Ghost story

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Jack Dolittle, in spite of his name, had done everything. He was in
hand-to-hand combat in the jungles of Vietnam. He fought as a
mercenary for whoever would hire him in several of the brush-fire
wars that have plagued the last half of the twentieth century. Tiring
of war, he started a thriving import/export company that made him a
millionaire several times over when he sold it to a multinational. He
climbed Everest, K2, and the peaks of Patagonia. He dove to the bottom
of the Marianas Trench in a research submarine. He hunted rhinoceros
and water buffalo in Africa and polar bear in the Arctic. He trekked
across the Gobi desert and Antarctica to the pole and wrestled
crocodile in the Amazon basin. He was many times scarred, but never
scared, for unlike other men, Jack Dolittle did not know the sensation
of fear. In fact, Jack Dolittle was jaded, tired and bored, and was
seriously considering suicide when he chanced upon a man named
Gaines at an airstrip, if you could call it that, on the edge of the
 

 
Sahara.


Over a beer Gaines told him of a haunted house on the outskirts of
his home town in northern Minnesota. No one had lived in the
house for 80 years, and few would even walk by the house on the nearly
deserted dirt road that led past it. Most of those who ventured into
the house were never seen again. One had survived. He was found
wandering in the woods a couple of miles from the house, babbling
incoherently, his clothes torn and bloodied. He had died a few years
later in a hospital for the insane without ever revealing what had
happened to him. Jacks pulse quickened and he began to feel alive
again. Perhaps here was a challenge that would restore him and make
him feel that life was again worth living.


Jack headed straight for northern Minnesota, and, with his usual and
characteristic thoroughness, set out to discover all he could about
the house and its erstwhile inhabitants. He soon found that all that
Gaines had told him at the edge of the Sahara was true. The house had
been built by a ruthless, vicious and despicable man named Sweeney
around the turn of the century. One of victims of Sweeney's many
frauds turned on him and slaughtered Sweeney and his family with an
ax. There had been no heirs and the house had been sold at auction. The
new owners, Ed and Madeline Berg, proprietors of the drugstore in
town, disappeared within a fortnight and were never seen again. After
that the rumors grew and no one attempted to occupy the house again.
Jack found a few newspaper stories concerning people who had dared to
enter the house, either for curiosity or on a dare, and who had also
disappeared. Finally Jack found an article concerning Rupert Myer, a
hobo who passed through the town a couple of times a year. A neighbor
who lived a mile from the house had seen Rupert on the grounds on a
Sunday evening. The next Wednesday Myer had been found by a
woodsman three miles from the Sweeney house, wandering in the
woods, screaming obscenities, babbling and drooling. Jack found an
obituary dated three years later, almost to the day, stating that Rupert
Myer had died in the state hospital for the insane.


Few in the town would talk to Jack, and the few that would were
reluctant to tell him anything about the house. But Jack was feeling
alive for the first time in years. He set about exploring the grounds
of the house and even walked through the house in the middle of the
day. He saw little that would not be expected in an 80 year old,
unoccupied house. Lots of dust and spider webs, broken windows,
rotting drapes and dilapidated furniture. There was no sign of
occupation, except for bats and mice. The house actually seemed
rather peaceful to Jack, and it occurred to him that this would be a
nice place to live. It would take a fair amount of work to make the
house livable, but he could buy it for almost nothing.


But, while Jack did not feel fear, he was not foolish. There was
the small matter of all the disappearances. He decided to spend a
few nights in the house, appropriately armed, and see what might
transpire. Jack drove to Chicago, made a few purchases, and set
himself up in the corner of what had been the sitting room on the first
floor of the Sweeney house. He set up a comfortable chair, rigged up
battery operated floodlights, moved in his weapons and ammunition,
and settled down to wait for ... he did not know what. He waited
through a cloudless and moonless night and saw nothing but bats in the
gloom, heard nothing but an owl and crickets, and an occasional creak
as the old house settled in for the night. Feeling at peace for the first
time in many years, Jack fell asleep in his chair and was awakened by
the birds just before dawn.


Suddenly he heard a noise, a solid thump from somewhere near the
top of the house that was accompanied by an almost imperceptible
tremor in the house. Then again, and again. Something heavy was
making its way slowly and laboriously down the stairs from the third
floor to the second, around the landing and down the stairs to the
sitting room. Jack noticed with curiosity that the hairs on the back of
his neck were standing up again. He strained through the gloom to see
what was coming down the stairs, but he could only hear it, thump
followed by thump until finally it was down the stairs and in the
sitting room.


He threw the switch on the floodlights and across the room he saw
an ancient, rotting coffin standing upright at the foot of the stairs.
The lid was open at the head end and in spite of the brilliance of the
floodlights, he couldn't see clearly through the spider webs and gloom
of the interior of the coffin. What he could see made his blood run
cold, and for the first time in his life, Jack Dolittle felt fear and
understood why strong men run from danger. The coffin began to move
toward him, wobbling and thumping across the creaking floor. Jack
opened up with the Uzi, emptied the magazine, loaded another and
emptied that. The coffin continued its advance. Jack threw a
grenade. The coffin continued, unaffected. Jack opened up with his
flame thrower, setting smoldering fires in the rotting carpet and the
remains of the drapes. The only effect on the coffin was to burn the
spider webs out of the opening and in the gloomy interior of the
coffin, Jack thought he saw gleaming the coldest eye he had ever
seen. By comparison even a python's eyes seemed warm and
comforting.


The one mistake Jack had made in his planning was to not leave
himself an escape route, and now the coffin blocked his exit from the
sitting room. He emptied his .45 into the coffin without effect. He
threw his Bowie knife. With a satisfying thump the blade buried itself
in the lid of the coffin, the handle shuddering in the bright light of
the floodlamps. The coffin continued. In a state of desperation, he
threw his chair and his beer bottles, without effect. The coffin now
was less than 6 feet from the corner where he was trapped and it was
still lurching towards him.


Panic-stricken, Jack searched through his pockets for some remaining
weapon. He found nothing but two Vick's cough drops. Trapped, and
nearly hysterical, he threw them at the coffin...


Amazingly, they stopped the coughin'!


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About JokeTribe


These all are jokes that we've had the good fortune of having other people email to us or we've retrieved off the Internet. Over time, we've sent them on to the subscribers of our various jokes lists. Since we're talking some ten years of managing these emails lists, we've built up a pretty sizeable (and FUNNY) collection of jokes. They cover pretty much any category and topic that you can imagine; from clean jokes to dirty jokes and most everything in between, including the much loved lawyer jokes and the blonde jokes and the yo mama jokes as well as those redneck jokes. Remember, we did NOT author them, but we did take the time to convert the text files to html.

If you are certain of the authorship of any of these, email us the author's name along with relevant information on how we can verify that they truly are the author so we can give them the credit that they deserve.

 

 

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