Ghost Stories

I've always believed in ghosts and spirits. Perhaps it was because it amused me, or perhaps it was because I've been stuffed with ghost stories ever since I was old enough to comprehend them. I've been around a lot of people who grew up in remote areas of the world. You know, the place where electricity doesn't exist, and running house water is just a myth. Well, anyway, I've heard many ghost stories from them, mostly drawn from their actual encounters and experiences. These stories were pass on to me on many different occasions. Like sayÐ'... around a campfire, a mid-night drive across towns, or just under the dim candlelight of my friends' basements.

One of my friends' stories was about his dad. You see, back in those days when my friend's father was just teenager, water was a rare commodity. At every dawn, he had to leave his home with two vases on either side of a stick on his shoulders to get drinkable water from the village's well. The walk was about two miles. People did not live close to each other in those days, they lived on their farm, and every house was quite far from each other. There wasn't any pavement, or cement street, roads were simply made out of rocks, and mud, and dirt. And the only mean of transportation was cows. Nevertheless, my friend's dad always stopped by his neighbor's house, the two boys grew up together and they've always walked alongside each other to get water. When Mr. Shoe, my friend's dad, was fifteen, his friend died of malaria, so from then on; he had to walk to the well by himself.

One day, while coming back from the well, Mr. Shoe heard running footsteps coming from behind him. So he stopped and turned around, no one was there. The footsteps then slowed down to a jog, and then to a walk, then it stopped next to him. He was puzzled, but he wasn't scared, so he kept walking. The footstep started again, but this time it was next to him. The footstep's pace matched Mr. Shoe pace evenly as he walked down the street.

The tall grass that was growing on either side of the street, he recalled, drooped down and turned purple that day. It seemed dead and somehowÐ'... evil. The sun did not rise yet, and the moon still hung stubbornly on the cloudless night. But Mr. Shoe was not surprise, he has seen days like this. But never before had he been alone on this kind of dawn, his friend was always there, and they would talk about things and that made him feel better about being up on such a late day. His parents warned him about robbers and people who would steal anything to get a little money. He, too, have heard from others about people getting killed in the middle of the road, over a couple of vas and a worn out shirt. Mr. Shoe was so worried about his safety that he had forgotten about the footsteps on the side of him. The day passed and he went on to work on the farm until it drew to an end.

The next morning was bright, the sun peaked over the green mountains and bees and butterflies hovered around the flowers blooming from the grass. It was quite a difference from the day before. Suddenly, Mr. Shoe remembered about the footsteps, so he paused and listened for them. There was nothing besides the chirping of the birds and the rustlings of the tall, green grass. It went on to be like this for a few days, everything was so beautiful and perfect.

One day, Mr. Shoe woke up to a dark and dampy dawn; it had been raining over night. As usual, he made his way down the muddy street, suddenly, the footsteps came back. He turned around, nothing. The footsteps again slowed down and stopped beside him. There were no footprints on the mud. As Mr. Shoe walked, the footsteps also walked alongside him. All of a sudden, two men jumped out from the grass in front of him. One of them had a butcher knife in hand. They leaped forward; Mr. Shoe stepped back in shock. Abruptly, the two men came to a stop; they looked at him in terror. One of them started to babble and both was sweating heavily. Their faces turned purple and they collapse on the ground in front of Mr. Shoe. He didn't know what to do but run for help.

The two men were recovered and imprisoned afterwards at the town. When asked why they passed out, the two men turned pale and told the people that they saw a boy's rotting body next to Mr. Shoe. He stood as though he was carrying something on his shoulder. There were worms and maggots digging on his flesh. He was about in his teens. His face was yellow and deformed. Blood was running out of his ears and a hole on his chest. When shown a picture of Mr. Shoe's friend, the two men jumped and started acting very strangely. They swore the ghost that they've seen looked just like the boy in the picture.

The town received running water that summer. My friend's dad no longer had to travel far to get water. As for the footsteps, it never bothered him again. Mr. Shoe told us that he visited his friend's grave before he moved away to the city. The grave was located on an open grassy area at the family's farm. Upon burning incense for his deceased friend, he heard laughter coming from the top of a tree. The branches grew over the grave and the friendly laughter came from the branch overhead the tombstone.

Another ghost story that I thought was also very interesting came from within the family. My aunt, to be exact. You see, my aunt is the kind of person who strongly believed in supernatural powers, bad and good lucks, palm readings, and spells to keep away evil spirits and such. I used to tease her about these things and she often was mad at me about it. I remember when I was around six; she told me a story that I will never forget.

I have no grandparents, they all passed away long before I was born. The story that I'm about to tell occurred five years before my birth. My aunt is a very wealthy woman and her house is relatively big. She lives with her husband and five of her children. My grandfather spent the latter part of his life living with her. She took care of him very well for she provided him with all of his needs. She told me that grandpa enjoyed tea a lot. Everyday he would sit at the wooden table and drink his tea; his eyes would gaze out the window at the garden