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Mormon Ghost Stories


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Moroni's Ghost
By: Moroni's Ghost

“And any man that shall go and preach this gospel of the kingdom, and fail not to continue faithful in all things, shall not be weary in mind, neither darkened, neither in body, limb, nor joint; and a hair of his head shall not fall to the ground unnoticed. And they shall not go hungry, neither thirst.”

D&C 84:80

There were three of them. I always saw them walking behind those two missionaries that had the black name tags in those nice dresses. They walked down the street every day, always busy, always going somewhere. I could tell they were best friends. Always smiling and chatting with each other. And no one would ever dare touch them. Not with those three brutes behind them.

They acted as if they couldn’t see them, as if they didn’t exist. I could never tell if they were putting on a show or not. They would stop people in the streets. Try and talk to them, get them to convert to their religion. Sometimes the people that stopped seemed to not notice the three men either. But other times, you could tell they were looking over the missionaries’ shoulders. Checking in on their bodyguards. Making sure they kept their distance.

They were tall and muscular, all three of them. They wore traditional Native American clothing. All three were shirtless, letting their bulging muscles do all their talking for them.

I would sit in my shop and watch them go by. Never quite understanding the relationship between those two young women and the three men that stoically stood nearby.

One evening, however, I witnessed a miracle.

The two missionaries were passing by the stop like always. I was watching from my usual perch. The three men were there too. But then I saw another man. He had a gun and was approaching them from behind. I couldn’t help but think what a fool he was with those warriors standing right there. But, maybe he couldn’t see them.

The man pulled on the backpack of the shorter of the pair. She jolted backwards. Her friend swung around to see what had happened, then froze. The man shouted out a command.

“Give me your bag, give me everything you have.” His voice oozed desperation.

The taller of the pair started to take off her backpack. In the meantime, the three men walked calmly around the situation, then stood behind the missionaries' backs.

All of a sudden, it was as if the man’s eyes had been opened. He stumbled backwards, then threw the bag he already had at the young woman's feet. He got to his feet and took off running.

The missionaries looked afraid, but gathered their things together. The three men stood there, waiting for them to finish, then followed them once more as they started on their walk back home.

So odd those men never say anything. I thought to myself.


A few weeks later, I noticed that one of the young women had apparently been replaced. The shorter woman who had been attacked first last time was no longer present. Instead there was another young woman, about the same age, in her place.

They walked along the same paths as before, but the smiles were gone from their faces. They never walked side by side. Instead they kept a few feet between each other at all times, unless of course they were talking to someone. Then they would stand close together and smile once more. But as soon as the conversation ended, they pretended like the other didn’t exist. Hardly anyone stopped to talk with them now though. It was as though everyone could sense the tension between them.

The three men were no longer around either. They had utterly vanished. A few people on the street, you could tell they remembered the men. The smart ones figured messing with these two was still a bad idea.

One night, a few weeks after the replacement had appeared, I saw a group of young thugs hanging around outside my shop. I had an understanding with all the local circles. I paid my dues. So they didn’t hassle me. But then along came those two missionaries once more. I begged them to cross the street in my mind. To turn around and go a different way. I never understood what they were doing in this part of town, but at least they used to have protection. Now they were sitting ducks.

They approached the circle of young men standing in their way. The replacement asked for them to let them pass. They laughed, then one of them walked really close to her. She became uncomfortable as he put his face up close until it was only a mere inch away. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but I saw him put his arms around her waist and pull her close. She struggled against him, trying to pry herself from him. Her friend jumped to her aid, but was quickly struck down by one of the other men.

I watched as they lifted her up and carried her away. They tied the hands of the conscious woman and led her around a dark corner of the street. I never saw either of them again.


I didn’t see any missionaries for a few months. I wasn’t mad about that. They were always causing a stir it seemed. But one day, out of the blue, two boys in white shirts and ties showed up. They had those same black name tags too. They stopped people in the street. They also wore their smiles everywhere they went.

It was odd. Every once in a while when they walked by, they were wearing entire suits of armor. They barely seemed hampered by it. As if they didn’t notice how odd they looked.

One night, someone tried to mug them too. I don’t know how they did it, but one second they looked normal, the next second their armor had appeared out of nowhere. The attacker instantly ran away. The boys looked at each other, confused about what had just happened.

They came into my shop right after to grab some drinks. They didn’t come in often. As I rang them up, I decided to ask a question.

“You boys staying safe out there?”

One of them responded. “Never felt safer.”

He winked at me as he said it. They took their drinks and left. I saw their armor return as they stepped back out and rounded the corner. The exact same corner the two young women had disappeared behind not too long ago. The corner from which they had never returned.

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