"You don't remember me, but I was on your tour one night when something strange happened," he introduced himself while I enjoyed the sinful taste of a cheeseburger hot off the grill.
"That could have been any night," I replied while still chewing on the delectable well-done burger mixed with the right combination of honey mustard, ketchup, Maui onions, fresh lettuce, and a slightly toasted bun.
"The ghost of the priest and the bride were standing on the side of the road," he stated. I got a good look at him now from head to toe. He was a priest himself.
"Well, have a seat, brother, or uh, father. You have to do the talking for a second while I finish off this burger," man, they don't make burgers like this anymore. It's an art.
"Can you confirm that Thompson's Corner is where the accident happened?" His voice was what someone would expect of a man of the cloth, kind, gentle, patient. The only difference was that it was also eerie like if you didn't say the right thing, he'd punch you in the face.
What a beautiful experience, what a lovely burger. I needed a moment to breathe."You mean where the car crashed on the way to the wedding?"
"Exactly," was the priest condescending to me with his slow smile across his face?
"It's an urban legend, father; the location could have been randomly chosen when this story was first born, wherever it was first born. Probably not in Hawai'i, probably somewhere on the continent, and then it made its way here like everything else makes its way here," I took a sip of my soda and washed down the contents of the burger. I might have to order another one.
"But their ghosts were there that night," his tone was accusatory if that's the right word? He was starting to piss me off more than he was creeping me out.
"We've driven by the spot hundreds of times, and I've probably told that story hundreds of times, maybe that one hundred one time, we collectively might have created a Tulpa. Just for that brief moment, the information, mood, location, and people on the tour that night physically manifested the priest and the bride's urban legend. She was late for her wedding; she was driving, the priest was the passenger. She didn't know how treacherous the turns could be on that winding road going to the old Saint Michael's church. She overcompensated at Thompson's Corner and crashed the car head-on into an ironwood tree, killing them both," I leaned across the table until I was face to face with the holy man. "You weren't ON that tour, father; you're part of it. You're the priest in the urban legend."
"You're speaking nonsense," he hissed as he shook his head. "You've been telling ghost stories for too long, and it's beginning to affect your sanity," he reached across the table to grab both my hands and possibly bless me. I pulled them away before he could touch me.
"What was your question, by the way, father? You said you were on the tour that night, but you never finished what you were going to say?"
He hesitated and drew his hands back, slowly closing them into a fist. "Uh, I'm not quite sure now that I think of it, I knew I had something to ask you, but I can remember?"
"I release you, father, I no longer perpetuate your Tulpa by way of your urban legend," I faced my open palms toward him. "I've discontinued that tour, and I now conclude your story." Slowly, ever so slowly, he disappeared as he appeared standing before me while I sat at a public burger joint, enjoying my meal. His eyes and mouth opened wide with a useless plea of help, and then he was gone. I had another hour to spare before I had to pick my wife up from work, just enough time to order another burger and a drink. "You don't remember me, but I was on your tour one night when something strange happened," I looked up to see a stunningly beautiful Hawaiian girl in her early twenties dressed in an opulent white wedding gown. "The ghost of the priest and the bride were standing on the side of the road."
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