Larry was a ghost with a big dick. He also had ghastly pale skin, eyes dark as a coal mine, and rows of bright, white teeth sharpened to points. Nobody remembered those things. They just remembered his huge dick.
This, as you might imagine, was problematic for Larry. Did all those frightening, phantasmagoric traits come naturally? No, nor did they come easily. It took years of painstaking (not to mention painful) planning and reconstructive surgery for Larry to finally reach what he thought was a satisfactory level of terrifying. But no matter what he did, people just noticed the dick. The huge pulsating dick.
This is how an attempted scare usually went. Larry would choose someone who lived alone since they tend to be a bit skittish in the first place. Around midnight, he’d move something that they couldn’t quite see. “Did the lamp just move?” they’d ask themselves, since no one is ever there to listen, “I swear the fucking lamp just moved.” Then he’d float into the room, his toes barely brushing the floor. Sometimes he’d go in quiet; sometimes he’d go in screaming. It didn’t really matter considering the response.
Most guys would just get embarrassed. How would you feel? A demon straight out of the nightmares of the most imaginative children floats into your room, gently flowing as though twisted by some unseen, chill breeze. And even through layers of protoplasm and tattered clothing you can tell his wiener is like, twice as big as yours.
“This is fucked up,” they’d say.
Or, “I can’t possibly believe that this spectre has such a gigantic dong. It’s not even hard, this is goddamn bananas.”
The scene was usually much worse for women (and for awhile, Larry avoided women altogether). Most times they’d wind up hitting on him.
“AAAAH, WHA… whoa… that thing is amazing,” they’d coo.
Twice, in fact, women just straight up started sucking his dick. He’d be halfway through some dreary moan meant to make the hair stand on end, and his penis would be in someone’s mouth. “It’s so fucking cold,” they’d mumble with their mouths full of wang. Ghost wang.
Of course he came. But when he did, they always died. Something about getting a load in the mouth from some wretched ghoul ends up fatal.
There wasn’t much Larry could do. He even tried going the classic route, throwing a sheet over himself (which was upsetting, considering all the work he’d put into his horrific visage) and cutting two eyeholes in it like a child’s Halloween costume. They always knew. “Smuggling a babies arm under there pal?”
The moral of the story is that even ghosts have proble- wait… did you see the chair move? I swear to God the fucking chair just moved. AAAAAAAAHHH!