Monday, October 31, 2016

Writing Prompt-Ghosts

In honor of my favorite holiday: Tell your favorite ghost story.

1 comment:

  1. Around midnight, I pulled to the side of the back country road out around St. Joe, TX. My friend and I had been out chasing ghosts for about a month in the town, and thought we should expand the area we were covering. Down town St. Joe always provided some wonderful pictures, occasional sound recordings, and a lot of fun. But, we had worked the area so often now, we could recount who we'd find in which location. Not to mention, the local ghosts were either becoming camera hams, or getting to be rather camera shy. This gave us an opportunity to let them "rest" from the intrusion into their goings on, and give us a chance to chase a hunch.

    As I turned off the car, we both heard a faint sound that made us both grin like absolute fools.

    "They're active tonight, aren't they?"

    "A barn dance of some kind?"

    "Either that, or a freight train coming through."

    "There's no tracks. Besides, that cattle cute has been here since the time St. Joe was founded, if the wood's any indication."

    We got out of the car, staring at the deep blackness spangled by a multitude of stars overhead. Even though there was no moon to provide light, we could still tell where an old, moldering cattle chute continued to stand despite decades, possibly even a century, of disuse. I didn't leave the flashers running on the car, trusting the lack of traffic to prevent a wreck, because I wanted to have the best exposure possible once we started taking pictures.

    While my friend was locating the barbwire that defined the pasture's boundaries, I collected the small camera case that held our gear: a mid-grade digital camera, a small tripod to set the camera on, our mic, and the microcasette recorder. As I made my way over to the fence line through the knee high weeds, the faint sounds I'd heard when we turned off the car got louder and louder. Not quite enough to say I was actually hearing them, but loud enough for me to pick out at least a dozen feet stamping in time to a fiddle or two.

    "Wonder when they held the barn dances around here." I said, handing my friend the recorder and mic so he could set them up.

    "Probably about the same time as they built the coral and cute. Unless I'm mistaken, that's oak wood, which is the only reason it's still standing."

    (The rest of the story can be found on my blog here: