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5,347 Posts
Discussion Starter #1
Tis the season for scaring people.

A couple of threads in the Hunting forums have me wondering if any of you have any good ghost stories.

I'll go first.

The restaurant I work in is in one of the oldest buildings in Ypsilanti. It was built in the 1850's, on the site of Godfroy's Trading post which was in operation before the War of 1812.

I'm the first person to arrive, and one of the first things I do after starting my ovens, broiler...etc. is go into the basement where my walk-in cooler is and get my produce so I can start my prep. Its a really erie basement that is poorly lit. Sometimes when I'm in the cooler I hear noises that sound like they are coming from the other end of the basement. Footsteps on the stairs happen every once in a while. I go look expecting to see one of the owners, but nobody is there. It creeps me out and I've had the hair on the back of my neck stand up a few times.

Last Saturday I was talking to one of the waitresses about it when a pan full of utencils came flying off the shelf right at me. A few seconds later some dried pasta and a few other items came flying off of a shelf at the top of the stairs. One of the owners was standing right there and it scared her pretty good. Anytime I bring up "the ghost" she shuts up and just walks away.

The old chef made mention of it when I first started working there, but I thought he was just BSing me. Now I don't know. The other day a waiter brought in his camera and he took pictures of the basement using both standard and infra-red film. I'm hoping he develops them by this weekend.

Anyone else?

Super Moderator
11,733 Posts
Howdy, Chris-

Sorry, can't even come close to that....

I've been interested in the paranormal, UFO's, etc. since I was a kid, and would welcome an experience like that, but alas.......

Let us know what turns up on the IFR shots......

0 Posts
Didn' happen to me. But a friend of mine went upstairs to her bedroom. Where she saw a "ghost" in the shape of a woman standing over her husband. She screamed and the woman fanished. The next day My friend was telling her husband's mom about the woman. She started to tell the mother-inlaw what the woman looked like and the mother-in-law interupted her part way through and finished describing the ghost. Evidently years before. She saw the same ghost standing over her son's crib when he was an infant.

Premium Member
12,118 Posts
A young couple we know John and Jane (made up) just bought a home a few months ago. The couple that sold it to them only had it for a short time. Her husband has seen a form of a man in the house. She as never seen the apparitions but has a feeling of being watched. (I can understand why) Her cat follows her all around the house except for the bath room. anyway, She having this feeling so she begin to ask the neighbors about the history of the home. Turns out the one of the past owners was hospitalized some years ago but released himself against his doctors orders and died in the house. Fits the description that John has been seeing.

Jane was given a bottle of water from the River Jordan by this neighbor woman with advice to take the cat of the house because cats having a connection to the under world have tendency to confuse the sprit with it's presence. Take bottle of water and put a drop in each corner of every room. Light a WHITE candle in the central part of the house and call the spirit (Brian) forth and ask him to move on. When Jane and I spoke on the phone she was very skeptical of all this. As more time passed John began to feel he was being brushed on the arm.

John and Jane performed the ritual of water and candle and have seen no more signs of Brian.

627 Posts
I never believed in ghosts until one morning, after a night of mexican food and draught beer, one crept from underneath the covers and tried to strangle me.

0 Posts
Originally posted by Papa Smurf
I never believed in ghosts until one morning, after a night of mexican food and draught beer, one crept from underneath the covers and tried to strangle me.
Gee and all this time I thought that was acid reflux

7,996 Posts
The Ghost of Tripping Beaver....for those who recognize this title, perhaps this would be a good thread in which to post that tale? ;)

3,011 Posts
I believe in demons and angels and the constant battle for our soul. I have seen and heard things as a kid that would make a older person die of a heart attack. My sister has had a picture frame thrown across the room to the other side of the wall. I walked down there after she screamed and saw the frame laying about 15 feet away against the wall. It turned out that a lady died in that house. I think demons want us dead by all means and once they get someone they wont quit till another. I totally believe that.

8,439 Posts
I have a rare form of epilepsy caused from head trauma. My seizures happen not very often, but when they do they are classified as petimaul seizures which are extremely light with very little symptoms that let people know that I am seizing.

Well when it happens I am completely paralyzed until I either break out of it on my own, or somebody shakes me as to wake me up. So overall it is similar to being caught alseep and awake at the same time. When it happens I can't tell if I am alseep or awake either, but over time I have gradually begun to tell the difference.

One little side effect that I am almost embarassed to talk about is I have dilusions of people being in the room. My doctor has completely explained to me what is really happening.

Now sometimes when it happens lets say my wife is in the chair directly in my sight, and I am laying on the couch. Then the seizure begins. I "think" that I am awake and open my eyes (which caught on video are really turned backwards into my head) and when I look at my wife I see her, but aside her an old lady... which after describing her to my wife she calls her mother who verifies that the old lady was her mother wearing her favorite blue dress, etc. My mother in law never talked about her mother before, and they have no pictures at all.

too many stories to write, and the funny thing is people have a similar seizures have similar experiences.

1,883 Posts
Nowhere close to the stuff already posted, but something creepy none-the-less happened to me back when I was in HS. I was over at a buddy's house and his two sisters, him, and myself were all sitting in the kitchen BSing. We start hearing footsteps coming from upstairs. Thinking that it's his parents coming down, we take no mention of it. The steps stop right before the door and don't go back up. We all quit talking and watch the door, waiting to see who it was. About 30 seconds later, I see his parents pull into the driveway. We place his younger sister at the door and the other 3 of us search the entire upstairs, finding nothing. :eek: (And no, we weren't even drinking this time! ;) )

7,996 Posts
The Ghost of Tripping Beaver

My father, The Chief, was always looking for ways to have fun in the outdoors. It didn’t matter if it was back yard camping trips, bonfires, or canoe excursions at the local millpond; the outdoors was our playground. We were always doing something that involved the outdoors…it’s who we are.
Now, when I speak of this in the past tense, I’m not trying to imply that The Chief has passed on to the spirit world. The Chief is alive, well, and still the adventurous one despite the decrepitness of his 60 years of age. It’s just that he’s slowed down a little in his twilight years. He seems to focus more on his other personality, the globetrotting tourist, than he does his role as The Chief. His outdoor skills are slipping because of it and he’s resorting to the very things that he used to ridicule me about.
Take my use of rental cabins for instance. When Beef, Wally and I go north for extended salmon fishing trips, we rent a cabin. Why fumble around with a tent when all you want to do is sleep, eat and fish? The cabin is excellent at providing a haven for sleeping and eating, without all the inconveniences of a tent. I love camping…but lets face it, camping time is one thing and fishing time is another. Time spent setting up and taking down a camp is time subtracted from fishing. It’s all about priorities! The Chief would crack jokes about our choice of shelter and would frequently question our…uh…manhood, until a couple of years ago, that is.
We’d invited him to join us several times and he always had some excuse not to. Finally, my mother intervened and forced him into his vehicle and he found himself knocking on the door of our cabin.
“I’m expected to stay in this?” he questioned. “This is hardly suitable for a world traveler like myself!”
“Yeah, but it’s good enough for The Chief,” I said. “The Chief doesn’t mind a little squalor!”
“I just got back from England chaps,” The Chief stated. “I’m not feeling like The Chief yet.”
It didn’t take long for him to revert back to his outdoor loving persona. By the end of his stay, he’d stopped bad mouthing the cabin and started complimenting its convenience.
“This isn’t so bad,” He complimented. “Are you going to get a bigger one for next year?”
“Next year?” I asked.
“Yeah, next year,” he answered. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world! Heck, I might even bring up a couple of my buddies.”
He never would have enjoyed a cabin a few years ago. If it wasn’t a canvas, mountain man, wall tent or a homemade teepee, then he didn’t want any part of it. The Chief has definitely gotten softer as the years creep up on him!
Back when I was younger, The Chief was always building some sort of Indian lodging. Longhouses, stick huts and teepees were a mandatory part of our camping experiences. No one could build a teepee like The Chief. He’d been building them since he was a kid and his knowledge grew to such a point that even Sitting Bull would be hard pressed to build a better shelter! Whenever The Chief bought a new batch of canvas, a new teepee was to be erected.
When I was just eight years old, The Chief came home one day with his old white truck loaded with two things: a new canoe and a batch of canvas. I grinned from ear to ear when he pulled into the driveway because his new acquisitions meant that a camping and canoeing trip was on the immediate horizon.
“Like her?” The Chief asked as he pointed out the new canoe. “We’re going to break her in this weekend!”
“Can Beef come along?” I asked.
“Of course!” The Chief answered. “Tell him to bring his sleeping bag. I figure we’ll float down the Muskegon and camp along shore. You guys can do a little fishing while I do some grouse hunting.”
“We gonna build a teepee or sleep in a tent?” I questioned.
“Teepee! What do you think the canvas is for?” The Chief said, smiling.
The very next weekend, we loaded the old truck with the necessary equipment and set forth toward the Muskegon River. Beef had recently been battling a severe soar throat and it took some coaxing for his grandmother, who he lived with next door to us, to let him out of the house. To ease his sore throat, she’d mixed up a bottle of some old fashioned “throat tonic”. The tonic, which was in a fruit juice bottle, consisted of various, numbing, ingredients and had as much power as liquid novocaine. He’d gargle with that every once in a while and his mouth and throat would be completely numb for hours. He didn’t say much on the way to the river and it was probably for the best. The Chief used to get very irritated during long drives and having Beef and I in the same vehicle usually didn’t help matters. Beef’s numb mouth prohibited us from engaging in our usual arguments and verbal highjinks and The Chief was still in a pleasant mood when we got to the river.
With two eight year olds in a canoe, The Chief’s mood had started to get a bit foul. I don’t know what he was fretting about, it was completely accidental that his beer spilled and we almost tipped over. The weekend we chose for this trip was during a mid-autumn warm spell. Bugs and other creatures took the opportunity during the warm period to tend to last minute business before they went into winter hibernation. A large dragonfly decided to keep landing on the back of my neck and it was very irritating. I didn’t realize it was a dragonfly at first and thought it was Beef messing around as he sat behind me on one of the coolers.
“Knock it off, Beef!” I said, swatting at the air behind me.
“Knock what off?” he answered. The novocaine concoction had worn off and he was speaking normally. The Dragonfly buzzed my neck again.
“That!” I shouted. My swatting behind me caused the canoe to start rocking.
“Settle down!” My father barked as the canoe rocked in the swift current. “You’re going to tip us over!”
“Tell Beef to knock it off,” I whined. The dragonfly made another pass.
“I’m not doing anything!” Beef shouted. I grabbed my fishing pole and swung it behind me in an attempt to whack Beef. He saw it coming and ducked to one side. The canoe then tipped to that side. My father barked some more. Since Beef ducked, the tip of my rod went over his head and connected with The Chiefs hand…the one holding the beer. He dropped the beer and it landed in his lap. The dragonfly flew away when The Chief’s barrage of foul language filled the tranquil air. He was always getting wound up over little things like that…
That’s the thing about The Chief, you can tell when he’s angry by the amount of cursing he adds to a sentence. He never, ever, swears during casual conversation, but when he’s mad…watch out! Being a student of the Indian culture, he once boasted that he knew how to speak Indian but… it was usually just phrases he heard in a movie. The Pottowattomi were the band of Indians that used to live in the area of Hillsdale county, therefore if The Chief did know any Indian language it would’ve had to have been pottowattomese. I later deduced that he learned his lingo from a renegade band known as the "Profanitee" tribe. When he was angered he would revert to that lingo and I discovered, at my expense, that he was quite fluent in “profanitese”.
My father grew tired of our escapades and quickly located a spot in the woods for setting up camp.
He searched high and low for the best teepee poles possible and erected the frame of our shelter. A large tripod stood 15 feet in the air and he filled in the gaps with several other slender poles. Beef and I watched as he pieced together the dark brown canvas and adjusted the flap that would allow the smoke to escape from the campfire inside. In no time at all, he had it constructed and we laid out our bedding and started the fire. It was one of the finest teepees he’d ever built. The Chief sat back on a log, opened a can of Coke (no beer this time, he was getting ready to hunt) and admired the shelter as it blended nicely with the surrounding forest. You could almost picture the adjacent Indian village and the activity that accompanied it. Beef and I grabbed our trusty Zebco 202’s and headed toward the river.
“Stay right in this area!” The Chief advised. “Don’t go wandering off. I’m going to try and flush some grouse from that thicket back there.”
Beef and I stood on the riverbank, baited our hooks with thick leaf worms, and tossed them into the rusty current. That kind of life is wonderful, no matter if you’re eight or 80. We managed to get a few decent sized brown trout and threw them on the bank to have for dinner that night. At that stage of our fishing careers “decent sized” meant anything that was bigger than the worm! Our young ears had never heard of catch and release. The Chief was apparently flushing some grouse since we heard a couple of gunshots boom forth from the thicket. This was turning into one of those camping trips that you remember for a lifetime!
Long attention spans are not programmed into boys our age and Beef and I soon grew tired of fishing. We started skipping rocks across the water and began searching the banks for frogs, crayfish and other aquatic creatures. To fuel our creative urges, we attempted to build crude Indian devices. I took a rather limber stick, tied a piece of kite string from one end to another, and had my own homemade version of a bow. Since I had the bow, I needed arrows. The bank we were playing on was loaded with sand stone so I began looking for pieces that resembled arrowheads. Beef found a piece that looked like a tomahawk blade and he tied it to a forked stick. I had the bow, he had the tomahawk, heck, we were pretty mean looking little Indians! I found several rocks that looked like arrowheads and I started scraping them against other rocks to sharpen the points…and I did a mighty fine job of it, I might add. Next, I took a roll of electrical tape out of my little tackle box and taped the arrowheads onto several straight sticks I’d gathered. I notched the ends out so they’d fit in my bowstring. The whole set up didn’t look half-bad! Beef was trying to scalp a tree with his new tomahawk and I drew back my bow and aimed toward an old stump. The bow had more power than I thought and the arrow soared right over the stump and into the bushes behind it.
“Help! I’m under attack!” a voice cried out from the bushes.
Beef and I walked through the bushes and saw an elderly gentleman tossing a fly rod from the bank of the river. He had long gray hair tied into a ponytail and a slight wisp of a beard. His kind old eyes lit up when we emerged from the bushes.
“I’ll give you your arrow back if you promise not to scalp me!” The gentleman joked, eyeballing Beef’s tomahawk.
“Nah, we won’t scalp ya!” Beef said. “You don’t seem mean.”
“Name’s Orville,” he said, “Orville Lightfeather, what’s yours?”
We introduced ourselves and proudly told him that we were “eight years old…almost grown up!”
“Lightfeather’s a weird last name,” I said. “Where’d you get that?”
“It’s Chippewa,” he answered. “I’m half Indian.”
Whoa! A real live Indian? Cool! We’d never met one before! The Chief was the only “Indian” I’d ever met and he was really just a white man who thought he was an Indian who thought he was a globetrotting playboy (although my mother would chuckle at the latter portion of that statement). We told Mr. Lightfeather about our teepee.
“I saw it,” he said, “and what a fine teepee it is.”
The Chief came walking up the bank with four grouse stuffed in his game pouch. He introduced himself to Mr. Lightfeather and they began talking about the teepee. Soon after, Mr. Lightfeather invited us to his camp for dinner. We accepted.
Mr. Lightfeather was retired and he’d been camped in the area for a couple of weeks. His campsite was made up of a large wall tent and he had a big fire pit with cooking utensils scattered about. What a life, I thought. I couldn’t wait to be retired so I could spend as much time in the outdoors as I wanted.
“If you’re an Indian, where’s your teepee?” Beef asked. His sore throat was acting up again and his voice was hoarse. He removed the fruit juice bottle from his jacket, took a gargle of his grandma’s homemade novocaine throat tonic and didn’t say anything else for quite a while after that.
“I don’t know much about teepee building,” Mr. Lightfeather explained. “I only know a few Indian tales that my grandfather once told me.”
The smell of sizzling trout and grouse was heavenly. Mr. Lightfeather threw in some fried potatoes and corn on the cob. It was probably one of the best dinners I’ve ever had. As it got darker, some ominous storm clouds appeared on the horizon. As with any of our adventures in the outdoors, the threat of rain has followed Beef and I no matter where we go or what we do!
Once it was dark, we sat around the campfire. The Chief tried to pick Mr. Lightfeather's brain for any Indian knowledge he had. They were enjoying a number of adult beverages…and getting quite inebriated in the process. Beef and I toasted marshmallows. The Chief got into the spirit of things by rolling up a handkerchief and tying it around his head like a headband. He stuffed a bunch of tail feathers from the grouse he’d shot into the headband and sat there with a pretty cool looking imitation of an Indian headdress.
“Let me tell you a little tale,” Mr. Lightfeather said. All ears turned to attention and the old man started telling his story.
“There’s power in these woods,” he began, “a power that we’ll never understand. A long time ago when the natives ruled this land, a brave by the name of Tripping Beaver was famous throughout the entire Chippewa nation. Tripping Beaver was strong and feared nothing, but he was also a bit clumsy. That’s how he came about his name; he was constantly tripping over something. His brothers, Hairy Beaver and Gnawing Beaver, would always pick on him no matter what he did. If he was chasing game, he’d end up tripping over some log or rock and the game would get away! For all his strength, Tripping Beaver was only known for his clumsiness. This angered him something fierce. He couldn’t stand being ridiculed.”
“Did he kill everyone who picked on him?” I asked.
“Nope, wasn’t his style!” Mr. Lightfeather continued. “Tripping Beaver decided to set out on his own and create a nation that didn’t pick on him. He wanted to be a chief and that wasn’t about to happen…living where he was living that is. He loaded his canoe, said goodbye to his brothers, and started down this very river right behind us.”
“Was it a birch bark canoe?” The Chief inquired. He was always asking questions like that.
“Yep…built it himself!” Mr. Lightfeather said. “He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew that this river had to lead somewhere. He canoed for a couple days, and when he came around the bend back there, he saw a deer by the riverbank. Now ol’ Tripping Beaver was feeling a little hungry, you see, so he got out his bow and shot the deer! Whack…direct hit! And the deer fled into the woods. Tripping Beaver pulled up to shore and followed the blood trail into the forest. Just as he was coming up on where the deer had laid down, he tripped over a big old log…might’ve been that one right there, who knows, but this time it was a nasty fall. Tripping Beaver tried to get back up but his leg was broke and twisted like a pretzel. He couldn’t walk and just kinda laid there…until it got so cold that he couldn’t take it anymore. He cried the old Chippewa war cry and died right then and there!”
“Died?” we all asked, swallowing hard. I clutched my bow and arrows, Beef tightened his hands around his tomahawk and The Chief chuckled at our nervousness and took a few more swigs of his beer.
“Dead as a door knob!” Mr. Lightfeather went on. “But his spirit didn’t die with him. You see this forest belongs to Tripping Beaver now, and he swore vengeance on anyone who settles here! His spirit wanders around looking for trespassers. Since he was all alone, he didn’t receive a proper Indian burial. Now he’s doomed to haunt this forest until the end of time! An old trapper saw him once…just once, mind you. You never get to see Tripping Beaver’s ghost a second time. He finishes the job right quick! Sometimes, when he’s mad, you can hear his war cry in the wind. Heck, he’s probably watching us at this very moment!”
The wind started rushing through the trees and the sky came alive with the sound of thunder. I felt a slight chill and it gave me goosebumps.
“Storms here,” Mr. Lightfeather said amidst flashes of lightening, “or maybe it’s ol’ Tripping Beaver! What was that? Did you see something moving by that tree over there?”
Beef and I were terrified. The Chief finished his last beer and said that it was time to hit the sack.
A few raindrops were hitting the ground and the thunder rumbled like the sound of war drums as we scurried back toward the teepee. Well, Beef and I scurried that is; The Chief was a little slow from his drinking activities. His grouse feather headdress added a little comic effect to his staggering.
“Hurry up, Pop!” I yelled behind me. “The ghost of Tripping Beaver might get us!”
“There’s no ghost out here,” my father said, “that was just an old Indian tale!”
“Well, I’m ready for Tripping Beaver if he wants to come and gets us!” Beef stated. He swung his tomahawk in the air in a mock display of bravado. “I’ll whack him in the head and then you shoot him with an arrow! That’ll take care of that ghost!”
“How ya gonna whack a ghost?” I asked. “They’re just air. My arrow will go right through like he’s not even there! Don’t you pay attention to the movies?”
“Uh…you’re right,” Beef said. “I hope that old ghost don’t think we’re trying to settle here!”
“Mr. Tripping Beaver, sir?” I cried out. “We’re just camping here. We’ll be gone tomorrow so…you just stay away, ok?”
We picked up our pace considerably and made it back to the teepee just as the sprinkles of rain escalated to a torrential down pour.

7,996 Posts
The glowing embers of our campfire had heated the teepee very well. It was comfortable enough, but Beef and I stayed dressed in our pants. The Chief, feeling the effects of the alcohol no doubt, complained of the heat and stripped all the way down to his underwear. He was so tired that he didn’t even take his grouse feather headdress off. Every time he’d snore, the feathers would vibrate. Beef clutched his tomahawk as he fell asleep and I had my bow and arrows within reaching distance. We were very nervous that Tripping Beaver was going to make an appearance…the thunder continued to boom.
I don’t know how late it was, but at some point The Chief awoke from his stupor and decided that he was very thirsty. He wandered around the teepee in his underwear and grouse feather headdress, looking for something to drink.
“Chief…thirsty,” he mumbled, smacking his lips. “Ah…fruit juice!”
In the glow of the campfire, he spotted a bottle of fruit juice sitting on the ground near Beef. He picked up the bottle, removed the cap, and began taking huge gulps. His face began to tingle as he lost all feeling in his mouth and throat. He tried to spit out what was left on his tongue, but he’d already ingested a huge amount of the homemade throat tonic!
“Nod Rammit!” The Chief hissed. His face began to droop and was somewhat disfigured by the sudden loss of muscle control. He looked down at the bottle he was holding in his hand.
“Dis ids not phluckin’ flute joots!” he exclaimed. It didn’t take long for the mixture of beer and throat tonic to throw his stomach into a tizzy. I don’t believe that the tonic was ever meant to be swallowed and as a result The Chief became very queasy. His futile grunts and stuttered attempts at “profanitese” soon turned to eerie moans and groans. Beef and I were awakened by a loud thunder crack. What we heard after that, were the moans…
“Do y-y-you hear th-th-that?” I whispered. My voice was trembling with fear.
“Y-y-yeah,” Beef whispered back. His voice was equally nervous. “I think this t-t-t-teepee’s haunted!”
There was a slight illumination from the glowing ashes of the campfire. All we could make out was a pair of bare feet stumbling around the teepee.
“Hey Pop…wake up,” I stuttered. “I think there’s a ghost in here!”
The groans were replaced by an eerie voice.
“Ids no doast,” the voice grunted. “Ma phlucking mouf ids numb!”
The pair of feet started walking toward us. We swallowed hard as the feet got closer and closer. With each step you could hear them flatten down on the dirt floor of the teepee. As the feet got too close for comfort, one of them stepped down on a couple of my sharp arrowheads.
“Aaaargh!” the voice bellowed out in pain. “Whut da phluck?”
A pair of hands reached down and picked up my bow and arrows. Whatever it was, it now had my weapon! Beef readied his tomahawk in case it was needed. A bright flash of lightening, seen through the top flap of the teepee, lit up the inside just enough that we could make out the owner of the bare feet. It was a quick glance, but you’d be amazed at what you can see in that instance. The Indian headdress, the disfigured face and my bow and arrow told us all we needed to know. Taking all that into account plus the fact that his underwear sure as hell looked like a loin cloth to us, it’s no wonder that we both came to the same definite conclusion.
“Tripping Beaver!” we screamed. “He’s gonna kill us!”
“Ah’m nod Frippin’ Beafer!” Tripping Beaver said. “Ah’m Da Chieth…now knock id off an doe bag to sheep!”
When you’re in such an extreme moment of panic, your mind begins to play tricks on you. Mine was no exception. In the flickering illumination that the lightening provided, I saw the specter of Tripping Beaver draw one of my arrows and seat it in the bowstring. The vengeful ghost was going to shoot me in my sleeping bag with my own bow and arrow! Beef must’ve seen the same thing. He reacted quickly and came to my defense.
“Take that you old ghost!” he shouted as he brought the tomahawk down on Tripping Beaver’s foot!
“AI Yi Yi Yi Yi!” Tripping Beaver screamed whilst hopping around the teepee. It sure sounded like the old Chippewa war cry to us.
“Run!” I shouted. Beef and I launched out of our sleeping bags and shot out of the teepee into the pouring rain. Tripping Beaver quickly stumbled after us.
“Det bag here!” Tripping Beaver bellowed. He gave chase as Beef and I scurried into the darkness of the woods. We hid in some bushes that bordered a trail. We could tell where he was by listening for his assorted moans and groans. It appeared that he was circling us! At one point, he came limping by within a few feet of us. He was still clutching my bow and arrow.
“What about The Chief?” Beef asked.
“He’s a goner,” I answered, “Tripping Beaver already got him! We’re on our own now.”
“Hey, I got an idea,” Beef whispered, “we’ll set a trap for ol’ Trippin’ Beaver!”
He pulled a length of kite string out of his pocket. I jumped over to the other side of the trail, and we tied the string around two trees. The tripwire was strung across the trail, and Tripping Beaver was getting ready to make another pass. I picked up a large stick and held it like a baseball bat, Beef readied his tomahawk and the moans and sloppy footsteps got closer. Time stood still as Tripping Beaver walked the last few yards to our position. Closer…just a few more feet now. Beef and I were in attack position.
Tripping Beaver lived up to his namesake and stumbled over the kite string, landing face down in the mud. We immediately jumped out of the bushes and attacked. Tripping Beaver bellowed as we whacked him repeatedly with the stick and the tomahawk. The bludgeoning only infuriated Tripping Beaver who slowly rose to his feet with Beef and I still attached and whacking with all our might. The terrible ghost roared out in anger and the mud dripping off of him looked like flesh peeling off his bones! It was hideous! We gave up our attack and retreated back to the bushes. I noticed my bow and arrows lying on the ground and quickly grabbed them before diving into the brush. Tripping Beaver tried to circle around and catch us on the other side. We reversed direction and made a beeline for Mr. Lightfeather’s camp.
All we had was the lightening flashes to guide our way through the night. When we got to Mr. Lightfeather’s camp, Tripping Beaver was already there. Stalking the grounds in search of fresh blood, no doubt! Mr. Lightfeather heard the commotion and stuck his head out of the tent.
“What’s going on?” he said. “Who’s out there?”
Tripping Beaver started toward the opening of the tent, moaning and grunting.
“Of all things holy,” Mr. Lightfeather gasped. “You better take yourself back to the spirit world, Tripping Beaver. I ain’t got no beef with you.”
“Ugh blah hookin' pho Deef n’ Teeven,” Tripping Beaver mumbled.
“I don’t understand Chippewa, but I do understand this!” Mr. Lightfeather shouted. He pointed his shotgun barrel out the tent. Tripping Beaver looked horrified and madly waved his hands in air.
“Your magic ain’t gonna work on me, demon!” Mr. Lightfeather said. He fired one shot into the air in an attempt to ward off the evil spirit. Tripping Beaver jumped back, but kept waving his hands and, again, started toward Mr. Lightfeather, moaning and grunting…
“The next shot is gonna send you back to hell, Tripping Beaver, unless you turn around right now and go back from where you came!” Mr. Lightfeather warned. He started scurrying around for another shotgun shell. “Where in the hell are my shells?”
Tripping Beaver was still going for Mr. Lightfeather.
“He’s gonna get him!” Beef shouted.
“Not if I can help it!” I said. I loaded my bow and brought the arrow back until the kite string hummed. The evil ghost was almost on top of Mr. Lightfeather, waving his arms and grunting fiercely. My hands were shaking as I let the arrow fly…
“Ayeeeeeeeee!” Tripping Beaver screamed as the arrow struck him in the backside. It was a perfect shot! The arrow left my bow like a laser and hit the gluteus maximus of the intended target…exactly where I aimed it. Too bad the arrow head wasn’t sharper, it might’ve stuck instead of just opening up a nice gash and falling to the ground. At the moment of impact, Tripping Beaver let out the high pitched yelp and began dancing around the campfire in an obvious Chippewa war dance. The Chief would’ve been proud that I was able to make such a perfect shot. It was too bad that ol’ Tripping Beaver got him before he had a chance to see me make that shot. Tripping Beaver danced away into the bushes clutching his right “cheek” and screaming. Soon, it was quiet…
Beef and I congratulated ourselves with high fives while Mr. Lightfeather pulled out a bottle of whiskey, chugged down a large portion of it, and retreated to the inside of the tent. Tripping Beaver was defeated.
“Arrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhh!” Tripping Beaver roared as he jumped out of the bushes behind us. His eyes were fierce with rage and glowed like embers from a campfire! We screamed and took off running toward the river. The Indian poltergeist was hot on our heels, screaming and yelling. The Chief’s new canoe was within distance, our only chance for escape. Beef and I pushed it into the current and dove in, paddling as if our lives depended on it…which, from our perspective, it did. Tripping Beaver started running down the bank after us.
“Teeven, bing bag duh nod ram ganoe!” Tripping Beaver hollered. We paddled faster and soon started to out distance the ghost.
“Teeven! Dumb back!” the ghost hollered. He tripped over a log and landed face down in the water. He looked up and hollered. “Dumb back…Dumb back!”
It was morning when we came across an access site. A couple of fishermen helped us pull the canoe to shore and called the sheriff. We were wrapped in blankets and the sheriff was getting ready to motor up river in search of The Chief’s body and to check on the welfare of Mr. Lightfeather. A small boat came around the bend with two people.
The boat got closer and we could make out that one of the people was Mr. Lightfeather. You could spot his pony tail a mile away. The other person looked familiar…it was The Chief. He got away from Tripping Beaver after all, and was alive! It must’ve been quite a struggle as my father was battered, beaten and bruised. He jumped out of the canoe and started limping after me with his typical angered glare. I guess he was a little upset that we’d abandoned him, but what were we to do? We thought he was dead…
Thankfully, the sheriff subdued him before he got to me. Beef and I rode home with my mother, who came to the sheriffs department to claim us. When the whole story was pieced together and everyone, except The Chief, had a good laugh over it, I placed myself under her protection. The Chief was not going to let this little misunderstanding go by without retribution!
Thank God, my mom was there to protect me…

3,153 Posts
Its supposedly about a dogman up around the bel-air area, around the manistee river, my cousin played me a song about it. I heard paul harvey did a show on it. anyone know anything of it?

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You crack me up:)

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