HEBB2 - CHALLENGE 18: Campfire Tales

HEBB2 - CHALLENGE 18: Campfire Tales

To ALL housemates
Your 18th challenge is now here!

To pass the task:

* You are only allowed SIX fails, which means any more than 6 housemates not completing the task, you will fail.

This challenge is allowing more fails than usual to begin the HEBB experience

Help gain a pass

If
you notice members not posting near the end date then it is up to you
as housemates to get them to in order to help you all pass and
housepoints to be added. PM them, post in the HEBB chat thread or anything else you can think of!

Time for 18th task

This 18th task will be open until Wednesday 23rd April (gmt pm)

Housepoints

If the task has been successfully passed, 5000 housepoints will be added to the base housepoints

If
the task is a fail (6 or more members do not post their challenge) then 300 housepoints will be lost from the base housepoints

Each housemate that participates will also be awarded 100 housepoints each

THE CHALLENGE

We all love a good ghost story told around the camp fire. Now here is your chance.

RPG a good opening to set the mood.

Tell your ghost story. If using one you have found please rewrite it in your own words!

RPG end of campfire

Dani took off her clown outfit and sat down, "Sorry Vi, it was too tempting."

She looked around the group of girls and smiled, "My turn...Once apon a time, there was a group of girls who loved traveling under the trees in the dead of night. They had been to every forest in the village, save for one: The "Haunted" forest, of course the girls didn't believe the stories that came from the travels emerging from the limbs of the trees, the stories that claimed they could hear shrieking from every angle of the forest, the place wreeking of death." Dani paused letting the intro sink in. "That night, after a traveler was reported missing, the four girls packed a small survival kit and put it on their backs, and began hiking into the forest. They were joking and laughing until they heard the screams in the distance and the crunching of twigs snapping behind them. The four girls took off running towards the path, when they reached it they found one of them missing. The three gasped in horror as they heard her scream being carried off into the dense forest, murmmers of 'we have to go after her!' rang through the three bodies, the small group ran after the sounds of her screams and were never seen again. But to this day along a path way that runs through Kentucy, you can here the screams of four girls crying 'stay on the path'"

Dani finshed her story and grabbed a marshmellow from a nearby bag and poked a stick through it settling it over the fire.

Elladora listened intently to the two stories, in total awe and fear. "Okay," she said, "I've got one-- and it's a true story." Elladora hoped this would help set the mood, then began.

"Back before the university was built, it used to be an insane asylum. Down a little ways from it, there's a road, with no streetlights. A decade back there was a family driving down to visit someone in the asylum. It was raining that night and was very dark. The couple's baby was in the back seat, with all the windows on childlock. As they went down the road, the father skidded on some sharp rocks and and the speed with down to 30mph. He lost control of the car and they skidded down a hill to their death... Now, I know someone who traveled down that road with a bunch of friends. The speed was dropping and at 30 mph it wouldn't accelerate, no matter how much gas was being applied. The person in the backseat could feel a warm bundle next to them where the baby had been. And no one could open the windows.

They got out to inspect the car, only to find that all they're tires had been slashed from the sharp rocks, so someone took out their cell phone to call for help and the date read: January 12, 1896-- the day the family died."

Elladora looked around the campfire, into the faces of the surrounding people, smiling evilly. A twig snapped behind her and she jumped with a squeak.

((True story, guys.))

The air was filled with the sound of crickets, and a brisk breeze brushed through the clearing in the woods, the hollow shushing as the wind stirred the treetops sounding like spirits settling in to listen. Little rustles rippled through the tall grass, and one could almost mistake them for a trailing cloak rather than a mouse's feet. The moon was out, but every so often a thin cloud would move over it, throwing the clearing into shadow, with only firelight flickering and leaping throughout the circle, taunting wickedly with its ever-moving light. Streams leaned forward with a little shiver of mingled anticipation and apprehension, and began her story.

"In the late 18th century, many people still strongly believed in evil spirits, ghosts, and devils. My ancestors had a tradition, born of a deep-seated fear, that no new mother should be left alone with her baby. After a woman had a baby, she should have a chaperone at all times, especially at night. It mattered not who the chaperone was. The important thing was that the mother should never be alone with her baby.

"Evil spirits know that new mothers, though fiercely protective, are not as strong as they might be. In addition, devils only want children that are one week old or younger. Nobody knows why the devils want human babies, of what use they can be. But everyone knew that new mothers (especially young ones) should never be left alone with only their newborn babies.

"However, one girl who thought herself clever always mocked this tradition. 'Devils!' she would scoff. 'What will they do, march in here and grab my baby?' She would wave around her broomstick, or whatever else she happened to be holding at the moment, and say, 'Let them try grabbing my son with me whacking them on the head!'

"Still, her mother wouldn't hear of her 'newfangled shenanigans', and insisted upon her daughter coming home to stay for a few weeks, until the danger of devils was well beyond them. One dark, wet evening, as they waited for the young mother's husband to return home from work, there was an ominous knocking at the door. The daughter's husband had been injured at his workplace and would be unable to come home that night. He was resting at a friend's house that was closer to the doctor.

"The mother was visibly disappointed when she heard this. She had wanted to run out - just for a moment - to borrow a cup of flour for the bread dough she was making. Her daughter, the poor, cynical girl, assured her mother that she could go out for a moment to fetch the flour. After all, how long would it take her? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Surely devils wouldn't storm the house in that amount of time?

"The mother bundled into her cloak and left in a hurry, glancing worriedly over her shoulder at her daughter who sat curled into a rocking chair, her newborn son beside her in his little wooden cradle. They sat near the fire, which was warm and steady.

"Suddenly, the daughter was shaken out of a pleasant little dreamy memory by odd popping noises coming from the fire. She had heard fire snap before, of course, but this was one too many pops at once, growing progressively louder."

Streams paused, grinning evilly as everyone tried to nonchalantly edge just slightly away from the crackling fire.

"Then, a hand covered in gleaming black scales thrust out of the fireplace. It felt around the mantelpiece, finding its bearings, knocking over a knickknack, and then waved cheekily at the girl, who was open-mouthed in shock and disbelief. She leaned forward to clutch her baby tight, but the hand got there first. Quick as a flash, it grabbed her baby, who immediately began screaming.

"Then she found her voice too, and jumped up, thinking that she would do anything, anything, just to get her baby back. Before she could get any coherent words out, the hand slipped back into the fire, still holding her wailing baby.

"The daughter poked a broom into the fire, thinking that perhaps...I don't think she was thinking clearly. The broom caught on fire and raced up to her hands, burning them. She fell to the floor in paroxysms of sobbing, as flames leaped about her, catching onto the rugs and curtains. Oblivious to the house going up in flames, she sat in a crumpled ball and wept."

Streams leaned back on her hands, staring up into the moon. "True story, that. Until today, my family has the tradition of never leaving a newborn alone with the mother. And I think that--"

But the rest of her words were drowned out by screaming, as a branch in the fire that looked very much like a hand shifted and appeared to be reaching out to the circle of people around it.

xD

Pamela walked out to the garden. Big Brother had set up a little camping “trip” for the housemates. There was a tent that had the magical property of being much larger inside than out. It took up a fair bit of the garden, but indoors was about the size of one floor in a dormitory. Smiling at her friend, Kaitlyn, Pamela sat down on an old tree stump that was serving as one of the many makeshift seats around a large campfire. It was the perfect night for ghost stories. There was a new moon and a light wind—enough to cause the leaves to rustle in the trees, but not enough to be disruptive. The only other sounds that could be heard were the chirping of crickets, and the occasional cracking of a log on the fire. “Good evening, everyone,” Pamela said in the creepiest voice she could manage without sounding comical. “Tonight I shall tell you the tale of The Haunting of Andover Park.”

“It all began some fifty years ago in a town in Indiana. As these tales so often do, it started with love. There was a young girl of about twenty-one named Paulette. She was in love with a handsome man of about twenty-four named Nick. Their relationship was kept quiet, though. You see, Paulette was the unwed only daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the county. It wouldn’t do for the only heir to the Hayes fortune to be seen fraternizing with a boy like Nick Navarro. It was hard enough for the town to tolerate the Navarro family’s presence.

“Paulette had never known what it meant to be financially independent. It was not appropriate for a young girl of her standing in society to live alone. If she had left her parents, her Nicky would have taken care of her, but life would be hard. As much as she loved him, she just wasn’t ready to give up her easy life. So, they continued to see each other in secret. When she could, Paulette would sneak out her bedroom window wand creep silently through the back lawn. Once she reached the road, she would wait in the bushes of his car to come. Together they would drive to the other end of town to Andover Park. Together they would lie under a tree and talk—making plans for their wedding and trying to come up with a scheme to get her out of her unhappy home.

“One night, as she was climbing down the tree outside her window, a small branch snapped. She had paused, holding her breath. No one came outside, so she continued on. She didn’t know it, but her father had suspected for some time. She had tried, once, to bring Nick around, but James Hayes had put a stop to that—or so he had thought. This time it would be stopped for good. Grabbing the revolver in the bedside table, he set out to follow them. He knew where they’d be; he’d heard her on the phone with the boy one night.

“They were under that same tree when he found them. There was some sort of party or festival going on. They didn’t even realize that anyone was coming until he was right in front of them. He pulled out the gun and told his daughter to get in the car. Paulette refused and tried to plead with him. She told him that she loved Nick and that he made her happy. Isn’t that what a father is supposed to want for his daughter? He retorted with the usual insults about how some boy whose only job prospect was to work for his father as a gardener could never be a real man and take care of someone like Paulette. Nick stated that he could care for her better than her father ever had, and that he was more of a man than James could hope to be.

“When the bullet escaped from the gun it found its home, not in Nick, but in Paulette’s heart. She had thrown herself in front of Nick. Outraged that the boy had caused Paulette’s death, James shot the boy anyway, despite the stares. No one did anything about it. James Hayes got away with the murder of his daughter and her lover by merit of his money and power.

“A year later the festival returned. For reasons he couldn’t explain, James Hayes was there. His lawyer and all his friends were there too. There was one more person there that no one knew about. Near the end of the festival, when everyone was a fair bit drunk, that was when it happened. Each light that was up for the festival exploded one by one. The wind began to pick up, and you could hear a coyote in the distance. It sounded like the cries of a woman in distress. ‘Why did you kill me, father?’ called out a voice that was at once beautiful and terrifying. ‘Why did you kill my Nicky?’ Her father had no answer. ‘Why didn’t anyone do anything about it?’ There was no answer from the town, either. The wind died back down and the moon and stars that the townspeople had not realized were covered all night, once more brought light to Andover Park.

“James Hayes was found the next morning hanging from the tree his daughter had died beneath by his own hand. Before long the people of the town stopped visiting the park. They said they would see her sometimes. Some people even said she came to them asking why they’d done nothing to save her and Nick. Eventually, the town began to grow. Forty years later, the rumors died out. An apartment complex was built over the old park and was named for it. That is the very apartment complex I live in now. Sometimes, at night, I can hear James searching, calling for his daughter, and I can hear the laughter of a young man and a woman in love.”

“Did that really happen?” Kaitlyn asked in a hushed voice, once Pamela had finished.

“Not really Pamela replied. I actually made it up as I went along. Oh, I borrowed the name of my apartment complex back home, but as far as I know, there are no ghosts there.” She didn’t bother to mention that she now had a new reason to stay in the house as long as possible. No story had ever come from her that effortlessly. Could it possibly have been true?

“Boo!” some one suddenly yelled, grabbing Pamela from behind. Pamela screamed and fell off the stump. Looking up, she saw a familiar face laughing.

“Violet!”


*Just a quick disclaimer. That is not the name if the actual apartment complex I live in. It is the name of one in the town I live in, but not mine.*

Caro pulled a blanket tighter around her, but even with it around, she felt cold.

"Guys, all of these stories have been awesome! I have goosebumps, look!" she said, showing her arm.

"Okay, my turn..." she announced, and cleared her throat.

"This is the story of the father who killed his own baby.

There was a happy couple that had a newborn baby. After the mother died soon after the baby had born, the father had no other choice, and abandoned the baby in a coin locker.

But that would be his downfall.

At home, the father started to feel immensly guilty about it. So he returned to the coin locker. But... when he opened the door, the baby that should have been there was gone!

Five years passed. As if pulled by fate, he returned to that coin locker. That's when... a boy so pale that he was almost transparent, was looking at him.

The man asked, 'Where did you come from?'

'I, was born here...' the boy answered, his eyes boring through the man.

The man gathered his courage, and asked, 'Who is your father?'

That's when the boy smiled almost cruelly to him...

........IT'S YOU!!!!!!!!!!!" Caro screamed, and laughed loudly at the reactions she got.

The fire burned in the woods as Mick sat with a torch in the darkness and trained it on hs face as he began his story

"

A long plaintive wail emanated from the cardboard box. Whether Jacob
had seen the box or heard the cry first, he could not be sure, but he was certain that the
pitiful sound came from the box. At once he was regretting taking the short cut from the
Burger bar to the car park, he had always felt uncomfortable using it after dark. The
passage between the Record shop and the Butchers was only just wide enough for one person
and it was badly lit with a single bulb. Where it opened out behind the shops, anyone
could be hiding in the dark out of sight of the High Street, hardly visible in the shadows
from the vast empty car park.

Still he had something else to worry about this time because there
was that cry again, audible above the sound of the fans on the refrigeration unit at the
back of the Butchers shop. It was a heart rending sound of loneliness, pain and hunger,
that brought back memories of childhood punishments, when Jacob's mother locked him in his
bedroom without any dinner or supper. He could hear her voice even now, all these years
later, "You disgusting little monster". What was that awful sound? What should
he do about it? Leave it probably, let some one else sort it out. Nobody had helped him
then locked in his bedroom or in the dark under stairs cupboard, shivering in his wet
pajamas, his cries drowned out by his mothers ranting and the loud rumble of the washing
machine.

The cry went on long and pathetic, rising and falling in pitch. It
was probably some kittens, the abandoned and unwanted offspring of a family pet, discarded
by a callous owner. If it was and if he opened the box, what then? He would then feel
responsible for them, would have to take them home. No, better to leave them for someone
else, not his problem. But the cry was echoing round the alley, echoing inside his head,
there was something about it that sounded almost human. Perhaps it was a baby shut in the
box, he thought, in the dark.

He couldn't leave a baby shut inside a box, alone in the dark. Jacob
knew how that felt, to be shut in, how you could not breathe, how you began to sweat, how
you could feel the blood rushing and roaring through your temples and the contents of your
stomach rising in your throat. The waves of panic that wash hot and cold through the body.

And Jacob knew if there was any chance that it could be a baby, he
had no choice but to look inside the box. He was within a foot of the cardboard box when
suddenly there was a slight movement from the box and the crying ceased, all was quiet
except the thrum of the fans in the butchers shop wall. The top of the box was sealed with
wide brown parcel tape, Jacob managed to get his fingernail under the end and peeled off
the tape in one go. Pulling open the flaps he stared into the shadowy darkness, trying to
make some sense of the shape within. It didn't look like a baby, in fact there seemed to
be more than one set of eyes blinking back at him. "Kittens, I was right the first
time" he thought, reaching in with both hands to pick one up. Taloned hands grabbed
both his wrists, sudden and vice like, searing pain shot up his arms.

He yelled out and tried to pull away. The claws pulled back, hard
and sharp, digging into his flesh and forcing him off balance. Jacob
realized that there
was no way he could stop himself falling head first into the cardboard box. As his head
entered the box more small clawing hands grabbed at it, pulling at his hair and ears, he
felt the sharp talons enter his nostrils, dig into his neck and shoulders. Even as his
chest passed into the box Jacob was aware of the wet and warm, strangely comforting
feeling spreading through the front of his trousers.

Then as the claws pulled the rest of his body down into the
darkness, he felt the hot and cold waves of panic running through his body. As he
struggled for breath, the blood roaring in his ears, his shouts of terror began to
subside, turning first into a whimper, then into a long plaintive wail."


Mick grinned as he turned off the torchlight and silently left the firelight and the worried eyes of those still sitting silently around it

Shausto shivered in the chilly night air, hearing the previous ghost stories echo around her. After Cat and Gemma had jumped out, frightening every person gathered around the blazing fire, everyone settled down again and the night was quite once more.

“Alright, my turn now.” Shausto said warily. Ghost stories weren’t really her thing, but she decided she’d try anyway.

“So one night Charlene and her husband William sat down to a nice dinner. Charlene glanced at William, still wearing that baffled expression on his features at finding the candle-lit dining table set out with their nicest china, and poured some more wine into his empty glass.

Deciding she ought to be the one to break the tension, she cleared her throat.
“So I decided it would be nice to have a nice dinner together, you know, make things a bit more relaxing as there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

She stood up to disappear into the kitchen and returned with a plate with the meal she had prepared for him, placing it in front of her husband. William stared at it for a second, then realizing what it was, dug in with a knife.

“Stuffed heart! My favorite, is it lamb or pig?” he asked.
“Cow actually”. Charlene let a small smile escape.

She picked at her own pile of leftovers, watching him consume his meal greedily, it already being half gone.

He looked at her plate. “Not hungry?”
“Not especially. But I know I haven’t been in the kitchen lately, so I thought I’d do something a little extra this week. Try to win back your affections.”

His rapid eating slowed and he stared at her, a hint of surprise showing in his eyes.

“I’m thinking kidneys tomorrow and liver for Friday, sound good?” she continued.

“Sure, I—but Friday I’m going out with the guys.”

“Oh right, boys night out. Well I’m afraid your little get together has been canceled.” She replied coolly.

“Canceled? But what—“

“Will, there never was a boys night out, was there? You never were one for going out with the guys, it seemed a bit odd that you suddenly were.. You’ve been seeing another woman, haven’t you?”

His knuckles whitened as he gripped his knife and fork. “I—Yes. Alright, you win. I’m sorry. What can I say?”

“Nothing I guess, but why her, Will? You never said a good word about her.”

He put his knife down, sure now that Charlene wasn’t about to start yelling. “Well, now that I’ve gotten to know her, she’s really nice. A heart of gold even.”

“Oh really? A heart of gold? Is that why she came to tell me about you and her this afternoon?”

He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry, she threatened to do that, but she shouldn’t have. I’ll talk to her.”

” Oh theres no need for that.” Charlene smiled grimly. “We had a nice chat this afternoon. I wont give you up that easily. I’m sure she wont bother us again.”

“Oh Charlene, have you been vicious? She really is a nice person—“

“A heart of gold you said, I heard you before. Now tell me, darling William, how good is her heart?”

He stared back blankly. “What—what did you say to her, Charlene?”

“I said, how good is her heart? Extremely good?”

“I guess, why?”

“Yes or no!”

“Yes!”

Charlene put another forkful of leftovers into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully and smiled.
“Good. I’d hate to think my culinary efforts would go to waste.”

William’s face went white. “What?”

“Her heart, husband dear. You’ve just eaten it.”

His face was blank as he stared down at the meal he had devoured.

“Now tell me, how would you like your kidney’s tomorrow?””

Grinning wickedly, Shausto watched the others’ reactions, then turned back to the fire. Burning high now, some people had taken to making smores. Shausto instead took a big glob of chocolate, held it in her fingers and held out her hand above the flames, letting the chocolate melt. The warm chocolate dripped down her hand and she let it sit there until it cooled and she could pick it off in the shape of her hand.