Untrue Ghost Stories

[petre]

I’ve had a number of jobs, and for each one I always try to come up with a good “Frank” story. It’s always about some guy named “Frank” who met some gruesome end at work and left some faint paranormal mark (“and sometimes, late at night, you can hear him…”), and usually a weak moral message (“don’t work too hard, or you’ll end up like Frank”). Usually the story is designed to be told to the new guy/gal.

For example, at my first job (in a restaurant) , we would tell the story of Frank, an overzealous dishwasher that insisted on getting every dish immaculate and put in its proper place by the end of his shift. On one particularly busy night, nearly everyone had gone home and Frank was still finishing the dishes. He noted that a glass was missing from the last load he ran through the hugh dishwashing machine we used. Looking inside, he saw the glass stuck up in the vent, shoved up there by the lifting action of the door. He crawled right up inside that huge machine to retrieve it when he slipped and dragged the doors down, starting the machine. By the time the few people left in the building could respond to his calls, the searing water and potent chemicals of the machine had torn most of the flesh from his bones.

The story usually gets more and more detailed as it is embelished in the retelling, and to give the story a little more “truthful ring” several employees will take turns in the telling.

At the University where I was a Printing Consultant, Frank bled to death after his hand was eaten by the bulk printer, while he was trying to clear a paper jam.

Later when I worked in inventory, he dehydrated to death locked in a closet, trying to finish the last of the inventory after everyone had left for Spring Break.

As a landscaper, Frank took a pickaxe in the eye after he dug too fast towards a rock.

Working overnight in the freezers of a warehouse store, Frank became a popsicle when he skipped his last break.

I haven’t yet come up with a Frank story for my new job as a programmer. Sure, there’s lots of dangers in the office but few of them come from working too hard. A terminal case of carpel tunnel syndrome doesn’t exactly draw up a horrific image. I’ll think of something though.

I suppose my questions to all you bright folks is, what happened to Frank where you work?

[rostfrei]

Well, all of my stories are true. I work in a 20 story building and one employee, many years ago jumped to his death and was impaled on the iron fence near the front entrance. Another man blew his brains out in our break room. He was a troubled soul. Again, this was about 30 years ago. They say you can catch a glimpse of him late at night. Before I even knew about that one, I had a co-worker ask me why I didn’t get creeped out while taking cat naps in the break room on my break. I never got a creepy feeling until after he told me what had happened there.

The most recent one was a man who was reading a chart while waiting for the elevator. The elevator doors opened and he entered the elevator, without looking. He unknowingly stepped into the elevator shaft and fell to his death. That was about 15 years ago.

I’ve heard many variations of each story, but none are worth repeating. They’re boring.

I know these are true because I’ve had some very reliable folks verify them.

[modro]

Well, my current Frank story would have to consist of:

One winter afternoon while waiting for his unemployment check, Frank decided to clear the sidewalks of snow. Being the hard working individual that he was, he decided to also clear off the sidewalks for the rest of the neighbors. As Frank was clearing off his last sidewalk, the snowblower hung up on something on the sidewalk. Leaving the snowblower running, (look Ma, foreshadowing!) Frank walked around to see what was causing the snow blower to hang up. Seeing a childs glove there, Frank bent down to remove it. Upon removing the glove, the snowblower lurched forward, and Frank’s head was smashed up by the spinning blade.

It is said that on cold winter nights, you can hear the faint sound of a running snowblower, followed by a man’s scream.

For my previous job though:

In order to get 280 electrical meters tested and programmed by the end of the day, Frank was doing some serious high speed work through his lunch break. Now, the reason he wanted 280 done, is because that is how many were required in order for him to get his level 3 pay. Unfortunately, working at that pace, Frank failed to pay as much attention to his work as he should, and while one of the electrical meters was still running in the test board, he tried to calibrate it. Unfortunately for Frank, as he leaned forward to calibrate the meter, he reached forward and placed his other hand on the grounded pipe that was right beside his work station. Since the meter was still energized, upon placing his screwdriver into the meter, he accidentially made contact with the bus-bar. Upon touching it with the screwdriver, 240 volts of electricity flowed through the screwdriver, into his arm, across his chest, and out through his other arm, into the grounded pipe.

Being flung backwards as his muscles tensed up, he smashed into the rack of 60 electrical meters behind him, knocking it over. As he fell onto the fallen rack, now covered in dozens of meters with broken glass covers, poor Frank was impaled by hundreds of large glass fragments.

Since everybody was out of the building for lunch, no one heard his moans as he bled to death, impaled on the many shards of glass sticking up from the electrical meters. By the time anyone had found him, it was too late, and Frank lay there, with a large pool of blood underneath him, face twisted into an expression of mortal dread. It is said that sometimes, while everyone is on their lunch break, if you stay behind and listen, you can hear the faint sound of dozens of meters having their glass broken. Sometimes, upon returning from lunch, if you look at test board #1844, you will find a meter on the floor, glass broken.

[Marlitharn]

Here at my place of employment (aka The Pit of Despair), we have Sam. Sam is the ghost of a prisoner who hanged himself in the jail upstairs a few years ago (that much of it actually is true, although his name wasn’t Sam). I always make sure to warn the new dispatchers that Sam likes to hang out in the women’s room and rattle the stall door while you’re on the hopper. He also frequents the stairwell where we go to smoke, aaaallll the way down at the end of the hall. You can feel him glaring at you from the stairs above. And he bangs on stuff periodically, making noises that to the skeptic sound amazingly similar to large outdated appliances and computer equipment cycling on and off.

I scared a deputy so bad another dispatcher had to walk him to his car.

I should probably feel ashamed of myself.