Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan/Case Closed! Damn….
Warnings: shounen-ai, implied shoujo-ai (If you squint), long cause it has actual ghost stories from http ://www. americanfolklore. net/spooky -stories. html#2
Pairing: KaiShin (forever!) implied other couples if you want.
"So we are gathered here today to tell ghost stories," Kaito stated sitting cross-legged in front of a small bonfire. Across from him sat Hakuba, Heiji, and Akako while to his right was Ran and Aoko. Sitting right next to him looking slightly bored was Shinichi.
"And we have to sit outside when it's pitch black out and freezing because?" Heiji asked faintly rubbing his arms. Heiji had left his jacket inside and wanted to get it but didn't want to miss anything.
"It makes it all the more better!" Kaito replied happily. "Okay so who wants to go first? Or should I?"
"I think you should go last," Shinichi told him. "You're the one who suggested it, but most likely you'll go into details and we won't have a chance to go."
"I'll go first," Akako offered. Some of the group stared at her in surprise but Shinichi figured this was her sort of thing considering Kaito said she was into black magic… "There once was an evil priest who did not fear God or man. His duties for the church included counting the offerings and ringing the bells to summon people to Mass. But his heart was filled with greed, and he began to take advantage of the good people of his parish. The priest stole money out of the offerings to keep for himself, and when he had filled a chest full of gold, he killed a man and buried him with the chest so the murdered man's ghost would guard it. Anyone who tried to dig for the treasure would be devoured by the skeleton of the murdered man.
The evil priest planned to return to Spain with his ill-gotten treasure, but he fell ill with a fever a week before his ship was scheduled to leave. On his deathbed, the priest repented of his crime. He swore to his confessor that his soul would not rest until he returned the gold to God. The priest died before he could reveal the place where the treasure was buried. As he gasped out his last breath, he said: "Follow the bells. They will lead you to the treasure."
The Padre who attended the dying priest did not heed his words. But the sweeper who was working in the hallway at the time of the evil priest's death was struck by the notion of buried treasure. He was very poor and wanted a better life for himself and his family, so the sweeper determined to take the treasure for himself. Each night for a week, he took a shovel and dug in the monastery gardens, searching for the priests treasure. He found nothing.
One night the sweeper was awakened from his dreams by the sound of the parish bells ringing out loudly in the darkness. He leapt to his feet, fearing some emergency, and then realized that his wife and children had not stirred in their beds. Remembering the evil priest's last words, the sweeper felt sure that the mysterious ringing of the bells was for his ears alone, to lead him to the treasure.
Taking his shovel, the sweeper followed the sound of the church bells up and up into the hills. He was gasping for breath when he reached the source of the sound. He was on a wide ledge overlooking the valley. Two trees guarded the spot, and it was beside these trees that the glowing, ghostly church bells hovered. Taking his shovel, the poor sweeper dug a deep hole among the roots of the trees. After several moments, his shovel hit something hard! Eagerly, he swept the dirt away from the object and found a small chest. He hauled it out of the ditch with trembling hands, placed it on a rock, and broke the lock with the edge of his shovel. when he opened it, piles of yellow gold met his dazzled eyes. He gathered up a handful of coins, reveling in the weight of so much money. The coins were cool to his touch, and he felt the smoothness of the metal as he rubbed the coins between his fingers. And that was when he heard the moaning...
Looking up, the sweeper saw the skeleton of the murdered man whom the evil priest had buried with the treasure. It was rising out of the pit under the trees, eye sockets glowing with blue flames. "Mine," the skeleton intoned, stretching its bony arms toward the sweeper. "Mine!"
The sweeper screamed in terror and leapt away from the box of treasure, dropping the coins that he held in his hands. He ran down the hill as fast as he could go, the skeleton in hot pursuit. Behind him, the bells began to ring again as he fled for his life from the ledge.
The sweeper kept running long after the sounds of pursuit ceased, and did not stop until he reached his home. It was only then that he realized he had left his shovel back with the buried treasure on top of the hill. it was an expensive shovel and he could not afford to lose it.
Waiting until daylight, the sweeper went reluctantly back up into the hills to retrieve it. When he reached the ledge, there was no sign of the skeleton, the chest of money, or the hole he had dug the night before. He found his shovel at the top of a tall tree whose first branches began nearly twenty feet above his head. The skeleton must have placed it there after it chased him down the hill, he decided grimly, knowing that there was no way he could retrieve it.
Turning sadly away, the sweeper's eye was caught by a gleam in the bushes near the rock where he had placed the treasure chest the night before. Carefully, keeping his eye on the place where the skeleton lay buried, the sweeper felt around the rock until his hand closed on two gold coins that the ghost had missed. Casually he put the coins in his pocket and hurried from the ledge. When he got home, the sweeper put the coins into a sock and hid it under the floorboard for safekeeping.
The sweeper never went back to the ledge to retrieve the evil priest's buried treasure, though sometimes he was still awakened by the mysterious sound of the bells. He knew it would take someone more pious than himself to banish the ghost of the murdered man and reclaim the money for God. But he did use the gold coins to send his eldest son to school, and with the left-over change, he bought himself a new shovel."
"No offense but who the hell would buy themselves a new shovel?" Heiji asked raising an eyebrow.
"It's a story it doesn't have to make sense," Kazuha told him.
"Whatever…" he mumbled.
"If you think you can tell a better story then go ahead. We said we'd tell ghost not scary stories," Akako remarked.
"Fine, I will," Heiji shot back. Clearing his throat he thought for a moment before saying, "Black Bartelmy was an evil, surly buccaneer who murdered his wife and children and went to sea with a band of pirates as nasty as he. He roamed the Atlantic coast, murdering and pillaging and laying waste to the countryside as he passed. By the time he approached Cape Forchu in Nova Scotia, Black Bartelmy had a ship loaded with treasure; five hundred chests had he full of gold and jewels and goblets and mighty swords-"
"NEXT!" Aoko said booing his story with a grin on her face.
"Don't interrupt me!" Heiji said annoyed.
"Like how you disrespected Akako?" Aoko replied innocently. The others chuckled.
"As I was saying," Heiji began again, "A thick Fundy fog lay over the bay as the ship approached, and the treacherous Fundy tide soon took hold of the evil man's ship. The crashing, churning waters of the Roaring Bull, that dangerous ledge of rocks near Cape Forchu, took the pirates ship and smashed its hull.
But Captain Bartelmy spotted land to the starboard side of the ship. He and his trusted mate Ben the Hook had the crew load up the escape boat with every treasure chest they could fit. Then the bold pirate had his first mate murder the other buccaneers so they would not have to share the treasure with them. Ben the Hook crouched just out of sight in the rocking escape boat and slit each man's throat with his hook as the seaman bent to place his burden in the hold. Then Ben threw each body over the side of the ship into the churning waters below so that the next pirate would not sense a trap when he came forward with his treasure.
When the treasure was loaded into the boat, Bartelmy and Ben the Hook rowed into the calmer waters of the cape. They searched for a place to bury their treasure. Finding a large cave, they piled each chest inside and then covered the entrance with rocks. As Ben the hook rolled the last boulder into place, Bartelmy thrust a sword deep into his chest, twisting it with an evil laugh, and watched as his mate fell dead at his feet.
Knowing that he had to leave this remote spot or starve, the evil pirate captain walked along the edge of the water, searching for a town or a harbor where he might row the escape boat. But Black Bartelmy soon found himself mired in quicksand with no one to save him. Only the gulls heard his dying curses ringing over the cape as he sank down and down into the mire and was engulfed.
One stormy night soon after the pirate's death, the keeper of the local lighthouse saw a flare going up in the direction of the Roaring Bull. Thinking it is a ship in trouble; the keeper called together a lifeboat crew and launched their boat into the icy waters, heading for the Roaring Bull. But as they approach the vessel in distress, they saw an ancient galleon with tattered sails. Its decks were piled high with treasure chests spilling over with gold. Astride the deck is a solitary man in black. The evil pirate grinned wickedly down at them, gesturing grandly with his cutlass. As the breakers overwhelmed their boat, the last thing the keeper and the rescuers heard was the sound of Black Bartelmy's ghost, laughing.
They say that the ghost of Black Bartelmy continues to haunt the Cape and the Roaring Bull to this day, and that any rescue crew summoned to save a vessel off the Roaring Bull should take every precaution, because the distressed vessel might not really be there." A few people clapped.
"Figures you'd tell a pirate tale," Akako said. "You're just as unrefined as they are." Heiji glared at her.
"At least mine sounded better!" Heiji said.
"I think they were both good," Ran said trying to get them to calm down.
"So who wants to go next?" Shinichi asked looking around the group. Kazuha raised a hand.
"I'll go!" She said cheerfully. "Unless someone else wants to go?" She asked mostly looking at Ran who shook her head no. "Okay then! Well….He smiled as he sipped at his coffee. It had been an excellent hike. He was glad his friend had recommended coming to the Hanging Hills in Connecticut; not the first place that had come to his mind when considering a vacation. But it was beautiful here. When his friend arrived tomorrow they would tackle some of the more challenging terrain.
"Did you have a nice hike?" asked the innkeeper as she refilled his cup.
"Yes indeed. I had some unexpected company," he said with a smile.
"Really? I thought you were the only one crazy enough to go hiking in the rain," she teased.
"It was a little black dog," he said. "Cute fellow. Followed me all the way up the mountain and down again."
He looked up from his coffee to see the innkeeper's face had gone pale.
"A black dog?" she asked. "That's not good."
"Why not?"
"We have a saying around here," she replied. "'And if a man shall meet the Black Dog once, it shall be for joy; and if twice, it shall be for sorrow; and the third time, he shall die.'" He laughed. "That's just superstition."
"That's what Mr. Pynchon said. He saw the black dog twice. The second time he saw the dog, the friend he was climbing with fell to his death. And later, Mr. Pynchon decided to climb the same mountain, and he died too. Everyone here believes he saw the dog just before he fell."
"Nonsense. It was just a cute stray," he said uneasily. She shrugged and took the coffee pot over to her other customers.
His friend arrived the next morning and they both laughed about the story of the black dog. They set out on their climb. About halfway up the mountain, he looked up and saw the black dog.
"There's the dog," he called to his friend.
And then his foot slipped and he plunged down the side of the hill, desperately grabbing at saplings and rocks, trying to halt his descent. It seemed to take forever for him to stop sliding. There was a stabbing pain in his leg. When he looked at it, his head swimming, it was bent at an odd angle. They had to send in a mountain rescue team to get him down. At the hospital, they told him his leg was broken in two places and he was very lucky it wasn't worse.
"You know, that was a very strange fall," said his friend uneasily. "You don't really think it had anything to do with that black dog?"
He looked down at the cast that extended all the way up to his hip.
"I don't know. But I don't really want to find out. Next time, let's go to Colorado."
His friend agreed."
"In a weird way that was kind of cute," Aoko commented.
"Yes because a black dog that supposedly causes bad luck is adorable," Shinichi teased. "Although it's one of the less bloody tales that we've heard tonight."
"True," Hakuba agreed.
"Then again they are ghost stories," Heiji reminded them. "Of course someone's going to be dead or along those lines."
"Who wants to go next?" Kaito asked looking around the group. "Aoko?"
"I don't really know any ghost stories," Aoko replied. "Scary stories yes, a few police stories, but I don't know any ghost stories."
"That's fine when we have a scary story night you'll be first to talk," Kaito told her.
"I know one story," Hakuba announced.
"Let's hear it then!" Kaito said happily.
"Okay..." Hakuba said. "For days, a ragged old man had hung around the Newark Central Station. The stationmaster kept running him off, but night after night he would return. He kept accosting people, shouting: "It's coming for me! It's coming!" Whenever anyone asked him what was coming for him, he would just clutch his head and cry: "I done wrong! I killed a man that cheated me at cards, and now I'm going to pay!"
The stationmaster finally took the man aside and threatened to call the police if he did not cease and desist. The old man rolled his eyes and replied: "The Express Train for Hell is coming for my soul! You've got to help me." He broke away from the stationmaster and ran for the door. The time was two minutes to midnight. At that moment, new sound introduced itself. A long whistle blew, once, twice. The stationmaster was startled. The next train wasn't due until 12:05.
The old tramp started screaming when he heard the whistle. The stationmaster could hear the roar and chug of a steam train, approaching fast. Approaching too fast to stop at the station. The old man was standing at the edge of the platform, staring down the tracks in frozen terror. The stationmaster ran forward and grabbed hold of the old tramp to pull him out of harm's way.
The train whistle sounded again. A warm rush of air blew against everyone near the platform and the stationmaster heard the roar of an invisible train passing directly in front of him. He heard the hiss of the steam and the screech of flanges against iron rails; he felt the wind whipping our hair and faces, but he saw nothing.
Beneath his grip, the old tramp gave a terrible wail. Then he vanished, leaving the stationmaster empty-handed. The roar of the invisible train faded into the distance and then ceased. The stationmaster glanced at the station clock. It was midnight.
The stationmaster stared blankly at the tracks. Around him, the waiting passengers and other bystanders were gasping and murmuring in fright. "Good lord, he was right," the stationmaster murmured to himself. "It did come for him." He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his sweating, bald head with it.
A trembling man standing nearby approached the stationmaster: "Sir, what was that?" he asked. "Son, I believe that was the Express Train to Hell," said the stationmaster. He shook his head and that seemed to bring him to his senses. "Why don't you go back into the station and pour yourself a drink?" he suggested to the trembling man.
He pushed the man through the station door and then turned to address the dazed and frightened passengers. "Nothing to worry about folks," he said. "It was just an express train passing through. The next train will be here in five minutes." The stationmaster's reassuring manner calmed everyone. People turned away from the empty tracks and settled back into their seats, whispering to each other about the strange events that had just taken place.
Then the stationmaster went into his office, closed the door, and poured himself a stiff drink to calm his nerves. "Well, that's one for the books," he muttered aloud. "I wonder if I should put it on the schedule; 12 am-Express Train to Hell."
Shaking his head, he fortified himself with one more brandy and then went back to work."
"Doesn't that just make you want to go onto an express train?" Heiji said sarcastically.
"Personally I think the stationmaster's reactions is funny," Shinichi said. "I mean not many people would say 'I wonder if we should put it on the schedule…' and he didn't freak out like most people did."
"Where did you hear that story anyways?" Kazuha asked.
"Believe it or not someone was telling me this while I waited for the subway train," Hakuba replied. Akako chuckled along with Heiji, Shinichi, and Kaito at that.
"Seriously?" Heiji asked.
"Seriously I'm not joking," Hakuba told them.
"I wonder if they were trying to scare you so you wouldn't ride the subway?" Shinichi asked recovering first.
"Maybe," Hakuba said shrugging.
Oh I have a story! Sonoko liked this one guy who was into scary stories and told me this one!" Ran announced.
"Oh god if it's one of Sonoko's targets who knows what it's about," Shinichi muttered rolling his eyes.
"Oh be nice," Ran lightly scolded. "It's a good story. Anyways…The devil was in the Mississippi River that night. You could feel it with every eddy swirling against the helm of the boat. You could hear it in every jangle of the bell. You could see it in the dim light of the lantern as it tried to pierce the swirling fog. You could sense it in the sound of the chugging engine. The devil was in the river. It was a bad night to be out in a paddleboat. But he had sworn when he set out that nothing could make him turn back.
No other pilot dared brave the Mississippi that night. They were all huddled in the tavern, gossiping. After an evening of listening to their empty boasts, he had made one himself. He knew the Mississippi River so well that he could guide his paddleboat on his run even through the thickness of the night's fog. When the other pilots heard his boast, they laughed and told him he would be back before midnight. He had grown angry at their jeers, and had sworn in front of them all that he would not turn back this night for any reason, should the Devil bar the way!
The paddle wheeler was rocking oddly under the strange eddies of the river. But he knew every turn and guided her along despite the fog. He was almost to Raccourci when he saw shore where no shore had ever been before.
He turned the boat this way and that. It could not be! The river ran straight through on this branch. He had guided his paddleboat through this place a hundred times.
But the devil must have been listening at the tavern and had heard his boast, for the Mississippi had shifted! He swore every curse he knew, and kept searching for a way through. He had vowed to complete his run without turning back and he was determined to carry out his vow. He would never go back. Never! He would stay there until daybreak, and beyond if need be.
Suddenly, the paddleboat gave a massive jerk. The engine stalled. The boat shuddered and overturned. When the fog lifted the next day, they found his paddleboat sunk to the bottom with a gaping hole in its side, and the pilot drowned.
On foggy nights, you can still hear the ring of the bell, the sound of the engine and the curses of the ghost captain trying to complete his run."
"That's actually not that bad of a story," Shinichi admitted when she was done talking.
"You have to admit he's dedicated," Akako commented. "Not many people when they hear the devil is behind it would attempt to finish their jobs. In fact most people run away…"
"Shin-chan it's your turn to tell a story!" Kaito announced.
"I'm feeling slightly tired…" Shinichi said. He knew a story but he didn't get much sleep and was about to nod of. In fact he was leaning on Kaito with half lidded eyes. Even though he heard Heiji and Hakuba chuckling at his 'nickname' and the girls giggled he didn't bother to yell or snap at them.
"If he's not snapping at our laughing he must seriously be tired," Hakuba commented.
"I can't believe he's tired enough not to yell at us," Heiji muttered looking at him in disbelief. Sluggishly Shinichi flipped him off before leaning further into Kaito.
"I guess I'll finish the evening with a ghost story of my own," Kaito told them wrapping an arm around Shinichi's waist. "The Phelps place was an old, abandoned property with a monstrous, decrepit Victorian house that was supposed to be haunted. It should have been a good resting place for the local deer hunters, but they would not go near it. A few that tried came away before midnight with tales of ghostly thumping noises, gasps, moans, and a terrible wet bloodstain that appeared on the floor of the front porch and could not be wiped away.
Phelps was an Englishman who had purchased land some 20 miles off the Mendocino coast in the 1880s. He had built a huge, fancy Victorian house all covered with gingerbread trimmings and surrounded by lovely gardens. When everything was arranged to his liking, he sent out party invitations to everyone within messenger range. It was the biggest social event of the year, with music and dancing and huge amounts of food. Sawhorse tables were set up with refreshments, and drinks were set out on the front porch. People came from miles around. The only one missing was old man McInturf's son-in-law. They had had a terrible fight that afternoon, and the boy had stalked off in a rage, threatening to get even with the old man.
Around midnight, the musicians took a recess and old man McInturf went out on the front porch with some friends. Suddenly there came the thunder of hooves rushing up the lane. A cloaked figure rode towards the lantern-lit porch. McInturf put down his drink. "That will be my son-in-law," he told his friends as he went down the steps. The cloaked figure stopped his horse just outside the pool of lantern-light. There was a sharp movement and two loud shots from a gun. Old man McInturf staggered backwards, shot in the throat and the chest. The cloaked man wheeled his horse and fled down the lane as friends ran to the assistance of the old man.
They laid McInturf down on the porch. He was bleeding heavily and they were afraid to move him much. There was some talk of fetching the doctor, but everyone knew it was too late. So much blood was pouring from the old man's wounds that it formed a pool underneath his head. McInturf coughed, once, twice; a hideous, gurgling, strangling sound that wrenched at the hearts of all who heard it. Then he died.
McInturf's body was laid out on the sofa, and the once-merry guests left in stricken silence. The servants came and wiped the red-brown bloodstain off the floorboards. The next day, a wagon was brought to the front of the house and McInturf's body was carried out onto the porch. As the men stepped across the place where McInturf had died, blood began to pool around their boots, forming a wet stain in exactly the pattern that had been wiped up by the servants the night before. The men gasped in fear. One of them staggered and almost dropped the body. They hurriedly laid McInturf in the back of the wagon, and a pale Phelps ordered the servants to clean up the fresh bloodstain.
From that day forward, the Phelps could not keep that part of the porch clean. Every few weeks, the damp bloodstain would reappear. They tried repainting the porch a few times, but the bloodstain would always leak through. In the county jail, McInturf's son-in-law died of a blood clot in the brain. A few months later, one of the Phelps servants went mad after seeing a "terrible sight" that made his head feel like it was going to exploded. Folks started saying the house was being haunted by the ghost of McInturf, seeking revenge. The property was resold several times but each resident was driven out by the terrible, gasping ghost of McInturf reliving his last moments and by the bloodstain that could not be removed from the porch. The house was eventually abandoned." Kaito finished his story. A few fireworks went off making the people around the fire jump back as they had seemingly sprung from the fire.
"Well that concludes our ghost story session!" Kaito announced. "You can all sleep in the manor tonight.
"Don't you think Shinichi will be mad?" Ran asked when she noticed Shinichi had fallen asleep on Kaito. Kaito picked him up carefully and with a snap the fire went out.
"Not at all! Besides if anything I can provide a diversion for you guys…" Kaito replied grinning. He then proceeded to carry Shinichi into the house. He kissed the top of Shinichi's forehead. "Sleep tight Shin-chan~" he whispered lovingly.
TBC!
Well this was loooooooooong. Anyways I hope you like it ^^ Like I said in the disclaimer/warning I found everything on the link below! (remove the spaces)
http :/ /www. americanfolklore. net/ spooky-stories. html#2