Creepy Short Stories

The Blaganschlor

The Blaganschlor

"Have you seen the Blaganschlor
Hung by rope composed of gore
Who says his name and nothing more
His true name lost in days of yore?
At the gray and barren meadow
Where ancient rivers used to flow
The dying light of summer's glow
Will call him from the dark below.

Those are the first two stanzas of 'The Blaganschlor'," said Susan Ferris. "They describe Arbormill's most famous ghost and how to find him. Supposedly, if you go into the gray meadow in the woods east of town on the hottest day of the year, you will see the Blaganschlor at sunset. It appears as a man being strangled by his own intestines. His name comes from the stories that the only sounds he can make while being strangled sound like blagh and schloooor." Susan attempted to get a laugh from the class in front of her by mimicking the rough zombie-like sounds. It didn't work. Most of the people in Mr. Edwards' class looked bored, including Mr. Edwards.

"No one knows who he was or why he haunts the woods, but local tradition states that if you see the Blaganschlor and survive, you get to write a new stanza for the poem describing your encounter. The entire poem is kept at the public library. To date, at least four people have never come back from their hunt for the Blaganschlor, but it's widely assumed that they just wanted to get out of Arbormill." That one got a couple of laughs. She was about to conclude the report when the bell rung, signaling the end of the day and the school year. The majority of the class jumped out of their seats and sprinted for the hallway. Susan grabbed her books off of her desk and was about to head for the hallway when Edwards cleared his throat and beckoned her over to him. Susan tried not to groan too loudly.

"Well," asked Susan, putting on a fake smile. "What did you think?" Edwards' expression made the answer relatively obvious.

"For starters, I think you half-assed that presentation the same way you've been half-assing this class all year."

"And what makes you think that?" asked Susan, in a tone of disbelief that didn't seem entirely genuine.

"Susan, this assignment might seem easy, but it's supposed to sum up the class," said Edwards. "I ask kids to go out and write about a local ghost story. This is Arbormill. We have about ten thousand of them. I always hope that kids will bring in something close to home, personal even. I like students knowing that the history around them affects them."

"And I totally understand that," said Susan. "Can I go now?" She took a step towards the door. Edwards kept talking.

"You picked the Blaganschlor," he said. "It's an old story that everyone in town over the age of five knows. You didn't say anything that the kids in here haven't heard. It wasn't anything personal; you just picked something you didn't have to do work for."

"I know at least two of the other students made up their stories completely," said Susan.

"At least they put in the effort," said Edwards. "Spoken like a true Ferris, though. Blame everybody else." Susan winced. Her family was not held in the highest regard in Arbormill. 'Not a one worth a damn' the older residents would say.

"Yeah," said Susan. "So what? It's not like this class matters. This is just the easiest elective I could take this year. 'Local History' is not a class that's going to go on my college resume." Edwards leaned back in his chair and smirked briefly.

"Probably not," he said. "But getting an 'F' in such a worthless class would look pretty bad on a transcript."

"You can't fail me," said Susan. She crossed her arms and stood straighter, trying to be intimidating. Edwards wasn't buying it.

"Final grades go out in a week," he said, smiling. "If you don't make this up in that time, I most certainly can." Susan's demeanor changed abruptly. She brushed her hair back and leaned towards her teacher.