Seriously Spooky Stories

Chapter One The Bravest Man in the World Robert Hull There was once a young man so brave that nothing scared him, not bears, or snakes, or flying arrows, or the shouting of thunder. Not even ghosts scared him. Outside the village one night, from down by the river, there was a whistling and hooting like owls. "Listen," an old man said, "ghost talk. The ghosts are talking about death and ghastly things, telling ghost stories." His words sent a chill down the spines of the people listening around the fire, but the young man felt only curious to see these ghosts. He slipped away into the shadows and went toward the river, hoping to find some skeletons sprawled under a tree, chatting in that whistling way that he'd just heard. He didn't see any ghosts, because the three who were there saw him first. They were having their evening meal: the smells of chicken and fish that drifted from the village. Ghosts don't eat; all they need to keep them alive is the aroma of food. So when they looked along the path and saw a young man creeping toward them, they slid off in their canoes, gliding through the water quicker than otters; ghost canoes have holes in them and go faster than the canoes of people. Even the brave young man might have shuddered if he'd seen three misty skeletons speeding along in holey canoes and if he'd heard the clunky rustling sounds of paddling bones. After a while the three ghosts stopped and pulled their canoes up the riverbank. "You know," one of them said, "I think I'll go and scare that young man for spoiling our meal. I'll jump out at him on the path and dance around him rattling my teeth." "I'd like to do that too," said the second ghost. "I'll go," said the third ghost. "I'm the biggest, so I'll give him the biggest fright. I'll scare him silly." "It's not how big you are," said the first ghost. "It's how scary you are." "I suggest a wager," said the third. "Whoever scares that young man the most wins the others'canoes." "How about a bigger bet? How about our horses?" "Horses it is." So it was arranged. The next night the first ghost paddled up to the village to give the young man the scare of his life. He walked along the path-pedaling along in the air a foot or two above the ground, the way that ghosts do-to the edge of the forest, where the path from the village reached the trees. He sat on a branch and started whistling a well-known tune, swinging his legs in time to the rhythm. In no time at all the young man, as curious as the night before, came creeping across from the village, peering into the trees. The ghost continued whistling till the young man saw him and stopped. Then-GOOOOR, GRAAAR, RRAAAAHHR! The ghost swung out of the tree with a howl, rattling his teeth and whirling his crackling arms around as fast as he could. Then he started frolicking around and making hooting noises. The ghost waited for the young man to turn and run. But the young man only listened and looked for a moment and then jumped forward and grabbed an arm bone with one hand and an anklebone with the other. The ghost's hooting turned to a howl as the young man bent his skeleton around into a hoop and tied it up with some grass. Then he started rolling his hoop along the path. The ghost moaned and whined with every clunky turn of the bones. "Don't, don't!" he yelled. They came to thPowling, Chris is the author of 'Seriously Spooky Stories ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780753460740 and ISBN 0753460742.