Stories by a traveler 1 - Ghost Crush(LAMAANKACHE Oussama) One of the major benefits of being a traveller is the ability to transform oneself from a complete ordinary person to a charismatic, funny, and interesting storyteller.
After years of traveling throughout Morocco and four other countries, I have experienced compelling situations and lived many lives. Stories to which end remains untold.
I have finally taken the courage to start writing all the incredible and overwhelming stories I witnessed. Many of which are completely true. In many others, my pencil will take you through scenarios that I imagined while traveling by car, bus, train, or airplane. My pencil will also tell you everything I created while sleeping in the sea, in the desert, in the city, in a Masjid, in a Church, in a 5 stars hotel or on the ground without any shelter. My pencil will also convey the stories that my mind was telling me to keep me company when I was feeling homesick in Madrid, or when I was broke in Barcelona, or cold in London, or feeling completely dumb in Oxford.
All these stories will be entitled: “Stories by a traveler – NAME OF THE PARTICULAR STORY” as in this one. I will add a caption in each one stating whether the story is real. This will be at the bottom of the story to allow you lady and/or gentleman the pleasure of guessing.
To begin with, I’d like to take you to way before I got married. Better yet, let me tell you a little bit about myself first. I am a sports junkie holding a Black Belt in Taekwondo and other martial arts. I live in a Muslim not-so-conservative society where bringing girls to bed is such a difficult quest. I have taken a strong stand against sexual harassment, and I never disturbed any woman that I do not know on the streets. I considered this a necessity rather than a virtue. My only refuge of getting to know new girls, therefore, were the online social platforms. So, here I was, a strong badass nerd who never got laid, and who has a heavy presence in all social media. Name any platform, I was rocking it.
On a special occasion, I met a gorgeous chick on Instagram called Jiji. She had big blue eyes, long blond hair, and sexy delicious-looking lips. Her body’s shape looks like a Greek goddess of beauty and her curves were amazingly tempting. She was nothing short of an angel. We started.
My relation with Jiji started online, and remained so for very long time. We moved from texting, getting to know each other, sharing news feeds, and laughing at anything we bring up on social media to exchanging nudes, and consequently, to holding long video calls every night. We got closer to each other as the nights rolled on.
Jiji had an immense sense of listening. There were nights in which I get back from work tired, angry, and depressed. She was always there for me, sitting in front of the camera in a video call, listening to my miserable crappy complaints. Every night! Every damnly night! Not once I caught her looking at her watch or showing discomfort. She was my supreme supporter, and my energy provider.
She, however, was not like any other girl. She was gifted – or so I thought. During all those nights, I always felt that she was closer physically to me than my own underwear. Most of time, she would finish my words when I tell her about an incident that occurred to me that day, or 20 years ago. As much as this is cute and exciting, it was extremely scary.
On a full-moon rainy night, Jiji told me during a video call that she is going to fetch a red bikini that she purchased the previous summer, but which she never had the chance to put on. She left for several minutes, and I was waiting with a happy smiley horny face. Suddenly a cute little face showed up in the Camera.
Me : “Hey cuteee ! What is your name ?”
“My name is Ouijdan but you can call me Ouija”
“That’s a beautiful name Ouija, are your Jiji’s sister ?”
“Yes I am”
Before having the chance to ask any more questions, Ouija left in a rush.
Jiji got back, looking extremely hot in her bikini. During all my travels, I never looked upon such a miraculous jewel. While being aroused by her looking, my Jewel’s voice interrupted my mind in his joy:

“Did you miss me when I was gone searching for the bikini ?”
“Although your sister kept me company, I missed you….”
“What sister ?”
“Your little sister ?”
“Who ?”
“Oh I am sorry, probably you don’t like her going through your things”
“I do not like who ?????????” – in a serious angry voice
“Ouijdan – Ouija. She came and….”
Jiji (Screaming) : “Are you all fucking kidding me ????!!!! Whenever I get a new boyfriend, you all tell me that you have seen my sister. Don’t you all understand that this hurt…..”
“What are you talking about babe”
“OUIJA DIED TWO YEARS AGO IN A PLANE CRUSH”
“Whaaaaat ????? Baby I swear I saw a kid……”
Jiji interrupted me again, and whispered: “I love you, unfortunately” and closed the video call.
I could not sleep that night and could not understand what happened exactly. Was there another kid at her place who innocently claimed to be Ouija? What triggered all this anger? Anger that I never witnessed in Jiji ? Is there a possibility I saw a dead little sister talking? And why do Jiji always predict the end of all my stories and finished my words? I was lost in endless series of unanswered worrying questions. I tried reaching her multiple times, but she did not return any.
Early in the following morning, I went to Jiji’s house for the very first time ever since we started our virtual relationship. The house was located in a strange dark side of the city. I knocked on the door and got answered by her mother.
“Lhajja, Good morning !”
“Who are you ?”
“Lhajja, my name is Oussama, and I am recent joinee to Jiji’s class. Our teacher gave us homework and I was…..”
“Are you one of those assholes who would ask to see Jiji for something stupid, then claim she was video calling you and exchanging nudes !!!!!!!!!!!?????”
In a shock “aaaaa eee emm nooo ma’am no no”
“Then, get the fuck out of my property. Jiji and her little sister Ouijdan (Ouija) died in a plane crush two years ago”.
Like an underdog got beaten by a champ, I went scrolling-running away from the house suddenly I stepped into a walking by
“Dude, are you blind ? what is the matter with you”
Me (heavy breathing) : “Sorry sir, you would not believe what I was told by the owner of that house”
“Are you drunk ? that house belongs to a pilot who had on board his loving wife, two daughters: Jiji and Ouijdan, and they all died in plane crush two years ago. No one has been living in the house ever since. Every now and then, somebody with his dick out will show up there claiming that a “naked Jiji” invited them….
Me (extremely scared) : “WTF, and what happens to those guys ?”
“They all run after seeing the feet of the father. He has goat feets”
My pencil does not have the words to express how scared and lost I was after that conversation. I did not know what to do, nor who to call.
“Excuse me sir, have you ever seen the father’s feet”
“Yes, daily”
“How come ?”
While taking off his black Jellaba revealing his goat-like feet “Jiji is my daughter, and you are my new bitch”
.
.
.
I woke up six weeks later in a reanimation room in the hospital. I was found in a coma with multiple broken bones next to a forsaken house. The day I was found, the police received a strange call in an early morning from a girl called Jiji reporting that a male in his twenties fought hard with a giant goat. She also added that all boys in the city are now free as the goat is dying because of his injuries. Police suspected that whoever caused me these major injuries must have an accomplice who called them. They stopped, however, the investigation when a lady identified herself as the mother of Ouijdan called the cops and provided keen intel on a truck accident that occurred on the streets where I was found. The police were able to find the truck with a herculean dead goat in its trunk.
Once released from the hospital, I went back home and was surprised by my friends who came over with gifts and a cake. Each gift had the name of who bought it, except a tiny white leather folded one. I opened it after everyone left, and I found in it a red bikini with a gift card written in it: “I love you, unfortunately !”

“You might have guessed by now that this story is not real. However, its core principle is quiet valuable: Fake people are all over social media. Many ruined their lives because they naively trusted a fake person in social media. Take the story, it is yours, and change it as you like, but be aware from what social media gives. You might after all end up dealing with Jiji, with a devil”

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