When Old Mrs. McNutter purchased the Victorian home at the end of the street, all the neighbors tried to warn her about the house being haunted by a mean-tempered ghost that had sent all other would-be residents running for the hills. They told her about the man who died in the home in a somewhat tragic but mostly stupid way in 1892. He found himself trapped in the same room with a small yellow cat who was known for his unrelenting and aggressive affection. The fowl feline kept the man paralyzed with its obnoxiously loud purr, and then once he was immobilized it proceeded to rub his head all over him and violently snuggle with him, it was a horrific blood bath. The man’s body was found 3 days later by his neighbor who stopped by to borrow some more of that fine Pre-FDA overflowing with Cocaine cough syrup. He had been fighting a cough about five times a day for six months, and was jonesing hard….for his cough to go away. Everyone had their theory’s as to why the man’s spirit stayed in his home and seem bent on freighting people away, maybe he was upset that the cat was never prosecuted, possibly its to do with the fact that one of the first families to take his home were prudes and painted over his beautiful centaur/mermaid wall mural “because it was too pornographic for the family living room”. It might also have something to do with the fact that in lieu of a funeral his neighbor who needed money for some more of that sweet cough syrup instead sold his cadaver to a local unaccredited clown college that operated in a back room of a herring cannery, Which was also unaccredited.
Mrs. McNutter thanked everyone who stopped by for their concern, but not to worry as she didn’t believe in ghost, and then she lovingly told them to get the F%$# off her property before she called the cops. “Who the hell just stops by someone’s home to tell them it’s haunted, what a bunch of ********” she thought to herself as she took her nightly regiment of pills (not all of which were prescription) which she chased with some scotch. She hadn’t even fully unpacked her porcelain Elvis collection when she found out for herself that the ghost was authentic and not at all He would cuts lights on and off, at 3 am most nights he stomped up and down the stairs and at least twice a day inhumanly yell in a disembodied voice. silent. At first, the old lady found the haunting to be an enjoyable affair and often delighted in the ghost silly shenanigans. It was all harmless fun, now and then he would possess the mailman, he shoved the neighbor lady down the stairs when she stopped for a visit, but the good times couldn’t last forever, soon the haunting took a more sinister vibe.
It began the same every night, she would be startled awake around 1am when she heard that noise, that horrible noises. It would echo through the house, “Crunch, crunch, mmmmm, mmmm”, she knew once she heard that sound it was only a matter of time that the true terror would start, she would often try in vain to fall asleep before it started but her fear made that impossible. “Crunch, Crunch, mmmm, that’s so good” The spirit bellowed from the darkness, she knew it could be any minute now before the worst of it started. By the time she reached this particular night she had already tried everything she could think of to no avail, she felt powerless to stop it her nightly terror. When this first started, she spoke to her local preacher, who by luck was also the DJ at the nearby Strip Club/discount buffet that she liked to get good and plastered at. He first suggested she hang up a pictures of the Lord and Savior in her house, but since she had no pictures of Jesus he told her to just draw some sharpie beards on her many photos of Donny Osmond, “the guy was killed by a cat so he can’t be too bright” the preacher told her, which he had to do between welcoming Trinity to the stage and reminding the patrons of the clubs strict “no touching policy”. She took this man of Gods advice, but it had no affect on the haunting, all it accomplished was drying out some of her “huffing” markers and making her Osmond photos a little sexier. She went back to the preacher who then suggested he would do an exorcism on her behalf, but the candles he would need were hella expensive and he would need like $10,000 to get them. She asked could he get cheaper candles at the nearby dollar store, but the preacher was insistent that to clean the house they had to be these blessed candles direct from Columbia, because “Columbia has the purest grade candles”, he said while wiping sweat from his forehead. At her wit’s end, and most likely slightly stoned, Mrs. McNutter gave him the money and hoped for a miracle. Unfortunately about the time, the Preacher received his Columbia candles via a plane drop in a field he was arrested by some Federal agents following a pretty nasty shoot out between the feds and the Preachers deacons, “probably forgot to file the proper import license” Mrs. McNutter thought upon hearing the news. Now on her own and equipped only with something she kind of remembered from an episode of Unsolved Mysteries she attempted to remove the spirit. First, she tried to bless the house with salt, but all she had was her bulk jug of Margarita salt and what started as a blessing ended with her making the ghost and herself some drinks that ended in a Golden Girls binge watching party. At one point she opted to perform an exorcism by unloading her revolver randomly in her house, in hindsight she was not sure how she thought that would work but seemed like a good idea after her peyote kicked in. It killed a couple of squirrels in the attic and scared the neighbors, but the ghost seemed virtually unbothered by it. She now found herself going through another night of the ghastly noise and wallowing in her on fear and self-doubt. She did not wait long for the noise she truly feared to start, Pppffffffftrang though the house, it would be the first of many that night, and the smell, dear god the smell would be overpowering soon enough! She cursed the day that **** Taco Bell opened down the street, and she loathed them for the 2 am drive through that was convenient for both alcoholics and ghost. If that spirit had not discovered their Burritos and Chalupas, he would still just be making the walls bleed and shoving the elderly down the stairs, and she Mrs. McNutter could be sleeping in peace! “Screw This” she yelled as she set-up in her bed, “I never admit defeat and I ain’t starting now” She was a fighter by nature and proud of it, when she couldn’t afford to fix the roof in her old home she simply decided to burn the place down and use the insurance money to pay to fix the roof, when the psychiatric hospitals wanted to keep her for longer observation against her will she didn’t lose hope, she stabbed an orderly in the arm and tossed her full bedpan at a doctor before jumping out a window, when she was suspected in all those missing person cases she simply stole someone else identity and moved to a new town and bought a supposedly haunted house. The old lady hoped out of bed and took a belt of scotch for courage, then she drinks half the bottle, not for courage but because she had a serious drinking problem. She walked down the staircase and heard another louder Ppppffffffft coming from the kitchen, the smell was already nearly overpowering, “Taco Bell even destroys the insides of the dead, they are truly unholy” she whispered to herself. She entered the kitchen and did not see or hear the spirit, but saw the bags and empty wrappers of its feast, and confirmed her fears. The pile of wrappers got larger every time, and with it the flatulence became more nightmarish. There were at least two box meals of packaging and several extra burrito wrappers worth on her table. She began pounding her fist on the table in anger and cursing the ghost as well as Taco Bell of their delicious and reasonably priced food! Her hitting the table caused to wrappers on the table to shift ever so slightly, as sour cream smeared wrapper slid away Mrs. McNutter saw the answer to her problem. It was the one the thing the spirit feared, every single morning she would find them untouched on the table, and until now she didn’t realize it was the one weapon she had to use on him. As she made this discovery, she turned around just in time to see the ghastly specter sitting back at the kitchen table looking at her with both the black sockets that were once his eyes and the shredded cheese stuck in his beard. He sat there in his misty form and pale gray skin, both glared at each other in silence that was only broken up by a left cheek sneak by the misty man. “Jesus Christ Really, I am standing right here” the old lady yelled at the bloated ghoul who still set there unapologetic for his social faux pas. Unwilling to be intimidated any longer Mrs. McNutter pulled out her secret weapon, when the ghost saw what was in her hand she saw a look on his face she had only been able to dream about till this moment, “So you can feel fear you dead *******” she laughed at the gas filled specter” In her hands were the CINNAMON TWIST that came with the box meal, the dry, unpleasant to eat poor excuse for a dessert . The ghost jumped from his chair and backed away from Mrs. McNutter with great speed, “Leave my house now, or ill use these” she bellowed at him, she tossed one at him to prove she was not bluffing, The ghost let out a scream that could best be described as that of a little girl, it was pretty pathetic. “GET THOSE AWAY FROM ME, THEY ARE SO DRY AND UNPLEASANT TO EAT” the once angry and now scared entity begged to the old lady. “Leave now and never return, or ill order every pack of these they have and make she never get away from them,” Mrs. McNutter said with coincidence in her voice and halitosis on her breath.
The spirit flew out the front door into the night with great haste, he never returned to his old home again, with the exception when he came back two weeks later to get his stuff, Mrs. McNutter was not sure if everything he was grabbing was really his but she only called B.S. when he claimed her 72 inch plasma TV was his, “a family heirloom passed down from his grandmother” he said, she was pretty sure they didn’t have TVs in the 1890s, but she was pretty high at the time and wasn’t confident enough at that time to stand her ground.
With the ghost finally gone Mrs. McNutter was finally ready to leave out the rest of her days in the Victorian home in peace, that is until she burned it down in hopes that the insurance many would cover the court cost from when the police found her “private garden” outback. It didn’t.