This is the tale of a time when I was alone in an old brick house and I was conducting an investigation. The news had said that ghosts now roamed the halls of the old brick house on Nehelem St. because two brothers had commited ritual, satanic suicide in one of the upstairs bedrooms.
Armed with my modern day ghost fighting tools and several bottles of Pine-Needle Gin (an excellent ghost fighting brand) I broke my way into the now ruined house.
The floors were littered with trash, needles, faeces, and other grime. I began to drink copiously as there were sure to be evil spirits around in the midst of these dark objects. After I quickly consumed the first bottle in the darkness, the ghost hunt could begin.
I staggered upstairs up the rotting old wooden steps and came to the room in question. An ancient Victorian sprawl, and lo and behold, not one but TWO ghosts were sleeping in the corner, with hideous objects of decay strewn about, likely by their poltergeist machinations.
As I took a few long pulls of the steeling gin to temper my soul for the battle that was sure to come, I lost my footing on the old oak boards and stumbled onto the damp, moldy mattress. A rumbling emanated from the corner, and I could pick up voices on my EVP recorder!
Low, guttural, unearthly laughter as the ghouls in the corner awoke, undoubtebly hungry for man-flesh, blood, and souls. The utterances were heard quite clear with the aid of EVP, a strange daemonic dialect from realms beyond the cold clime of the grave:
“Ahheeeewww Sheeerrrriitt we got a fresh one walkin in here yo get his sheet get his sheeett”
Soon they were upon me. Rustling and ravaging me, possibly thinking I was trying to fake being a ghost by wearing a “sheet” they stripped me down quickly and began chortling in a fell-tongue. Soon I felt the room spinning but felt strong, as I had downed both bottles of the demon-slaying gin.
Their incorporeal hands fell upon me and they began to attempt a demonic possession of my body and soul, one attempting to force an ectoplasmic injection into my backside and the other trying to force a ghoulish, viscous white substance into my oral cavity. I fought them back but they held sway over the lower-forces and I felt the will go out of me.
Soon they had possessed me full of the daemonic seed, I would soon be turned if I was not slain or had the evil expectorated from my now tainted body. Unwilling to let me free to perform the ritual needed to resist the transformation, the two devils switched places and began attempting to inseminate the cold, fell-seed of the fallen into me again, possibly to better achieve conception of a minor hellion.
I grappled for a bottle of the Pine-Gin and shattered it, waking me up from my spell by cutting my arms and legs in deep gashes to bleed the taint out. The two ghouls shrieked as they saw their seed flow from the wounds and waste itself on the soft corruption of the Victorian-Era bedroom, and in a flash they were gone.
Beaten, but far from broken, I had beaten back the sin. Quickly utilizing the ancient technique to expectoration from the belly on their swimming demon seeds, I released the contents of my stomach and hind onto the ground.
There are ghosts in the old brick house. Old, evil forces at work. But this one ended up for another win for the ghost hunter.