Tag: ghost

Commando

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A ghost ate my underwear.
That’s right. A ghost ate my underwear.
I cannot imagine my underwear being appetizing to any living or nonliving creature, but I woke up to the sight of a spectral entity eating my underwear.
I was too tired to be scared, so I just came out with it: “Why are you’re eating my underwear?”
“I don’t know,” said the ghost. “Got any more?”
I wanted to ask the ghost what the Afterlife was like, but he finished the last of my boxers and vanished.
So, can you exorcise my underwear drawer for me, Father O’Malley?

Starfield Of Dreams

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Aliens landed at Ray’s farm and wandered around, looking for cattle to mutilate and asses to probe.
When they found none, they walked up to the farmhouse and knocked on the door.
Ray racked his shotgun and opened it. “What the hell do you fuckers want?”
“We come in peace, blah blah blah,” said the alien commnander. “Didn’t there used to be cattle here?”
“I gave them up,” said Ray. “I built a baseball field and people came from all over to watch ghosts play baseball.”
The aliens thanked Ray, went to the field, and tried to ass-probe a ghost.

Angels on the radar

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By adjusting the sensitivity, power, angle, and reflectivity of a weather radar, you can detect some interesting things out in the heavens.
If you’re really good, you might even find signs of heaven itself.
Now, I won’t tell you the exact settings you need, but imagine the shock when I twiddled a few dials and came up with a squadron of angels sweeping over the land.
Or maybe they were ghosts. I’m not sure. I’ve still got a lot of research to do.
What Nobel Prize category should this be under? Do you think I have a shot at winning?

The Wasting Curse

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Alfonse dragged the sack of bones out of the charnel house and down to the creek.
“Drown, you infernal hag,” grumbled the old monk. He emptied the bones into the water.
That’s how the Wasting Curse struck Creeksedge. Man and woman, child and beast broke out in massive, putrid boils. The sores would burst and run, making the victim mad with thirst.
More cursed water, more sores.
Then death.
Alfonse watched it all from his hut, drinking bottle after bottle of the abbey’s wine.
The witch’s ghost knocked over his candle, incinerating Alfonse as he slept.
Revenge, whispered the wind.