The Motivated Ghost

May 10, 2012
By Nathan Starke BRONZE, Colorado Springs, Colorado
Nathan Starke BRONZE, Colorado Springs, Colorado
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I have always been sort of a boring person. I have never had any friends, no one to talk to about problems or girls or anything along those lines. People have never listened to anything that I have had to say.

When my family decided to move away, I thought of it as a way to change my life. I could find friends and gain a social life. I am an only child so I got a massive room all to myself.

The first time I noticed something unusual was about three weeks after we moved in. I was awoken by the sound of my television. Sportscenter was on and the volume was deafening. I ran to turn off the television when I tripped over a football that I clearly remembered putting in my closet. I figured that its awkward shape must have made it roll out and into the middle of the floor. But for safety reasons, I decided to put it in my garage. Then fear struck me as I woke up the next morning and it was tucked in my arm the way that a professional football player would hold it while running. I couldn’t believe it. Could it have been a ghost or a demon or maybe just my dad playing a sick joke?

Every night before I went to bed I would hide that same football in strange places all around the house, but every morning, I would wake up to find the football tucked in my arm as tight as a scared child’s grip on his mom’s hand. I was hiding the football in spots that I knew my dad couldn’t find. Yet the ball would end up right back into my arm. The only possibility was something paranormal.

This was a hard time for me because I was finally making friends and I didn’t want to drive them away by making them think I was a freak that saw ghosts. I couldn’t tell anyone about this horrifying event.

But it soon got worse. My football got stolen by a bully from school. Every morning I would wake up and find my T.V. on and something new was broken every morning. I started hearing sounds. CRASH! BANG! I could hear glass shattering and banging on the walls. I started waking up with scratches all over me, bruises all up and down my body. I was being abused by the dead.
One night when the noises were at their worst, I somehow mustered up enough courage to investigate. I ventured downstairs, being guided by the sounds the ghosts were making. They led me to the basement, the only place in the house that I had never been brave enough to hide the football. But for some reason, I kept following.

The furnace room was wear the noises were the loudest. But when I touched the doorknob, everything went dead silent. I quickly backed off. BANG! The noises started again. So I reached for it again, and again it stopped. So I opened the door and turned on the light.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Nothing was there. Nothing in that room could have been making all those noises. I went to bed that night knowing that if I did not get my football back, things would only get worse.

The next day, I planned to confront the bully to get my football back. But he wasn’t at school. For the next few days, he was nowhere to be seen. It was like he knew I would be coming after him. He knew I had a vengeance that I would never let rest. I woke up every morning thinking of different ways that I could get my ball back and each day, the bully wasn’t there. About two weeks later I noticed a news truck outside the school. They were interviewing our principal. I also saw what looked like a Mom and a Dad that looked devastated. Those parents reminded me so much of the bully, I couldn’t figure out why.

I ran home right after school to watch the news. I had to see what was happening at my school that day. I sprinted into my house to find my living room television on to a news story, a news story about the tragic death of a teenage boy that attended my school. Then suddenly I knew why I had recognized those parents. The next thing the reporter said was the bully’s name. The reporter told the story of what seemed like an unsolvable murder. The boy’s arm was severed and the last thing he had said was “sorry.”
BANG! A huge sound came from up in my room. I ran upstairs and into my room, where my television was on Sportscenter and my football was back on my bed for the killer ghost to take from my hiding spot and tuck safely into my arm again.

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