For this week’s story, we have one from an author friend of mine named Dewey Edwards. He’s sent in a few stories, and this will be the first one I share since my plan for this month is going to do mostly ghost stories from fans.
In early 1971, I had a close friend who we all called Bubba. Bubba wasn’t his real name, but all of his family and friends called him that. Bubba was a special friend, you see, Bubba had muscular dystrophy, and had been confined to a wheelchair for many years.
Sadly, I first met Bubba during the last year of his life, although I had gone to school with his sister since the first grade. Bubba and his family were big into Citizens Band radios and had been for many years. In fact, my very first conversation with Bubba was over a cheap old walkie-talkie we had rigged up with an oversized antenna. Walkie-talkies weren’t supposed to talk that far, which was about 3 miles, but I guess fate played a hand in Bubba and I talking that day. I don’t have any other explanation.
Anyway, after that initial contact, Bubba and I became close friends. I went to see him several times a week, and was always amazed at his cheery disposition, despite his physical handicaps. His radio knobs had been replaced with t-handles, so his gnarly little fingers could manipulate them as he switched through the frequencies while seated in his wheelchair. Bubba was an inspiration to all who knew him and had friends the world over.
A few months into our friendship, Bubba was hospitalized with bronchial pneumonia, which was very dangerous in his physical condition. His prognosis was not good, and Bubba got worse with each passing day. One night at work, I got the dreaded phone call telling me Bubba was about to die, and if I wanted to see him alive, I had better get to the hospital quickly. I made it in time, and Bubba drew his last breath while I stood by his side holding his hand. A couple of days later, he was laid to rest in Memorial Gardens in Springfield.
Bubba’s parents asked my dad if we had anywhere they could store Bubba’s wheelchair, as it held too many painful memories for them to look at, sitting empty at his radio desk. Daddy picked it up and brought it to our house, storing it in an unused bedroom upstairs, which was accessed by a stairway behind a door in my bedroom. We thought nothing more about it, until….
That night, I went to bed as usual, and about the time I got settled in good, the door to my bedroom flew open and a cold breeze filled the room. At this point, I just thought the wind was to blame. As I started to get up and close the door, something sat down on the side of my bed. Thinking it was my brother walking in his sleep, I took my foot and attempted to “boot” him off my bed, but to my surprise there was nothing there! I looked at the side of the bed and saw an impression of someone sitting there, but there was no one there that I could see. I attempted to scream, but I was too terrified to make a sound. I hid my head under the covers, unable to move.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, which in reality was probably only a matter of minutes, whoever or whatever it was got up from my bed. I could hear the floor boards creaking as it made its way across the floor towards my brother’s bed, where it again sat down. I managed to force my eyes open and I could see the same impression on the side of his bed. His head was also under the covers. I do not know exactly how long it sat there, but a short time later, it moved from the bed and made its way toward the stairway door, knocking down the ladder to the top bunk bed (where my youngest brother lay sleeping.)
What happened next was the most terrifying. Whatever this entity was, it evidently wanted to get upstairs in the worst way. It scratched on the door to the stairway for several minutes while I lay frozen, terrified in my bed, unable to move. The noise awoke my youngest brother, and he began crying. After that, my brother and I finally found our voices and we joined in. Daddy came running into the room, and we told him what had happened. We slept in their room the remainder of the night.
Next door to us lived an old man named Johnny Fort. (We kids called him Uncle Johnny as was the common practice at that time). Every morning he was up before daybreak and feeding his livestock. As Daddy went out to the car to go to work that morning, He saw Uncle Johnny at the barn, and during their conversation, the subject of the previous night came up. Daddy told him what we had witnessed, expecting him to laugh at such a tall tale. Instead, Uncle Johnny was dead serious as he told Daddy what we needed to do, “That boy’s spirit is attached to that wheelchair and it is trying to get back to it. What you need to do is leave that door open, so his spirit can get back to that wheelchair. Trust me…If you don’t, that boy’s ghost will haunt you from now on…”
We decided to do what Uncle Johnny said, and that night, we propped the stairway door open. All was quiet, and nothing happened…..until we went to bed. About the time I thought nothing was going to happen, the bedroom door abruptly opened and the temperature in the room dropped dramatically as whatever it was came into the room. Again, I was terrified! This time, though, it didn’t sit on my bed. I could hear it and sense it as it stood by the side of my bed as if telling me goodbye. After a moment, I heard it cross the floor and make its way to my brother’s bed, where it again stood for a short while. As it moved toward the stairway door, it brushed against the bunk bed ladder and moved it, only this time it didn’t fall. The floorboards creaked and popped as it made its way to the stairway. As it climbed the stairs, each stair step creaked and moaned as the entity slowly made its way up the stairs, then into the back room to where the wheelchair was waiting.
If this was the spirit of Bubba, evidently it found what it was looking for, for we never experienced anything further…. at least not for several years anyway…
A couple of years later, my parents moved, and took the wheelchair with them, storing it in an old building by the house. One day, my brother Timmy and Nathan, and my nephew, got the wheelchair out and took turns pushing each other around the yard in it. That night, both of them had the same exact nightmare about something chasing them in the wheelchair.
A few years later, my parents moved to Oakland Road, and again, took the wheelchair with them, placing it in a small storage building behind the house. It was forgotten about until one day Gary, one of the neighbor kids, found it and dragged it out. Evidently forgetting about what happened earlier, Timmy and Gary pushed each other around in it, and even got it out on the highway and rode it down the hill in front of the house. Again, both of them had frightening nightmares that night, and afterwards, neither of them would go anywhere near that wheelchair, claiming it was haunted. The last time I saw it, it was folded up in the back of the old building. After my father passed away, my mother sold the house and moved to town, but this time, the wheelchair did not go. I’m not sure exactly where it is now, and don’t really care to find out.
Wow, thank you so much for this story Dewey! If you enjoyed this story, make sure to look up Dewey Edwards on Amazon. He’s got some amazing books. I’ve ordered a few of them myself and can’t wait to give them a read!
Thank you patreons Adam, Alvin, Charles, Chris, Danielle, Donald, Jeff, Jordan, Julia, Linda, and Taylor.