Ghost Stories

@vicki Said

You scared me

@Charles Said

Come on tell us a story

@vicki Said

You're just too good--can't compete with your stuff.

@iwannano Said

a story told by the old timers
still to this day when the wind and moon is just right we can hear and see those kids walking the crest if these hills crying and promising not to tell no one where the gold is and pleading for them Spanish not to kill them

@Charles Said

It was a wild and windy winter's night when the stranger walked through the door of the small pub in the hills of Donegal. His long dark coat almost trailed the ground as he quietly entered. His broad brimmed hat heavily shadowed this unfamiliar face. Sitting in the corner he ordered his poison and sat alone sipping the warming whiskey.
A group of local lads had been round the table the other side of the roaring turf fire playing cards for pennies earned through hard labour in the stony fields.
One lad beckoned the stranger to join them in the game hoping to take a few shillings from in.
The quiet dark stranger played his cards close to his chest clutching them in his thin boney hands that the labourers knew had never steered a plough or mowed a field. Game after game the stranger would loose and never complain on his poor luck. The lads could not believe their luck as their share of coins rose.
The next hand found one lad left alone facing the stranger. He believed the hand he had been dealt was his chance of raising the boat fare to a new life and the stranger kept raising the stakes higher and higher. When the lad had every penny he had on the table the dark stranger raised the stakes once more and when the lad said he had nothing left to bet the stranger made a chilling request. "Bet your soul and all this can be yours" he rasped.
That request sent a chill down the spine of everyone at the table and the lad facing him was so shocked he dropped his cards to the floor. Quickly bending down under the table to recover the precious hand he seen the legs of the stranger. Thin legs not wearing leather shoes. Two black hooves rested on the rough stone floor cloaked by the long dark coat.

The lad knew to bet his soul with the stranger would be the last thing he would ever do on this mortal earth.

So remember if you meet a stranger who promises much, be aware that the offer may cost you more than you have to give.

@Charles Said

Two brothers both where in the army and fighting in the trench warfare of the First World War. They had been posted a few miles apart as the battle raged.
The younger brother was in forward observation position out in no man's land when a shell smashed into their position killing his comrades. When he recovered consiousness he discovered that the explosion had blinded him. He had to make it back to his own trenches if he was to survive his injuries. It was then that he heard the familiar sound of his older brother calling to him and giving him directions to crawl through hundreds of yards of
the mud and wire jungle to safety.

As he was being treated in the field hospital he told the nurse of how bravely his brother had crawled out into no man's land to guide him safely back to their trench.

The nurse first looked at the doctor and then to the dead body of this man's brother who had been killed a few hours earlier a few miles away in another part of the battlefield.

@Charles Said

My Dad worked in catering for the US Marines in the Beech HIll. That beautiful old house was their base as they prepared for going to invade mainland Europe.
In the months they had been billited there many of the Americans had fallen in love with the peace and beauty of the place. One Marine from Texas called Hank was so much in love with this part of Ireland he often told my Dad of his plans to make his home here when the war was over. Dad was always addressed to as "Irish" by the young American.

A few weeks after most of the Marines had been shipped out for the invasion Dad was coming up the stairs in the Beech Hill with Colonel Ladd's supper when he was greeted by "Hi Irish" as Hank came down the same stairs.

On serving the Colonel Dad commented that he had met Hank on the stairs.

The Colonel looked at Dad and quietly said that the group of Marines based in the Beech Hill had been in the first wave onto the beaches. They came under murderous fire and Hank was one of those who never made it alive onto the beach.

So if you ever have the privilage of staying in the Beech Hill and do meet a young Marine dressed in the uniform of the 1940's say "Hi Hank" from my Dad.