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Ghost and Ghoulies – A True Story

October 25, 2010

So now boys and girls sit quietly by the fire as I tell you one of the most terrifying true Ghost Stories I have heard to date.

Years ago, one of my many many uncles (my grandmother had 17 kids *shiver*) while living in Puerto Rico decided to visit the young woman he was courting.  Now back then it wasn’t like now a days this was probably in the early 50’s and there was no car so he dressed up in a traditional outfit of white pants, Shoes, shirt and red sash to go visit his love interest. He was 16 years old at the time.

Now my grandfather had warned him repeatedly about coming home late and before he headed out for his visit my grandfather gave him a stern warning “do not come home late” back then ignored warnings were met by a nice beating so my uncle was firm on getting home on time.

So off he went to visit and while visiting there was a sudden downpour of rain.  His girlfriend’s father insisted he not leave until the rain subsided so that he wouldn’t get his outfit ruined with mud.  So my uncle waited out the rain.  However, the rain just didn’t let up and before he knew it night started to fall. 

Now where they lived it was a village, darken roads no street lights nothing and my uncle was getting terrified of having to figure out how to make it home on time so as soon as the rain let up a bit he rushed out slinging his shoes over his shoulders as not to ruin them.

Eventually he reached a crossroad heading to his house. One end took him a longer way and would add about ten minutes to his walk but was better lit and safer, while the other side would take about 5 minutes.  The dilemma was that the shorter distance was known to be haunted by a ghostly figure that had been scaring people for months stories of people seeing the ghostly figure of a man were told in the village and so everyone avoided the road but my uncle fearing my grandfather more than the possibility of seeing a ghost headed down the short cut.

Boo!

He started his walk and half way down the path he saw darkened figure of a man leaning against a tree.  Back then life was laced with traditions, crossing yourself if you walked in front of a church,  or reciting a prayer if you found yourself in an uncomfortable situation and if you saw what you believed was a ghost the custom was to shout “Quien Vive” or who lives three times, now a person would respond but a spirit or ghost would not.

As my uncle walked down the path he though for a minute maybe it’s just my imagination so he continued and the closer he got the more defined the figure became.  Now he had a choice either he would continue or backtrack to the safer path thus adding to his time.  Again more terrified of my grandfather he decided to venture closer and as he did he shouted “Quen Vive” three times.  The figure didn’t move nor did it respond.

My uncle now felt the hairs on his back prickling, the rush of blood running through his veins and he decided to make a run for it and try to get past the ghost so he started to sprint across the road but as he moved closer the figure lunged towards him.  My uncle in his frantic fear grabbed hold of the first thing he could which was a large piece of wood.  As the ghost lurched towards him my uncle in a show of bravery jumped toward the figure and started to swing the wooden stick bat like making contact with the ghost he continued to beat it with the stick and when the figure laid crumpled on the ground my uncle ran for it.

Scared yet?

Running full force he was met half way down the path by my grandfather who promptly started to yell at him. “Where have you been? it’s Late! you’ll get it now!” He grabbed my uncle by the arm and started to drag him towards the house.  My uncle tried desperately to tell him he had encountered the ghost but my grandfather wasn’t having any of his crazy stories and told him to shut up, go to bed and he’d deal with him in the morning. 

My uncle crazed with fear slept very little that night. The next morning my grandfather called him out to the front of the house where he dished out the beatings to those who did not follow the rules.  My uncle preparing himself tried again to desperately tell my grandfather about the ghost but my grandfather refused to listen just as he was going to beat him with a wooden paddle they heard the sound of wagon wheels heading towards the house. 

Down the road was coming a neighbor sitting besides him his son. The wagon stopped in front of the house and the neighbor jumped out and approached my grandfather they greeted one another. And the man told my father how his son was heading home late last night and was attacked by someone he was asking around to see if anyone had seen his attacker.  Both my uncle and grandfather looked up and realized that this young man was the supposed ghost that had been terrorizing the neighborhood for months.

There he sat on the wagon all black and blue he would not make eye contact with my uncle and sat there trembling that the truth would be known.  My grandfather told the man that my uncle had come home around that time and not seen or heard anything.  The neighbor got into his wagon and left.

My uncle was spared the beating and the ghost was never seen again.

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