The Ghost Stories Children Tell to Other Children

Death is never neat and tidy even in our modern world. Children seem to have an innate sense of this fact. I spent many years teaching young children—I love stories and storytelling—so when my students told stories to each other, I paid close, attention. 

The ghost stories I heard that were shared on the playground and in the classroom have nothing to do with the ghost stories that are told by adults in books, in films or on television.

What struck me as most fascinating is the way these tales were told had a more significant impact on these children than the stories themselves. Young children tell ghost stories to delight in terror, but they very carefully control—“control” being the key word here---how much terror is allowed in these stories. 

Within children’s oral traditions, they do not need adult censure—they are very conscious of how much of a fright they can handle. This knowledge empowers them to a much higher degree, then most adults would suspect.

One trick children use in telling these stories is they never address directly the monster, ghost, or whatever the cause of their fear is. In fact, in many of their stories, this source of fear is never even mentioned. 

Another primary device they use is humor—this humor is placed strategically at the end of their stories and allows them to address their fears with a built-in safety valve or release. 

But foremost in their minds is to entertain and be entertained. Young children adore surprise or unexpected endings, so at the end of these stories, they always break out in peals of laughter. 

Several of the children’s ghost stories I have shared in the past use these tricks. “Bloody Fingers” with its surprise humorous ending. “The Golden Arm” with its gotcha moment at the end. Mark Twain's’ ghost story with him loudly stomping, which startles the audience into laughter at the end and the various “jump stories” I have shared all reflect how young children tell ghost stories.

Young children keep the ghost stories, they tell simple, but when adults consider them more carefully, it becomes apparent that children’s ghost stories just like adult ghost stories impart in-depth lessons. 

So children are not only safely addressing their fears they, just like adults when they tell ghost stories, are passing on societal norms to their peer group. 

A classic example of this is a children’s ghost story that originated in Poland entitled “The Stolen Liver.”  A more modern version of this tale that I heard my own students tell is a simplified version of this original tale. 

There are just two main characters in the story, the mother and a son. This story teaches norms about listening to parents, and I imagine its original intent was to teach children to avoid cannibalism and grave robbing. It has a surprise ending for my students told it as a “Jump Story.”

A mother sent her son to the store to buy liver. 

"Now go there and come right back. I am making your father’s friend a special meal tonight. His favorite is liver, so ask the butcher for the best he has." 

The son jumped on his bike and headed for the store. Halfway there, his friend called out his name. “Hey, Tommy come play with us, we need a good pitcher.”

Forgetting his errand, he played several innings with his friends. As the sun went down, he realized what he had forgotten, he quickly jumped on his bike and headed to the store. But when he got there, it had already closed. 

He reluctantly headed home. His mother was going to be mad. 

As he passed the neighborhood cemetery, he had an idea. He went to the fresh grave of his Uncle Henry. He thought--he doesn’t need his liver anymore. He found a shovel in the cemeteries shed and started digging. He then quickly headed home.

His mother cooked the liver, and his father and his friend enjoyed the meal. Tommy relieved went upstairs to bed. He fell asleep quickly. Later, a booming voice woke him up.

“Where’s my liver?”

Tommy lay still as he heard loud footsteps come up the stairs.

Thump, thump, thump.

The footsteps stopped outside his door.

“Where is my liver?”

“Who’s got my liver?”

The door slammed open, and he saw his uncle’s face floating above his bed.

"Where is my liver?"

He screamed back, “We ate it.”

At this point, the child telling the story would always lunge at or grab another child nearby. The group listening would then laugh, giggle, or shout out in loud delight—showing their approval.

Bloody Fingers

One of my favorites ghost stories, "The Ghost with the Bloody Fingers," is one that I shared with students of all ages over the years. 

This story is more fun than scary. Despite the title the story is not gory. My students always loved it. I never used it as a read aloud since it is short enough to just tell. It is not a jump story but it does have a surprise ending.

Stephen Gammell
Illustrated
Schwartz's Books

I first heard it as a young girl scout and then years later I read a version of it in Alvin Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. 

I love this story because the main character is a free-spirit 1960’s hippie who just like the family in Oscar Wilde’s The Carterville Ghost is unfazed by the presence of a ghost. I also love it because you can act it out as you tell it.

Another reason I always liked this story is it conveys a useful message—which is that often fears can be conquered by just not taking them too seriously. This message I feel is a great one to impart especially to children.

“The Ghost with the Bloody Fingers” story fits into a classic ghost category—that of a person who is brave enough to stay in a haunted house overnight. 

Many ghost stories from around the world focus upon this theme. Another example of this kind of story is entitled “Wait Until Emmett Comes” a traditional African ghost tale.

The following is my version, which I call “Bloody Fingers.”

There is an old Victorian House in the Eastern part of my state that was converted to an inn several years back. It is off the beaten path, but it gets quite a few guests as it is the last lodging for eighty miles in any direction. 

Because of this many a weary traveler has stayed there for the night. This fact in itself is not unusual but what I am about to tell is.

Because it was a small inn with only six rooms, the house would fill up quickly especially in the summer months. On one such summer evening a weary businessman entered the Inn looking for a room. 
The bored clerk at the welcome desk stared at him.
 "I have no more rooms available."

The businessman not accepting no for an answer persisted. 
“Listen son, I am bone tired do you have a couch or something I can use for couple of hours."
The clerk hesitated. 
“I do have one empty room in the attic but the owner doesn’t like me renting it because it is haunted.”

Relieved, the businessman slapped him on the back. 

“I’ll take it. I don’t believe in ghosts.” 
The man paid, the clerk gave him the key and then he pointed the way. 
“I don’t believe in them either.”

The businessman settled in quickly and climbed into bed grateful that he would be able to get a good night’s sleep. A few minutes later he heard the closet door open with a loud creaking sound. Annoyed he turned toward the closet. To his horror a wispy figure floated out of the closet, it was holding it’s hands outstretched and it was moaning,

“Bloody Fingers, …Bloody Fingers.”

In a panic the man grabbed his car keys and ran.

Several weeks past and then late one night a young women entered the inn. The clerk informed her, “Sorry, lady we don’t have any vacancies.” 
The woman sighed, “I can’t drive another mile.” 
The clerk taking pity on the pretty young woman stated, “Well, I do have one room available but some say it is haunted.”

The woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“I am just too tired to care; I will take it.” 

Finding the room neat and tidy the woman forgot about the clerk’s warning. She changed into her pajamas and switched on an old TV set in the corner. She lay down on the bed watching an old black and white movie. She fell asleep leaving the set on.

Awakened moments later she noticed the TV was now off. Hearing a loud creaking sound she came fully awake. She glanced over and noticed the closet door was slowly opening. A transparent figure floated out moaning softly,

“Bloody Fingers, …Bloody Fingers.”

She froze in terror. As the ghost came closer she saw that blood was dripping from its outstretched fingers onto the carpet. It moaned louder,

“Bloody Fingers, …BLOODY FINGERS!”

Gathering her wits she ran from the room. She awakened the clerk and insisted he retrieve her belongings and then she quickly left the inn.

Later that month a violent summer storm hit the area. Rain poured from the sky relentlessly. A young hippie with a long beard, his hair tied back in a ponytail, holding a motorcycle helmet with a peace symbol attached and a guitar case rushed into the inn’s lobby. Water dripped from him as he approached the clerk.

“Man I haven’t seen a storm like this in the desert in years. I need a room so I can dry off.” 
The clerk shook his head. 
“I don’t have one.” 

The young man glanced over at the lobby couch. 
“How about that?” 
The clerk again shook his head in the negative. 
“The owner wouldn’t like that.” 
The young hippie set down his helmet and guitar and spread his arms. 
“Come on man,” he indicted the storm outside, "You are not going to send me back out into that?”

The clerk reached for a key. 

“There is one room at the top of the stairs but most folks say it is haunted, and none of them stay long.” 
“Cool!” The young man grabbed the key, saluted the other man and went upstairs.

Grabbing towels from the bathroom the young man dried himself off. He then removed his boots and took his guitar out of its case. He propped the pillows up on the bed and stretched out. As he started to play his guitar the closet door opened with a loud bang.

The young hippie glanced over briefly as a ghost floated out of the closet with its arms outstretched and then turned back to his playing. The ghost moaned,

“Bloody fingers, …Bloody fingers”.

The young man continued to play so the moaning became louder.

“Bloody fingers, …BLOODY FINGERS!”

The young man continued to ignore the ghost. Agitated it floated right above him, and wailed even louder,

“BLOOODY FINGERS!, …BLOOODY FINGERS!”

As blood dripped down upon the guitar from its fingers, the young man stopped playing, looked up and announced,

“Cool it man, …get yourself a Band Aid.”