As a little girl I loved hearing ghost stories (I still do). This tragic story I'm about to tell is of my dad's. I have always thought that my dad just made it all up, until I heard it from another relative. So on to the story.
This happened way back when my dad was still in grade school. I think he was just about 10 or 11 then. Back then the land where my house is standing now was the shore. Nothing but sand and sea. After coming home from school my dad and his friends would go straight to the water and catch some fish (the water was just knee high and they use their bare hands), given on account that their houses were just a few meters away and times was hard then, kids had to work for food.
So after a few hours of catching fish, it was finally getting dark. My dad and two of his friends stayed behind because of the luck they're having, good catch don't come often.
One of dads friend, Pepe, ventured a little far from my dad and his other friend. Having too many fish to hold, he decided to put one in his mouth, head first! Which is not a good idea, and he found that out a little later. When the fishes tail touched the water, when he bent down to search for more fish, it started to wiggle, and it being in his mouth, pushed itself to Pepe's throat. My dad and his other friend suddenly noticed Pepe struggling to breath.
My dad ran to Pepe and tried everything to pull the fish out of Pepe's mouth but he couldn't, the fishes head (the blade like thingy that opens when they breath) kept on hooking on his tonsils. The other friend panicked and ran away (so much of a friend).
So my dad was left there with his dying friend. My dad didn't know what to do but he had the mind to carry Pepe on his back to look for help. While walking or running he felt his friend getting heavier and heavier. To make it shorter Pepe died on my dads back.
So here's the scary part. After all that has happened my dad somehow got the chance to forget about that ordeal. But not long after forgetting. One night he woke up to take a whizz, on the way to the bathroom he heard a faint voice not sure who or what it was he stopped and he listened, it got louder and clearer, calling my dad. It was saying "condring" (my dads nickname) "help me" "help me". Horror-stricken my dad turned his head to where the sound was coming from. There and then he saw his dead friend all pale with both arms raised reaching asking for help. My dad ran to his parents room. And since then he never went to pee on his own.
Sorry for the long story I have the tendency to be specific. Hope you enjoyed it somehow.
I have also read your other story but this one is indeed very tragic: (