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5:39 PM Ghost Story With a Moral | |
| Davey Lockwood – My Aunt’s Pot Lets get one thing out - this story has nothing to do with drugs. It has to do with my Aunt's Pot. Like...cooking pot. So the set up: My Aunt was going out of town, and needed someone to watch her house. They had to stay there EVERY NIGHT because there were THIEVES AND CRIMINALS in her neighborhood. The lady is like 90 so I take up the bid and oblige. Gotta earn my place in the will right? I show up at her house as she is leaving and she shows me around. A large kitchen, living room, and bathroom downstairs, with two bedrooms upstairs. Small house. We say our goodbyes, she leaves, and I get to work watching television. I'm not there maybe 30 minutes when there is this outrageously loud CLANGGGGGGggggggg from the kitchen. I run in, and am med with a stainless steal metal cooking pan, 12 inch size, rocking back and forth on the hardwood floor like it just fell off of the counter. I didn't think twice about it, opened up cupboards until I found the pan area and tossed it in, then went back to watching TV. After about an hour of that, I started to get uncomfortable on the couch, so I went up to the guest bedroom and started to go to sleep. I remember thinking, how long has it been since someone has actually used this room. She has lived here like 50 years...has anyone really come over? CLANG-PANG-TING-CLANG-TINGTINGtingtingting. The noise of metal on wood reverberated throughout the house. My heart was hammering in my neck as I peered out of the doorway down the stairs. At the bottom sat that same pan, horror-movie style in a single patch of light cast by the street lamps outside. The stainless steal bounced the yellow light all over the room, making it look like everything was moving. Was something moving? I went down to check it out, keeping my eyes on a dark spot against the wall. I really was not thinking ghost at all at this point. I don't know what I was thinking really. I knew what I needed to do though - hit the light and jump on that shadow. I crouched down and tightened up my legs, then hit the light switch and leaped onto... A fucking coat rack. A shooting pain burnt through my face as my nose collided with one of the stupid ass coat rack arms. Fuck that. I'm going to get that pan and go the hell back to sleep. I turned around and stared at the now empty floor. No pan. I decided to continue with my previous plan and head upstairs to go back to sleep, cursing the coat wrack as I nursed my nose and watering eyes. Stupid pan. I got back into the dark room, laid down in bed, and started to go to sleep, pulling covers around me, and touched something cold. Not quite ice cold, but still surprising. The pan was in the fucking bed with me. This was the first time I got an OK look at it, in the faint light that was coming in from the window. First, it was cold (I mentioned that). Second, it smelled awful. Like 7 day old hamburger awful. Third, it was whispering to me. You know that sound when you hold a seashell up to your ear? That was sort of the sound coming out of the sound. Like a bunch of people whispering, then listened to through a metal funnel. I thought I caught my name once or twice while I carried the pan down the stairs. Sleepiness numbed any fear or confusion. I just accepted things as they were happening. Moving talking pan. Sure. Why not. I put the pan the cupboard again and jammed it closed with a wooden spoon. Satisfied, I went back upstairs to sleep. I woke up vaguely dreaming of pans. I decided it was all a dream and walked to the downstairs bathroom to do my morning business. This wasn't that hard, I thought. Sleep in a house for three nights and get payed for it. Good deal. Now, put your brain on pause for a second and I'm going to go through what happened next in slow motion. First I opened the door to the bathroom and faced a mirror. In the mirror was a furious looking old man holding the pan over his head. Second, I turned around and saw the pan flying at my face. I ducked instinctively, listening to the pan woosh over my head. Third, the mirror behind me exploded in a mirror-induced death, sending its silvery carnage all over the bathroom and ricocheting the pot off the sink and into the bath tub, making a horrible, horrible amount of noise. Back up to normal speed. I stood there a moment, dumbfounded, then picked up a piece of the mirror, touching it to try and figure out if that just happened. At the angle I was holding it, it reflected the faded dragon on my shirt (I know, I'm a goon). I turned it up to look at myself in the face. It was a reflex. Try picking up something reflective and not looking at yourself in the face. I caught the reflection of something moving behind me...there it was again. I was fighting with myself at this point. Either put down the shard and act like it isn't there, or keep looking and see the old man trying to kill you. I stepped aside and moved the shard over, using it as a rear view mirror. Nothing still. That was the moment I decided I had it with the house. I threw down the shard and walked outside, walking past the mess in the living room (I apparently had also knocked over a lamp in the coat rack indecent). I got in my car and started it, and started to back up when I saw the guest bedroom window was open. I just started to think, 'Did I leave that....' The pot flew out of the window and broke through my front window, landing in the passenger seat. I picked it up and threw it out in one swift motion, all while reversing and getting the fuck out of dodge. Thus ended the pan incident. UNTIL My aunt called me at the end of the three days and thanked me for keeping the house so clean. IT GETS EVEN WEIRDER Three years later, when she died, she left me specifically, as in "And to Dave I leave...", that pan. In the note she said "It felt like the right thing to do." I buried it in a park. So, to all you ghost hunters and believers who think that ghosts have some motive, or some purpose, no. You are wrong. Ghosts make no fucking sense and I am pretty sure have no idea what they are doing. I'm not saying they don't exist, I firmly believe after that incident, what I am saying is that they have no idea what they are up to. | |
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