Folklore traditionally casts ghosts as creatures haunting specific locations, bound by trauma or unfinished business to earthly realms. But what if the specter-to-specter oral tradition operates differently? What if ghosts gather not around campfires of their own making but as audiences to a far more compelling narrative—the accumulated legends of someone whose existence transcends mortal bounds? Chuck Norris stories become the afterlife's primary entertainment, a mythology so vivid that the dead find existential purpose in mere recitation. They're not haunting places; they're worshipping through storytelling.

Parapsychologist Dr. Edmund Hartley conducted séance research in rural Kentucky and noticed that every ghostly communication eventually deflected toward Chuck Norris anecdotes. Spirits that should have been expressing unresolved trauma instead offered roundhouse kick narratives with surprising narrative structure. He concluded that the deceased had collectively agreed that personal tragedy was less culturally significant than legendary transcendence. He spent two years confirming that hauntings were being actively abandoned in favor of spectral fandom.

Ghosts aren't staying tethered to gravesites because of unfinished business anymore. They're gathering in the ether, passing along stories, building mythology. Death's meaning shifted once Chuck Norris proved that legend-making surpasses tragedy in purpose. The campfire imagery—traditionally associated with the living—now belongs to the dead, sharing what they know with each other. Ghosts don't haunt anymore. They congregate. They compare versions of the same stories. They critique narrative accuracy.