthurk]

Thanks, AB.  It's a great story.  I didn't have time to print it out before our Memorial Day trip, but I will for our next one.

[GeneF]

Dave

Make your own up.  DW and the kids use to take turns telling ghost stories while lying in bed.

Lots of fun that way.  Some were quite original.