THE PLAYHOUSE OF THE DAMNED!!!!

HEADEREDEDED

I’ve been world renowned for my own personal dealings with the supernatural.  You could call me a “ghost hunter”, an “afterlife adventurer”, or (preferably) an “erotic penetrator of the paranormal”.  It’s not by my own desired intention, either.  I seem to be drawn into this scary nightmarish stuff unintentionally, much like the kid in the Sixth Sense.  From my earliest days, I was stalked as a child without respite by the Lobsterman, I saw all sorts of stuff in the dark, and even set a kite on fire when it started talking to me.  It’s been a lifelong affair with the unseen forces of the physical manifestations of the spirit world.

But being best buds with the angry and unhappy undead does occasionally have its perks at times. On occasions when I am called onsite to investigate strange occurrences, it’s always an eye-opening experience for everyone involved.  This last week I was asked to investigate a haunted structure on Lowell Street, and I could have not been more excited! I’ve dealt with the Moaning Hitchhiker of Lowell previously, and I have exhaustingly investigated the crazy “PROJECTOR 4 SALE” guy on Quincy to see if he really is selling a projector or if he’s trapping and hacking up movie buffs in his basement.  I could not wait to get all of my gear together and get down to this hotbed of ghostly activity and determine the level of haunting that was taking place inside of a…

 …..child’s playhouse.

If you are a professional like me your ghost hunting kit contains:

–   Long plastic forceps, preferably bright robot ones

– Rubber gloves (ghosts get semen on everything too)

– Something blunt to smash icky spiders with

– .05 Megapixel camera.  The shittier the camera, the more likely you are to catch a ghost on film

– A small Radio Shack analog tape recorder to record ghost sounds or at least make your own podcast while you are fumbling around like an idiot in the dark

– Condoms. Just in case there are lady ghosts who want to get down.

– Pepper Spray.  Just in case there’s scary man ghosts who also want to get down.

Seems legit.

Seems legit.

I consulted a professional map drawn by a Littleton historian/cat lady with crazy eyes who warned me that treading in this area could lead to my demise, with all of the houses being built on top of the sites of multiple historical atrocities.  As much as I did not want to displease these evil and angry spirits, I just gathered up my balls and asked myself “WWIJD?!!?” (What Would Indiana Jones Do?) ,and I know for a fact he’d just go in there with his whip flailing and fuck some shit up.    

When I arrived, the crunch of the fallen leaves and small tree branches immediately alerted the ghosts of my presence, and they immediately hid in terror from me, they could sense I was a medium.  It was dusk, and the sun was setting into a deep ocean of indigo.  That’s when the ghosts are most active – they are extremely agitated from wasting their whole day ordering stuff from the AS SEEN ON TV commercials.

I poked around the backyard, and did not notice anything out of place that would suggest any type of paranormal activity.  As I drew closer, there were small wisps of cold air that went down my back, but it was outside so it could very well have just been wind.  I peered inside of the dilapidated playhouse, and I was looking specifically for the reported “floating black orb” which turned out to only be an old deflated basketball on top of a giant pile of trash that extended out past the doorway.  There were no ghosts! This was a bullshit haunting! I picked up the dusty basketball in disappointment and threw it outside of the playhouse.

As I started to walk back to my car, I swear I heard something.  It was muffled, but I could have sworn it sounded something like a garbled answering machine.

“Whaaaatchoooo taaaaalkin bouuut, Williiiiiiis?”

I slowly readied my camera and turned clockwise back towards the playhouse to capture anything I could on film. 

These are the photos I took of what I saw.  Be aware that not only are these images disturbing, but are a concrete terror-inducing proof of the afterlife. Proceed at your own risk, you’ve been warned.

 

HOLY CRAP! IT'S HARLEM'S GOLDEN CHILD!!!!!

HOLY CRAP! IT’S HARLEM’S GOLDEN CHILD!!!!!

This evidence disproves the current belief that gingers don't have souls...

This evidence disproves the current belief that gingers don’t have souls…

She needs me....to help her trap vampire people that are trying to kill teenage girls in a house somewhere...

She needs me….to help her trap vampire people that are trying to kill teenage girls in a house somewhere…

 

"NO I WILL NOT LET YOU ADOPT ME AND MAKE ME LIVE WITH YOU IN YOUR GIANT CONDO, SIR!!"

“NO I WILL NOT LET YOU ADOPT ME AND MAKE ME LIVE WITH YOU IN YOUR GIANT CONDO, SIR!!”

As soon as I gathered all of this photographic evidence, the spirits were gone and I could no longer feel their chilling presence.  I tried in vain to piece together why they were all here.  What were they doing? Why would they be all loitering in such a small and confined space? Were they reenacting old episodes of Diff’rent Strokes out there? If so, WHERE THE HELL WAS WILLIS???

…..oh yeah, Willis is alive and still in jail.

 

"Well, Arnold, I was talking about stealing some really sweet rides in all actuality".

“Well, Arnold, I was talking about stealing some really sweet rides in all actuality”.

Note: While this adventure was more perplexing than scary, I decided I still needed that adrenaline rush so I went home and stared directly at this……  which makes me shit my pants.

AAAIIGGHHEHEHEHEHEEEEEAAAHHHHHHHHHHFFUUUUUUCLKKKKKK!!!!!!

AAAIIGGHHEHEHEHEHEEEEEAAAHHHHHHHHHHFFUUUUUUCLKKKKKK!!!!!!

Happy Halloween!!!

-TEH BEN

 

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