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ghost stories
Scary and exciting Ghost Stories from around the World . . .
 

Ghost Story Title : Dey Ain't No Ghosts Part-3 By Ellis Parker Butler

 

Ghost Story:

So de bigges' ghost he say':
'Ah gwine tell yo' somefin' important whut yever'body don't know: Dey ain't no ghosts.'
An' whin he say' dat, de ghostes jes natchully vanish away, an' li'l' black Mose he proceed' up de paff. He so
scared he hair jes yank' at de roots, an' whin de wind go', 'Oo-oo-o-o-o!' an' de owl go', 'Whut-whoo-o-o-o!'
an' de rain-doves go, 'You-you-o-o-o!' he jes tremble' an' shake'. An' byme-by he come' to de cemuntary whut
betwixt an' between, an' he shore is mighty skeered, 'ca'se dey is a whole comp'ny of ghostes lined up along de
road, an' he 'low' he ain't gwine spind no more time palaverin' wid ghostes. So he step' often de road fo' to go
round erbout, an' he step' on a pine-stump whut lay right dar.
'Git offen my chest!' say' a big voice all on a suddent, 'ca'se dat stump am been selected by de captain ob de
ghostes for to be he chest, 'ca'se he ain't got no chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l' black Mose he
hop' offen dat stump right peart. Yes, sah; right peart.
''Scuse me! 'Scuse me!' dat li'l' black Mose beg' an' plead, an' de ghostes ain't know whuther to eat him all up
or not, 'ca'se he step' on de boss ghostes's chest dat a-way. But byme-by they 'low they let him go 'ca'se dat
was an accident, an' de captain ghost he say', 'Mose, you Mose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, 'ca'se you ain't
nuffin' but a misabul li'l' tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you should remimimber one thing mos' particular'.'
'Ya-yas, sah,' say' dat li'l' black boy; 'Ah'll remimber. Whut is dat Ah got to remimber?'
De captain ghost he swell' up, an' he swell' up, twell he as big as a house, an' he say' in a voice whut shake' de
ground:
'Dey ain't no ghosts.'
So li'l' black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an' he rise' up an' mek' a bow, an' he proceed' toward home right
libely. He do, indeed.
An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin' whin he come' to de aidge ob de buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an'
right dar he bound to stop, 'ca'se de kentry round about am so populate' he ain't able to go frough. Yas, sah,
seem' like all de ghostes in de world habin' a conferince right dar. Seem' like all de ghosteses whut yever was
am havin' a convintion on dat spot. An' dat li'l' black Mose so skeered he jes fall' down on a' old log whut dar
an' screech' an' moan'. An' all on a suddent de log up and spoke to li'l' Mose:
'Get offen me! Get offen me!' yell' dat log.
So li'l' black Mose he git' offen dat log, an' no mistake.
An' soon as he git' offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l' black Mose he see' dat dat log am de king ob all de
ghostes. An' whin de king uprise, all de congregation crowd round li'l' black Mose, an' dey am about leben
millium an' a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'en convintion whut li'l' black Mose
interrup'. Right dar am all de sperits in de world, an' all de ha'nts in de world, an' all de hobgoblins in de
world, an' all de ghouls in de world, an' all de spicters in de world, an' all de ghostes in de world. An' whin dey
see li'l' black Mose, dey all gnash dey teef an' grin' 'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all's lunch-time. So de
king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step' on top ob li'l' Mose's head, an' he say':
'Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. De sicretary please note who is prisint. De firs' business whut
come' before de convintion am: whut we gwine do to a li'l' black boy whut stip' on de king an' maul' all ober
de king an' treat' de king dat disrespictful'.'
An' li'l' black Mose jes moan' an' sob':
''Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't mean no harm at all.'
But nobody ain't pay no attintion to him at all, 'ca'se yevery one lookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt whut name
Bloody Bones, whut rose up an' spoke.
'Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min an' ladies,' he say', 'dis am a right bad case ob lazy majesty, 'ca'se de
king been step on. Whin yivery li'l' black boy whut choose' gwine wander round at night an' stip on de king ob
ghostes, it ain't no time for to palaver, it ain't no time for to prevaricate, it ain't no time for to cogitate, it ain't
no time do nuffin' but tell de truth, an' de whole truth, an' nuffin' but de truth.'
An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey confabulate out loud erbout dat, an' de noise soun' like de
rain-doves goin', 'Oo-oo-o-o-o!' an' de owls goin', 'Whut-whoo-o-o-o!' an' de wind goin', 'You-you-o-o-o!'
So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an' no mistake.
So de king ob de ghostes, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones, he place' he hand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an'
he hand feel like a wet rag, an' he say':
'Dey ain't no ghosts.'
An' one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white.
An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name Bloody Bones he lay he hand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he
hand feel like a toadstool in de cool ob de day, an' he say':
'Dey ain't no ghosts.'
An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white.
An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm place' he hand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel
like de yunner side ob a lizard, an' he say':
'Dey ain't no ghosts.'
An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white as snow.
An' a perticklar bend-up hobgoblin he put' he hand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he mek' dat same
remark, an' dat whole convintion ob ghostes an' spicters an' ha'nts an' yiver-thing, which am more 'n a
millium, pass by so quick dey-all's hands feel lak de wind whut blow outen de cellar whin de day am hot, an'
dey-all say, 'Dey ain't no ghosts.' Yas, sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds so fas' it souun' like de wind whin it moan
frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An' yivery hair whut on li'l' black Mose's head turn'
white. Dat whut happen' whin a li'l' black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat-away. Dat's so he ain' gwine
forgit to remimber dey ain't no ghostes. 'Ca'se ef a li'l' black boy gwine imaginate dey is ghostes, he gwine be
skeered in de dark. An' dat a foolish thing for to imaginate.





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