Remember camping when you were a kid? You’d sit around the campfire at night listening to tales.
Once three friends were out camping. They went out for a hike and went farther than they’d planned. They wandered around for hours and hours through dark, moonless night. Eventually they discovered an old ghost town. Outside of the town was an old graveyard. An odd graveyard, it had a very high fence all the way around it. Why? Who ever saw such a fence around a graveyard? And it was built to last. The other buildings in the town were falling apart, but the fence remained strong.
They piled up some boxes to get inside. Even though they were lost and cold and hungry, they couldn’t resist exploring by torchlight. The shadows seemed to move. The shadows did move! And a queer smell wafted on the breeze. An old smell, like decay. And then they saw it. A ghost. A ghoul. A… something. They saw the reason the fence was built so well. Its pale reeking skin hung in tatters from its frame. The eyes were hungry. So was the drooling mouth. Slowly it moved toward them, making a horrible sound. The three friends ran back to the fence. But there was no way out! Two of the friends helped the third over. One helped the second, his mighty shove fairly catapulting the other clear of the sharp pickets. But how would he get out?
His friends stood on the boxes on the other side and tried to help him as the monstrosity lurched ever closer. The boy jumped and his friends caught his wrists. Saved! But…
[Ramp up the frantic narration.] The ghoul was there. Its bony fingers caught the boys jeans. His friends pulled from above, and the creature pulled from below. The jeans were strong. No way they would ever rip! The friends pulled his arms and the thing pulled and pulled on the lad’s leg [Reach out and yank a camper’s leg] just like I’m pulling yours!
Yeah, all that and it’s just a bad joke and a physical fright. Anyway that’s one of the ones I remember. Tell me one of yours.