I made one little mistake at work, now ghosts be trippin'
'Sup, guys? So here's what's good. Last week, I got a job at the cemetery cleaning headstones and dusting crypts for 30 dollars an hour. On my first night, the caretaker, this old black dude name Sherman, showed me around with a flashlight. He was carrying the flashlight, not me. "You got some headstones," he said and shone the light on a headstone, "then you got some gravestones. Some statues. And a wino passed out - hey, wait a minute."
A dude in rags was curled up on a crypt, snoring like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Sherman climbed onto the crypt while I held the flashlight and slapped the guy awake. "Pat... what are you doing here."
Guess Sherman knew him.
Pat sat up, swaying back and forth. "Sleepin'," he said thickly.
"Chip kick you out again?"
"Fuck Chip."
Sherman told me later that Pat and Chip were on again, off again lovers who fought each other more than Bloods and Crips. Chip was always tripping and kicking Pat out for shit.
"Well, you can't sleep here," Sherman said.
After Pat jumped down and shuffled into the swirling mist, Sherman took me back to the caretaker's hut, a little shack in the northwest corner of the cemetery. "That's pretty much it. Just do your thing." He sat in a creaky swivel chair so old it sat behind Jesus' chair in the third grade kicked his feet onto the desk, and laced his hands behind his head. "I'mma take a nap."
I gathered my cleaning supplies and started to leave, but Sherman stopped me. "Oh, hey. One more thing."
"What?"
"Be mindful of the ghosts."
I blinked. "Ghosts?"
"Yeah, this place is haunted as fuck."
Okay. Real funny, Sherman. "Sure. I'll be careful."
"I'm not playing with you. They'll fuck your shit all up."
Shooting my fearless leader a salute, I went off into the night, my bucket swinging like a happy elf's lunch pail. Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to work I go. I picked a grave at random, knelt, and started washing all the moss and shit off the headstone. You might think that Sherman's jive had me shook, but you'd be wrong. I'm a grown-ass man and I've been around the block a few times; ghosts aren't real and even if they are, fuck them. I grew up in the hood. I had dudes pointing guns at me when I was a kid. You think Casper scares me?
Anyway, my black ass cleaned about fifty headstones. I only broke to take a leak and to eat my lunch in the caretaker's shack. Sherman was dead asleep in front of a portable TV. At dawn, I brought my shit back and on the way, I tripped over something. A pine cone. Only it was shaped kind of funny, like an S.
I thought it was cool so I took it and slipped it into my pocket. I put my supplies away, went home, and fell asleep. When I woke that afternoon, it was to the sight of my bedroom in total disarray. Drawers were pulled out, clothes were heaped on the floor, and all my shit was scattered around like I got robbed.
"What the fuck?" I muttered. I got up and checked my money jar.
Still there.
In fact, all my expensive shit was where it was supposed to be.I looked for signs of forced entry but didn't find any. Since I live in the hood, I got more locks than a Jewish bagel shop and bars on all my windows. If someone came in, they were quiet. And sneaky.
Like a ghost.
Long story short, I went to work that night, got my clean on, and came home at dawn. As soon as I opened the door, I caught a glimpse of a shadow racing across the wall.
BURGLAR!
I dashed in, ready to whip some ass, but the house was empty.
Huh?
Must be seeing shit.
I opened the fridge to get a cold drink, and, no shit, Big Worm from Friday was in there, only it was just his head and not his body. He looked around, sniffed the air, and looked me dead in the eye. "It smell like pine cone in here."
Screaming like a bitch, I slammed the door and fell back against the counter.
Tripping.
I was tripping.
That was all.
Being up all night, working in the dark, listening to Sherman talking about ghosts and shit, it was getting to me.
To test my theory out, I opened the fridge again.
See?
Nothing.
Laughing at myself, I shut the door.
Skip to the next day. I had the night off so I was sitting on the couch playing GTA with my homies from Discord. It was late evening and I was just about to steal a fine ass car when a loud crash rang out from my bedroom. I jumped up like a black preacher at a tent revival and let out a high, Michael Jackson scream.
What the fuck was that?
I went to investigate.
Nothing.
Huh.
I turned around, and the door slammed closed by itself at the same moment the lights went out.
A white bitch stood there.
And when I say white bitch, I don't mean a white girl, I meant this fella was pure white, like it was some paper.
Then its black, gaping mouth and eyes opened and it let out a blood-chilling wail. I screamed and tried to run, but without warning, the house began to shake. Framed pictures fell from the walls, my dresser tipped over, my bong spilled water all over the floor.
With a low rumble, a giant fissure appeared in the floor and ghostly red light filtered out. I curled up in the corner, hugged my knees to my chest, and rocked and forth like a man in a padded cell. I think I may have even stuck my thumb in my mouth.
Terrible screams emanated from the hole and spirits appeared everywhere, laughing at me.
"Myyyyyyyy piiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeecoooooooooonnnnnnnnnneeeeeee," a deep voice hitched from hell. "Give me back my piiiiiiiiiiineconnnnnnnne."
Fuck, man, take it.
I found my jeans, pulled the pinecone out, and threw it in the hole.
Suddenly, everything was back to normal.
The next night, I came into the caretaker's shack and sat down. Sherman was sitting in his chair and watching TV. "You were right," I said.
"About what?"
"This place being haunted."
A look of recognition flickered across his face. "Told you."
I hugged myself against a chill only I could feel. "You said there are ghosts everywhere?"
"Yep," Sherman said. "This place has ghosts out the ass."
"You ever seen one?" I asked.
Sherman shook his head. "Nope. Never."
"Then how do you know?"
He grinned. "Because I am one."
Then he disappeared.
Credited to Jrubas
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