Meet My Ghost is “a podcast of short ghost stories where you’ll hear a collection of quick but spooky encounters. Because a ghost story doesn’t have to be long, to be creepy. I’ll bring you eerie tales recounted by those who experienced them. And maybe some freaky fictional creeps now and then too…”
Creator and Narrator of Meet My Ghost
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Around the age of seventeen, I spent the majority of my time with my two best friends Haley and Stan, who also happened to be a couple. We spent many weekends at Stan’s grandfathers’ house chatting about obscure slam bands and how “untraditional” our home life was. One early evening, while Haley and I were chain smoking our poorly rolled cigarettes on the porch, we couldn’t help but overhear Stan arguing with his mother on the phone. Stan’s grandfather is going away for the weekend and he’s supposed to watch his German Shepard, Bear. AKA, we’re all going to drink beers in the basement playing video games and listening to metal music. Of course, Stan’s mother being the manipulative drug addict that she is, attempts to guilt trip Stan into coming home. She was rambling about his dad being drunk again and taking the truck somewhere, but knowing Stan’s father, he probably didn’t make it very far. Broken teenagers from broken homes. Labeled by society as outcasts, losers, deadbeats, I’m sure you understand what I mean. “The spawns of white trash”, I remember our teachers would say referring to our tight-knit clique. Haley and I always thought that White Trash Spawn would make a perfect band name. Stan always voted for more brutal names like “Trailer Park Carcasses” or “Orphanage for Dumpster Fetus”. Who am I kidding? A band wasn’t really in our wheelhouse, but a kid could dream.
“Just make sure Bear gets fed while I’m gone,” Stan’s grandfather said passing us on the porch shaking his head in disappointment.
“We will,” I abruptly replied as my cigarette singed the ends of my fingertips.
Haley laughed under her breath as I shook out my hand. Bear began aggressively barking by the front door as Stan’s grandfather pulls out of the driveway.
“Shut up!” we heard Stan shout at Bear joining us for a smoke.
“You bailing on us tonight, or what?” Haley mockingly asked Stan.
Cracking open a fresh can of beer, he rolled his eyes before chugging its contents.
After a few more cigarettes, a walk to the gas station, and pellet gunshots at some bottles, we made our way inside. Grabbing some snacks and collecting a few more beers, I remember rushing to the basement hoping to grab the game controller before Stan. Stan wasn’t very open about his feelings and either secluded himself from everyone or lashed out with spouts of aggression when uneasy topics arose. Looking back, I feel our friendship only worked because of our obvious sense of wanting in a society that continued to shut us out. Throwing on some tunes in the background, Haley and Stan began to get amorous next to me on the couch. As the music played, Stan’s hands ran up Haley’s legs gently tugging at her already torn fishnets. Uncomfortable, and a little more inebriated than I thought, I paused the game standing to my feet. Stumbling over a few empty bottles, Stan and Haley laughed as I attempted to find my way to the stairs. Grasping the railing on the way up, I eyed the door at the top of the stairs hoping my balance wouldn’t betray me. This was probably the first time I’ve felt the full effect of being drunk without blacking out. Ascending the towering flight of poorly crafted steps, Bear woefully greeted me at the door whimpering as he followed me closely into the kitchen. Opening the fridge door, I shuddered from the brightness of the lights as Bear continued to whine behind me.
“There’s no food in here for you Bear,” I said petting his head.
“Stanley,” an elderly voice called out from the living room.
Immediately closing the fridge door, I glanced towards the dark living room. The television was on, but nothing was playing. Just an annoying low hum as the empty black screen dimly lit the living area. Bear continued to whine lying on the kitchen floor. Shaking my head, I quickly open the fridge once more grabbing as many beers as I could hold shuffling back to the top of the basement steps.
“Stanley, Stanley is that you?” the elderly voice called out from the darkness.
“No, sorry. Not Stan…just a friend,” I nervously answered back.
“Oh, that’s alright. Could I bother you for a cup of tea?” they requested.
“Ummm…sure,” I answered, gently placing my beers on the floor.
Fumbling through an old packaging of tea leaves I somehow managed to prepare a proper cup.
“Three sugars,” they humbly requested from across the room.
Carefully making my way towards the living room, Bear stayed in the kitchen continuing to moan. Placing the tea on a television tray, an aging woman, frail and fading, reached her hand out to mine.
“Thank you,” she graciously stated.
“No problem…anything else you need?” I stammered.
She pulled me in closer and whispered into my ear.
Still intoxicated, and a bit confused, I carefully descended back down into the basement. Stan and Haley playfully wrested upon the couch as I found my seat.
“You get lost up there?” Stan kids with a spirited jab to my abdomen.
“Your grandma’s upstairs in the living room, she asked me to make her some tea,” I explained.
“What?” Stan angrily replied.
“She’s sitting in front of the TV, why didn’t you tell us she was going to be here?” I asked.
Stan’s stunned silence frightened me. I didn’t know what he was thinking or how he might react.
“His grandma’s been dead for a couple of years,” Haley adds.
“No, I just saw her,” I said.
“C’mon you guys, stop messing with me,” I anxiously smiled, hoping they were messing around.
“Did she say anything?” Stan sharply questions.
“Uhhh…” I mumbled as Stan violently towered over me.
“What? What did she say!?,” Stan belligerently eggs me on.
“She said…just tell Stanley I say hello,”.
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