The Head

Once there were two friends who were very fond of each other; but like all friends they quarreled a little now and then. Usually the quarrel was over some bit of foolishness. but one day they had a a real quarrel. This too, was foolish quarrel, as most quarrels are, but the two young men got madder and madder and the quarrel turned into a fight. They were so mad they pulled out their knives, and that fight ended with one of them slashing off the head of the other.The one who did it ran until he was far from the city. The police searched everywhere, but they never found him. At last they gave up. Years went by: one year, two years, five years, six......eight......ten. At last, at the end of the ten years the murderer though it would be safe to go home. He did not think anyone would remember or recognize him.And for many weeks he lived alone in a little house, working at whatever jobs came his way. One day as he was passing through the market he saw a calf's head for sale. He dearly loved a good dish of calf's head, so he stopped and bought it. Then as he was walking home, thinking how good it would be, a policeman stopped him and said, "What is that? So the man explained that he had just bought a calf's head! to have for his supper. "Awful bloody calf's head! said the policeman. Oh, its a fresh one, said the man. "Lets see it!" So the man opened the bag and pulled out-not a calf's head at all-but the head of his friend. It was dripping with blood, as if it had just been cut off! It had been trickling down behind him, leaving a little stream of blood all the way as he walked along! So of course they knew that he was the murderer, and they took him and hanged him by the neck till he was dead. and the street where this happened is named La Calle de la Cabeza the street of the head.

Milk Bottle

One day the storekeeper  looked up and saw a pale young  woman in gray  dress standing at the counter. "what can i do for you, ma'am?"he said.  she  did not answer, but  pointed to a  bottle of milk.The storekeeper handed it to her, and without a word she walked quickly out of the store and down the main street of the town. The next day she came back. What will you have today, ma'am? the storekeeper handed it to her. And once again the woman took the milk and hurried away without saying word. That night the storekeeper told his neighbors about the strange young woman in gray with the sad, pale face who came every day for milk and walked away without thanks or payment, in silence. So the next day when the woman in gray appeared and again walked away with the milk without speaking, two or three of the villagers followed her. She walked swiftly down the main street of the town. The men were amazed that they almost had to run to keep sight of her. She passed the school; she passed the church; she kept right on through the little town up the hill to the graveyard. She passed swiftly in among the graves and stones and tress, seemed to stop for a minute - and then was gone. The followers stood quietly beside the grave where the slender gray figure had seemed to pause. It was the new-made grave of a young mother and her baby daughter who had died three days ago of a fever. In fact, she had died just one day before she first came into the store for milk. It all seemed so strange and mysterious that the villagers thought they ought to investigate. So they came back with shovels and soon unearthed the young mother's coffin. Then, while they were moving the coffin, they heard-or thought they heard- a tiny muffled wail. They listened. They heard it again- the feeble little cry of a baby. quickly they opened the coffin. Yes. here was the frail young mother in gray who had come for the milk And in her arms lay a baby girl-ill and weak, but alive. Beside her lay the empty milk bottles. One of the men took the baby home to his wife, and the little life was saved. No one ever saw the young mother in gray again. She had accomplished her tasks. She had saved her baby girl. Now she could rest.

The Dare

Once there was a bunch of youngsters sitting in front of a fire telling ghost stories and trying to  scare each other. There had been a funeral in the village that day. an old man had been buried that afternoon, an old man noted for his crankiness and cussing. The boys had used to torment him, just to hear him rage in helpless fury. One of the group said if anyone walked on that old man's grave at midnight, he would reach up and grab him. oh, rot! no such thing! said a boy named jim. well, i dare you! said another. "I dare you!" "I dare you" they all joined in all right! said the bragging one. I don't believe in ghosts I'll go do it. I dare you I'll do it, and I'll stick my jackknife in the grave! and you can call go see it in the morning." so the party broke up. When midnight came, the boy named Jim started for the graveyard. It was awful quiet. The tombstones made long shadows in the moonlight. he was pretty scared. But he could not back out now, so he went on. Could the old geezer reach up and grab him? he wondered. he wished he had not been so smart and taken on this dare. but he went on. He came to the grave. He took out his jackknife and opened it. He knelt down and jabbed it blindly into the mound over the grave. Then he started to get up and run home. but he could not move! Something had grabbed him. he could not budge from the grave. The next day was a school day and Jim was went from his classes. The boys all wondered where he was. And at noontime several of them decided to go to the graveyard and see if Jim had left his jackknife sticking in the grave. When they got there they found Jim lying in a little heap on the new-made mound. In his haste and panic he had thrust the knife through his own coattails. He had pinned himself to the old man's grave, and had died of fright.

the thing at the foot of the bed

Once there was a man and they dared him to sleep all night in a haunted house. "all right", he said. he wasn't scared of anything he'd sleep there. no such thing as ghosts, anyway. So he went into the house and looked around. everything looked all right. so he went upstairs. everything looked all right. so he went to bed.he lay there in bed a while and listened. he didn't hear anything. so he went to sleep. it was a warm night, so he had no covers but a sheet. the man slept a while, and then suddenly he woke up. he listened. he didn't hear anything. The moon was shining bright through the open window. so very carefully- very quietly-he looked around. and he saw, down at the foot of the bed, two shiny eyes staring right at him. they looked something like this: they didn't even blink. was that a head- a face? the man thought he would make out the top of the crooked head.He was scared. he didn't dare move. but softly, he slid up under the pillow and pulled out the revolver he'd brought with him. he aimed at the thing, right between the eyes. he was so scared though, that his hand trembled and wiggled and shook and.....
(the poor scared fool shot off his own big toe)

ghost race

Once there was a man who played the guitar in the streets. He played all day and as late as night as people would listen and give him money. Sometimes he was paid to come into their houses and play for parties.
He was a very fine player.
One night very late he was going home from a party and was playing the guitar softly to himself as he went along. He met a man in the road and the man said, "will you let me play it?"
So he said sure! and handed the guitar to the stranger. the stranger played marvelously. his playing was more wonderful than any the man had ever heard in his life.
Man! that's how to play the guitar!"he said
well -said the other modestly, that used to be my work when i was living."
gosh your dead? and the man began to to run.Here!you forgot your guitar!
the other ran atter him. Here's your guitar!yelled. keep it! the man yelled back. But the other caught up with him. Here's your guitar", he said
Keep it! and the man ran faster than aver. At last he got home and fell into bed. And when he opened the door in the morning, there was his guitar on the doorstep.
GHOST RACE
May isang lalaking napakahilig tumugtog ng kanyang guitara sa kalsada. Tumutogtog siya buong araw hanggang hating gabi para sa mga taong nakikinig at nagbibigay sa kanya ng pera, kapalit ng kanyang pagtugtog. Kung minsan siya ay inaanyayahan para tumugtog sa isang kasiyahan
Siya ay napakagaling na manunogtog. Isang gabi habang papauwi siya galing sa isang kasiyahan, nakasalubong niya ang isang lalaki sa daan, sabi ng lalaki, "pwede bang makahiram ng iyong guitara?
At agad  naman niya itong ipinahiram, at ibinigay niya ang guitara sa istranghero.
Tumogtog ng napaka gandang musika and istranghero. Ganyan dapat ang pagtugtog ng guitara.,"sabi ng istranghero" bganyan din kasi ang trabaho ko noong ako'y nabubuhay pa,, "sabi nito."
Patay kana? at sabay takbo ng lalaki Heto! nakalimutan mo ang iyong guitara.
At hinabol ang takot na takot na lalaki,
"Heto ang iyong guitara," kunin mo!
At tumakbo ng napakabilis ang lalaki, sa wakas ay nakarating din siya sa kanyang bahay at tumuloy sa kanyang higaan. kinabukasan pag bukas niya ng pinto naroon ang guitarang hiniram sa kanya ng istrangherong multo.