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Uncle Fossill's Ghost Story

Story ID:7363
Written by:bobby o'neill mitchum (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:Fiction
Location:Phenix City Alabama U.S.A.
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It seems that for maney years,around the environs of Podunk County Tennesee,that a lot of People had been reporting the presence of a Ghost Dog.This Ghost Dog,although scary to encounter,had never been known to actually hurt anyone,rather it seems that it would just suddenly appear out of a bush and snarl or growl at a passer by and then disappear,thus causing that passerby some consternation at having a great white Dog jumping out of a bush suddenly like that.
When on a recent visit to My Uncle Fossill's the subject and came up,Uncle Fossill phooed phooed the very idea of a Ghost Dog,saying that in the first place,ghost were supposed to be the Souls of a deceased person,and that Dogs were not known to posess a soul,in the second place He said,He didn't believe in any type of ghost at all.
Two days later,Uncle Fossill was out on the mountain hunting for a possum (O'possum for the city slickers out there)when He suddenly sees a large white dog peeking around a large bush as if waiting for someone or some thing to walk by.Hee Hee ,Uncle Fossill laughs to Himself,them ole Boys down thar at the saloon is a tryin ta fool me,wal the jokes on them cause ima gonna tie that dad burned ole dog to a rope and lead hit rite into the saloon.So Uncle Fossill sneaks quietly up to the bush with His rope in a loop,ready to snare the dog,He jumps suddenly around the bush,but to His surprize,there was no Dog!He looks over His shoulder and there stood the Dog,sort of smiling the way some dogs do.C,mere feller,coaxes Uncle Fossill,but the Dog just looks at Him,still with that strange smiling look.Dad Burned idjit! says Uncle Fossill,I said COME HERE! With those words hardly out of His mouth,Uncle Fossill was startled when the Dog trotted toward him in a not so friendly manner,large canine teeth showing in a silent snarl! Wha tha!Uncle Fossill exclaims,and tried to kick the Dog away from Him in a reflex action,but again to Uncle Fossill's consternatin,His foot went right through the Appirition! Uncle Fossill slipped,striking His head on an Oak Tree root and was knocked out briefly.It was there that we found Him the next morning with His empty bottle of His special brew,He was still talking about the Ghost Dog all the way home. To this very day I cannot get Uncle Fossill to admit that all that He told Me about that night was simply the product of His having imbibed a little too much of His special mixture of Mountain Dew.
Bob Mitchum