OK, how many of you can remember going on a Boy Scout or Girl Scout or Campfire Girls or Royal Ambassadors campout when you were a child and hearing ghost stories around the campfire? If the tale teller was very good, he or she would have you precisely in the condition pictured above. Of course, that could always cause some serious problems later in the night. Adult leaders quickly learned to be very careful of what ghost stories they might tell a Cub Scout or Brownie, etc. Below is one of those classic stories. This one comes from a collection of campfire stories found at http://www.boyscouttrail.com/. You can tell that it is an old classic because no one had cell phones. I hope that this brings back memories for some of you.
“When I was younger, I had an old pick-up that didn’t run very well. I was constantly needing to repair it, but I couldn’t afford anything better.
One evening, I was driving home from a camping trip out in the mountains and it started sputtering which was a good sign it would soon stop running. Luckily, there was a farm up ahead so I pulled in and stopped.
I knocked on the door and asked the farmer if I could use his phone to call for help. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a phone way out there. So, I asked him if I could spend the night in his barn and maybe use his tools to fix my truck in the morning. Now, you know how farmers are – always willing to help folks out and all – so he said that would be just fine. He even invited me to have dinner before turning in for the night.
We had a nice dinner of beef, potatoes, and beans and then he showed me to the barn so I could lay out my sleeping bag on the straw. It was a real nice barn and I was sure I’d get a good night’s sleep. But, just as he was leaving, he said there was one thing he figured I should know about.
So, he tool me over to a pile of straw and pushed it out of the way, revealing a trap door in the floor. He grabbed the iron ring on the door, and pulled it up – creeeeeeeeeeek. There I saw stairs heading down into the dark and I followed the farmer down the stairs – squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek.
At the bottom of the stairs there was a large oak door with an iron bolt. The farmer pushed the bolt across – clunk – and pulled the door open – creeeeeeeeeek – and walked through.
Down a narrow, dark tunnel we encountered a steel door with a solid crossbar holding it clossed. The farmer lifted the crossbar – groooooooan – and struggled to pull the door open – uuumph, grunt – and we walked on.
A few yards further on was a clear door made of bullet-proof glass 12 inches thick. It had a combination lock and I watched as the farmer opened it – 12-23-7 – click, click, click and then swung the door open – swooooosh.
Past this door was a huge cage made of 3-inch round titanium bars. But, that wasn’t what caught my eye. What I saw was the huge monster inside the cage. It was gigantic! It was covered with purple fur! And, it was asleep.
The farmer said, ‘This is what I needed to show you. This is my purple gorilla and you’ve got to promise me, I mean really promise me, that you will NOT touch him!’
Well, I thought that was about the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. Of course, I’m not going to touch a gigantic purple gorilla! And, so I promised him. And, I thanked him for showing my his secret.
Then, we made our way back to the surface. He closed the glass door – swooosh – and spun the lock – click, click, click. He closed the steel door – uumph, grunt – and lowered the crossbar – groooan. He closed the oak door – creeeeeek – and slid the bolt in place – clunk. We climbed the stairs – squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek and then dropped the trapdoor closed – ker-thump! Then, he spread straw back over the trapdoor to hide it.
Well, I was tired so I laid out my sleeping bag and ‘hit the hay’ (ha-ha) and the farmer went back to his house. But, I just couldn’t stop thinking about that purple gorilla. What a magnificent creature! I wonder why the farmer didn’t want me to touch it? Hmmmm, it was asleep so what harm would there be?
Finally, my curiousity got the best of me and I couldn’t fight it any longer. I jumped up and went over and brushed the straw from the trapdoor.
I grabbed the iron ring on the door, and pulled it up – creeeeeeeeeeek. I went down the stairs – squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek.
I pushed the bolt on the oak door open – clunk – and pulled the door open – creeeeeeeeeek – and walked through.
I raised the crossbar on the steel door – groooooooan – and struggled to pull the door open – uuumph, grunt – and walked on.
I came to the 12-inch thick bullet-proof glass door and opened the combination lock – 12-23-7 – click, click, click and then swung the door open – swooooosh.
I walked up to the huge cage made of 3-inch round titanium bars and gazed at the purple gorilla that was still fast asleep. I reached out my hand. I softly touched his fur.
And, he immediately jumped up and let out a blood-curdling roar, turning and staring at me with huge, blood-red eyes!
Needless to say, I tore out of there as fast as I could! When I got to the glass door, I could hear the gorilla tearing at the bars of the cage. I turned around in time to see him ripping and bending the bars and forcing his way through.
I closed the glass door – swooosh – and spun the lock – click, click, click – and ran on. Just as I was closing the steel door – uumph, grunt – I heard the gorilla hit the glass door and it shattered into millions of shards of glass. I lowered the crossbar – groooan – and ran on. I slammed the oak door closed – creeeeeek – just as the steel door exploded off its hinges. I slid the bolt in place – clunk – and scurried up the stairs – squeek, squeek, squeek, squeek. Just as I was dropping the trapdoor – ker-thump – the oak door disintegrated into slivers no bigger than a toothpick.
I didn’t bother spreading straw over the trap door – instead I ran to my truck hoping to escape. As I opened my truck’s door, straw and wood flew out the door of the barn as the trapdoor was thrown from its hinges and the gorilla leapt out into the barnyard. He saw me as I jumped in the truck and tried to get it started.
I turned the key and could see the gorilla running across the yard toward me. The truck didn’t start. I tried again, and this time the engine turned over and came to life.
Just as I was putting the truck in gear, the purple gorilla reached the door, grabbed the handle and ripped the door completely off the truck. I stomped on the gas, the engine raced, but nothing happened – the gorilla had lifted the truck off the ground and I was helpless.
As I sat there helplessly, that enormous purple gorilla reached into the cab, stretched out his giant hairy hand towards me, grabbed my arm, and said, ‘Tag, you’re it!'”
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