2003 Early Summer Ghost stories
Prophet
When I lived at home with my parents I always used to wake up in the middle of the night (3:00-4:00 am) and feel really, really floaty. Kind of like when you stand up to fast after sitting down for a while. I would look around and in the corner of my room I would see this hooded figure standing with it’s back to me facing the wall. It looked to be about 12ft tall or so.
I didn’t ever feel scared or threatened by it, just kind of wierded out. The strangest thing was my bedroom ceiling was around 9ft tall. The room seemed kind of distorted like I was looking at it through a fish eye lens or something. Once I moved out this has never happened again.
Shade Fell
I lived with my good friend Morley for about a year.
When I moved in with her, she was living in a first floor 1 bedroom apartment in the west wing of a U-shaped courtyard apartment. It was pretty creepy there. Some of you might remember my posts from the time. Chairs would move around over night, while we slept. We’d hear voices that sounded like they were coming from inside the apartment, and we often heard footsteps or doors opening and closing quietly in rooms we weren’t in. Often, there’d be the sound of a little girl crying… sobbing brokenheartedly.
I made preperations to move out as she made preperations to move her boyfriend in. In the process, we moved across the courtyard to a 2nd story, 2 bedroom apartment. No more moving furniture, crying, voices, footsteps, etc. I lived there with them for 3 months and nothing unusual happened.
–more–
I used to volunteer at St. James’ Assisted Living Facility.
It was a retirement home for old Catholic people.
It was really nice, out in the country, and most of these people had family who visited them all the time.
There was another volunteer there, my age, and she lived in a really old white farmhouse that was practicly across the street. We used to hang out at her house, listening to music and eating frozen pizza and shit. Teenage stuff, you know?
Anyway, at night, her house was creepy. I used to keep her company when her mom was out of town on business trips, and at night you could hear the whole house settling and creaking. It sounded remarkably like foot steps and opening and closing doors. Air in the pipes sounded a lot like people whispering. That sort of thing.
But there was never anything definate, until her mom decided to finish the basement. It was an old cellar, dirt-floored, with brick canning shelves and a sink and stove for putting up preserves. Really low ceilinged, but liveable. Her ma had a hole cut in the back of the house, for a door to the basement, and they poured a concrete floor and put carpeting down. They put up walls and book shelves and put in comfy furniture and a ping pong table.
And that’s when the subtle noises became foot steps and doors and whispers and sometimes sobs, all half heard. I mean, it was really obvious when you were half asleep or not paying attention, but if you tried to focus there was nothing there.
Eventually, they decided to put in a bathroom down in the basement… just a toilet and sink, nothing fancy. That’s when they found the hidden room.
The house had been a stop on the Underground Railway. The little room was a hiding place for former slaves heading towards Canada. The man who owned the house used to bundle the slaves (usually women) in his wife’s clothing and veils and stuff to disguise their dark skin, stash them in the room, and then somebody else would pick them up at night and take them to safety.
One day, he took a big risk with a very pregnant woman.
She went into labor in the room and died. They burried her the woods at night, I don’t know what happened to the baby.
It was pretty creepy finding all that out. After they found the little room, the weird noises stopped. Well, the supernatural ones, anyway. It was still an old and creaky house.
–mor ay–
When my parents got married, there was a blending of faiths.
My dad’s Roman Catholic, and my mom was non-practicing Lutheran. She was mildly into Tarot and stuff. She wasn’t a New Age Wiccan Aquarian or anything, but she fooled around with divination for fun. My dad asked her to stop, and she did.
She did, however, hold onto a carved African Idol that her brother brought her from actual Africa. I mean, it was a touristy thing, but it was cool… a carved wooden idol that was mostly a giant mask-face-thing and a vague body. My dad asked her to put it away because it was an idol, a representation of another God. My mom said don’t be silly, it’s just a tourist-y carved thing, and put it on a shelf right near the entrance to the kitchen. My dad shrugged and didn’t push it. It wasn’t, like, a bone of contention between them or anything… he’d made it clear he didn’t want the thing on display, she put it on display, whatever.
Once she put it on that shelf, it began throwing itself at peoples’ heads as they walked past. The entrance to the kitchen is the width of 2 1/2 – 3 doors, maybe a little more. No matter where in the entrance you walked, the thing would fly off the shelf and hit you on the head. It did this to everyone… except my mom.
I started leaping past the shelf to avoid getting conked on the head by the thing. After a few years, we got new appliances in the kitchen, which meant that everything was packed up while the delivery guys made their delivery and hooked everything up. I have no idea where the Idol is now.
Kaiju
I moved into this house with my parents when I was 17. It was pretty old. The first fucked up thing I noticed about it was the basement. I was old as hell, with a dirt floor and the ceiling hung about 6.5′ so it always felt very small and cramped. There was an immediate feeling of dread when you entered. In the several years I lived there, I went down in that basement, maybe, three times. The further back in the basement you went, the worse that feeling got.
The house was a wreck when we moved in so my parents were tearing it apart and rennovating it. My dad and I were the only ones home this one day. I was sick so I decided to take a nap while my dad went to get some lumber. At some point I was awoken by a thunderous noise. Like someone slapping a board against the house. There was a shock with it, too. It shook me out of bed. I looked out the window thinking it was my dad doing some work, but when I looked in the drive way his car and trailer were still gone.
Another night, around two in the morning we were all awoken by every fire alarm in the house going off at once. We thought there was a fire, but it turned out there wasn’t. So we reset the alarms and went back to bed. Minutes later, they were all blaring again. We reset them all, went back to bed and then it happened again. We did this several times that night until we were chasing them around the house. We’d shut one down and another would come back on, we’d shut that one off and another would come on. Eventually we took all the batteries out.
There was a barn connected to the house and the loft had yet to be turned into offices. One night, while coming home I pulled into the drive way and saw someone looking out one of the loft windows at me. When I got out of the car, they weren’t there anymore. Investigation with a flashlight and baseball bat turned up nothing.
After the offices were built, my sister was up there using a computer. She heard papers fluttering around in one of the offices. When she checked it out, she found that a stack of papers on the desk had been thrown around the office. They were everywhere.
Every night, around 1:30, you would hear a sound like someone falling down the stairs outside my room. We stood out in the hall one night to hear it and were shocked when the sound definitely seemed to be coming from right in front of us on the stairs.
One night, I was alone in the house. I’d just taken my girlfriend home and I was watching a movie in my parent’s room. The house was old, like I said, so it made a lot of distinct noises. You could pick them all out. I heard the rusty old knob on the door that led out to the barn turn. I immediately shut the TV off and froze, straining to hear something else. I quietly made my way to my room, which was over the stairs which led down into the kitchen/dining room. I heard the light switch in the dining room come on. It made a loud pop. The light was also definitely on, I could see it. I grabbed the phone and this punch knife that I kept in my dresser and hid in the closet. It wasn’t the manliest thing I could have done but I was so scared I was stupid. I hid in there for a long time, trying to hear what was going on outside the door. I heard someone come into my room. The floors were wood so you could hear the footsteps. They went through the papers on my desk, I could hear them shuffling the papers around. The desk was right next to the closet, so I was petrified. I was ready to jump out and stab the hell out of whoever was in my room if they opened the door. They didn’t though and eventually left the room. After probably an hour of hiding I got out and did a sweep of the house. The door to the barn was open, the light in the kitchen was on. Both of these were out and closed when I came home my girlfriend’s house. Nothing was gone, though. The whole time I was in the closet, I was convinced that someone was robbing the house.
There were other times that I thought that I was alone in the house, then I’d hear a door close or footsteps on the wood floor and I’d think it was my mom or someone. When I looked, though, I was still alone in the house.
Objects would disappear and reappear in weird places. I would lose my keys and find them in the refirgerator.
It was a pretty interesting stay at that house. After a couple of years, the really weird stuff stopped happening, though.
–more–
I worked at a psych hospital here in New Hampshire for a year. It was one of the worst jobs I’ve ever had, but it provided me with some pretty fucked up stories to tell. As you might imagine, places like psychiatric hospitals are pretty turbulent places. I was hired, despite my lack of pych training, because I was big and a little bit initimidating. They needed people like me on the Adult and Adolescent units because these were very violent times. It was 1999, 9 months before Y2K and only a few weeks before Columbine so the lunatics were coming out of the woodwork. We had apocalypse freaks, people who swore they had psychic powers and the government was trying to kill them, we had a Columbine wannabe admitted once or twice a week. They were also some of the roughest, most violent patients that the hospital had ever hosted. So they needed people like me to sort of keep the peace and take the violent people down so nurses would stop getting hurt.
The kids liked me so the hospital director put me on the Adolescent Unit a lot. The Adolescent Unit turned out to be home to a shitload of spooks. I experienced a couple of them. After lights out, each hallway (boys hall and girls hall) was watched over by a counselor. I was sitting in a chair in he boy’s hall. My job was to make sure no one was up and moving around and that people were going to sleep. If I heard anyone talking, I was to shut them up. You can tell where this is going… I’m flipping through my book when I hear voices in one of the rooms. It’s just muffled but I have to get up and check it out anyway. I start to get nervous when I hear the voices coming from an empty room. It was a quiet week on the unit and only half of the boys bedrooms were occupied. I open the door, expecting to find a couple of kids in there, since I heard two voices, but find an entirely empty room. The talking continued right up until the point when I opened the door. As soon as it opened, the talking stopped. I close the door, go back to my chair, chilled right down to the bone. That was pretty creepy. I hear more talking but decide that it can’t be from that room, so I start going room to room. Everyone is out like a light. The talking is still coming from that room. After my shift was over, I went out for a beer with the nurses and other counselors and told them about it. This was some sort of initiation for me, I guess. They talked about how everyone has had some sort of weird experience on the unit. It’s like a rite of passage.
I heard stories about the quiet room in the girls hall. Sometimes girls in the neighboring bedroom hear screaming and pounding on the walls… when there’s no one in the quiet room.
I was told about the figure of a man that can be seen (and I did see him) walking in the halls on the Adult Unit. You always catch him out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look at him fully, there’s no one there.
The head nurse told me about a child on the Adolescent Unit seeing someone hanging by a belt in their bathroom. The staff checked it out and calmed the hysterical kid, but found nothing. The kicker? A kid hung himself by a belt from the shower curtain rod a year prior. For this reason, break away curtain rods were now installed in each room and no one was allowed to wear belts.
A massive blood stain was found on the floor of a girl’s bedroom once by a counselor doing checks in the halls. She ran to get the staff, thinking someone bled to death on the floor. They all ran down to the room in rubber gloves and everyone saw the stain. The girls occupying the room should have been in the gymnasium, and some of the staff went to find them. Like they should have been, both girls were in the gym, perfectly fine. When the nurses went back to the room, the stain was completely gone.
Cotisimo
The noises started about a month after I moved in. Subtle wouldn’t be a good word to describe them. My roommate Erik noticed them first. He’d be home working on his computer in his room at the end of the hall, and he’d hear me walking down the hall to his door. Slow, measured footfalls from boots, echoing on the hardwood floors, coming down the hall from my end of the hallway and stopping right outside his door.
I’m sure you already know – I don’t need to point out that he was home alone.
I started hearing sounds as well. Sometimes the boots in the hallway, sometimes doors closing in other parts of the house. Weird as hell, and kinda freaky, but apparently harmless.
Apparently.
Erik asked one of the girls who lived there before us if they’d ever noticed anything strange. She knew immediately what he was hinting at. Okay, so – we have a ghost. Cool. It’s like a pet you don’t need to feed. Aside from wondering if it’s watching you have sex or beat off, there wasn’t any real problem with it.
We figured he lived in the Attic. Our landlord (a dubious fellow known only as “Joe”) told us that we were never, EVER, to go up into the attic. Ever. We said sure, with every intention of breaking in there right away. But we’re lazy, and have short attention spans, so it just never happened. But we figured that if there’s a dead body somewhere, it’d likely be in the attic.
A few months later I woke up for work on a Tuesday morning. I felt like shit. I’m used to feeling like shit in the morning, but felt cheated since I hadn’t gone out the night before and went to sleep fairly early. My roommates had been gone for the night, I had the whole place to myself, and enjoyed uninterupted DVD time. It wasn’t right – I should feel good. But no.
My throat hurt. Not a “I’m getting sick” kind of hurt, it was just sore and ached. I didn’t think anything of it, since I’m very active and usually have a plethora of unexplained aches and pains. I got up, threw on some clothes, took a piss, and headed for work. As the morning went on, my throat hurt more. I stopped by a bathroom to check it out.
The first thing I noticed was the scratches on my face. I had a large gash running diagonally across my nose. Two more long scratches on the left side of my face, and a couple small nicks on my forehead. I don’t have nails, I keep them bitten down to the quick. But still, I figured I must have somehow mangled myself in my sleep. Aparently, I was also choking myself, since there were bruises forming on my throat. Mildly disturbed, I posted a thread about how I must subconsciously hate myself, since this was obviously an attempt to end my joyful existence. During the thread, someone jokingly pointed out how it was obviously a ghost attack. I got chills reading that remark, but laughed it off nonetheless.
A friend of mine didn’t laugh it off when I tried to explain what happened to my face. She came over with a bundle of sage and burned it in every corner of the house. She instructed us to burn it at least once a month – it supposedly would keep any bad spirits away.
Well, the noises stopped after that, so like all clever people, we forgot to burn the sage.
A couple months later, I got home from work about the same time as my roommate. We went out to the grocery store together (not gay). As we were coming back into the house, we were hit by this unbelievably horrible stench. It smelt like bad chinese food had been rotting for a week in the sun, possibly with a dead hobo lying nearby. Overpowering. We searched through the house, and could find nothing that could possibly have caused it. We opened the windows, put fans in them facing out. After a couple hours, it had faded completely. Good enough for us.
I went out that night. Erik stayed in.
I got home at about 2am. House was dark, but I didn’t bother turning any lights on. I walked around the house for a few – putting stuff away, getting a snack, etc. Figured Erik was asleep, since he usually yells some obscenity at me when I get home. After about 5 minutes of me walking around, I hear this rather hesitant voice call my name from behind Erik’s door. I answer, and then hear furniture being moved away from in back of the door. Erik is a pale kid, but I could see his veins he was so white.
What he told me was this: Around midnight, he was on the computer in his room when he hears a scrabbling at his door. My cat Miles does this at times – Kitty Fishing – he’ll dive at a door, thrust his paws underneath, and srabble vainly for any treats. So he gets up and opens the door. No cat. He looks around, and finds Miles asleep under the covers in my room. Odd. Back to the computer, shuts the door again.
A few minutes later – same thing, this scratching at his door. But it’s higher up than a cat could reach. So he ignores it. The scratching gets more… insistant. He’s now hell bent on ignoring it. After a bit, it quiets down, and stops… and then he hears the boots treading down the hall.
They stop right outside his door. Then knocks. He calls out my name, but hears no reply.
Other than the knocking turn into a pounding. BANG BANG BANG!
Then silence.
This is the point at which Erik moved his bookshelf in front of his door.
After hearing this, we burned a whole lot of sage throughout the house. Which once again put a end to the occurrances.
—————————-
Not done yet though
—————————-
We kept the sage burning routine for a bit. But I wanted to find out what the fuck was in the attic. The more I talked about it here on the forums, the more my curiousity was getting to me. I had to know. The most common sounds were the bootfalls. They always seemed to originate from my closet right outside my room and end at Erik’s room, which was at the opposite end of the hallway. My closet isn’t really a closet – it’s actually the stairway leading to the attic. My landlord had put in a door about 6 steps up, and hung a curtain rod to make a very rudimentary closet. Yeah, suspect.
I had to know what was up there, and I knew I could break through the locks pretty easily. Erik wanted nothing to do with it. I sure as fuck wasn’t going up there alone! I enlisted the help of a couple friends. So we picked a Sunday afternoon to do it, planning to start at 1 or 2pm, so there’d be plenty of light. Of course, my jackass friends didn’t come over until 4pm. It took another hour to get through the lock. We entered the Attic at dusk, armed with knives and swords, lots of sage, and an oven mit. I’m sure I had a reason for the oven mit.
We were expecting storage. Boxes, furniture, clothing, etc. It would make sense that the landlord wouldn’t want us going through someone else’s belongings. The possibility of Pirate Booty was tossed around with hope, I must admit. We didn’t really expect to find a corpse, although …well, yes we did.
This is what we found. (yuh right no pic)
Just a chair. A single chair, sitting directly above Erik’s room. Sitting right in front of the big window overlooking the neighborhood. Nice view, really.
———–
It’s been unusually quiet since. We burned the sage religiously for months. But even though lately we’ve been slacking off, we haven’t heard a peep. No footfalls, no doors closing, nothing. I think I should feel relieved. But all it’s doing is arousing my curiosity even more.
–more–
About 5 years ago I was living in Lewiston, Maine.
I had moved into a fairly good sized two bedroom apartment – Me and my girlfriend in one room, my best friend Dave and his girlfriend in the other. Seemed a good arangement at the time – the girls didn’t know each other too well, but seemed to get along okay. The place was a steal – rent was about half the price of any other place we checked out, and with four of us splitting it, it was ridiculously cheap. It was the back bottom apartment in a huge old house split into six apartments. Definately worth more than the landlord was asking. It needed some work, to be sure, but minor things mostly. Most notably, it had old heavy wood-framed windows with counter weights in the walls. One of the window’s weights were severed – It took Dave and I lifting together to get the thing high enough to put a cinder block under it. In the winter, they all swelled completely shut, so opening them was an impossibility. Which was fine, since who the fuck wants to open the window during a Maine winter? So we had an old house, but it was cheap.
Never look a gift horse in the mouth, right?
Well, we found out why it was so cheap soon after moving in – turns out that the year before the previous tenent’s estranged boyfriend broke in, and they had a big fight. Which ended with him killing her. With an axe.
The landlord hadn’t been able to get anyone to rent it since, so had been dropping the price. Heh. I’m a cheap bastard – I didn’t care.
A few months after we moved in we discovered just how much in common the two girls had: BOTH were drama queens, and both loved pushing people’s buttons. Dave and I should have gotten Nobel fucking Peace Prizes for the number of fights and arguments we defused before they got out of hand.
We also noticed some weird shit going on in the house. The girls would be fighting in the living room, and one of us would escape to the kitchen and find the cabinet doors hanging open, or drawers pulled out. Things that you could always explain away by blaming someone of being very lazy. Except none of us were likely suspects. This shit would only happen when people were arguing. Kind of eerie, but nothing we put any real thought into. We joked about how the ghost of the girl didn’t like fights any more than Dave and I.
Eventually, we were all on the long road of relationship ruin. Tensions in the apartment were running high. One night in February we all had an enormous fight. The girl were screaming. I was yelling (it takes a LOT for me to lose control enough to really yell), and even Dave was starting to shout – an unheard of occurrance. We were all in the kitchen, screaming at each other. My girlfriend started throwing things.
Just at the peak, when the air in the room was practically red with anger, with everyone screaming, and with things about to get really out of control, a window in the living room threw itself open. It flew up with such force that it broke the glass. It hung there for a second, then slammed down, shattering the panes and throwing glass everywhere. Everything became very, very quiet.
We all forgot about fighting. We checked out the living room – and yup – the window without any counterweights was broken, with a cold winter wind blowing through.
It was weird, none of us were particularly scared, but felt more… disrespectful than anything else. We took care not to fight in the house much after that.
Once the lease was up, I moved up to the apartment above. Dave found a different place, and the girls… meh, they could be dead now, for all I really know. (I’m pretty sure my ex-girlfriend is dead now. Or maybe she’s a leper. Or a carnie. Yeah, that’d be good!) I got a new roommate, and a girl moved in downstairs by herself.
One night early on she was banging on our door. She stayed the night (sorry, no sexxor) because she was too freaked to sleep in her place. She was on the phone with an exboyfriend, arguing. When she hung up on him and went back into the living room, she said she found all her action figures (G.I.Joe, transformers, etc.) arranged in a circle on the floor facing each other.
I had to tell her all about the window after that.
Scar Trek
My father is a die-hard skeptic, he refuses to possibly acknowledge the existence of ghosts.
Yet he admits to one incident a few months ago, driving down the street in our town called Monk’s Walk, which has a reputation for supposed hauntings.
It was night, but the street is well-lit. It’s also pretty narrow, so you can’t speed down there. Anyway, long story short, he hit something. He swore blind that he did. But when he got immediately out of the car to investigate, he didn’t find a single goddamn thing.
I have to believe it’s true, because my father just doesn’t lie, but these days he refuses to talk about it, and he refuses to believe in the supernatural, so it’d make absolutely no sense for him to make it up. All in all, pretty odd, and a rather common phenomenon too.
Stitch
There was a really nice old lady who lived downstairs from me when I was young. She gave me a stereo one day, which was nice, since I was thinking about getting one, and it was pretty nice, got good sound and all.
A few months later, I started noticing some weird stuff going on with it, like it would change stations by itself to a station with a good song coming on, and turn itself on when I came into the room. This was an old stereo, with a big switch to turn it on and off, and a heavy, weighted dial. I never worried too much about it, even though I’d see the switch flip and the dial turn. I just told it thanks,since it was doing me a favor. It stopped doing things shortly after the old lady died. I have a suspicion it was just hanging out with me while it kept an eye on her, and once she left, it hand no reason to be around anymore. Maybe it was her husband, who knows?
Drunk & Ugly
1.
When I was 13-14, weird things started happening in my house. Now, when weird things start to happen out of the blue, you kind of have to look for a fire starter. My older sister, apparently having nothing else to do in our shitty little town, had recently travelled out to one of those infamous old abandoned houses with her friends. This house was like it was frozen in time, like the family just up and left it or something (insert shitty story of their demise). A picture of Joe Namath on the kids wall, papers, clothes, furniture, everything was still there. Just plain creepy. Not only that, but you had to go through a graveyard to get there – all kinds of wonderful scary movie crap that you wouldn’t believe unless you saw it for yourself. And it was a very freaky looking house since it hadn’t been cared for all of these years. Anyway, her being one of those ‘cool art school kids’, took her artsy black and white pictures and brought those home with her… and maybe something else. Who knows. OOOOH! AAHHH!
So, I blamed the following all on her. One night, after my pansy ass is done watching “Avonlea”, I turn the tv off and stare at the ceiling. As usual, I lie there staring at nothing, waiting for the sandman. Close my eyes for a few boring minutes. Open them. Stare. Close them again, hoping to suddenly feel the urge to go to sleep. Nothing. Open my eyes.
ENTER THE SANDMAN(dunn dunn dunna). I am now NOT staring at the ceiling, but instead, I am staring at a face. The face is probably a foot and a half away or LESS. It is pale, pale, pale. Stereotypical ghost, I couldn’t see through it but it wasn’t like a human face. I blink in horror and see it isn’t disappearing. My retinas scream at me in their own special way, “ABORT, ABORT”. So I do what any horrible pussy would do. I close my eyes. Being the brave lad I am, I quickly pull the covers up as far as I can, hoping my Bichon Freise Poodle (AVONLEA + POODLE=NOT GAY?) sleeping at the end of my twin bed will FUCKING DO SOMETHING. Instead, he sleeps like the obese ball of white fur he is and I either pass out or manifest some sort of ungodly strength and induce sleep on purpose. We’ll pretend the later happened
Now I’m scared shitless, but I go and tell all my friends my ‘cool ghost story’. Couple weeks later, I can’t sleep again. I’m not looking for the ghost, cause I’m just not thinking about it, but in the back of my mind I do not want to open my eyes and stare at the ceiling again. I do it anyway. I win the “smart son of a bitch” award. There, floating in front of me is an old face. It was not a horrifying old face, but it looked sort of ANGRY. And that’s scary enough. If you are not a very old and decreped looking ghost, being angry is just fine. It seemed to fade, but that was no comfort. Sleep was not as quickly induced this time, but I was not going to move. Once again, eyes snapped shut
Various other freaky shit ensues and others mention seeing the same thing in the house, but being a skeptic I want proof staring at me a foot and a half away before I believe any of it. Here’s where the weird Brady-esque twist comes into play. I could blame it on my sister and her weird ventures into abandonded houses, but about a year later, when I’m moving out of the room, my mom finds my black statue of “King Kamehameha” behind my bookcase. I lost the statue, coincidentally, about a year back…when Mr. Floating Head took up residence in my humble abode. HMMMM. What’s stranger is that the head is broken clean off of the statue.
My mom’s family used to live in Hawaii, which is where they got the statue. My grandparents had it lying around in an old shed and were going to toss it, but instead decided to give it to me. Being a kid, I thought it was cool and I promptly sat it on my bookcase where it stayed for years.
SO, I hadn’t seen it for a long time and kinda wondered where it was, but was too lazy to look and didn’t really care. My mom – having heard my horrible tale and brushing them off as “kid bullshit” – superglued the fucking head back on and set the statue back where it was. She said nothing. But I have something to say:
DON’T FUCK WITH KAMEHAMEHA, KIDS.
I still can’t figure that one out to this day
2.
On a separate, but more shittingly scary than ever note, I was again sleeping in my room. It’s interesting that someone else in that past scary ghost thread mentioned this same type of thing happening to them. I must have been 15 or so, cause it was a while after all of the head sightings, but I know I wasn’t too old. Anyhow, I am SOUND ASLEEP, lying on my side. I have no fear of ghostly happenings as it’s been long since that happened and the sightings stopped. I am obviously thinking of nothing because I am sleeping like a DEAD BABY. Naturally, ecause I am at peace with the world for once, something has to happen.
I hear the ungodliest shriek I have ever heard, DIRECTLY into my left hear. It is almost inhumane in that the intensity just doesn’t seem like it could be coming from someone. It didnt trail off, it didn’t do anything but abruptly stop. It scared me so badly I was almost in tears. Shocked, “punch in the nose” tears. I could do nothing but cringe as it shrieked. When it was done, (I had apparently grown some balls over the years) I peeked to see what might have done it and saw nothing. I then continued my routine of cowering in fear like a hebitch.
It is very hard to explain the sound. The closest I can think of is when you have the tv on really loud and the cable goes out and you only see and hear really loud fucking static. A static overtone with just plain good ol’ high pitched shrieking. I’ve never heard anything like it, but can remember exactly what it sounded like if I think about it today. This is far scarier than the face. Some how.
3.
Didn’t happen in my house, but:
I’m younger, I’m at my friends house. He swears it’s haunted and I don’t believe him cause…why would I?
One day I’m over there and we’re walking past the front door where two large windows are and I say “Hey, the mail man is coming up to the door, probably has a package.”
So he opens the door, looks outside. No mailman.
“There’s no mailman, dude.”
“Yes there is, I saw him walking by. Blue shirt, blue shorts, the mail bag and all that. He was walking towards your porch or the other house.”
So, he walks outside and says “no,” and I look too, all the way outside, and there is no mailman between the two houses or in the back yard.
“Maybe he was going to someone else’s house.”
“Yeah well, where is his car?”
He only bothers answering me because I am visibly stunned that this thing I saw as plain as day suddenly disappeared in front of me.
So, by now I’m just confused. More importantly, my friend reminded me, our mailmen don’t carry those sacks anymore.
“Oooh. Yeah.” That was weird, but not freaky, and I just thought of it as a novelty. It’s easy to do that when it’s broad daylight. At some later date when I was sleeping over at his house like kids do, his TV comes on. He had apparently grown accustomed to the nightly noises, but I was not. I asked him about it twice and he told me “It’s just the ghost. Go to sleep.” I was not interested in finding a blonde mailman watching tv, so I did as told.
4.
My dad has a short, but cheery story. He is a no-bullshit kinda guy and has only one other kinda-ghost-story to his name, so I took his word. He’s at my grandmother’s house (his mom) to keep an eye over it since she’s in the hospital. No one is home. My father goes into the bathroom, closes the door, does what he has to do. He then emerges from the bathroom to find an old woman lying on the floor reaching towards him, begging for help. He claims that he quickly ran the fuck out, which I find rather humorous. Picture a 50 year old man jumping over an old woman who is screaming for help and then quickly making his way out of the area. Laughs aplenty. He’s not the type of guy to hallucinate or see things, so it’s strange. If you are curious as to why he DIDN’T FUCKING HELP, ask yourself that the next time you come out of your bathroom and there is a frighteningly old woman you don’t recognize screaming for help on your floor. Much praise to that “DO YOU SHIT WITH THE DOOR OPEN?” thread
5.
And finally, a Ouija board story which is second hand told. Years and years back, my grandmother and her sisters were playing with the ouija board out on some sort of back porch. The Ouija board tells them that one of their children is going to be hurt. Their kids (my dad’s siblings and cousins) are inside. The parents don’t like this at all and are angry, until a child some how breaks the sliding glass door behind them and cuts the shit out of their arm. Mr. Ouija was forsaken after that. Rest of the family vouches on the story and no, they aren’t highly religious or anti-Ouija, so I trust them on that one. I’m not really interested in breaking out the ouija after the non-sleep fest it brought upon me out of sheer terror the last time I used it anyway
maybe some other day
Kris
When I was a kid, we used to move from house to house alot. We ended up living in about half a dozen places. One of them was a house that hadn’t been inhabited in about three decades. It was actually a block away from where we already lived, but this new house had an exercise room lined with cedar, a pool, a sauna, fountain drinks, a den, living room and showroom, a full bar setup, two car garage, the whole nine. And, since no one had lived in it since the late 60’s, we got it for a steal (read here: 4000+ sq. foot plus a whole shitload of extras for less than $80,000). We moved in right away, and started doing home repair ourselves (re-tiling, painting, yardwork, sodding, etc.) and almost immediately noticed a few things.
1. Things kept moving around, disappearing, and ending up in odd places.
– Pens in planters, soap in windowsills, etc.
2. Slight noises, lights going on and off at different times.
– Not flickering, but like on at 10:24pm, off at 10:32pm.
3. Random odd occurances.
Turns out the guy who lived in the house ‘back in the day’ drowned in the pool. He was also a gay alcoholic. You should have seen the red velvet wallpaper. Ohmygod. Anyhoo. Not a big believer in ghost hub-a-baloo, we all thought it was each other pranking at first. That was, until my very large and intimidating dad showed up in the kitchen one morning white as a sheet. He would wake up before all of us and open the blinds, get the paper, etc. That morning, he had gone into the den, and as he passed by the couch, heard the couch creak, a *yawn*, footsteps, and then saw the vertical blinds covering the sliding door part and swing as if someone had passed through them. There were several like occurances over the while we lived in this house, but it was like living with Casper. “Larry (ghost’s name), stop making noise!” “Larry, it’s 2am! Shut up!” “Larry, open the door, I forgot my key!” And so on.
Kobalt
I used to live in an old victorian house in San Jose. It was rickety as hell. It swayed in the wind or if anyone walked up the stairs. But I didn’t think it had any paranormal happenings. I lived with 5 people at the time.
Anyways, I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. It’s pitch black, but I know to navigate the hallway in the dark.
As I go down the hallway, I bump into someone. I swear it was a person because it was soft. (As opposed to the wall) I say “Oh, sorry about that.”
No reply. Like an idiot, I continue walking forward instead of letting them pass. This is a pretty narrow hallway.
I turn on the bathroom light. I can now see that all the bedroom doors are closed. No sound of doors closing.
I apparently bumped into no one.
Bill_Brasky
I did an EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomenon) experiment in my basement and got a little girl saying “Come play with me” and “Who are you?” fucking clear as crystal, one two different mics. The reason I did this experiment was because of something that happened 4 or 5 years before;
EDIT-
My basement is furnished, so it is also my room. I just got a new stereo so I decided to goto sleep with just the radio on. The band: Skinny Puppy. The album: Too Dark Park. Well i thought I had heard something, so since there were no lights by me I went to turn on the TV. I always keep my inhaler and the TV remote by my bedside; neither of which was there. I feel something whiz by my ear. I find the remote and turn the Tv on. Its my inhaler; it was thrown at me. That was the 1st time it happened.
About 3 weeks later I had a late dinner in my room. I went to sleep with the dishes downstairs. I slept with the TV on at all times since the previous incident. The power went out. I scramble for a light and turned one on only to realize “Duh, the powers out”. Then I notice something across the room. It looks like a heatwave or what the Predator looks like when hes got his cloak on; but this had no definate shape, it was just there. I felt something hit the wall so I got flat on my matress and waited for the lights to come back on. They did about 2 minutes later. Now the walls in the basement are concrete, but with a piece of drywall with paneling over it. I found the fork I used that night for dinner stuck into the wall. That was number 2.
About a month later, a friend of mine at the time said she thought she saw something in my mirror in the basement. Shes nuts, so I thought she was kidding. I came downstairs and for a split second, like a blink, I saw what looked like a Scottish guy looking out the mirror as if it were like…a door and he was trying to find a way out. I thought I was seeing things and seriously began to question the rightness of the head on my shoulders.
Then the final time I saw them. Asleep in the basement. TV goes to static; cable went out. After a while, my TV when it has a blue screen or static turns off. It did. I woke up because the TV turned off. I look over at the other side of the room to see three of those predator/heatwave shapes…but they are very tiny and have definate shape; they are children playing a game of what looks like four corners or something. I said “hello?” and they all stopped playing. I was so fucking beyond scared. They started to come at me when they all molded into that big indefinate shape from the prior sighting. Now this part is sketchy…so bear with me. It came at me, and instead of feeling scared…I felt warm, calm, and sleepy. I knew I wasnt going to be hurt. I remember saying “I wont hurt you” and “You are no reason to be afraid of me or to hurt me”. I woke up the next morning for school and havent seen them since. But that was 5 years before the EVP experiment…
Which means they are probally still in my room but know that im not a threat. I did some research on my house and I found out the 1st owner had a little girl; department of records couldnt tell me if she died there or not. The 3rd owners husbund died in the house, and we are the 4th owners. As much as it scares me sometimes, its so facinating. When people come over and hear something and go “what was that?” im just like ” a ghost, i dont know who it is but they live here too”.
Silverrain
I moved into my house in 1991, when my mother married my stepfather (who has since died, but that’s another story.) His ex-wife before my mother died in the house in 1990 due to cancer. That’s the room my mother sleeps in now. He was also a big animal lover, and numerous animals have died in the house, and are now buried in our backyard.
Since we’ve moved in, I’ve heard numerous strange noises. Creaking floorboards, knocking in the walls, whispering, scratching coming from the attic, etc. (Our attic has insulation everywhere, including on the floor, because it isn’t a real attic, but merely a small storage area.) I hate being alone in the house at night, as does my mother, and my sister did as well, but she’s moved out now. If you’re sitting quietly, it constantly feels as though someone is with you. Just the other night, I was in the living room, reading, and my cat was lying on the top of the couch behind my head, sleeping. Suddenly, it felt as though someone had come and stood right next to my right ear. (If you put your hand by your right ear, that’s how it felt, like someone was blocking my hearing.) Quite unnerving, and I glanced at my cat, and she was staring wide-eyed at the exact spot it felt like someone was standing. Needless to say, I went to bed.
When I’m in my room at night, it feels like someone’s watching me, or at least like someone’s there. I just bury my head under the covers and wish a quick descent into sleep. The weirdest thing that’s happened is the whispering. My house is a tri-level. If someone is in the basement, talking, you can hear it through the vents on the upper floor. Well, one night, I’m lying in bed trying to sleep, and I hear a woman’s voice. It sounded muffled, like she was whispering. I figured it was my sister talking on the phone downstairs, but when I checked, she was in her room, sleeping. When I asked my mom and sister if they ever noticed anything strange in the house, my sister said she also heard the whispering. Totally creepy.
Anyone who comes to my house and stays the night feels quite unnerved. Most people don’t like it there. I know I don’t. It wouldn’t be any big deal, but when I felt that tugging on my hair as I was trying to sleep one night, I kind of freaked out. Also, my mom had woken up in the middle of the night, and she felt like someone crawled into bed behind her. She thought it was her cat, since the cat usually sleeps with her. The cat was on the floor sleeping, though. My mom just shut her eyes, and went back to bed.
Let’s see. What else has happened? When my stepfather was still alive, my mom was doing the dishes and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around expecting to see my SF, but no one was there. She said she didn’t feel threatened, but she didn’t like it anyway.
The week my stepfather died, my sister said she woke up one night and saw him in the hallway, waving. She slept with her door closed after that. She also said she saw green lights in the very downstairs part of our house. The room where the cats have their food dishes and litter box is one of the scariest rooms in the house. Our dog wouldn’t go in there. He refused, even though we tried to force him sometimes. The cats never seem to have a problem with it, though, but I just think that’s because they have to go in or they’ll starve to death.
I was reading one day on my bed. I had my back to the doorway and was facing the wall. I felt something jump up on the bed (the bed shook) and I turned around expecting to see my cat. Nothing was there. I checked under the bed, nothing. All the cats (we have three) were in the living room, asleep. I know several cats have died in my room, so that creeped me out.
My room has completely changed since this happened, but I’ll try to explain so you understand. There is a small window in my room which was just put in a few years ago. Before that, there was just solid wall. Anyway, I was sitting in bed, watching TV, when I heard knocking in the wall. The kind of knocking you’d expect to hear on your front door. I put my ear to the wall, and there was definitely a knocking noise directly where my ear was. My room is on the second floor, and the spot where the noise was emanating could only be reached from the outside by a ladder because it’s pretty far up. Since it was late at night, I doubt someone was on a ladder, knocking on the side of the house. It stopped a couple of minutes later and I haven’t heard anything like that since, especially since there’s a small window there now, and my bed is not in that spot anymore. Also, the scratching I hear coming from the attic is really odd. It usually only happens when I feel a presence very heavily in my room. Makes for a hard night of sleep.
El Bandito
When I was a kid we lived in a fairly large house in the middle of Fort Collins. Nothing paticularly wierd happened in the house until my 7th birthday. On that day I had a dream of a little girl who died of some strange illness. In the dream I was walking through this strange looking hallway with a creepy floral pattern wallpaper. Anyway, I eventually turn into a room and there is a bunch of people and a priest standing over a bed with a small girl laying in the bed. Everyone is crying and sobbing and the priest is reading some stuff out of the bible he had in his hands. I walked up to the side of the bed and looked at the girl, and then at the man that was standing next to me. I looked up at his face and he stared back at me and screamed “WHY GOD?! WHY DID YOU MAKE HER SICK?!”. That scene has stuck in my mind so vividly that i could draw ever feature on that mans face to this day.
Anyway, after i had the dream strange things started happening. Chairs would move around (not get stacked into a pyramid ala poltergeist), doors would open and close, and we would hear giggling. Things like that. A few times we would come home and every single cabinet door in the house would be wide open with all of the contents of the cabinets pushed up to the front and stacked in perfect columns (labels out mind you). Now seeing that was pretty damn creepy when i was a kid.
Also, one night while i was having a paticularly hard time sleeping I opened my eyes to see a small girl( the same girl from my dream) dressed in a white gown standing at the foot of my bed, smiling at me. I closed my eyes and quickly re-opened them to see if the girl had gone away, but this time she was extending her arm to me with something in her hand. At this point I had no idea what to do, so i did what any 7 year old would do; I quickly pulled the sheets over my head and curled up into a ball. I layed there for a second thinking that i was just having a really fucked up dream. But then i felt the bed compact as if someone had sat on it. At this point im shitting myself. Im not sure why i thought it was a good idea to rip the covers off of me and quickly stand up, but i did anyway. The small girl had moved around to the side of my bed and was just sitting there smiling at me. She reached into a pocket of her gown and pulled out a small trinket that looked like a small horse. She looked up at me and mouthed something, but i couldnt hear her. She extended her hand and offered the small horse to me. I just stood there, in my pajamas, in the middle of the bed, completely dumbfounded. Right as i was about to reach to get the horse from the little girl the light flicked on in my room, promptly causing the little girl to look towards the door, then back at me. My dad had turned on the light and was looking at me strange, then he noticed the little girl. His exact words were “What the hell is going on in here?!?! Who the hell are you and why are you in my sons room?”. after he finished his little outburst, the girl got up form my bed, smiled at me, and put the horse back in her pocket. I cant really describe what happened next, but she kind of half dissapeared, half blended into the wall. Anyway, it creeped both my dad and myself out, and we spent the next week sneaking around the house otgether trying to see her again.
After the little bed incident, the little girl would start taking our stuff. Her favorite thing to do was to take the remot to the TV and hide it in the closet of my parent’s room. another of the girl’s favorite things to do was to take my toy trucks and send them rolling across the floor for hours. When we tried to take the trucks away and put them somewhere else. The trucks would promptly be back at scooting along the floor.
Thats my little ghost story. We never saw the little girl again, nor did we ever find out who she is or what the little horse was.
Burgertime!
I have a cousin named Josh who’s about 14 years younger than I am.
His father is a manager for an insurance company. Part of my uncle’s work involved moving into new territories and setting up new branch offices. Because of this, they tended to move around a lot.
When Josh was a baby, his family was renting an old farmhouse in rural Maryland. (Harford County, in case any locals are wondering)
They rented the house from an old lady who’s husband had recently passed away. One of the things that the landlady said to my aunt and uncle when they moved in was how happy her husband would have been to see my cousins playing on the farm.
Apparently, he had really loved kids, and was sad that all his grandchildren were fully grown.
I’m not sure exacly how old Josh was at the time, but as a frame of reference, he was just learning to talk, he still slept in a crib, and was still a pretty wobbly walker. (I’d guess that would place him at about 2)
Anyway, one day my aunt and uncle woke up in the morning and fond Josh crawling around on the floor in his bedroom. He wasn’t injured in any way and was generally content to be playing with his toys, so they just laughed and wondered how he got out.
The next day it happened again. It still seemed physically impossible for him to be able to climb out of the crib, as he could barely even walk on his own.
After that, the family started calling him Houdini, and my aunt and uncle decided to get him a new crib because they were afraid of him hurting himself when making these daring escapes.
The next night after obtaining the new crib, Josh escaped again, and wandered into my aunt and uncle’s bedroom.
At this point they were really upset, mostly because they were worried that he would hurt himself, so they asked him how he was getting out of the crib.
He wasn’t a very good speaker yet, but he said something that scared the living shit out of both of them.
He said: “The old man picks me up and we play together.”
They came to stay with us until the lease ran out on the farmhouse.
My Dear Self
It happened a couple years ago, when I still lived with my mom. The owner of that house before my mom was an old lady, who, by the accounts of our neighbors, was very nice. Well, she died. And guess in who’s room? Yup.
There were countless times when I would be alone and just feel uneasy, but I guess that’s just how most people get when they’re alone in the dark. However, there was one instance in particular…
I was asleep in bed, nothing out of the ordinary. I close and lock my door every night, and I know for a fact that my windows were always locked, 24/7. Well, I woke up one night, as I do a couple times a night, and there, standing before me, was a vivid, white, transluscent figure. I was so tired and void of energy that I didn’t even have it in me to be afraid. I tried to lie and tell myself it was my brother, and I even went so far as to fling my arm at it in an attempt to shoo him. Nothing. My arm went right through it. As I said, though; I was dead tired. I fell asleep, thinking little of it.
It wasn’t until this past Halloween that I actually let the expirience dawn on me. I went to go see the midnight showing of The Ring with my friends Tim and Sam, and on the way back from the theater, we had a helluva time exchanging ghost stories. At this point in time, I remembered my own tale, and finally let it all sink in. For years I had been sleeping in the same spot as this woman had before she past.
God, I keep getting the chills uncontrolably.
Justin_Hate
A friend of mine from high school moved into an appartment in Fargo, ND shortly after we graduated. The appartment had a dismal past. A couple years prior to her moving in, a previous tenant had killed himself in the bathtub. Allegedly, his body sat for about a week before somebody finally found him. The landlord warned her that people had claimed that the place was haunted, but this just excited Kim more and she and her roommate moved in.
Not long after they moved in, wierd shit started happening. On several occations, they’d come home and find their furniture rearranged throughout the appartment. Sometimes it’d happen while they were in another room. They’d each had experiences they’d hear some bumping in one room, and when they opened the door to look, chairs would be tipped over, the couch moved with its pillows on the other side of the room, the t.v. off its stand, etc. Though they never saw a ghost.
The coup-de-gras, so to speak, came when her roommate took a picture of her sister in front of a window. When the picture was developed, the result was quite shocking. Instead of the roommate’s sister and the appartment, there was a black background with about thirteen dots forming an outline over approximately where the sister would have been standing. Above her head were several more dots forming a cross-like pattern. Now, maybe there is some kind of explanation as to how this trick of photography occured (and yes, I DID see the photograph), but nobody we spoke to could figure it out. Kim even took the picture to a professional photographer in town, and he was baffled. Needless to say, Kim and her roommate were scared shitless. Neither one would stay in the appartment without the other out of fear, and by the end of the week, they were out of there.
The landlord kept a copy of the photograph as proof of what goes on in that appartment. As far as I know, he’s still got the damn thing, and I believe Kim’s ex-roommate still has her’s.
Big Bug Hug
His father had a spooky apartment in which all our friends, when we spent time there, would see and hear little strange things and get feelings that things weren’t quite right.
A couple years before, my husband was sleeping and suddenly awoke to a couple of “things” standing in his room which he described to me as a lot like the predators from the movie did while cloaked. Of course he immediately freaked out and tried to run but found he couldn’t move.
Eventually this feeling passed and he jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen to grab a knife(why, I don’t know). Turning back, he saw about four of the creatures blocking windows and doors, they all looked hostile and ready for combat- one was in an alert crouching position I remember. He says he swiped the knife at one of them several times and of course nothing happened. Cant quite remember what happened next, I think he ran out the back door and escaped.
I was never sure whether to dismiss it as a dream, night terrors or overactive imagination, but years after we were talking to someone who we found had lived in the same complex, and had also experienced creepy shit. There were a bunch of old mines, tunnels etc around, being an old mining town, it was theorised that had something to do with it. All I know is the house had a creepy feel- Don’t know if the stories are true but kinda cool.
Ecc!
Not so much a ghost story, but a couple of what I would classify as unexplained, somewhat unusual events. The place I work at is a gigantic old estate in the mountains that’s been converted into a hotel/conference center. Think The Shining. The first bit of oddness wasn’t witnessed by myself, but my co-worker who I work with nights. I was coming home (I live there on property, as does she.) at around midnight or so and had just walked into the kitchen when she practically ran in and nearly knocked me over. After the mutual “holy shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” comments were exchanged, she proceeded to tell me that just a few minutes ago she was up on the second floor doing her night time tour of the property when she looked over and saw the door to one of the conference rooms abruptly swing open and bang against the wall as if a large gust of wind hit it. Instead of investigating, she took off.
Curiosity (and I admit, an opportunity to act all manly) prompted me to go check this out for myself. I made my way up to the second floor (with her trailing behind at a more than respectable distance) and immediately glanced over at the offending room. Yep, that’s an open door all right. Although she didn’t follow me any further, she did give me her flashlight–she’s all heart–while I checked things out. A quick check of the room revealed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. The windows were tightly sealed, chairs all neatly pushed in, no psychotic killers lurking in the darkness. It was dark and stormy night outside, however, the house was closed, and she and I were the only ones there so I guess it was creepy in that respect.
The second instance happened to myself while I was on my own round. I was up on the third floor and was leaving the fitness center when a few feet down the hall a door abruptly flew open on the left. My heart did a little pole-vault in my chest since it gave me quite a start. The sensation of ice slowly trickling down my spine, however, came a split second later when I realized what door it was.
The tower is a strange spot in the house. As far as I know it’s not really used for anything except for storing artifacts from the prestigious Harriman family who built the house in the early 1900’s. It’s not used in any official capacity (although once I busted a couple of guests trying to have sex in there) and is generally not looked after very well. There’s dust and bits of broken plaster everywhere. A long spiral staircase takes you up to the top where you can see for miles in every direction. It would be inspiring if it wasn’t so goddamn eerie and 2 AM in the morning. As if this wasn’t enough on its own to give the tower a place on my list of Spots to Avoid, it is home to Rosemary’s baby carriage. At least, that’s what I thought of when I first saw it. An old style black baby carriage that is parked at the bottom of the stairwell. From what I’ve been told, it belonged to the son of the rich guy who built the place.
I didn’t bother investigating, reasoning that barring a group of highly trained ninja assassins with grappling hooks, there was no way anyone could get into the house from the tower. I shut the door and continued my round as normal.
This next part may be better suited to the Revenge thread, but it ties into this as well. My pal in the office is a cleaning freak who takes it upon herself to at least once a week rearrange and clean the office. I have no problem with this since I enjoy a clean room that I had no hand in. However, I keep a small pair of PC speakers in a box there, neatly tucked out of the way where they can’t possibly hurt anybody. I use them with my laptop when I feel like watching a DVD or listening to music at work. She, of course, felt that this was unnecessary clutter and said she was going to move them across the hall and into the supply closet. That would involve me getting up and getting the key to the supply closet in order to get at them instead of turning around in my chair and grabbing them from underneath the printer. I put my foot down and told her if she moved my speakers, there would be consequences.
“Yeah, well you can’t watch them all the time.” She smirked.
Before I left that night, I stuck a post-it note to the box once again warning her of the dire consequences of messing with a man’s speakers. It was all done in fun, really. I knew she’d move them anyway because she likes playing games.
Sure enough the next night I went to the supply closet to get some, er, supplies when the speakers box immediately caught my eye. The post-it note was still attached, but printed beneath my warning in insufferably neat, girly handwriting was: “Kiss my ass.”
“Now you’ve done it,” I muttered to myself with a little grin, knowing this was an act of aggression that gave me carte blanche in terms of revenge. But that’s where I’ve been stuck for awhile, as I couldn’t quite think of anything that would really get her good. Last week however, a germ of an idea formed in my head. I don’t know what prompted it, it just popped in there. She gets freaked out easily by supernatural stuff, and I know she hates the tower twice as much as I do. My plan is to wait until the next time the house is closed and she is scheduled to work the overnight shift alone. A tape recorder will be placed ahead of time into the baby carriage. I will be inside the tower waiting until I hear her footsteps coming down the hallway before serenading her with the sweet sounds of a baby crying.
So do you think that might be too harsh? I know it will completely trump her, but the risk might very well be no sexx0r for awhile.
babyburrito
So, I’m Indian. I was born in the US, but my parents are from India. I’ve only visited India once, and that was when I was five. Two years ago, my dad decided to go back to India on a spiritual journey. Before he went, he mysteriously asked my brother, sister, and I to put our right thumb prints on a blank piece of paper. He said it was for insurance purposes. I didn’t think much of it.
Last July, I noticed that he was wearing a strange necklace. It had a small canister on it. I asked him what was in the canister, and he said it was the story of his past and present lives that he wrote down from an audio tape. My dad apparently went to this sacred village in India. In this village, there are people who claim to keep track of the writings of Shiva. Shiva supposedly wrote down the lives of every person that has ever existed. You give them a picture of your thumb print, and the keepers of these scrolls will correctly identify you and tell you what has been written about you.
This is the crazy part. They actually read off very specific statements about my entire family. On my dad’s part of the scroll, it stated that he would marry the daughter of Marjorie. My grandmother’s name on my mother’s side is Marjorie. On my brother’s scroll, it stated that he would become acquainted with a woman from South America. My brother is currently dating someone from Brazil. (I ask you how an ancient Indian scroll knew about that!) On my sister’s scroll, it said that she would correct the mistakes that she has made in a past life. She apparently abandoned her daughter to further her career as a medical doctor. Although I can’t say the daughter part is true, my sister is currently pursuing an MD degree at Duke University. My dad said that my part of the scroll stated I would become a famous researcher. I don’t know if that will happen yet, although I am thinking of going into research as a physician.
The keepers of these scrolls apparently will give you the parchment if you are the only name mentioned on them. If you aren’t, they read out the information and you can tape what they are saying (There is actually a translator present in the room who translates as the scroll keepers speak). Although my dad prodded the people with money, they refused to speak of our future lives, because “it messes up the karmic forces.” My dad has kept all of these tapes, and he claims he won’t let us hear or see them until most of the information on them has come true. That way, he knows we aren’t being influenced by them.
I’m still freaked out by the fact that they correctly identified us from our thumbprints. I definitely don’t ever want to see or hear these tapes.
Acoma
Over December I went on a trip to visit my parents in Africa and go travelling. I was in England over New Years for a few days before and after. While I was there I stayed in my cousin’s flat which is in Fulham, just off Fulham Broadway. It was obviously an old house split into two apartments, one upstairs one down, and within each apartment they had been split into two bedrooms, a bathroom and a main room. My cousins’ place was the apartment up the stairs. Anyway I was staying in the bedroom furthest away from anything at the end of the hall.
I was there for about four nights in total I think. Nothing happened on the first or second night that I can remember, or realised at the time. But on the third night I remember being semi-awake, in that state where you could fall asleep within a second, but you still know what’s going on. Kinda when your alarm clock goes off. Anyway, I remember hearing tiny feet running up and down the hallway, the steps were close together which is why I assumed they belonged to a child. Along with the rapidness of the steps they weren’t heavy either. They kept running back and forth, constantly, for a good 30 mins before I fell back asleep. I didn’t think anything of it because, hey, I didn’t know what the people below were like. But when I woke up in the morning I remembered that the steps were right outside my door, along with that, I had looked at the door and seen it was shut, and that there was no light shining through the gap at the bottom which I had thought was weird. No one else was up and there were feet running up the hall. Interesting.
So by the time it had come to fall asleep on the last night I was to be there I had forgotten about my realisations that morning and had just fallen asleep. Sure enough at about 2am I awoke to the sound of little feet up and down the hall. I started getting annoyed (and slightly scared) as I was wondering if ghosts would like us haunting them at all hours of the morning. So after about 5 minutes of me just lying there, my tension building as I listened to these children’s footsteps, they stopped. Next thing I know, the footsteps are inside my room, running around my bed. So I did the most manly thing possible, I cowered under the covers in fear of the supernatural. One of the earlier posts in this thread was talking about falling asleep despite shit like this going on around you, and I know how they felt because I fell asleep despite what was going on. I have no idea how I did it, but I just remember the steps in my room being the last thing I heard before waking up the next morning. Luckily I was out of there that day otherwise I don’t know what I would’ve done.
Hrochard
When I was three, my grandfather sold my dad his house, since he and my grandmother were moving to a condominium. The basement was somewhat finished, so my dad completed the job with a bedroom and a bathroom, along with a section that had the laundry, laundry tubs, furnace, and some cabinets. My brother, who is 11 years older than me, and I shared that bedroom. When I was seven, my brother went off to the Air Force, so I got the bedroom to myself. Like any kid in that sort of situation, I missed my brother but was terribly excited about my new domain. That excitement didn’t last long.
My nights morphed immediately into an undeniable hell. Some of this so-called hell was likely initiated by common childhood fear; for example, for hours after my bedtime I’d sneak upstairs and peer around the corner, confirming that my parents hadn’t packed their bags and left me in the house to rot among the apparent evil I was experiencing nightly. Things like this (thinking your parents are going to leave you alone) were explainable. Others weren’t. I would often lie awake in bed and see a swoosh of colors above and around me, and eventually I’d feel as though I was a tiny object in a massive room. Along with this feeling came a dreadful feeling of helplessness, and I was always paralyzed, fearful to move, fearful to think, fearful to do anything. Accompanying this were sounds beyond my closed door that were always the same — they sounded like a block of wood scraping against the concrete floor. This happened almost *every* night.
When I think back on it now, I probably looked like Danny did in The Shining when he’d see things and shake. Others here talk of the reflex-like behavior of retreating beneath the sheets; I was never able to move out of pure fear. If I moved, this whole thing would somehow *get* me. Perhaps the most odd sensation I remember throughout these visions and feelings was one of me holding a small football (despite the fact I felt I was approximately the size of a football itself). It was always the football.
This continued for months, but I was afraid to tell my parents. After all, I didn’t want to lose my basement domain (my older sister had the bedroom on the second floor, right next to my parents, and I certainly didn’t want that). So I trudged on through the terrifying nights, until it got even worse.
The only windows in the basement were glass block, which let only a ghastly sunlight in during daytime and absolutely nothing in terms of moonlight at night. This, of course, gave you the feeling that you were in that basement for good, and that you were *in the ground*. One night, I was startled to wake to the sound of something incredibly massive striking that glass block — once. I’m not talking about someone kicking it, or someone striking it with a rock. It sounded like a massive body ran full-force into the window, a sickening thud that would have killed anything or anyone. I didn’t hear anything else that night, and, of course, when I checked outside the next morning, nothing was there, nor was there any sign of anything hitting the window or otherwise disturbing the premises.
In the middle of the night a few weeks later, I woke to my mother’s cries. There I was, sitting on the stairs leading not to the first floor, but to the second floor, a half-cleaned puddle of vomit at my feet. My mother was crying and cleaning, asking why I didn’t tell her I was “sick.” At this point I told her about everything that was happening, and the next day they promptly switched the bedrooms of my sister and I. Nothing of the sort ever happened to her.
When I was cocky teenager years later, I moved back down to the basement. I remember purposely walking the hall between the bedroom and laundry area the first night, telling whatever the hell was down there that I’d kick its fucking ass if it even thought of pulling that shit again. Lucky for the blathering idiot, nothing else happened.
When I was a senior in college, that same goddamn feeling came back one night, but this time I wasn’t afraid of it. I encouraged it and tried to figure out what the hell it was. There I was, a tiny being in a cavernous room, vulnerable to everything around me. And yes, the football was there. It was extremely intense, but I still can’t explain it. Either whatever is in the ground around that basement stayed with me, or I fucked myself up permanently through pure fear. Who knows?
FoodStampBrown
I’ve had weird stuff happen to me in this apartment I live in (my girlfriend moreso than I). For example :
I was laying on the couch one night watching tv when my woman came out of the shower and asked me if I had gone in and used the bathroom. Apparently the clothes she had set , neatly folded , on top of the toilet lid somehow were sitting on the floor in front of the toilet. Neatly folded.
Another night , I was laying on the couch watching tv (yes, I do quite a bit of that it seems) while she was in the shower and I could see into our bedroom when the closet light went out. Didn’t bother me…figuired we’d blown a fuse or lightbulb,it happens. So as she walks out of the shower I’m in the middle of saying “Hey honey do we have any more lightbulbs?” as the closet light comes back on. I hate that closet. More on why in a moment.
We’ve both heard sounds and stuff. I was taking a dump once and heard someone knock on the bathroom door. Knowing full well that I was the only one here and that the doors were locked , I said “wait your turn”. What can I say , Even Satan himself shall not impose upon the peacefulness of a man’s sanctum sanctorum.
My girlfriend has occasionally felt hands lightly touching her shoulders , gone out into the kitchen and found all the window blinds opened and has often felt like someone in the living room was watching her as she slept. Her neice came over one day and , pointing at an empty wall, declared “Baby!”. We assumed that there must be the spirit of a chid here since then , also since most of the strange stuff seems mischevious in nature.
Eris Is Goddess
Billiam
When I was two, I was living in the second floor bedroom with a window that overlooked my backyard. I had a small crib that sat near the wall that ran perpendicular to my closet. My parents slept in the next room over from me.
One night, my parents awoke to hear me talking quite loudly in my crib. I was the only one in there, so my parents ran over to see if anything was wrong. My dad said I was sitting in the dark talking toward the window. My mother asked me why I was up, and why I was talking.
I pointed to the window, “Man come see me,” I said. This freaked them out, it continued the next night in the same fashion, only this time I pointed to the corner in my room when I addressed “Man.”
My mother was also washing dishes one day, while I was playing on the floor. She turned around and noticed me staring at her. “Man get you,” I said.
I don’t know if anything actually happened, but I tortured my parents like this for a while. It ended one night when my dad say me standing in his room in the dark, somehow getting out of my crib. I whispered, “Spaceships, Daddy,” in his ear and this scared the hell out of him.
Lincoln`s Wax
My house is almost 100 years old and at least two people have died in it.
All through my childhood, there were noises that came from upstairs. I lived upstairs, but during the day, I stayed downstairs with my grandmother. There were constantly noises of people walking or someone going up and down the creaky staircase. No huge thing, the house just always felt creepy, especially at night.
First major encounter with the unknown… when my grandfather was in the hospital for the last time, the house was usually empty in the evenings. My older brother moved in with us and he stayed upstairs and the only other living thing in the house was my grandmother’s dog, Nicky. One night, after visiting my grandfather, going out to eat and then hitting the grocery store, we come home. It was around 9pm and my brother was upstairs. As I headed onto the porch with a load of groceries I heard an extremely loud bang, as if someone were throwing incredibly large things around inside the house. I was dumbfounded and stood there for a few seconds, the bang was that loud. My brother comes full speed downstairs and looks a bit shocked to see us on the porch, he’s pale as a ghost. He asked if we had made the noise, we thought it was him. Nope. We cautiously head into the house. Quiet. Except, as we get towards the kitchen, we hear glass break.
Upon entering the kitchen, we see that Nicky is up on a shelf of the buffet cabinet at least three feet off the ground. Nicky was a short dog, and incredibly overweight, she couldn’t even jump onto the couch and had difficulty making it up and down stairs. There is no possible way she could’ve gotten there. To make matters worse, she was behind a glass cake stand, even if she had made it up there with stilts, she couldn’t have gotten past the stand. The broken glass was from where a figurine on top the cabinet fell off. Nicky was so scared that she went into one of her seizures in the cabinet. We were all freaked out. My grandfather also died in the house after being released from the hospital about a week later.
2—-
Around 1997-ish, my brother gave me his answering machine. It was one of those digital things, no tape. I wanted to see how long it could record for so I just started talking to it, and I finished with a sentence like “And grendel (my cat) wants to say hello too!”. Upon playing it back, right after I finished saying that, where silence should be, there was a very deliberate and very noticable child’s voice whispering “Hi!”. I freaked. I called everyone who was in the house at the time to come and hear it. They all heard it and thought I was playing a joke on them, I couldn’t even reproduce the exact sound as it was on the machine as it truly sounded like a kid. I unplugged the machine and hid it somewhere.
3—-
98ish. My grandmother was spending a week up in Georgia with her sisters, that meant that the downstairs was empty. Well, kinda. Nicky had died a few years ago and we had three cats by that time. Daisy was a very tempermental female that couldn’t tolerate my two males, so she lived downstairs.
One evening after a gutbuster session of mexican food, we were all pretty stuffed. My older brother had claimed the upstairs bathroom as his shit cathedral and that meant I had to go downstairs. I had always been scared of downstairs at night. It was creepy looking… dark panelled walls lined the long hallway to the bathroom, the only light they ever kept on was this dim lamp that had an amber shade, so the light was pale yellow. To compound the fear, my grandfather had died down there in 94. Well, my bowels were going to be released somewhere, and it had to be soon. As I slowly took the creaky stairs down, and opened the first floor door, I was met by a blast of cold air. Nothing spooky about that, it was always cooler down there. I went to the bathroom and made with the shitting. Mid-blast I hear a scratching at the bathroom door and the door handle rattles a bit. I didn’t think much of it, Mr. Bean and Grendel, my cats, did that constantly if I didn’t let them in with me. More scratching and rattling and I just say “Daisy, go away, I can’t get up now!” and the noise stopped. I finished and all that and I opened the door and headed back down the hall to go upstairs. “This ain’t so bad!” I thought to myself. And then I see her. Daisy was on my grandmother’s bed, dead asleep. She’s a light sleeper unless she settles down for the night and then she’s like a hibernating bear. She couldn’t have been at the door as it takes her about an hour of light sleeping to go heavy. Fuck. I start trotting down the hallway and then it hits me… Daisy was also declawed as a kitten. Shitfuck. I run. Faster and harder than you’ve ever seen a fat hill giant run before.
And to this day, I will not go downstairs at night, alone. Luckily, my newest cat, Nick Cave is so spooky on his own that he seems to ward off bad mojo, and he is always at my side, walking with me like he was a seeing-eye-cat for the netherworld. I can go anywhere with him and feel fine. But, I still dread heading downstairs at night. That long hallway is like something out of every old horror movie made, it’s long and there are doors along it and at night, you just know either something is waiting in a room or a speedy demon will fly down the hall to claim you. I hate it.
Treebeard
In the back of our house there is a long hallwaywith rooms connected to it. When i was 3 and my brother 1, we had an incident although not a ghost story. Mom was sitting on the step at the end of said hallway facing away from it. I was standing on her lap facing the other way while she clipped on my tie and made me look pretty for the party we were going to attend. She’s on the phone with her mother the whole time, but really shes watching my kid brother in front of her trying to put things in his mouth. Thats when i let out this little gem, “Who’s that black man?” She freezes then calmly gathers both of us and when she gets outside runs to the car and goes and picks up my dad and his buddies. They didn’t find anything, but they were so drunk they shot a whole in our fence with a 12 gauge that is still there 20 years later.
My Dad gets home real late at night from work and every night over the last two weeks the little door that leads under the house has been cracked. so he shuts it then puts a plant in front of it, to make sure it wasn’t an accident. Well the next night, same shit doors cracked plant is moved. He wakes me and Moose(my brother) up and asks us if we did it. Nope, not us. Anywho, we forgot about it and Saturday we went under the house to run some RJ-45 and theres a fucking blanket and pillow under our house. The shit stains still arent out of my pants.
This one isn’t really all that scary, just odd. My girlfriends mom is one of these spiritual gurus, into healing herbs and all that hippy stuff. Well they lived in this civil war era house for about two years while there house was being built. Her mom told us a while ago that she missed playing with her niece in that house. This is weird because, the niece she is talking about supposedly died when she was 8 and abouot a century ago. She told all this stuff about when me and Bonnie would be watching a movie she would be playing catch, and hide and seek with a person who had been dead for 100 years. I can’t replicate how nonshalant she is about this, its disturbing.
SammyJ
my old house was built in the early 1900’s, it was old and was those type of houses whose roof is a triangle (in other words, pointy). there was three small circular windows surrounding our living room window on the second floor, which was a small square window covered with a lot of drapes. the first floor had a big window completely draped in curtains also but it was to the side next to a very old style door. It looked like those houses where you find old women living in there with 800 cats.
Anyways, my grandparents lived on the first floor for most of the day. My grandma slept on the first floor in her room. My grandpa slept in the basement in his own room, and my uncle slept in a room nearby in the basement. My parents, my sister, and I slept on the second floor in what was pretty much an attic made to look like a house.
We always had weird stuff going on in that house. My family is religious but really is not open to ghosts and stuff, as we are close minded about that stuff. We apparently were haunted by a shadow ghost. there’s no way to describe him in that it was a large black shadow and it’s head looked similar to a head with horns, but the horns were draped with a table cloth or something.
My family always had weird experiences with this shadow. My uncle slept in his room in the basement which was nicely made. You had to go through a large room which also acted like a hallway to reach his room. Then you entered our old style kitchen to the right, and my grandpa’s room’s door was there. Anyways in the middle of the night he’s sleeping and he said he just woke up for some reason and shot up, which is pretty unusual considering my uncle is nearly very laid back. He said he saw this black shadowed figure. He was terrified, and the thing was just peeking in his room with its weird draped horn shadowy style. He then said it just left after awhile.
A few weeks later, he was sleeping on the first floor this time for some reason. It was a room down a long hallway from my grandmas room, next to a large dining room reminiscent of 1800’s dining rooms. He said one night he was sleeping and again he had this feeling to wake up. He saw the black shadow again staring at him, and this was no real optical illusion since the background from where the shadow was was white wall. He said he was staring at it for 5 seconds but for some reason just shot up and decided to chase it, he said when he got up it left, it went into the dining room. After that he had no real meetings with it.
Funny thing about this thing is, when my uncle told me and my sister about this my sister freaked out and said SHE ALSO saw this thing many years back. she described it to him and it fit the match.
Before I was born my sister had our room completely to herself, and she was about 5. My mom and dad said goodnight to her and closed the door to her room. It was kind of light in her room considering the moonlight. She said she saw a tall black shadow with the same description approach her bed and look at her. She said at first she believed it was our dad, but after awhile it didn’t say anything and was staring at her. She was terrified but after awhile it just *LEFT* without any door or anything.
*******Other unusual occurances
My uncle would sleep in his room in the basement and would claim my grandfather would scream to himself in his sleep every night. It scared him because my grandfather does not do this. In our current home the past few years I have never heard him scream, he sleeps like a log.
We also had a dog about 2 or 3 years old living in the basement in a section that was near the laundry room. He claimed in the night she would often give a quick bark, the kind our dog would give if she heard something but didn’t see anything.
My mother would sleep alone in our house because my father worked nights and came home pretty late. One night she claimed she felt something touch her foot, she thought it was my dad, but nobody was next to her and my dad had not come home yet.
Every afternoon during our summer break when we had school off my sister and me would go downstairs to my grandparents and eat lunch. My grandma would often ask “why did you guys move all those chairs at 3am! I couldn’t get any sleep!”
Our kitchen is above hers, but what’s unusual was that my dad was not home (he is usually the culprit), and my family was asleep. Nobody could get into our home because we locked the door so that was another weird story.
I would always feel terrified in that house. I do not feel it here, but there I could not stay in a room by myself for more than 10 seconds. I always felt that someone was watching me. Me and my sister had bunk beds, and i slept on the top. late one night i woke up and for some odd reason stared at my TV. i saw this weird shadow standing next to it but then vanish. My TV is only about 3 to 4 feet tall so that was freaky. I was sweating with the covers over my head, and my hair was standing on end. Another instance, one night my mom asked me to get something from her room. We were in our dining room which acted as a hallway to her room. I took 3 steps to her room which was dark and stopped in my tracks. In her dark room I swear this, I saw this floating white disfigurement and it didn’t leave once i blinked. It wasn’t transparent but acted like a mist just floating around in a tightly packed area. At that point I shot the lights on.
DrJDX
Although I personally have never seen the ghost itself, I am told it is a stark naked beautiful woman (damn, I always miss it.)
At any rate, I had some friends — an ex-girlfriend and her mother (who was very cool) — who lived in this little joined house, a small little set of 4 rooms in a quad-plex, which was home to a particularly mischevious ghost. Never scary or harmful, just naked and playful. She would move things around and such, and I have witnessed one account.
The way the house is layed out, you walk into a living room (LR1), take a left and pass the kitchen/living room (LR2), seperated by a half wall. One bedroom comes off of the right side of each LR if you are in LR1 facing the hallway to LR2. In LR1 there is a rollable bookcase (the small green ones they have in schools) with encyclopedias. When I came in, being the psycho OCD-tendency guy that I am, I put them back in order and right side up. I double checked this. I triple checked this. Volumes 1-28 + Index, all in order, right side up. I walked into LR2 and said hello to my ex’s mother. NO MORE THAN 30 SECONDS LATER I left with my ex (at that time my girlfriend) to go to her room (which comes off of LR1), passed the bookcase, and not only were they out of order… completely out of order, but some were upside down. No way any human could have done that: It was too fast and there were no humans on that side of the house. That’s scary shit, but fun as well.
Toecutter
Here’s a few tidbits for any Penn State goons out there. I used to work as a security guard on campus, and I can tell you firsthand that those old buildings are damn creepy at night in the summer when no one’s there.
The first concerns the towers (Pinchot, Tener, Brumbaugh, and Sproul Halls) in the East residence halls on campus. Back in the day, a student doing an engineering project of some sort fell to his death from Pinchot hall. Now, when it rains, the portion of sidewalk that he hit gets a puddle in the shape of a person. Check it out if you like. It’s around the Pinchot south stairwell exit. Should be the only door on the south side of the building. This is the only thing I’ve seen for myself, although I question the story behind it.
Next is the North Halls. The Beam Business Admin building is reportedly haunted. Ever notice that it looks just like the residence buildings in the North Halls? That’s because it used to be another residence hall until some kid commited suicide there. After that, people supposedly had so many freaky occurences that they stopped putting people in that hall and converted it to office space.
Most Penn Staters have probably passed President Atherton’s grave in front of Schwab Auditorium. If you look across the street you’ll see Old Botany. Atherton’s wife supposedly looks down at Atherton’s grave from the little top floor window.
EtchaSketch
This actually happened last week. I was sitting in my computer room, which has 2 computers and 3 tvs, when all of a sudden i felt the wind hit the back of my neck. There are 3 windows in the room and they are all directly infront of me. I figured that the wind must have travelled around the room and come back at me, so i reached up to close the windows, but alas, they were already closed. Thoroughly freaked out, i looked over at the nearest tv, thinking that some dynasty warriors 3 would calm me down, and i saw my reflection in the tv. But it wasn’t me as i am now, it was definitely me, but older. I am 15 and in the tv, i looked about 65. My skin was wrinkled and sagging, my eyes were droopy and tired looking, and my arms were frail, well more frail than they are right now. As i stared at my reflection, i swear it smiled at me before turning back into me. I looked over at the xbox tv, and i saw a reflection of me again, but this time it looked as though i had been bleeding out of my eyes. I nearly screamed, but when i blinked, my reflection was normal again. I looked at the third tv (Yes, i have a lot of fucking tvs in this room) and my reflection looked burned. Like i had been in a fire or something. This one continued to look this way until i looked away. I reached out to turn on the PS2 tv, and it shocked me. Needless to say, that scared the shit out of me and i screamed and actually peed a little. I went to my room to change my pants because they now contained my urine, and as i returned to my computer room, all 3 computer chairs were spinning. Once again, i needed to change my pants and i slept sitting up with my sword samurai style that night.
SheriffHippo
I lived in Ohio until I was seven. The following incidents only occurred in my room, span back as far as I can remember, and stopped forever the second we moved out of this house.
Incident #1: (“The Wind Lady”)
The very first incident that I can remember occurred on a very windy night. I awoke in the dead of night to the sound of a woman’s voice that seemed to be carried by, or melded somehow with the wind. She simply counted to ten, then said my name, and repeated over and over again until morning. I was too paralyzed with fear to move or cry out. I had to lie there for longer than I care to remember. Remember that through all of this, I am younger than seven years old.
Incidents #2-who knows: (“Ghostly Figures In My Room”)
I saw countless numbers of translucent figures in my room at night. They moved about and interacted with each other, yet they were completely noisless. They ignored solid objects such as walls and furniture, and seemed to acknowledge non-existent objects, that I could not see. They also wore “Old Timey Clothes”, as I described at the time. They would go about their business, usually in a slightly decelerated time, never seeming to realize that I was there.
The things I saw are too numerous to relate. The magnitude of witnessing such things is indescribable. Every single appearance drove me mad with terror. I never ever got used to it.
Incident #3: (“The Knocking Ghost and The Babysitter”)
One night we had a babysitter. I was too afraid to sleep in my room (which was not unusual, but enhanced by the absence of my parents), so the babysitter allowed me to sleep in my older sister’s room. (She is six years my senior)
At some point in the middle of the night, my sister and I awoke to the sound of INCREDIBLY loud and desperately rapid knocking from INSIDE THE CLOSET. “BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!” We instantly began screaming bloody murder. The babysitter rushed in, was witness to the macabre knocking, and began to scream at the top of her lungs. (She was 18). We all continued to scream for the next 30 seconds until the knocking finally stopped.
The babysitter was sobbing uncontrollably, but was able to grab us and place us behind her. After a few attempts at yelling out to whoever was in the closet, she finally mustered up enough courage to run as fast as she could towards the closet door, open it, then run away and scream.
The climax of this incident is not insanely disturbing, as our cat shot out of the closet when the door was opened. It is plausible to believe that the cat may have been up on a high shelf, backed up to the door, and was hitting the door with its leg during a manic scratching fit. While this may be the explanation, the knocking was insanely loud, and this incident introduces the relationship between my room and my sister’s, which will be important later.
Incident #4: (“The Living Easter Corpse”)
This is by far the worst of what happened in that house.
One night my parents allowed me to sleep on the floor of my sister’s room in a sleeping bag, which again was not uncommon for obvious reasons.
In the middle of the night, I awoke for some unknown reason. I was facing away from the door. I thought I heard a voice, so I turned over to face the door. (Remember that the door to my sister’s room is parallel to the door to my room)
When I turned over, I saw translucent figure standing just outside of my room, between my sister’s door and my own.
It was a corpse. He was rotting. He was wearing tattered decaying clothing. In his left hand he held an Easter basket. The Easter basket contained bloody human parts. In his right hand he held a bloody axe. He was looking at me.
Then he spoke. “I’ve come for you, Tommy.”
I began screaming uncontrollably until my mother ran into the hallway. When she appeared, she actually ran right through the figure, causing him to spontaneously disappear. She could not see him.
We soon moved away from Ohio, and I never ever saw or heard anything ever again. My family never talked what happened. I was terrified of the dark for many years. I would apparently cry and say that the ‘Skulls’ may come back. Over the years I was encouraged to forget what had happened, and to never talk about it again.
One night when I was in high school, I came home very late to find my mother awake in the living room. She wanted to talk about the old house from Ohio, and what occurred there. My mother became more serious than I had ever seen her. She told me several things that chilled me. How frightened she had been of my room ans how she and my father had gone over the incidents again and again, grappling with the impossibility of what I would describe.
She then tearfully apologized to me. Before we purchased that house, the previous owners made a point to tell my parents that the room I lived in should be used as a play room or for storage. They said that their four daughters all slept in my sister’s room because they refused to sleep in mine.
The previous owners said that they would not tell my parents why their four daughters refused, despite the fact that both rooms were only 12×12, they only insisted that under no circumstances should a child sleep in that room.
My parents didn’t believe them.
Sapper
When I was in the 101st at Campbell, we Air Assaulting into Land Between the Lakes, KY one night.
So we moved out, and we stopped and set up a patrol base in this semi-clearing overlooking the dam we were supposed to attack.
I noticed funky looking stumps and objects all around me in the dark, but my suspicions weren’t confirmed until I snapped awake from a horrifying dream and realized my “Pillow” was an 1830’s gravestone.
We were in an old graveyard. And I’d been pissing on a dude’s grave all night.
The best part? I took pictures of the place, and when I got them developed, I noticed a shadowy figure appearing to be sitting on our rucksacks we’d piled up before going on the assault.
neutron
Between the ages of 7 and 14, i lived in a house that was built in 1878. It was in the country, with a barn and several servant houses about the property. The house was huge with an attic on the 4th floor. The attic had windows in it, but was only accessable via a small porthole in the ceiling of my closet (eek).
Anyway, every week or more, i would hear footsteps around in the attic above my room. Since my whole family slept on the 3rd floor (the bedroom floor) those of us that were awake would meet in the hallway when we began to hear the noises, so i knew it was not just me hearing freaky noises.
The noises ranged from footsteps originating in the attic, to scratches coming from INSIDE the walls. Not just any kind of scratching, but scratching that sounded like someone taking a shovel and gouging the wall with it. We would go to both sides of a wall and note that the noise was coming from WITHIN the wall.
All this activity should have freaked me out as a child, but i was always ok with it. As a matter of fact, a lack of the occurances would actually make me more jittery than with them.
I guess i was just an odd kid.
Oh, and i woke up with a pillow being pressed over my face. When i finally got it off, all i saw was a face dissapearing into the ceiling. It was nobody that i knew and it was plain as day after my eyes focused. After that point, the entity more pissed me off than scared me.
Stupid ghosts.
Narcus
This photo was taken by someone from these forums, and was posted in an earlier thread. Apparently, the dog started running away from the fence right when this photo was snapped.
Instant Stalker
It was rediculously early in the morning when I woke up to get something to drink from the fridge that was located on the opposite side of the house from my room. I walked out rather suspicious of my environment but made it to the food w/out a problem. After getting acquainted with some fridge goods I began to walk slowly back towards my bedroom. Looking to the side, I could see a MASK on the wall of the families dining area. The mask was NOT supposed to be there. WTF A MASK D00D! I tried to convince myself that I was imagining things but that just proved the reality of what I was seeing when it didn’t fucking go away. So still walking to my room I look behind me and [WTF!] there the mask is floating in the air directly behind me. It was fucking following me man!! OMG!! So, scared shitless, I fucking waste no time in speed walking to my room. After slamming my door I launched myself in the direction of my bedsheets and covered up for dear life. THIS was the scariest fucking thing that happened to me at that house.
Lynza (who also claims above dog pic)
My grandma and her sister were at a big family gathering. For some background, my mom’s family is from North Carolina. They settled here about 10 years before the Civil War from Scotland. In North Carolina they farmed cotton and soybeans and shared the land with the Taylor family. The Taylors were hosting the big feast that year.
Grandma and my great aunt Mildred were out in the tobacco barn getting something. The barn was located next to the old family graveyard. As they were coming out, they noticed movement out among the stones. My grandma got a stick, thinking it was a stray dog. They stayed where they were, however, when it came closer and they got a good look at it.
They could see a man’s face, bald, with a long red beard that trailed on the ground. It was attached to a little black dog’s body that was about 6 inches off the ground. It was just sort of .. ambling along through the gravestones.
My grandma threw the stick at it, and they ran like hell back to the rest of the family.
Everyone in the Taylor family is pretty sure this is John Taylor. From all accounts, he was a real bastard. He lived out in a swampy area alone in a shack for a long period, and from what I gather the circumstances leading to death were shady. He also had a little black dog.
At one point, as my grandpa was out chopping wood at the Taylors’ farm, he heard someone laughing and looked up to see John Taylor (no dog body) sitting on the wood pile laughing at him.
–more–
My parents’ house is out in the middle of the woods in rural Oregon.
It’s a big house, about 3200 square feet, with three floors including a “daylight basement.” Basically it’s semi-underground, 3/4 of it underground, the other 1/4 out the front of the hill it sits on.
It was sweet when I was a kid, my folks just had cement floors down there so I could ride my bike around the main support/chimney walls when it rained.
It was jimdandy during the day. At night, however, it was a totally different story. I, too, ran like hell up the stairs if it was dark down there. I’d switch the light off while running so I could get a jump on whatever might be lurking under the stairs.
Anyone remember the scene in Evil Dead 2 where the witch grabs Ash’s ankles through the stairs? Yeah, that’s how our stairs were at the time. Just blackness under there. I have no idea why it was so scary – my folks built the house, no one has ever died there besides pets. It was woods before they built it, so Indian burial grounds are sort of out of the question.
Lately I’ve been getting these silly “oh shit, the grue’s gonna get me!” thoughts out of nowhere when I turn off the downstairs lights and go upstairs. This is in my own house.
Cramer
once I was driving with my sister late at night back to my house. I live in the suburbs of annapolis. We were on truman parkway, which is right next to the highway (route 50). It was pretty foggy too, and combined with the dim streetlights made things downright eerie. As I was going up a hill, an old shitty car with no headlights was driving towards us slowly on the wrong side of the road. I pulled off onto the side of the road and drove slow on the shoulder. As we went by it we looked to see who was driving it, but we couldn’t see anyone. I called 911 and told them about the car, thinking it was some drunk guy, but I didn’t hear anything about it after that.
JoK[e]
Ok, two stories that have happened to me while visiting my girlfriend at RMWC (Randolph Macon Woman’s College), an overly-haunted spot in southwestern Virginia.
1) not-so-scary – There is a sundial that stands near the front campus. 4 times, I have seen a friendly looking gentleman in a tux standing by the dial waiting for his date to appear, or so it seems. Occassionally he is holding flowers. He or I sometimes smile or wave at each other. The thing is, no one else can see him unless they are in physical contact with me. Even then, sometimes he’ll be there, but if a glance away for a second he will be gone. I have never been able to approach closer than 30 ft before he disappears, and haven’t seen him in two years. I do, however, have independant confirmation of what he looks like from my girlfriend, who also saw him once while holding my hand.
2) bothersome – One night, around 2 am, the two of us are awakened by a scream from upstairs, and upon reaching the next floor find two of her friends in the hall, shrieking and waving a photo. Turns out they were alseep in the same bed, doors locked, when they were awakened by a flash of light and a thump. They jump up, and discover that her polaroid camera had just been moved, and that a picture was prining out of it. 2 minutes later, when the picture had developed itself, we could see that it was of the two of them, asleep on the bed, with the camera positioned about 6 feet above. It turns out that an art student, who specialized in photography, had died on campus after living in that room about 10 years before, and a number of previous students had claimed it was haunted, to the point that this was the first time in 3 years the room had been used. Being a brave soul, the girl didn’t move out (though she never left her camera out again), and never had any more trouble.
nicrosin
i was taking a shower once when i was staying at a friends house, who had told me stories before of the house being haunted by a former theatre actress who was murdered in the house decades ago.
it was one of those cubicle showers that had potted plants on the top. as i got out and was drying off, i noticed movement above me and looked up to see a potted plant move out and away about a foot from the cubicle ledge, hover for a split-second, then fall to the ground. i stood there for a minute, speechless, then started bitching at the ghost for making a mess and making me clean it up.
devil may cringe
I only have two strange occurances. One recent (and not very scary) and something that happened when I was in kindergarten.
My maternal grandmother died the day after my fifth birthday. She had a stroke, and had been very sick for a long time. About a year later I started school. One day on the playground I was sitting on top of the dome shaped monkey bar thing just surveying the land. I heard her call my name very distinctly, she sounded close by and it was slightly louder than all the playground hubbub. I know it sounded like her, but at the very least it was a woman’s voice, not a child’s and none of my teachers were even remotely close by and none of them called me. (I asked once I climbed down.) I have no explanation for this, and I haven’t heard any weird voices before or since.
Now on to the gay, but strange. My entertainment center is in the living room. A big wood contraption with a couple of cabinets at the bottom. They have those magnetic latches that hold them shut. They actually take some effort to open. One day I was watching TV and one of the doors opened, banged against the frame, then closed shut again. I was very freaked out by this, but managed to muster up the courage to walk over and yank it open. (Just to make sure my cat wasn’t in there or something.) Other than some videos there was nothing in there to make it do that. It was just odd.
Phlag
I’ve had some creepy experiences with what seemed to be ghosts. Although I realize these things I saw probably weren’t, but they were enough to scare the unliving FUCK out of me.
You probably won’t find the short story I’m about to tell scary, just so you know. It just scared the shit out of me. Last Christmas break I visited a city I used to live in, before moving this last Summer. Some friends and I went to my old house during the night, which hasn’t been sold yet, and, as we didn’t have any way to actually getting in the empty house, we climbed on the roof. We used to do it all the time in middle school. We talked for a while, until someone said, “Did you see that down there?” No one had any clue what the fuck she was talking about. “Down on the deck, sitting on the bon fire pit.” I slowly walked to an arch in the roof where I could see the bon fire pit, and saw a bright pale face staring directly at me. It was exactly like that fucking creepy trailer Influenza posted, although the person seemed to be a man rather than a child.
I backed up a few steps, hiding it from my vision. “What the fuck.” The others there also looked and confirmed the pant-shitting scariness of the thing staring. We all jumped down and ran the fuck to our cars.
FluffyChickens
I often go to my friend’s house in CT which is over 100 years old and I usually sleep in the living room. This one night we were sitting in his living room watching TV and his brother was talking about how their dad is an undertaker and their weird basement. After about a half hour of harassing him about taking me down to his basement he finally said I could go if I wanted but the rest of his family refuses to go down there, even his dad. I walked over to the door and he said I couldn’t go down alone so we both walked down together. When I got down to the bottom I saw that the wall (which was stone and obviously hadn’t been touched since 1800’s or early 1900’s) was being dug up in a certain place. I asked him about it and he said it was part of the underground railroad and his brother was trying to dig it up but for some reason stopped because it was way too scary. So we stood there for a while and I was saying it wasn’t as scary as he and his brothers were making it seem, so he told me to look in the far left corner. I cannot even begin to explain the darkness in that one corner. It wasn’t just a shadow either, it was an unwordly darkness and I ended up breaking into a cold sweat. I felt the kind of fear where I couldn’t talk and I was too scared to walk back up because I’d have to turn my back on it. Well I did walk upstairs and not only was I freaked out by that but I also discovered that the rest of their house is also haunted. I refused to go into a certain room in their house because every time I did I couldn’t move from fear. I’ve also witnessed many exorcisms which are disturbing as well.
Meatball
its not really much, but once i was staying at a friends house. I was sleeping in the upstairs bedroom, and i head someone really faint calling my name. I know it wasn’t my friend because he was sleeping downstairs, and would have told me in the morning.
that house was really weird. it was old, and supposedly a doctor comitted suicude in the basement. apparently if there is a ghost in the house, he doesn’t seem mad, cuz he likes to fuck with people. the thing he likes to steal the most is packs of cigarettes. once a friend was talking to his girlfriend on the phone. he was sitting on the couch in his bathroom-yes he really did have a couch in his bathroom-was great, but i digress…..he goes to light a cigarette, and can’t find his smokes. he tears the whole room apart, taking off the couch cushions, opening even the medicine cabinet, averywhere, looking for his smokes. he can’t find em. he puts the couch and everything else back together, and there are his smokes, sitting on the couch.
Super_weevil
As a kid, I always hated having my bed up against the wall- I would’ve rather just have had it in the middle of the room- for the following reason-
One night, after parents had tucked me in, kissed good night, etc etc, lights go out, I started to doze as I usually did almost immediately. I wasn’t freaked out, I wasn’t afraid of anything in my room, no weird shadows, I was content. Then I started hearing this vaguely scratch-like noise coming from the wall my bed was up against (on my right, lying on my back). There was about a 2 inch gap between the bed and the wall. At first I just figured it was just the creakiness of the bed (it was a very old kid’s bed that my parents bought used from…I have no idea where). I ignored it for a minute or two, but it persisted even when I remained totally motionless. Eventually my curiosity got the best of me and I carefully peered into the darkness between the wall and the bed. I was already lying down, so I just rolled over (my face was IN that gap, basically). I saw…I don’t know what it was- the memory is fuzzy- I remember yellow and red flashes in a dark solid mass, and it flew at me from the floor (The more I think about it, I’m sure it was some kind of face, but definitely not very human looking). I, of course, shrieked like a fucking girl, leapt out of the bed to the other side of the room, never taking my eyes from that gap, all the while screaming bloody murder for mom and dad. My dad (being the kickass dad that he is) moved the bed that same night for me. I got a new bed shortly after that. Looking back on the incident, I guess it could have been a nightmare that I had right after falling asleep, but holy shit it felt real and to this day I can’t have my bed in a corner.
satyr
So. You know that urban legend that you heard when you were in fourth grade at band camp, about the kid who scared himself to death looking in a mirror? Yeah, it happened a little differently. I know what really happened.
The kid was real, and he was about eight or nine. Kind of frail and sickly, was in and out of the doctor’s office a lot. His dad was a big cheerful guy, the dad type who wore big squishy white tennis shoes with jeans.
Well this kid’s health issues kept getting worse. And he’d have these episodes of mental fragility as well, where he’d only vaguely recognize his dad, and do a lot of talking to people who weren’t there. “I’m sorry,” he’d say to these people, his face blank, his eyes flat. “I can’t ever change it. I’m so sorry. Leave me alone, I can’t help you.”
His dad was, understandably, deeply concerned about his son. He made sure that they spent a lot of time together, especially outside. They both loved the outdoors, even though the kid wasn’t usually in a shape to enjoy a lot of activities. They went on a lot of walks.
One winter, the kid’s health was especially bad. The cold really made his circulation sluggish, and when outside on his walks with his dad, he’d lose all feeling in his hands and feet. To the doctor’s they went. The heat of the office during the wait to be seen, however, enlivened him, and you can’t troubleshoot a problem that isn’t there. So before examining him, the doctor suggested that he and his dad walk around the nearby park until the problem recurred, then trot back in and get examined.
The winter landshape was bleak; there wasn’t much snow, so the ground was slushy black mud, and the bare trees scraped the sky as if they were auditioning for an Edward Gorey drawing. There was one lovely feature of the park: a small lake, frozen solid. Ideal for ice-skating, although there were no skaters to brighten the scene. The kid and his dad headed for the lake.
As they approached the lake, the dad saw that it wasn’t nearly as nice as he’d thought it was; the ice near the shores was thin and treacherous, black water moving sluggishly underneath. He paused for a moment to find a stick to prod the ice with; it didn’t break easily, but it wasn’t safe to walk on. He turned to call his son back from the lake.
The kid was collapsed in a bony little snow-parka-covered heap where the icy water met the dark muddy shore. He’d found something, a bottle of little girl’s play nail polish, the kind that barely tints your nail light pink. The bottle was plainly old, the liquid within nearly gelatinous with age. The kid had taken his gloves off and opened the bottle and was desperately trying to cover his hand with the stuff as if to hide himself somehow, smearing it over his skin, his eyes wide and blank, his breath fast and shallow, and he was whispering in a high little voice to himself, over and over.
“They’re coming for me. They’re coming for me. They’re coming for me. They’re coming for me.”
The dad scooped up his son and bolted for the nearest help. A neighborhood bordered the park, and a house with windows lit against the winter dusk was far nearer than the hospital.
He pounded on the door, frenzied with fear; the boy’s whispering had stopped, and he had his eyes tightly closed, shivering convulsively, barely breathing. The door swung open: a startled woman, her hand to her throat. Yes, of course come in, I’ll call 911.
The dad laid his son down on the couch. He was beginning to hear whispers, darting little sibiliants on the edge of his hearing, and the air around himself and his son seemed dark with motion, shapes that weren’t there crowding close. Frustrated and terrified, he shouted at them to leave his son alone, deal with him if they wanted, but leave his son alone!
He turned aside just for an instant to snatch a blanket off the arm of the couch, and the whispering increased to a hissing crescendo. He heard his son gasp, and whipped back around. The kid was staring at the ceiling, his mouth and eyes open just slightly, as if he was about to speak to somebody, and he was dead. He had died during that fraction of a second.
Snatching up his son again, the dad turned to race out of the house, having some grief-crazed idea of running as fast as he could back across the park to the hospital. But when he faced the door, he saw something he hadn’t seen before, a mirror mounted on the back of the front door. And when he saw what was in the mirror, he screamed, appalled.
The kid’s head, in his reflection, wasn’t laying limply as it did in real life. It was held up, and his eyes and mouth were both obscenely wide, the corners of mouth and eyelids pulling down and away as if his flesh was trying to crawl away from whatever was coming at it. His eyes were locked straight forward, his face frozen, and in his reflection, he was still screaming.
Mike Toole
I was in bed, starting to nod off, in the evening. My parents had left my door open, as I wasn’t too fond of the dark. Light streamed through; it was still only 9 or 10pm, and they were still up and about. So I laid there and placidly observed the illuminated doorway, listening to my parents’ movements and chatter and getting ready to be hustled off to dreamland.
Then the door slowly swung shut, because there was someone behind it.
The person was over six feet tall, easily. He was dressed in what looked like a tuxedo. That was unusual. He also appeared to be wearing a scuba mask. It seemed kind of funny, until I looked closer, and realized that the mask was actually part of his face. It was fused on somehow. His nose was covered. His eyes were very, very wide and glistening and bloodshot. He didn’t seem to have any lips– he had a death’s head grin. He stood motionless for a moment… and then he noticed me.
His eyes widened almost impossibly. He opened his mouth, and let out an inhuman shriek so terrifically, terrifyingly loud that it hurt my ears and sounded distorted to me. In one bound, he leapt onto my little bed, which came crashing down under his weight. Still screaming incredibly loudly, he closed his hands around my throat…
…and that’s when I woke up yelling at the top of my lungs. After establising with my dad that it was, in fact, just a bad dream, I was able to go to sleep for the night. But the funny thing is, my ears were still ringing from when the thing behind the door had screamed.
NOISEassault
I came home to my room in the barracks late one night and decided as I was winding down, that I’d like to wash my face. I did just that, and as I began to slough the water off of my face I looked into my mirror for a moment. For whatever reason, I decided to just pause a moment and look at my face reflecting back at me. As I did so, I observed that the face reflected in the mirror was changing subtley and constantly. It was like watching my own face’s reflection becoming the faces of a a multitude of other people. I wasn’t disturbed by this whatsoever. In fact, it piqued my curiosity and was amusing the hell out of me for a good several minutes.
Then it happened…
Up until this point the faces I was observing in the mirror were all of people who I cannot recall having ever met within the span of my life, and I knew that even with all these visual deviations going on, that it was still somehow myself looking back at me. But that final face I saw differed highly from those prior… It was that of a person I had met recently who went by the name Jost. This in and of itself wasn’t really frightening.
That was until I looked at the eyes……
The eyes I then saw looking back at me bore the same shape, texture, and colouration of my own, but the gaze they bore upon me was totally devoid of any emotion or humanity. It was as if they were looking at me, regarding me like I was nothing more than a piece of meat. Yet, it was also like they were looking straight through me and into my own soul like a hungry animal.
My got the most insane chills at that moment and got THE fuck away from that mirror right then and there.
I had another similar (albeit, less frightening) incident several weeks later.
Same drill, seeing my face change in to that of others, but one face that kept popping up in the mix was that of a man horribly burned. If any of you have seen what a severe burn victim looks like, then you know what I’m talking about. This didn’t bother me very much at all this go round, because the eyes looking back at me were still mine… but it was still highly fucked up..
Here’s lookin at you, kid…. right?
Commie
I’ve only experienced this sort of thing once and it wasn’t all that freaky. Weird, but not freaky.
I was sixteen or seventeen at the time. I was at my friend’s place in his room playing SNES or something. His brother was in the other room raping the hamster or doing something else weird (his brother was a twitch). For no apparent reason the sound of a large coin (quarter or looney sized) rolling along the wood floor comes from the hallway. The coin rolls into the room and under the bed. It then rolls in a circle under the bed till it topples and clatters on its side.
We don’t actually see the coin, we just hear it. The weird part: his bed is a box spring and mattress. The box spring is laying flat on the floor. You can’t slid a piece of paper under the box spring let alone a rolling coin.
So we’re staring at his bed, wide-eyed as we hear this coin rolling around. Then, his bag of gym clothes starts making noise. The clothes were in a plastic bag. We looked over at the bag at saw the plastic stretching around the clothes as if someone had grabbed the bag and pulled hard. The bag got tighter and tighter for about 10-15 seconds. Then it just stopped.
My friend has also told me of times where he’d be in his room and see his cat (or something cat-sized) run around outside his room in the hallway. But then he’d realize that the cat was lying right next time him.
There was other weird shit going on in that house but I don’t remember any more.
JediBlutarsky
“Fredericksburg Battlefield”
We decided to go visit my Aunt and Uncle in VA one weekend. They hadn’t seen the kids in some time and as an added bonus, my Grandmother was coming up. So some shopping expeditions were planed, and with me being somewhat into Civil War history they thought it would be fun to visit one of the battlefields and have a picnic at one of the parks. It was a fun day, but not for my wife.
Everything seemed fine until we arrived at the Visitors Center to begin our walking tour of that portion of the battlefield called The Sunken Road. She was uneasy pretty much the entire time be especially so when we ended up behind the Confederate defensive position. That’s when she turned to me, ashen faced, and said “I have to go. They don’t want me here.” Intrigued and not realizing that she was picking anything up I asked, “Who”? “The soldiers. The want me to leave.”
Somewhat taken aback, I asked her if they told her that and she said, “No, it’s just a feeling. I don’t belong here and they want me to leave. Now.”
With that said we gathered everyone up and went off to have our picnic elsewhere. My relatives were unaware of what happened and no one other than her and myself discussed it.
On a side note, my Uncle wanted us to see the Meade Pyramid and run down to Jackson’s position, the far right of the Confederate line. As we were driving by my wife made this offhand remark “Huh, so that’s where they were coming from.” I was like “Wha….” but didn’t say anything to her until we had checked out Jackson’s position (she stayed in the car) and was returning. There we pulled off to the side of the road to read a marker, which indicated that this indeed was the location of the only Union breakthrough of that battle.
I didn’t say anything to her, as my look of “Holy shit” was evident on my face.
Oh, and as to why she felt that overwhelming feeling of being unwelcome? The only thing we can think of is because she is from New Jersey and quite a few men from her family fought with the Irish Brigade.
SimmerDown
Last spring, I was too broke to get a ticket home for Easter, but I didn’t want to stay in residence. A friend of mine invited me to go home with her, because we could get a ride there, and because all of her family was away on a trip to Europe and she wanted the company. I happily accepted.
Her house was quite new, large, very nicely decorated, nothing appeared creepy in the least. We took up residence in the large family room in the basement, using sleeping bags on couches instead of messing up any bedrooms. On the second or third night, I awoke with a start. I didn’t move other than to open my eyes slightly, and looked at the entrance to the room, which was an opening from the hallway at the bottom of the stairs rather than a door in a frame. I vividly saw a man standing there. He was heavyset, indescriminate age, but not really old or really young, dressed in modern, casual, sort of sporty clothes. He wore a yellow ballcap, and had glasses. He slowly turned his head and looked at me, then walked into the adjoining computer room, which again lacked a door.
The man looked so real that at first I assumed it had to be one of my friend’s uncles coming over to do something, as she had mentioned that might happen. I looked at my watch, and the time was 5am, so I realized that was ridiculous. My next conclusion was that it was some sort of prowler, even though we had armed the alarm system. I wanted to wake up my friend, but thought it would be safer to avoid letting the man know that we were awake. So, I closed my eyes again and stayed dead still. When I posted this story months ago, some criticized me for this; “You thought there could be an intruder in your friend’s house and you didn’t fucking do anything?”, but in all honesty, had it been an intruder, somehow it doesn’t seem like it would be the safest course of action for two young women to try to be heroes. So, I maintained my facade of sleep, listening intently… I didn’t hear a damn thing. There was no exit from the room I’d seen the man enter. I know I was awake, because it took me a damn long time to fall asleep again.
This was a scary situation, not so much because I felt threatened (though I did initially) as it is that it was such a “What the fuck is going on???” moment. I’ve never told my friend. She does have to live there, after all.
SumGayGai adds on a little from the previous thread
Around where I live there is an abandoned asylum for children. It’s all locked up tight now, but we found a way in. Armed to the teeth with flash lights, cameras, and digital tape recorders, we ventured into an area that from the looks of it was where they had school. The windows were high, there were chains on the floor by some rotting wood (we assumed were the desks). We agreed before hand that we wouldn’t fuck around (there were 4 of us) and try to scare each other. One of my friends tripped on a chain and grabbed at the teachers rotting desk, ripping a good portion off as he fell. All of us fell silent. No one moved for about 30 seconds, then I walked towards my friends (I was looking into the hallway). A sound of something crashing resounded through the halls and into the classroom while I was walking. The sound was so loud that I had to put my hands to my ears. One of my friends ran by me followed by the others to see what happened, I followed soon after. I dropped my flashlight when I put my hands over my ears so I had to follow the constant moving light of my friends. When I arrived, I almost slammed into a friend. There in the hall was an old refrigerator, still smoking, that fell through what looked like the teachers lounge wall. We left soon after that, freeked out.
When we arrived at my house, we checked the footage we got. Nothing of interest until we checked the audio recorder. After the crash, we heard a voice muttering unknown words for about 10 seconds, then a whistling sound…
We went back a few nights later, but the cops were there, aparantly the night before, the security guys that make the rounds every 3 hours (we timed them when we were scoping it) found a body crushed under a refrigerator… It was a mid 20’s male who they ID’ed as someone who was held at that hospital until it was shut down. We never found out where the body and the refrigerator was since they increased security after that and did not let press into the building. But I swear there was no body when we saw the fridge…
Cap’nSnakehead
When I was a kid, between 7 and 10, My Dad was the pool manager for the Kiwanis swimclub in Parkville (part of Baltimore). Being the adventurous bunch He and the other Lifegaurds were, We would often stay at the pool well after closing time (I was usually asleep when they did this). There was an old pre-civil war era house that served as the Offices and supply areas for the Pool, as well as a Mechanic who kept a shop on the upper level of the house. One night, the alarm system on the mechanics garage went off, and the cops showed up with dogs. The mechanic asked if there was any sign of a forced entry, and the cops said that everything looked fine. Then, there was a loud banging, like somthing had been knocked over in the Garage. The Mechanic opened the door, and the cop released the dog. The dog took about two steps, whimpered, and went behind the cop with its tail between its legs. The Mechanic asked the cop if he was going to check it out, to which the cop replied,”Buddy, if he(the dog) is afraid to go in there, I definately ain’t goin in there”.
Another time, same place. My Dad was doing some work around the old house one day, and moved some wood that was piled up against the wall. Behind the wood was a hole. After closing time, Dad and some of the lifegaurds went exploring. Turned out what he had found were tunnels dug by the slaves that had been kept in the house. They really didn’t find much, but it was still creepy.
Same Place. My Parents and some of the other lifegaurds decided to check out some of the other places in the house that were not frequented by anyone. I was curious, so I went along. When we got to the attic of the house, we turned on the lights, and wandered in. There was only one light switch, and no one was near it. You can guess what happened next. We never went up there at night again (except to lock up).
Every night, the place would be locked up (every window closed and locked, all doors locked) and every morning, without fail, the attic windows would be wide open. There were also a few other creepy things about the house. In one room, there were still the rings in the walls where the slaves would be chained up, doors would slam and lock themselves, or unlock themselves, and things would occasionally move.
Thats really all I can remember about that place. The Woman who owned the house before the Civil War was not a very nice person. Someone researched the house and the Woman was reportedly unusaully cruel to her slaves and workers.
Bad Mojo, I guess.
–more–
When I was a really little kid, my Grandmother on my Father side died. I was about 2 or 3. My younger Brother, who is 3 years younger than me, hadn’t been born yet. When He was about 3 or 4, My parents woke up to the sound of him playing in the hallway (I was and still am a heavy sleeper, I slept through a tornado once). They went out to see what was going on, and my brother told them he was playing with the lady. He then proceeded to give a detailed description of my dead Grandmother, down to the way she talked funny (she was from the South). He had never seen pictures of our Dads Mother, but when the Photo Album came out, he recognized her immediately.
When I was a teenager, my girlfriend and I would ‘park’ behind this middle school in Harford County(Maryland). We had been going up there for a couple of weeks when one night, while we were in the back of the car (really going at it), we hear this ungodly growl coming from under the car. We freaked out, got dressed and got the hell out of there (there was no one else to be seen anywhere near us). After that, we talked to some friends about the experience, and it turned out we were not alone. Several other friends had told us a bout seeing weird shit around there. I even saw something up there one night I had no desire to ever talk about, but this was just too wierd to not mention. I saw what looked like a gorillas body with a wolfs head. Others claimed to have seen it too, like a corner of the eye kind of thing, but it was a little more realistic than that. Others said they saw what looked like armless figures moving around on the athletic fields on some nights, and yeah, I’d seen it too. One of my girlfriends friends got a chance to look at some of the old survey maps of the area and other old records, and it turned out that where the schools athletic fields are, used to be a cemetary.
-KEN-
My house is kind’ve old, built in 1964. We’re the second owners IIRC. Maybe third.
I doubt it’s anything supernatural, but without fail just about every friend I’ve ever taken into my house has stared at the portrait in the middle of my stairwell and has been scared of it. They all think it’s haunted and creepy as fuck. My stairwell is sort’ve split up…it goes straight up half a floor to a small landing, and then doe sa u-turn up to the 2nd floor. On the wall of the landing is the portrait…I don’t think it’s anyone our family knows, just a random portrait. Anyhow, NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE, the lady in the portrait has its eyes completely fixed on you.
I’ve even done things like told one friend to stand on the railing on the left of it, and myself standing on the other side (there’s sort’ve a weird thing where I guess you’re supposed to hang pictures on the side of it…it extends all the way to where the top of the stairs is, so that’s how I could stand next to it.) and we’ve both agreed its eyes are locked totally on us.
I think it’s more of a trick of our minds, though. Still, I always used to run by it when I was littler, and I think it’s odd that everyone else seems to feel it’s creepy as well.
Also, when I’m home alone, I hear footsteps up in my parent’s room. Never anywhere else but there. The TV room is right below their room, and it’s unnerving as hell to hear someone walking around above you when you know for a fact you’re the only one there.
Another thing, is that in my house you can hear the pipes making a distinct rattle (not so much a rattle as a few thuds in quick succession) when water is turned off, like when you shut off the shower for example. Well on a few occasions I’ve heard the water shutting off when I was home alone. I keep myself sane by convincing myself that it’s just our old water heater turning on and off.
And a funny ghost story type thing, is a few (maybe 6?) years ago, my brother got spooked like crazy. Now a bit of background on the house so you can understand…my room is upstairs between my middle brother’s and my parents’ (I’m the youngest) rooms. My oldest brother has the only bedroom downstairs, which we had converted from an office. Well one night my middle brother lets out a blood-curdling scream the likes of which I’d never heard. Everyone upstairs runs into his room, and he swears like crazy the my oldest brother was just in his room wielding a butcher’s knife at him. My parents were fuming! The nerve that he’d try to spook his poor younger brother, and in such a dangerous manner! They came downstairs, went into my oldest brother’s room, and there he was…sound asleep. They woke him up, and his groggy reply was that he hadn’t been anywhere near upstairs….corroborating his story further is the fact that our ancient stairs make tons of noise even when you tip-toe down, let alone someone running down them, and we don’t even own a butcher’s knife.
poetrywhore
when i was two years old my grandfather died. my mom tells me two stories: one, i was riding this little push-car i had up and down the hallway, talking over my shoulder. she asked who i was talking to, and i said “Granddad, I’m giving him a ride!” second, she went into my room and i was all smushed up against the outside railing of the bunkbed, talking. again, she asked what was up and i said he and i were having a chat.
but, kids have imaginations…
then one day in third grade, i looked out the window and it was totally dark and stormy, but there was a woman who looked like she was lit up by sunshine, walking past the window, dressed in garb circa 1860 with a parasol. i watched her for a good ten seconds.
finally, on the last move i made, my car was pretty packed and in the rearview i kept seeing out of the corner of my eye a woman and boy sitting in my backseat. the car was totally packed, and since i only saw it out of the corner of my eye, it could easily have been just my packed backseat, although there weren’t any appropriately-sized/placed piles of stuff there. anyway, after about a mile, there were two crosses with flowers on the side of the road, and then i didn’t see them anymore.
TheAnomaly
I spent 4 years of my life living in a very old house, the oldest one by far on my block, which ended in a cemetery. The cemetery, as far as I know, wasn’t very old, it was greenlawn and very tastefully done, but it had been their first in the area and housed many early 20th century dated mausoleums and graves.
I was a morbid little boy, partially obsessed with death, dying, and the dead. I loved this cemetery… I used to go there to do my homework. I also used to sneak out of my house at night and challenge my friends to go to the cemetery with me. Most people were too chicken shit to actually enter the place, but this particular instance happened to myself and my friend K. This would be the first, and last, time that K would accompany me.
It happened in mid-january of my sophomore year of highschool, which would have been 1997. I grew up in Bakersfield, CA, and January sees a great deal of fog. This fog isn’t just ground fog, or light mist type fog, we’re talking wall of fog so thick you can’t see your hand sometimes in the mornings. Now change morning to 1 in the morning, with little flashlights gripped in our 16 year old hands. By the time we climbed in through a weak section of the fence, we’d already almost been run over once by some drunken idiot, and k was already scared.
K was one of those punk “everyone sucks, nobody’s smart enough to hang out with me and I like to fight” guys. He liked Marilyn Manson before Manson became “cool,” then promptly hated him. He loved Nirvana… and he even knew what Nirvana was, although he didn’t know anything else about Buddhissm.
The site I wanted to look at that night was a particularly old mausoleum dated with the earliest burial being dated 1907. This particular cemetery had several small ponds and mini-rivers running through it with bridges spanning. I usually walked through the small rivers to get around at night so that any type of guard wouldn’t see my light. They posted a guard at the front gate, and I’d snuck in here several times previously and he’d never noticed me, but I didn’t want to take chances. K, however, didn’t want to trust my direction instinct to get us down in to the rivers and not one of the lakes. So we crossed one of the bridges to get in to the internal area.
The bridge sounded odd at night. Maybe it was just this particular night, but the bridges had always felt sturdy and sounded relatively like a stone walkway should. Tonight, however, the Bridge seemed insignificantly small, like it might break under our combined weights at any moment, and it sounded hollow. We’ve all heard the way that feet sound on stone or pavement; the sound of us walking across the bridge sounded like it was echoing off of walls all around us, it rang out remarkably loud and clear. It was the first sign that something wasn’t right, and I should have seen what was coming.
We had our lights turned off, and in the fog this meant that we were feeling our way forward by the guardrails. I had a pretty good idea of where we were going, despite the inabilty to see anything. We moved slowly after the bridge, because we couldn’t risk a light in the open and we had to make sure that we stayed on the path. Without light, the path was the only way that we could tell where we were going.
After about 10 minutes of slowly walking forward, hunched over so that we could watch the walkway in the dark and fog, we came upon the mausoleum. It was giant and somewhat old crypt, it had started to crack in places but still managed to seem impressive. In the dark and fog, it looked like a foreboding tower amidst a series of headstones, and we both must have felt its presence. We walked up, and I found the headstone I was looking for. I’ve fully repressed the name of that particular marker, so I’ll just refer to her as “molly”, and she had died in 1907. I loved this kind of stuff, it was a test of my wills every time I inched my way through the cemetery to see whether or not I could do it, and other people just made it better.
I was considering sneaknig away from K while he looked at the impressive piece of stonework, then jumping at him from the fog and scaring him to death. We couldn’t risk the noise, however. I had wanted to come, make my way through the cemetery, look at this particular mausoleum and then back out. I was hoping to get some kind of supernatural occurence, as had happened to me previously, on the way there. K, however, had different plans. From the little pack that had held his flashlight he produced something else: a can of spraypaint.
I understand some people’s urge to do stupid things; I’ve followed that urge myself on occasion. Vandalizing a grave, however, just seemed to be tempting fates a little. I pointed this out to K, who called me a sissy and popped the cap. I told him that if he spraypainted this tomb, I’d tell the guard. That made him think for a second, but then said it would be on my head, too (which it would have) and started to shake the can. I told him that I’d leave him, alone, in the fog. He didn’t know a way out. This shook him up a little more, but at this point he wanted to be the strong man. I turned on my flashlight, hoping to attract the guards attention.
We almost immediately noticed a light come on a little ways off in the fog. I told K the guard had seen us, but he said we had enough time to spray and run. Then another light came on, next to the other one. It suddenly occured to me that the fog had taken the form of a woman. I stared, dumbfaced, while K got ready to spray his message… I nudged him in the side and this time he got mad at me. He noticed my expression, though, and looked where I was looking.
The fog had receeded around us. For the first time that night, I could see my feet through the mists. The fog had grown denser, somehow, and taken form. In front of us was a non-descript woman. Her eyes were like burning coals, and her mouth was bent in the most furious expression that I had ever seen. She travelled straight through me and after K, who had dropped his can and taken off at a run. I heard him splash in to a pond and start swimming for the edge of a cemetery.
Minutes later, I saw a car which must have been his drive off down the road at break-neck speed, heading towards the freeway. A few minutes after that, the guard found me, my face frozen in an expression of sheer terror, still looking at where the ghost had been. He didn’t even notice the can of spraypaint; he looked at me, muttered “my God” under his breath and walked away. I grabbed my flashlight, and slowly made my way out of the cemetery, towards my home.
K called me the following day, and told me that the ghost had chased him all the way to the edge of the cemetery, screaming things at him in his head the whole way. She quit when he climbed the chain link fence and threw himself to the other side. He told me I was fucked up individual, and that if I ever went back to the Cemetery, it would be without him.
–more–
We had just moved in to the aforementioned house near the cemetery. We hadn’t even moved all of our furniture in yet, it was our third night in the building and I didn’t have a bed yet. My Father and I had been crawling through the attic that day attempting to get rid of some of the really old stuff that just kind of stayed with the house.
Amongst a great deal of garbage, we found some really old woodcarvings. They looked like they had been made by skilled hands, but not necessarily by a skilled artist, just someone who knew how to whittle. They were three wooden soldiers, we guessed from the early 1900’s by their uniforms. American, well carved, and slightly weather faded. They lacked date or identifying information. I took them as historic oddities, I collect toys and action figures so they fit in with my collection at the time. I put them up on my desk, curled up on the floor afterwards, and fell asleep. The next morning, they were between me and the door. I was up before anyone (I usually woke up before everyone else in the family, save my father). I just figured that my asshole brother had moved them there to freak me out and put them back on my desk. I was also tired of not having a bed, so I woke his ass up and made him help me get more of the furniture out of the moving van, now that we had room in the attic for the boxes we had foolishly piled in to the van in front of some of the beds.
When we got back into the bedroom, the statues had changed facing. I had faced them out, towards the window, and they were watching the door. I kicked my brother in the leg for being an ass, and he punched me in the stomach for kicking him. A brawl ensued, and then my mother put us in the corner. About 1/2 a minute later, my mom yells at me for taking toys into the corner. I say I don’t have any, and then notice that the soliders are around me. I tell her that my brother must have put them there, so he gets another minute.
Long story short, my brother stays the night at a friends house that night. My sister hasn’t slept in the house yet, because she’s staying at our uncles and watching his kids while he works because his wife is visiting her family in another town. My mother and father would not move the soldiers. So when they are missing when I go to bed, I get pissed at my brother figuring he’d taken them. That’s when I hear the laughing. Somewhere in my bedroom, a young man is giggling. I hear it distinctly, but it echos off of the walls and I can’t find the location. I check the closet, nothing there, then I check outside and there’s nothing there. Something taps my shoulder…
I whirl around, and standing behind me is an apparition of a young man. He couldn’t have been older than 8, young and in old fashioned clothes (I’d guess early 1900’s). He asks me if he can have his soldiers back in a clear voice, and I promptly faint.
I wake up, and hear his voice again. It has an ethereal quality, like he’s yelling at me from the end of a chasm. He again asks if he can have his soldiers back, and I stutter out a yes. That would be the last time I would see the soldiers, but not the boy. He’d play with my toys well after I stopped playing with action figures and just collected them. For a while it freaked me out, but eventually I got used to him; it was actually kind of comforting to know that he was around after a while. He was a very polite and well mannered ghost, I’m sure he unlocked the back door on several occasions.
This is also the occurence that I am the least sure about; it is quite possible that I lost the soliders, or my brother took them to his friends house and destroyed them, and then I hallucinated or dreamt the rest. Then I just blamed “the ghost” any time I couldn’t find one of my action figures; it kept me out of many a fight with my older brother I’m sure. But it just seems to coincidental that whenever I forgot my key, the back door would be unlocked.
–mores–
Tales from the Graveyard, Episode 1: (“If Lucas can hop around, so can I”)
I had been going to this graveyard after school regularly for about a week at this point. I just hung out there during the day after my classes before my mother would get home. This would be my first, and probably most interesting, night visit.
I had found on that day, while examening the headstones of the newer section, that there was a break in the chain link fence near one of the mini-rivers that ran through the cemetery. I decided to go back there that night to check the place out in the dark. My equipment consisted of a flashlight and a box of donuts. White powder and chocolate, to be precise…
I arrived at the cemetery at around 11:15. This is when I found out that they had two guards on staff until midnight, when one of them went home. I would later find out that the second guard usually stayed until around 12:30, and sometimes as late as one, but on this fateful night I only had to camp out near the chainlink fence in a back alley for 45 minutes before I saw one of the flashlights sweeping the grounds turn off and a car go down the road. I snuck in throught he fence and decided that I’d take the river around a little bit, and try to get to one of the large statuesque tombstones. I knew that one was only a couple of yards in.
I got there no problem. The statue was that of a cherub holding a water pitcher, adn there was some semi-poetic inscription about the death of the young underneath. The grave was that of a 6 year old girl, if I remember correctly. Anyway, I touched the marker, and figured that nothing exciting was going to happen. I also noticed that the guard left was still patroling, so I decided it would be in my best entrace to get back in the river and go home. I was a little hungry, though, so I took out one of the powdered donuts to eat.
Just as I finished, I heard a youngish voice behind my shoulder ask “can I have one?” I had never been so frightened in my life. I whirled around, only to see that the security guard, whom I will call Pat, apparently had never had her voice crack. I gave her my last donut, and she asked me how I got in. I told her, and she asked me why.
I replied that I was just curious as to whether or not I’d see a ghost. She told me that all kinds of creepy things happened in the cemetery, although they were usually in the older area. She then told me to go home, back the way I’d came, and that she’d ignore seeing me since I didn’t have any type of tools to defile any part of the cemetery. I crawled back down in to the little river area, and that’s when I heard the second voice. This one was older, and a little more masculine. I turned around, and in the ravine I clearly saw… absolutely nothing.
I was baffled. Pat had told me that we were the only two people there, and the new voice had definitely been male. I didn’t have much time to think, however, because I distinctly heard the voice again. From beneath me. I looked in to the water, and saw another face reflected back at me. I whirled around, and saw no one. I looked back in the water, and the face was still there.
It just kind of smiled at me, and I realized that the clothes were terribly out of date. I began to sweat, and one of the beads ran from my forehead and hit the water. The ripples erased the face, but I remembered what I had seen and heard. I decided that it was too interesting, and that I’d have to come back. But that’s another story.
Tales from the Graveyard episode 2: “The Gunslinger”
This was probably the scariest brush with the supernatural I had while in the cemetery near my former home. It was, of course, late at night during the first winter I lived in the house. It was the foggiest night I can remember, I could see my hand in front of my face. I had to feel my way to the damaged section of chain link fence to sneak in to the cemetery through, and then feel my way along the “river.” This was only a month after the face in the water incident, and the second time I had dared to come back at night. Nothing had happened during the previous encounter, so I had shaken the idea of this place being haunted from my head…
I had come here on a dare. Being a new kid in the neighborhood, the other boys decided it would be great to make me sneak in to the cemetery during the night and grab an item (a red ribbon, in this case) that they had tied around one of the monuments in the center area of the graveyard. I, of course, didn’t consider this to be that big a deal, having already spent a good deal of time there in the wee hours of the morning, unknown to them. Unfortunately, the night in question featured fog the likes of which I was never going to navigate successfully.
After about 20 minutes, I came to where I figured the central area had to be, and climbed out of the waterway on to a small hilly area. I normally took great care to not actually step on any of the graves themselves, which you could usually see as a slight rise in the ground level; on this night, I had no chance since I couldn’t see the ground where I was walking let alone what lay in front of it. The one chance I had was looking for dark shapes in the distance and hoping they were trees.
I found a tree within a few minutes, but it was the wrong one. I began to follow the dark outlines in the distance, with no clue as to which direction I was headed or where I was going. I had begun to shuffle across the ground, for fear that I might accidentally step in to one of the waterways and hurt myself. It was at this time that I heard a male voice from behind me, in a classic drawl, state “Ain’t you a little far from home, boy?”
I turned on both my heels, half expecting some redneck security guard to have somehow spotted me. Instead, I saw the black outline of a man a few feet from my face. It wasn’t as if a person was off in the fog where I couldn’t see clearly, it was more like I was watching a shadow on a wall connected to no solid image. It was more fluid than a person should be, and seemed to waver with the fog. I walked a few steps forward, but never got any closer to the figure, which never seemed itself to move. It just hovered in place. The silhouette was of a man, wearing a bowler on his head with a gunbelt at his side.
The shadow talked to me again saying “head on home, you don’t want ta be here much longer. It’s gonna be a long, hard night if ya stay here. Home’s that-a-way” and the shadow of the man pointed in the distance, in a direction. The shadow had taken on depth, it was a three dimensional shadow falling on a bank of fog. It seemed friendly enough, but kept telling me to head home. Of everything I would see in that place, it seemed least like it understood that it was dead and buried. I could here a sense of urgency in the voice, a desire for me to go home and be safe; but nothing came of that night. I tried to follow his directions, and got lost several more times. It must have taken me about an hour and a half to escape the cemetery that night, after I eventually found the right waterway and followed it to the fence. I didn’t find my usual exit, I just climbed the damned thing.
I never felt in danger that night. Normally, after a warnign such as I had received, I would have felt like I was being watched or followed; but it didn’t happen. Although it took me forever to find my way out (and at first I had felt like I needed to leave quickly lest some catastrophe befall me), nothing else of note happened. The worst part was I never received a repeat appearance. Everything else I saw, aside from the first story I told in here, happened at least twice. I recognized the faces in the water or the voices in the wind when they reoccured, always in the same style and near the same place. I never could figure out exactly where this one happened, however. I didn’t think to check the names on the headstones where I saw the shadow, I had felt that I needed to leave too much. Nor could I repeat my stumbling direction, I hadn’t been able to tell my heading in the fog. Perhaps the worst part, though, was that I would never come to understand why this thing had felt it so important that I leave for my own safety.
Worse for me at the time was that I never found the damn ribbon; truth be told, to this day I think that the person who was supposed to hide it chickened out and figured that I’d never actually go in to the cemetery anyway.
Tales from the Graveyard Episode 3: “Black Dog”
One of the most interesting events in the graveyard, and easily the most endearing, occured 3 or 4 months after moving in to the house. Whenever a new burial was scheduled to take place, they would start excavating the grave site a few days in advance. The burial was going to be sunday, so it seemed that I had a friday and saturday night to look at the gaping hole of earth that will one day welcome us all.
Friday night, nothing unusualy happened. The hole was about 4 feet deep at the time, unfinished. It was a breathtaking sight, seeing an open grave in the darkest hours of the night. The hole opened like some demonic maw, gaping and ready to feast upon the bodies of the dead. It was a place of some discomfort, and I didn’t hang out for very long that night. Over saturday, they finished the digging of the hole (which I’d assume to be about 6 feet deep, maybe more in present day?). That night, when I went back to the hole, I got a completely different feeling.
Sitting by the earths open wound was a black lab. It moved away from me as I moved closer, but always kept its eyes on the future grave. Eventually I sat down and dangled my legs down in to the hole and just looked at the dog. We began a staring contest, that would last for 3 hours I would later discover. This dog looked normal, although it blended in incredibly well with the night. It was a cold night, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor creature.
It didn’t seem to be suffering from any discomofort, however, and after what seemed like untold ages it shambled back over to the grave sight and lay down at the end opposite me. I could feel the tension in the air, like we were both of us waiting for a momentus event that was yet to come. I wondered what a dog would be doing here in the cemetery, so late at night. I remembered reading that dogs seemed to sense events such as earthquakes happening before humans did, and that in horror stories animals more keenly recognized the presence of the supernatural. I thought that this would expliain why none of the other strays had entered the cemetery, why I never saw any animals here in the prior three months, but then why would this dog be here, sitting at an open grave, waiting for something ineveitable?
Tired, cold, and hungry, I got up to leave. I looked back as I left the cemetery through my friend the hole in the fence, and the dog was still there as I flashed the beam of my flashlight upon its head. I shrugged, walked home, made a sandwich and went to bed.
The next day, a little after 1, the funeral began. I wondered who was being buried and I was curious about his connection to the dog, so on the pretense of visiting a neighboring headstone (chosen 6 down in hopes that no one at this funeral would be connected) I went to observe. I saw the crying family, and knew that this man had been loved. As I placed some flowers I’d picked from our bushes on the chosen grave site, however, I heard a comment that reminded me of my previous ordeal. A man, probably related to the deceased, said that he remembered the dead man’s love more than anything else.
He remembered him taking in a mutt off the street, a black lab that everyone else though was worthless, and cared for it until it died. The two had apparently been inseperable, and it did not surprise him that the deceased had followed his beloved pet so quickly into the afterlife. Apparently the man had never been married and was survived only be his brothers and their families. I asked about the dog, and gave a general description. When they asked me why, I said that I’d been there yesterday ( I said I’d been visiting the grave during the day) that I had noticed a black lab sitting at the open grave as if in anticipation, and that this had struck me because I lived nearby and I’d never seen an animal in the graveyard before.
Sure enough, the general descriptions matched. I checked the grave itself, looking where the dog had lain the night before. I saw neither tracks nor imprint of the laying dog, and that night saw no repeat of the animal. It seems that an old man had made a friend from a stray, and that sometimes friendships live longer than we do.
Tales from the Graveyard: Episode 8
As you may have noticed, the stories get scarier as they go along. These are not in chronological order, but the order of the fear factor that I remember… so this story would be, chronologically, the last time I actually entered the cemetery at night. It was also the scariest event that I remember taking place; although anything worse I probably would have repressed. (yes, I know that I’m skipping 6 & 7, but those two are related and I’ll get back to them)I was moving the next day, and I wasn’t going to drive 10 miles to come hang out in a fricking graveyard. Also, I was 16, and in all honesty had better things to do now that I had a car. So this trip was kind of my good bye to the old place.
I was kind of wandering the place, and the guards had stopped patrolling about an hour before. I stayed away from the main building, but that’s okay because none of the older graves were near there anyway. I was, as per the usual, avoiding the place that the old hedges had once been. After about 30 minutes of walking around, I got tired and sat down on a bench along the path. That’s when the crying started.
It sounded like a little girl was in tears, spouting the words “I’m lost” between sobs. I jumped up and started looking around, thinking that I wasn’t alone. I had run into enough people over the years in the cemetery to realize that while I was a strange one, I wasn’t alone in exploring burial sites after dark. I thought it was possible that one of the local 8 or 9 year olds had decided to check out the cemetery at night, possibly as a bet. So I stood up, and started looking for the source.
It was in vain; I couldn’t see anyone. But I could still hear the sobs. The problem was that I couldn’t track them down; everytime I got where I thought I heard them from, they started again from somewhere else. So, naturally, I called out “Is anyone there?” only to be met with the sobs from a deeper part of the cemetery.
A normal person would have turned back, either afraid or realizing that nothing was to be gained by this. A normal person may have realized that this was an infinitely fucked up situation, and that escape was the only logical situation. Unfortunately, I had been a weird little boy who had grown into an extremely weird young adult. So, like any wannabe hero I tried, hopelessly, for what seemed like hours, to find the origin of the voice.
As I neared the middle of the graveyard, the voice became louder and more incessant. That’s also when the tugging started. Have you spent a great deal of time around children? If so, you know what it’s like when someone half your height decides that they really want your attention when you really don’t want to give it to them. My shirt began to move, as if pulled towards the ground. Light, at first barely noticable, but harder and with more urgency as time wore on. This was, needless to say, very freaky considering the fact that no one was there. I, however, managed somehow to convince myself that I wasn’t a coward at heart and fought the urge to run. Not just the urge, but the desire, as if some unseen will was screaming in my mind that it would be a good idea to get out there. But I decided to try to figure out what was going on.
This was also the first, and only, time that a manifestation had actually physically “touched” me. Technically, all it did was grab my shirt, but that was more than any other ghost had really done. Others had been able to do things like move toys, or open fences, or even mess with the fog or my vision, but this ghost touched ME. This should have set off warning bells, but it didn’t. When the tugging started, rather than run off into the embrace and safety of the night outside of the cemetery, I stopped moving, and looked for whoever was tugging me. Of course, no one was there, but the voice had taken on urgency.
“I’m lost” it continued to say. So I responded this time “that’s okay, I’m here. Help me find you.” It was ready, and answered back “You’re lost too.”
I had to think about exactly where I was, but with a quick scan (thank god there wasn’t any fog that night) I knew exactly where I was. So I replied “No I’m not. I know exactly where I am. Where are you trying to get?”
The voice, again, directly answered me, which was also weird. I was used to ghosts answering cryptically, or ignoring any evidence to the contrary of what they’re saying. She, however, responded “I’m TRYING to get YOU lost TOO! I don’t WANT YOU TO LEAVE!” And this time, I recognized the voice. I had been avoiding her part of the cemetery, and I suddenly realized that in tracking the voice, I had wound up almost on top of where the bushes had been. Stupid obnoxious whiny little whelps. This time, there was no way I could convince myself that I wasn’t scared. I was. I said, out loud (which was also stupid, but she probably knew what I was thinking, anyway) “fuck this, I’m out.” and I started to move away. But something had my shirt. I couldn’t walk away, I couldn’t run… I tried, but she held my shirt. And then, I realized that I could see her. It was kind of like looking through a perfectly clear prism, you can’t see it, but you can tell that somethings there because of the way that the light distorts. Then, imagine the prism slowly gaining sustenace, it goes from being clear to opaque, and you can see it. I clearly saw a ten or eleven year old girl, about 3 feet tall, with no skin on her face, with yellowed teeth and eyes, and a bony claw of a right arm holding on to my shirt.
I may have been weird, but I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t yell, I didn’t scream, and most importantly, I didn’t faint. Instead, I sucked in my breath, and decided to jump down and backwards, while pushing my arms forward… I literally managed to jump out of my shirt. Then I ran. Probably faster than I ever have before, all the while hearing the whine of the girl “I WASN’T DONE PLAYIN’ YET! COME BACK!” I hate that… thing, and if they bury me in that cemetery, first thing I’m gonna do is strangle that undead bitch. But that night, I sprinted, I probably covered a half mile in under 3 minutes, hit the fence running, and climbed it, over the top, down the other side, and took the other quarter mile to my home in under 2 more minutes. That may not sound too impressive to some of you runners out there, but I’m a big, fairly large nerd. 6’3″, 260 lbs. I don’t run fast, unless I’m sprinting over a fairly short distance.
I never went back to the cemetery. Part of it is because I moved, and because I don’t actually know any of the people buried there. That’s probably why I never went back in the daylight. But somewhere, in the dark recesses of my mind, lurks the thought that if I go back again at night, I may not make it out. I can still clearly see the horrible visage of the faceless girl, and sometimes I can even feel the claws grasping at my shirt. She has found refuge in my nightmares, and I can’t get the image, or the voice, out of my head. And that is just my mind trying to cope with its existence. I have faced most of my fears, but I don’t think I would go back into that graveyard alone and at night for anything on this earth.
Tales from my haunted house Vol 2: “The Lady in the Window”
I was the only one in my family to ever actually witness this ghost, although I am also by far the most observant; furthermore, due to my experiences in the Graveyard, I had begun to take notice of the little things that so many of us ignore during the day. The house we lived in near the graveyard was 2 stories, plus an attic with a window. My sisters bedroom was just below the attic, and the windows were lined up nicely. When I first began to see the face of a woman, probably mid 30’s, watching me very time I came in through the back, I thought that my sister had put some stupid doll or something (she collected porcelain dolls, so it was possible) in a dumb position. The figure never moved, just sat there facing the yard and following me with hollowed out eyes. I realized that it was more than just a doll when it started appearing in other windows of the house. First the attic, and then the bathroom on the second floor that was next to my sisters room. Finally, the face appeared in the bathroom in the garage that also faced out on to the back yard of the place. I tried to point it out to people, but by the time they looked, it was gone. I think that they may have noticed it in passing, or in the fleeting moments that try your soul and make you choose between an unhibited stable reality or face the possibility of the unkown, and taken the easier road.
Anyway, while I alone may have seen this ghost, we all knew she was there. Not because of the usual “ghostly” things, the wilting laughter, the echo of chains in the darkness, or the sounds of sobbing in the distance. We knew she was there because it was her house, and she managed the furniture. The rooms were set up according to her needs, aside from one special item that will come in to play later. In the living room, the couch was next to the big bay window, and ran horizontally away from it against the back wall. This allowed you to look at the entertainment center, which was against the far wall, the stairs, or out the window on to the front yard. You could also see the entrance form the miniscule dining room. Upstairs, in the large bedroom, the bed (or beds, when my brother and I shared that room) were placed next to the closet and against the wall opposite the dresser. This room was not allowed to be messy. It would be cleaned, two teenage boys or no. The other bedroom on that floor, my sister, had the bade against the back wall opposite the walk in closet next to the entrance, and also the dresser against one of the other walls. Bookshelves sat against the wall next to the bed.
In the converted Den/bedroom, the head of the bed was against the wall on left of the entrance, in the middle of that wall, or (when my brother and I had that room) one in the corner next to the back wall and one next to the closet. The dresser was aganist the right wall regardless, and the desk in the house was in that room opposite the closet. The kitchen had no room for rearranging anyway.
This leaves the dining room: it was pretty normal, stuff had to be on the right shelves and in the right drawers. The table was in the middle, surrounded by chairs. The other addtition to this room was a computer desk, that I got to place. At first, the ghost kept moving the desk around the house. Eventually, she left a note stating “This is my house,” So I left a note on the computer saying “this is my desk, I choose where it goes.” She seemed to accept that, although my mothers attempts at “owning” the other furniture never panned out, and eventually my mom couldn’t take it any more (she’s a bit of a control freak) and after four years of this shit, we moved.
The lady in the window appeared for the last time, in a window she’d never been in before; the other second floor bedroom, which looked over the front yard. She seemed sad to see us go, but that could have been because I wanted the ghost to have liked us. I always thought she was amusing, although my mother couldn’t stand her. I also liked the fact that she was very unghostlike; no random “spooky” noises (you couldn’t even hear her move the furniture) and no messy or violent explosions of ghostly rage. Just a quiet ownership of what she saw to be her home, with the exception for the contraption that she had probably never seen before: a PC.
Tales from the Graveyard episode 6: “the mass”
This thing still haunts my dreams and echo’s itself in the corner of my eyes. It gathers in the shadows and then disappears to nothingness, makeing me question my sanity. I remember it perfectly, because every now and again, when I finally think its gone, I see it hovering in the darkness. Sometimes, when all is silent, I can still here its song.
It began like most of my other trips to the graveyard near my former home. It was a quiet and beautifully clear night. I could see the stars, and it wasn’t very cold. It was spring, I had just gotten my drivers permit, and life was good. That night, I went to the cemetery thinking that I was done with the place, but what happened would haunt my dreams and make me obsessed with the place. I needed an answer, and one that I would never get, at least not while I still lived.
Near the back of the cemetery, they put up a giant hedge. They decided, for some reason, that a huge impenetrable bush would be superior to a fence facing one of the busier streets in the city. It was giant and green, on the outside. But inside the cemetery, there was a section of the bush that was fairly dead; the leaves had all fallen off and the branches reached out like the hands of drowning men from a sea of green. The guards never went near there, and when I had first started exploring the place I had been warned by one of the friendlier security guards (who I’ve always referred to as Pat) not to go any where near there, especially at night.
By now I should have proven that I was a reckless, foolish, and brave (approaching stupidity) youth. So, realizing that I had never actually gone there at night, I decided that this night would be the one. The wind picked up, almost like what was there new I was coming and was waiting for me, and a light breeze played with the hair and danced off of my face. That’s when I heard the music. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard, indescribably wonderful. Imagine your favorite song, only better, a series of sounds that no one can truly hear or repeat, yet you would follow for no more than there serene perfection. That sound began to lead me down the path to the back of the cemetery.
This part of the graveyard was significantly less taken care of than the rest of the place, it was also the section that had several unmarked graves that pat had told me where for derelicts who had never been identified. There were recent additions, to be sure, but the field of nameless dead stretched on for over a century, one straggled in every few years. Seing headstones without names startled me back from the near hypnosis that the song had put me in; and for the first time in the graveyard I truly felt a little afraid. Not for my life, but for my sanity. But I couldn’t force myself to turn back; the mind was willing to admit defeat, but the body demanded I press on.
I walked through these rows for about 5 minutes, waiting for the inevitable to jump out at me, and add me to the list of missing persons in my hometown, and also to the mass of unkown souls beneath the ground. Sometimes, when I lie awake at night wondering if its still out there, I decide that death there would have been the preferable state.
The owners of the cemetery had always claimed that the weird bush growth there was because of the local trees; they cast shadows for the better part of the day on that specific spot, so long ago the bushes had learned that growing leaves there was pointless (much like a tree will bend itself towards the light over years) and had never regrown the leaves after the first batch had fallen off. This couldn’t have been true, (biology aside) though, because the ground was always littered with what appeared to be a fresh layer of dead leaves. I had always been curious about that particular area, so I decided that sense nothing had eaten me so far, I must be safe. It was a foolish presumption on my part.
I reached the fallen leaves with no difficulty, and noticed that the pile was extraordinarily small for this time of year. For any time of year; it didn’t really matter, there had always been a significant pile of dead leaves in various states of decay on that spot. That night, however, there was nothing more than the occasional dried out husk. That’s when the song began again. It was ephemeral and wonderful beyond belief; it must have been what Ulysses heard as he past the sirens. And it was calling me to my doom once more.
Luckily, my body finally noticed something was definitely amis; the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I began to shiver despite the fact that it was not cold. I stopped moving towards the sound, and instead started to look in the direction I was heading; and that is where it greated me. A solid shadow loomed out from one of the empty headstones like a blotch of ink on a quite scenic painting. At first, it had no shape, but it began to coalesce in to something real, then it started to walk. To attempt to describe this “shadow” would be impossible; it had 7 legs, and an enormous morphous body that changed shape as it moved. Occasionally, one of the legs would be engulfed by the rest of the creature, only to reappear a few seconds later. As it moved, the leaves near it died and fell from their branches.
I had already begun backpeddling away from the monstrosity, but it continued to calmly follow me like some villain from a horror film, waiting for me to trip or break my leg in an attempt to get away. As it neared, the shape became more definite; 2 long, spindly arms ending in hands reached forth from the mass, followed by 6 more that ended in pincers. It sprouted a head that was at the same time that of a man and a wolf, with a giant, gaping maw waiting to devour me. I did the only thing I could do in such a situation. I, remebering all my taunts at horror movie hero’s, took off running, paying careful attention to where I stepped, hopped the chain link fence, ran home, locked the back door, went to my bedroom and turned on the lights, then started to watch the backyard to see if I had been followed.
I didn’t see the creature again that night, nor did I hear its song. But one week later, I could have sworn for just a second that its sound came from someones radio, even though I could hear them singing along to a completely different song. Then I saw it, in the old tunnels beneath my school (bomb shelter.) it was inky or semi-solid anymore, but I watched a shadow on the wall change as I passed. Needless to say, I ran before anything else could happen.
Then the most startling realization occured to me; the leaves on the bush had started to grow back, and the oak in my backyard began to act strangely, as if something was killing the foilage along the back up to about 8 feet. my parents accounted for some new neighbors adding a story on to their house behind us, but I resolved never to go outside at night. My dog also began to use the dog door to come and sleep in the garage at night, which she had never before done. I knew it was out there, waiting, but for what I didn’t know. I would eventually find out, but that’s another story…
Tales from the Graveyard epi. 7: “Wicca doesn’t work”, or “I started the f***ing fire”
Chapter 1:
I had grown sick and tired of the gnawing fear that a creature born of shadows was waiting to devour my soul. I was tired of watching my back everytime I went anywhere. I was tired of not sleeping because of the gnawing fear that I may not wake up. I had begun to watch the tree, and ad seen the things head appear a couple of times, when animals ran around in the back yard, or birds flew by. For some reason, though, it never seemed to move forward. I first I thought it was playing a game, toying with me, but I slowly began to realize that while I watched it, it never watched me back. And it would only follow animals so long as they were outside of the circle of light created in our back yards. My mind made the only conclusion that any freshly 16 year old could create; the thing was allergic to light. I decided I’d just go shine my flashlight at it, which only worked to really piss it off.
It was pissed off so much, in fact, that it massed out of the tree and came tearing through the night. One thing I had on it, however, was that it couldn’t see… So I held perfectly still, and waited for the thing to give up on finding me. Then it began to sing again. That song, that perfect song, that could call a angry man from a fight… It took everything I had to not move, not go towards the infernal thing, every ounce of strength in my body to obey my minds commands to STAY FUCKING PUT.
It gave up after what seemed an eternity, but was probably only 20-30 minutes. I waited for it to get back in the tree, it just kind of dissolved itself in from the back side, the shadows becoming insubstantial and the coalescing into the tree and diffusing itself amongst the branches.
I was at my wits end; I had gone through every book on the supernatural that I could find, and found no reference to anything like this. I thought that it might be some kind of evil fairy, but only because those seemed to define definition most of the time. I really had no clue.
So I went to the local churches and talked with the priests; they all had the same answer for me. Stop wasting my time with nonsense. I realized that I would have to turn away from mainstream religions when the local mosques and temples did the same; so I went and asked for help from the only other “religious” person I knew about, a really hot wiccan named M. Now, I admit, I really had a crush on M. And I was pretty sure that she liked me back, in some crazy “I’m a freak, and you’re just borderline insane” kind of way. So I went to her and spilled.
I knew that she wasn’t buying from the pout on her lips. We’d been friends since grade school, and I knew her expressions better than I knew myself. So I did the only thing I could think of; I invited over to my place while my parents were away so she could see the thing. She probably thought I was just trying to ger her alone with me in the dark, but that didn’t seem to bother her at the time. Instead, she got to see the scariest thing that she’d ever seen before in her life.
She consulted her books, and found some kind of spell, as I called it, that worked to remove the taint of the supernatural. She asked me for the whole story, which I spilled, and she decided that we would have to go to the cemetery. And that meant that while she was preparing the incantation, I’d have to lure the thing back. So, at around 11 pm, I led her to the graveyard, to the very spot that this thing had originally sprouted from. She began mixing minerals in to wine, that she was burning over a very low flame, the light of which she shielded with her body. I hopped the fence, and went home… The thing was there, in the tree. As I got close, it started to reform. I knew that if it was still po’d enough to run after me, I didn’t have a shot in hell, so I kept the flashlight beam off of it. Instead, I as it took form, I began to back away, then I turned an ran towards the cemetery. I hopped the fence, then turned back, surprised to realize that I had gained no distance on the thing. It didn’t seem to be going as fast as I had, seeing as how I’d ran, but it managed to stay at exactly the same distance from me until I stopped. Then it began to inch forward.
I walked back to the spot, and told M “It’s here.” She didn’t even look up, just kept chanting over the frothing, red, liquid. It approached, and I began to wonder if she’d be done in time… she finished only seconds before the thing got to us. It had already moved it’s arms forward, and the head had arisen from the shadow-cloud that covered it’s body. She grabbed the cup and flung it. I had expected smoke, fire, an explosion, magical lights dancing as the thing dissolved. Instead, it laughed at us, and struck at her…
It cut her, too. Three claws ripped into the torso of a 5’1″ 110 lb girl. My mind went into not-idiot mode again, and I grabbed her as she fell and took off towards the front gate. Luckily, the guards didn’t seem to find me, so I just shoulder rammed them open and kept running towards my car, as M bled. I threw her into the car as gently as I could, turned the ignition, and took off. The thing was right behind me, it never got any closer, but it was always just one step away in the rearview mirror.
I didn’t have a chevelle of heroism, I had a little old ford POS, but I had never been happier to have this shit vehicle in my life, because somehow the lights were never against me and my car didn’t die on the way to the hospital. I squealed into the parking lot, fishtailing to a stop in front of the doors, grabbed her and ran inside. Everyone turned to look at me, then realized that I was covered in blood and carried a semi-conscious girl bleeding from three slashing wounds across her abdomen. They took her from me, to a back room, and then started to ask me question.
I said that we had been walking in neighborhood, whena dog had jumped out and attacked. I kicked it, but it had clawed her pretty badly before I could react. Once I had gotten the thing off of her, I picked her up and carried her back to my car which was less than a block away. They asked me the dogs size, and I said large, bigger than any dog I had seen before. I said it was too dark to identify the type, but it must have been about the size of rottweiler/mastiff. They looked like they didn’t exactly believe me, and had called the police. The cops got there a few mintues later, and began to question me again. I gave them the same story I had given the doctors.
In her moments of near lucidity, M had been talking about some kind of monster that attacked her. They had also identified the wounds as claw marks, not as knife wounds as they had originally thought. The doctor said he had never seen a dog with big enough claws to do this, but it didn’t seem like either of us had actually gotten a good look at the creature. Thank god for obscurity in descriptions.
They asked me where, and I gave them the block in front of the cemetery. They said that they’d send a man to investigate, and luckily that was the last I heard from the cops on the matter. Somehow, they hadn’t realized that it had taken a while for the blood of the girl I was carrying to spill over my arms on to the street, (no blood trail back to the cemetery, I checked when it was light). I stayed there all night, claiming to be her “boyfriend” and her parents, who happened to like me, made the hospital let me back there with her. She regained consciousness, and survived, althuogh it left 3 nasty scars on her chest. We were left alone, and talked in hushed whispers.
I told her that I was sorry I had gotten her involved, and that I was going to find a way to make things better. She told me that I should just leave it alone, and hope that it doesn’t follow me back home, but now I was angry on top of brash.
The three the thing had inhabited at the hospital was obvious, it was a small pine that practially died over night. Luckily for me, the hospital feared some kind of tree disease, so they had the thing cut down by mid-afternoon the next day. I grabbed a chain, and pulled the stump out of the ground at around 2 in the afternoon. The roots had gone to an sickly black, and seemed to be drinking an ink… I Lashed it to my bumper, and drove to the bluffs, a kind of cliff-top that overlooks the Kern River Bed. In the summer, there’s never any water running through, and it’s actually pretty ugly, so I knew that the odds of being observed were low.
I grabbed the stump, and followed a trail down to the bottom. In the river bed, I built a fire pit, loaded it up with twigs and newspaper, then tossed the stump on top. I lit it all, expecting the fire to do all the work for me. I still hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that light only blinded the creature; I was hoping that it would have some kind of vampiric allergy to sunlight, or that it couldn’t leave into total light, but no, that was not to be. It came screaming out of the firepit, jumping from nothingness to existence as soon as the flames began to like at the stump from the tree.
I took an involuntary step back, and the creature heard my foot slide in the sand. It turned, but still couldn’t see me. It leaped at where I had a been a few moments before, and I ran to the other side of the fire pit. I thought that I was a goner, that this would be my final fight. But I was determined not to give up, and the creature and I kept circling the firepit, it trying to get to me and I trying to keep the fire between us.
My lucky break occured when I tripped. It heard this, and I saw the thing smile at me, it’s long, sharp teeth forming two lines of knives, and it walked, calmly, towards me. I had, however tripped over a small branch, something that looked enough to me like a torch from an Indiana Jones movie for me to get the idea of lighting it on fire. I rammed the thing into the fire pit as I scrambled to get up, and then pulled it out just as the creature jumped at me. I hit it, hard, and held the flame on its arm for a few seconds; but that was all that I’d needed.
The creature went up like paper, at first howling in pain with a low unearthly sound that chilled me to the bone. The fire ate away the things arms, then split up at the torso to eat through the cetner and the legs. The shadow surrounding the face was the last to go, but the creature continued to smile at me. The shadows fell to the flames, leaving a fine, grey powder that drifter apart and away in the days light breeze. I thought that maybe it had smiled at me because after years it had been defeated. I let my foolish thoughts of victory overwhelm me, and then I went back to the hospital to visit with M. She was in there for about 3 days, they wanted to examine the wounds to make sure that she wasn’t infected and check her for rabies.
Chapter 2:
I brought her flowers and a get well soon card, and told her that it was all over once we were alone. I stayed with her through visiter hours for the next three days, and then we went out on actual date. I took her out on a picnic in the park, it was sweet and gave us time to talk about what had happened. I told her the finally to the story, and apologized again for getting her involved. We talked for a while, about faith and other such things, and when the mood seemed right, I leaned in for a kiss. It was a wonderful experience, and one that we would oft repeat for next 3 weeks. On that third week, however, we heard it. The song struck up again, in the dark recesses of our minds. As our relationship progressed, the presence became worse and worse. On our one month anniversary, the creature showed up in the shadows; not in its full form, mind you, but the shape of it flirted in the 2 dimensional darkness out of the corner of my eyes. She told me that she loved me, but couldn’t live with the fear.
The damn thing cost more than I’ll probably ever really know, and it haunts me still. It’s almost impossible to actually get a good nights sleep anymore, and whenever I get intimate I can hear it, or see it. I’m not sure if its slowly reforming, or if its physical being is truly dead and now it just haunts me, getting its revenge from beyond the grave. I probably won’t know, until its too late. The only thing that is certain is that it hasn’t completely left me, and probably never will. I am, in a word, haunted by a creature that defies my imagination and reminds me how foolish I was as a youth.
–sumore–
It seems that some time in the mid 70’s, a young man was studying in a private carol on the top floor (It’s basicaly a small study room that they hold a lottery for each semester and let one senior have to themselves for the year). Campus Safety came through and did what they always do, which is yell “closing time” and then give anyone in the carols 5 minutes or so to get out of the carols and the building before turning off the lights. Wonderboy was either asleep at the time, didn’t hear them, or didn’t care and wound up locked in the library after closing. He was found the next morning, huddled in the far corner of his carol muttering “they’re not real,” a statement that his bloody fingernails attested to by having scratched it into the desk in the room. The reason that they went looking into his carol in the first place was because campus security had noticed “leave us alone” scratched into the glass on the outside, and the furniture piled up against the door on the inside.
In Newcomb hall, a schitzophrenic girl killed herself, also in the late 70’s. Her ghost now manifests by creating the sound of “dropping marbles” in the closet, which can be heard in the room below, shutting the lights off in her old room, turning off the equipment and supposedly responding to student concerns, such as “leave the light on for 1/2 hour more.” This ghost is known to get obnoxious when someone it doesn’t like is in the room, usually males that are considered “unsafe” for a girl to be alone with on campus (it’s a liberal campus, so we’re not talking will try to get into your pants, we’re talking will try to get you drunk so they can get into your pants).
In Pauley, the ghost on the first floor has been known to physically assault males overstepping their boundaries on its floor. It’s believed to be the spirit of a girl who was sexually assaulted or raped in the early 80’s and killed herself as a result of the depression this tragedy caused.
Lastly, in Haines, there is the ghost of a young man who wanders around the halls on weekends, perpetually seeking the party that he could never find in life. Apparently this is the ghost of the freshman who died of alchohol poisoning in the early 90’s (I used to even know his name) in Haines hall. He’d been drinking, and Haines is a labyrinth when you’re sober, so this young fellow got lost and wound up in the laundry room, the only basement level area, near the doors of no one. He died down there of alchohol poisoning a few hours later, and was found the next morning; now his spirit forever seeks the safety of the party he wandered away from and never found again.
–gamore–
Hell, I’d hoped I was done with stories in this thread, but apparently not. For those of you not in the know, I graduated from college last sunday. It was an exciting event, and a fun one as well. It was a pleasent day outside, the sun shined (which made it way too hot for those black gowns, but ehh), the birds sang, and a good time was had by all. That night, I decided to do the one thing at Oxy that I hadn’t really done yet: explore the tunnels.
We don’t have any of those nifty bomb-shelter areas or anything, our school just happens to have a series of interconnected maintenance tunnels that run pretty mch beneath everything. They’re actually a fairly dangerous place, mainly due to all of the piping for things like hot water that run through them now. In the 70’s, though, they were a great deal safer and they were kind of a hangout for several of the students. Now, you can still see the graffiti left behind by these old students (Make love, not war, that kind of peacenik stuff). I had to see it before I left, so I and one of my closest friends (who just happens to be a pretty good looking woman… hey, you can’t blame me can you?) who I’ll call S, decided to just go ahead and get in. I knew where one of the doors into the tunnles was, and I had the master key to that building (being an RA, and the door into the tunnels was behind the storage area for my hall). We let ourselves in with a flashlight and disposable camera, prepared for an all around good time and some neat pictures to share with friends.
After about 30 minutes of wandering, unrolling a ball of twine behind us (we’re not stupid, thank god) we both began hearing this weird thumping noise. It sounded like drums, but both of us just wrote it off as water coming through the pipes. It kept a fairly steady beat, think the drums from “the lurking horror” and you’re pretty close to what I was hearing. As we kept walking, the intensity would go up and down, and eventually we figured out that we could track the noise to its source. We turned down an old hallway and found: a door.
This door was an ancient looking metal door. I don’t mean ancient as in from antiquity, I mean ancient as in at least 50 or 60 years old, and solid rust. The old padlock on the door had already rusted through, so we figured no one would noticed if we just knocked it off using my maglite and opened the door. We were expecting piping, old, and a wave of heat or something. Instead, we both got really nauseous as soon as the door was opened, and very afraid. Inside was an inky black shape, that blended in too well with the shadows to actually see clearly. I waved the light over the thing, and got a pretty good impression of its appearance. It was roughly humanoid, about 5’6″ tall. The arms were longer than a humans would have been, and the head was smaller. I never got a look at any of its features, other than its beady red eyes and long, sharp teeth. S took off running, and I slammed the door then followed as fast as I could. I lost her after a couple of turns, but assumed that she was also following the thread… until I heard her scream coming from a side passage.
I ran down as fast as I could, horribly afraid that a friend had been mutilated because of my insatibale curiousity. To my relief, she was just screaming in hopes that I’d hear her, because the batteries on her flashlight had died and she’d gotten lost. We held hands, and continued through our path. I could feel somethings eyes upon me the whole time, and we began to hurry. That’s when I tripped. I dropped my flashlight, and it rolled off down a side passage. I also fell on the camera, which was in my breast pocket, smashing it to bits that dug into my chest like a thousand gnawing teeth. I got back up, and pulled her up after me She’d fallen when I had) then grabbed my flashlight and we took off again. We both knew we were being followed. We ran out of the tunnels into the storage area, and I quickly turned and shut the door, locking it behind us. We both looked at each other, panting, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Why the hell does this kind of shit always have to happen to me? I don’t even go looking for it anymore, and it still finds me.
–ffffffffffffmore–
My brother and several of his friends are avid hikers. One of them, a young man named Joseph from Montana, related this tale to me after we all went for a hike near Lake Isabella, a local state park, and asked him about these weird scars on his left temple. I’m also retelling this story in my words because he’s an inebriated hick with the grammar of a two year old, but amusing and friendly nonetheless.
“In the back woods of montana, the trails are known to twist and turn, leading in all directions and sometimes leading to nowhere. The worst part is that sometimes, while you are hiking, the trees will block the sun and the fog will obscure the ground, and although the foilage is dense the trees themselves are not, leaving all kinds of different ways to wander. Once, while I was out hiking, I found myself in just such a situation. I had, on this occasion, also forgotten to take my compass. I wasn’t planning on being out more than an hour or two, so I hadn’t taken any of my usual hiking supplies. I wandered without knowing where I was going for at least four hours, and just as dusk came upon me I noticed an old, wooden cabin with smoke coming from the fireplace. I figured that it was probably some sort of ranger depot, so I immediately headed in that direction.
I opened the door and called out “hello?” but apparently no one was home. I walked inside after deciding that I needed to at least warm myself by the fire and that the owner, even if it wasn’t the rangers, would at least accept that. I must have fallen asleep next to the fire, because next thing I knew it was well after night had fallen. It was also very cold, and I noticed the fire had either been put or gone out. I looked around, but everything looked like I had left it. On the table, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before, however; a journal of some sort. It was open to July, 1943, and told a very sad story. It seemed that the owner of this diary had previously had a daughter, whom the author referred to as beautiful as morning dew and lively as the suns early light. (pratty as a field o’ buckwheat and live’y as sun is hawt)On the particular day retold by this diary, it seemed that the girl had gone out on her horse, and not come home. The writer had searched for her for hours in vain, eventually to find her at the bottom of a ravine, with her back broken and the horse on top of her. It seemed that something had spooked the horse and it had fallen into the ravine on top of the poor girl, crushing her completely. I dried a tear in my eye and turned to leave, but the door wouldn’t open. It wasn’t bolted or anything like that, it just seemed frozen stiff. I turned back towards the room, and noticed the most beautiful girl I had ever seen sitting in an old armchair. She smiled at me, and I felt like the luckiest man on earth. She said, in a voice as sweet as honey and as soft as silk “Come over here, handsome, it has been a while since last I had company.” Of course, being the red-blooded american stud I am, I went over to her. She smiled up at me, and reached her hands around my neck and began to pull me down upon her. I smiled, thinking about the incredibly kiss I was about to recieve. I pulled her up from her seat, and that’s when I noticed the irregularity.
her body pulled up before her legs. It was odd, as if the two parts weren’t connected. She laughed, and clawed her hands into my neck, then drew her left hand back across my face, leaving me with the scars you see today. I threw her back, and it took everything I had PLUS the adrenaline pumping through my body, and she laughed as her back slumped behind her body, leaving her legs just standing there. She began to walk towards me, and to pull her body up using her hands, so I ran for the door and threw myself against it. It wouldn’t open, so I turned towards a window in the back and ran forward, throwing myself through the glass. I turned back around, and the cabin was there, but different. The roof had collapsed, and the chimney was half fallen over. The wood had all rotted, and the window frame had no glass left in it. I realized that the glass hadn’t cut me, because it was’t there. My next though was that it had all been a crazy dream or hallucination, but the cuts from her fingernails reminded me of the horrible truth. I wandered for two days before the rangers found me and took me to a hospital, and that’s when I decided to move out of Montana.”
–this person never shuts up–
I just got back from visiting my friend texas Joe from, loe and behold, texas. His family owns a pretty old ranch out there, one that they date back to the “ol'” west, but most of it has been completely rebuilt to be a souped up super-nice place. Anyway, this house still does feature one of the original parts of its construction: its basement.
Joe told me that normally they don’t tell anyone this, but because I’m in to the supernatural, and I would be sleeping down there, he’d let me in on a family secret: Their basement is haunted. I immediately thought ha ha, jackass, because Joe is, well, a Jackass. He’s a really fun Jackass, but he’s not the kind of guy who’d be above telling you the basement was haunted and then fucking with the doors to scare the piss out of you.
It turns out that this basement is very, very, old. It was also apparently originally built with the entrance on the INSIDE of the house. This seems strange to me, since it is much more of a cellar, and I really expected it to have those huge doors that face outside, especially since I’d seen a couple of those already on the way in. (they have a basement on their barn that they use for storage).
Anyway, this cellar was old. The walls looked like logs, very well aged, but still solid wood. The ceiling had been replaced, and they had added a couple of support pillars for the rest of the house. The basement had long since been converted into a guest bedroom, and it looked old, but nice. Some of the stories they have about it involve hiding horses that had been stolen in the early 10th century, and then working as a hooch still and “speak-easy” during prohibition. Over the three nights I was there, I heard things that will allow me to vouch for the latter.
On the first night, we went out with what Joe called the “Worlds Biggest Potato Gun” and shot at armadillos. I know, asshole college students blah blah blah, but it was a potato gun and our aim REALLY sucked. Or at least, my aim sucked and Joe was too drunk to hit anything. At around 3 in the morning, we returned to his families ranch and retired to our chambers; that is to say, Joe passed out on the couch and I went downstairs to sleep on a bed. When I opened the door, I felt a very unnatural chill and everything went silent. There hadn’t exactly beena lot of noise before, but I had been able to hear the TV in the living room and it sounded like that noise stopped, as well as the noise outside. I shut the door to ask Joe why he turned off the tv, but I heard it again and chalked the whole thing up to sleep dep.
When I opened the door again, I was hit by a wave of sounds. First, i could hear a female voice singing the most beautiful jazz I had ever heard. I vould hear a band behind her playing, and a mixture of voices talking. I walked down into the basementt, shutting the door behind me, and laid down. I thought that someone was fucking with me, and I was determined to sleep on a bed. I could still hear the jazz, and I thought that it was too good to be an amateur at a speak-easy anyway. I took off my glasses to go to sleep, and then I heard Foot steps clomping down the stairs and someone shout, then I heard feet running everywhere. I grabbed my glasses to go upstairs and thrash Joe good for all the trouble he was causing, but then I saw her.
Laying on the ground in front of me, holding her face as if she’d just been slapped, was an absolutely gorgeous woman dressed up like a flapper. She had the most amazing eyes, but again I digress. She was looking up, at first I thought at me but then I realized she was looking through me, as if at someone behind me, and she started to plead “no, don’t, please, no.” She began to cry, and I felt really sad. Then her head went back, as if it had been struck, and she just kind of faded away. The music had long since stopped, and I chalked it up to my overactive imagination and went back to bed.
The next night it happened again, although this time I heard the gunshot before I saw her slump up agains the floor. On the last night that I stayed there, I heard the music start, but I couldn’t watch it again. I’ve seen many strange sights in my life, but not even I can stomach helplessely watching a woman die.
LOL 9000
About two years ago, my friends and I were searching for rural
places to do illegal things like use explosives and shoot things. We
found the perfect place, about thirty miles away from any city. Let’s
call this place “the haunted mine.” After further exploration in this
area, we find an abandoned house, which for some reason still has
power.
My friend Matt and I head up to this house on a cold december
night. We were equipped with four flashlights, candles, a batch of
fake blood, and an axe. We bring everything into the house and light
up the living room. Matt smears a good amount of fake blood on one of
the walls and I jam the axe into an adjacent wall. If you are
wondering why we are doing this, we asked two other friends to come up
to the house the next night (hopefully we’d scare the shit out of them
). We both set up candles on the floor in a pentagram about three feet
wide and three feet long. I pack up the lights and I follow Matt back
to my truck, then I drive us back home.
The next day
At night, the four of us drive up to the gate and get out of
Matt’s car. Matt and I lead the way and tell the other two that the
house is close. I can see Matt trying to hold back laughter already, so
I punch him and keep walking. We get to the door of the house and walk
in and head towards the kitchen (which is to the left, the living room
is straight ahead). Our two friends walk into the living room, turn on
the light and scream, in turn Matt and I both start laughing as they
run out the door. Matt walks into the living room to get the axe (
since it was his anyways). The look on Matt’s face is something I will
never forget. I run into the living room and almost fall over. On the
fake blood wall, written into the fake blood was “I will find you.” I
almost shit myself and then I looked at the other corner of the room
and saw a shadowy figure. The noise this figure made was horrid and
still scares me today, the best way to describe it would be a very low
pitched scream mixed with some evil sounding whisper. Matt pushes me
out of the room and we both sprint back to his car, were the two others
are waiting. I never looked back after that, I’m not sure if it
followed us or not. Scary.
KarmaEnforcer
“Hot, hot 2 ghosts on Karma action”
The Location: Northwood Drive, about a block and a half north of Lane Ave, Columbus, Ohio. OSU campus.
The Time period: 1997-1998.
The Cast: Karma ‘My real name isn’t Karma’ Enforcer
Karma’s future fiance, also known as Karma’s future ex-fiance. Also known by several other extremely less flattering names.
Several freakshow roommates of varying proclivities and sanity states.
Prologue:
I had lost alot of myself in the previous years. Bad shit in the service. Too much drinking. So I got myself dismissed from service posthaste and returned to good old Ohio. I failed to find employment and my otherwise benevolent parents booted me out. So I went where you go when you’re homeless in Columbus. OSU campus. Met a girl. It wasn’t love at first sight. Lust, maybe. But she took me in. Fed me. Gave me a warm place to sleep without placing any real demands on me. So I settled in. This was a big place. Full house. Basement. First floor with two large living room type areas, a sprawling kitchen, bathroom, and dining room. Second story was four bedrooms and a full shower and a bath. The attic was finished and furnished. I never went up there. The reasons should become obvious. The place had also been a link in the underground railroad, and there was a crude patch in the basement that sealed a tunnel into our neighbour’s basement. Anyway, I settled in and lived as idyllically as one can when they’re mentally and emotionally fucked up. But I loved and was loved, and was relatively happy. About 7 months in, I had returned home to my future fiance from a night of sitting around the local coffee shop (Insomnia on 13th and High for you who know the area) with the local clique of gutterpunks and homeless goth kids who thought they were vampires and shit. My future ex-fiance is in our room, huddled under her blankets and shaking like she’d wet the bed while wrapped in a shorted electric blanket.
Chapter 1: “SNAFU”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked with a bit more concern than I’m sure it sounds like.
“I’m okay. I’m just scared.”
“Of?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Seems kinda’ silly to be shaking like a leaf while being scared of nothing in particular. I understand the concept, but it could eventually be economic downfall of the country if we all did it.” I’m not real good at dealing with freaked out women (only one sibling, a brother, and my female cousins have always been too far away for me to have to shoulder and of their problems), so I tend to revert to levity and try to get them calmed down enough to explain clearly what happened.
“Someone was running down the steps.”
“Probably just Gio. He’s pretty spastic.” John (alias Redbird, alias Giovanni, alias Gio) was one of my roommates at the time. He was a bisexual goth who lived with his compulsive kleptomaniac crossdressing boyfriend in the room diagonal from ours. Hey, I was on OSU campus hanging out in the goth scene and didn’t have alot of choices in roommates.
“Gio isn’t home, [Karma]. He wasn’t home then. It started in the attic and went down to the basement like the devil himself was chasing it. But there was no one here.” Okay. I’ve gotten some uncool vibes from the place, but this is pretty wierd. However, on the balance of things, my girl at the time was Irish, and as if the natural irish flamboyance and love for drama wasn’t enough, she was from a family of actors and actresses. So I wasn’t ready to start jumping around shouting ‘boogedy boogedy we’ve got a haint in the shed!’ I proceeded to do my best to calm her the fuck down, with only moderate success.
Interlude:
Okay, so let me just fill you in on a bit more about me so I’m not interrupting myself anymore than I must. I don’t claim to be a psychic. But I think all people have connections to whatever other plane of existence there is. Call it what you will. The ether. The astral plane. The collective unconcious. Bob and Gerdy’s place down the way. Whatever. I’ve noticed in the years since that I have certain reactions to that connection, if something is there to really kick it up. My skin dances. Not prickles, but it’s like that. Only it moves around more erratically. Like electricity. Kinda jumps around the hairs on your arms making them stand up. My guts turn to icewater. Maybe it’s all subconciously driven. I can’t say for sure. I just know that certain places make my skin dance and provokes a strong ‘Fight or Flight’ reaction. However, my father is a diehard skeptic about, well, everything. And so I make sure to carefully examine my situation and try to find the logical solution. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I succeed, but I don’t fool myself. Anyway, on with the show.
Chapter 2: “TARFU”
Some weeks later, I’ve totally forgotten the previous incident and have just written it off as ‘My girlfriend is a spaz.’ I’ve staggered into the shower to clean up after a delightful game of “Who’s your Daddy”. I’m feeling good. I love a shower so hot it leaves me 2 layers of skin from the “Transparent Person’ model they have at COSI (Center of Science and Industry. Cool museum/education thing in Ohio.) Anyway, I’m enjoying the shower when
CRACK!
Okay. I’m now fucking cold. My guts are suitable for leaving bottled draft beer floating in during the frat party. But through the water I’m shivering and my skin is hopping around like it’s making a mad dash from whatever the fuck that was. While my subconcious starts doing it’s diagnostic routine and making sure that everything is still attached and functional, I start looking.
What… the fuck…. IS THAT?!?!?
No. It’s not the ubiquitous ghostly figure. it’s fingerprints in the steam on the other side of the glasslike panel of the shower…. Freaky, no? No. It wasn’t. It was the fingerprint shaped rivulets of blood running down MY side of the glass that freaked me the fuck out.
I’ve been shot.
No. Wait, I haven’t been shot. What the fuck is going on.
My subconcious reports in all systems green and operating within their normal parameters, but that they all want to curl up into a ball and hide from whatever the fuck is going on.
Alright. It’s time to be proactive about this. Someone is pulling some sort of goddamn stunt, and as soon as I’m not buttnaked, they’re due for their forty thousand mile attitude readjustment. I do a cursory rinse of my hair to get the shampoo out, and in one catlike motion, I step out of the shower, grab my towel, and wrap it around my waist.
Okay. Not quite. I slip on the steamy tiles. But if that’s all, why the fuck is my foot suddenly screaming code red?
Oh. I stepped on my razor and somehow managed to take a lovely flap of flesh off my foot. Oh well. I didn’t need that bit for anything but walking on anyway. So I grab my towel and wrap it around my waist with less than my previously-hoped-for catlike grace, and proceed to sit down on the toilet to perform ghetto surgery. (wrapping a towel I don’t like very much around the wound and tying it into place with dental floss, in this case.)
It had to be John. This is just the sort of fucked-up bullshit he’d set up for his own amusement. Alright. We’ve got our tarsal emergency stanched. It’s time to go and kick his scrawny ass from here to…. that razor was flung at the shower door hard enough to scratch it. But Gio is a scrawny dude. No way could he put enough force on that razor to scratch the plastic-glass of the showerdoor. No…. No. Someone needs to get their asskicked so I can feel less like a pussy. We’ll work on the assumption that it was Gio and if terror causes him to explain who it was, then they’ll be it.
John wasn’t home. The girlfriend was still in bed and our door was halfway to closed, the exact way I left it.
I obviously had some sort of post-coital hallcination brought on when the razor fell. The scratch must have already been there. Go back to bed. Lay down, and forget about it.
Chapter 3: “FUBAR”
Okay. Been a great fucking week. Jenn is saying that she’s finding shit thrown around the bathroom. The stomping down the steps has started to become a regular occurance. I can no longer write this off as some sort of hallucination. Time to go check the attic and see if there’s anything up there that will clue me in as to what is going on.
Great plan. As I begin to try to climb the steps it starts again. My guts have started to slosh as glacial ice floes make their way through my intestines. My skin is doing it’s damnedest to hide behind me and peek over my shoulder like Roger Rabbit, only leaving me (if possible) more gruesome than Bob Hoskins. My eyes start to water and tear up. My subconcious is on vacation in Aruba with a note left on it’s desk saying “Will return if you survive this. Don’t wait up!”
Fuck THAT plan. The attic is more than welcome to attempt some sort of anatomical impossibility on itself. Whatever is there HATES me. HATES. Not like, ‘That guy is a real dick. I hate him,’ but ‘I want to do things to you that will make war reporters from Somalia queasy’ hatred.
Yeah, it could be all in my head. Who knows. Protracted period of stress from a goofy relationship resulting in blah blah blah. All I know is what I felt. And that was what I can only imagine hatred distilled and strained and purified must feel like.
So fuck the attic. Let’s start with someplace I’ve been before. To the basement.
Now, there’s a ‘room’ in the basement. Was it filled with bodies, or clean-picked bones, or even Yog-sothoth? Nope. Just a feeling of immense sadness. Childlike, ‘where did scruffy go and why isn’t he ever coming back’ sadness. Loss, grief. Everytime I’d had to go to the basement for anything, I always ended up feeling depressed, but I’d never payed any attention to it, since ‘Depressed’ is pretty much nominal for me. But now, my eyes are watering, not from terror, but tears. Someone has the audacity to run electricty up and down my arm and back skin. At least I’ve had a cold glass of water recently. When was that? Here I stand, in what is essentially two wooden partitions in the basement of a house, bawling. Like my dog died. Like my best friend was moving to Phoenix and I’d never see him again. Heartbroken.
So, I did what any totally rational person does in these circumstances. I fell back on superstition and faith. I drew a line across the doorway to the basement and the attic in salt. The ancients (possibly as far back as 1960 or something) believed that the geometric nature of crystalline salt would entrap spirits, preventing them from causing you harm. In a spiritual version of the Nazi defense at Normandy, I set up great big bunkers of sand at those doorways. I fanatically replenished my little sodium defenders.
What do you know? It worked, in as much as all the freaky shit stopped.
Epilogue:
The house was bought from our landlord the next month, and our lease was not renewed. OH NO! We bailed with a total lack of disappointment and moved on with our lives. Brief recon later indicated that the house was rented out to sorority chicks. Good. Hope they forgot the salt. As for me, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s more in the world than what I can make physical contact with. What it is, I don’t know. Did my Morton’s Magical Army actually work magic? I don’t think so, but my belief of what DID is a whole other thread in-and-of itself. This is, to the best of my recollection, the truth of what happened there, in as much as I can define truth as ‘what I percieve’. And that’s always a suspicious source for information, even if it’s all I have.
AnimeKing
The house I live in now was built in 1898. From what I understand, the same family lived here until 1999 when the daughter of the original owner died. It had sat vacant for 2 years before it was put up for sale. My family and I moved in last May. I had already owned it for a year, but it needed a LOT of work. The bathtub is one of those oldschool clawfoot tubs, the trim is the original cape cod style, and the nails are even those weird shaped oldschool ones. No insulation whatsoever. original clapboard siding, original oak/pine floors. A lot of the insulation was cracked and the furnace was pretty much shot. It pretty much needed some TLC. The structure itself is the oldschool sawmill lumber tht isn’t even made anymore. The supporting beams are about 12″ by 12″ solid wood. All in fairly good shape, just a little worse for wear. I was a big Bob Villa fan when I was growing up so it was like a dream come true. I ended up doing extensive renovations/restoration to the upstairs and downstairs. It’s pretty much still an ongoing project. Before I did a lot of the renovations I took a lot of pictures so I could have a before/after portfolio.
On to the weird stuff. Me and my wife have both heard voices. Usually it happens when we aren’t really paying attention. We’ve heard a woman’s voice call both our names on several occasions. It happens to me more often. I’ll pop out and say “What?” And my wife will say “I didn’t say anything.” Sometimes when I’m doing the dishes or something I’ll hear the same voice. I can only describe it was really far away, but in the same room. Most of the time I can’t really make out anything intelligible, but I hear it.
The first time I started thinking something weird was going on was when one night I was stepping down the back staircase to go outside while I was reading a book. I got this weird feeling like I stepped out of my body and a bunch of paragraphs in the book looked like they were highlighted. Then the book went back to normal. It all happened in probably about 1/10th of a second but it took forever in my mind.
Then on another night I was going upstairs to go to bed. As I was passing by my son’s room, I noticed a white figure leaning over his bed. As soon as I looked, the figure stood up, and dashed out of the room to the staircase and as soon as it was in my peripheral vision it was gone. Again, this probably happened in 1/10th of a second but it seemed to take forever.
Another night at about 2am, I was in my backyard smoking a cigarette (I don’t smoke in the house). The downstairs bathroom is in the back of the house so you can kind of see through the window. The light was on, and I looked at the back of the house, and I saw an outline like someone walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. I was the only person awake that late and when I asked my wife if she had gotten up to use the bathroom, she said she hadn’t.
The last notable event that comes to mind is one night when my wife was taking my son up to bed, and she felt someone coming up behind her. Sometimes I sneak up the stairs behind her and grab her butt when she gets to the top like a joke, so she thought it was just me. When she got to the top, she looked back and no one was there.
Later on I found out that when me and my brother were working on the house together over the weekends and sleeping on the floor (before we moved in), he heard a woman’s voice too. He never said anything about it because he thought he was just imagining things.
My wife and I have never felt threatened or anything, but sometimes it gives me the creeps if I think about it. She’s a lot more flipped out about the whole thing than I am. She’s a pentacostal christian, so to her it’s all demons and devils. Personally, I feel it’s more of an energy imprint leftover from the previous people who lived here, and someone my brain is interpreting it in a sensory fashion.
Back to the pictures, after we moved in and this stuff started happening I went back through all the pictures I had taken during renovations and I found some kind of out of place things. Just shapes, globs, and things of that nature. I have some more recent pictures that I had taken when I stayed up late to “ghosthunt,” but I don’t think they are as good. It’s almost a rule that I get something on camera when I do this so I have quite a few of them. It’s just that I think the best ones are the older ones. I don’t have any server space, but if someone is willing to host them I’d be more than happy to share them.
FunkLord
I’ve had only two ghost, uh, contacts in my life. I’m still not sure if it was my active imagination or not.
When I was younger, I used to visit my aunt and uncle who live in the New York country. Close to Corning, only about 10 minutes away from the PA border.
My uncle had built the house himself after moving out of the crowded North Jersey city. It’s on a very nice 75-acre piece of land. I have done much exploring, and there is a very old rock foundation of a house, along with old rock walls around the entire countryside.
The house is new, but I guess the land is old in terms of previous inhabitants. All of the neighbors are either Amish or vacationers that live there certain times of the year for game hunting.
The house is very large for two people – two stories, 3 large bedrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, 2 full bathrooms plus a half bathroom.
Now onto my aunt and uncle themselves. Uncle Ray, a Vietnam Vet, no longer works. He loves to collect old things at yard sales and sell them on Ebay. Mostly things dating early 20th century. My aunt also collects things, so this makes for a house packed full of odd tools, dolls, farm equipment, etc. My uncle has also found many odd things around the property, as there is a large gully that people try to dump garbage in. This gully produced a very, very scary looking doll. It looked somewhat like a voodoo doll, only a few inches tall.
He, of course, hung it on the chandelier at the top of the stairway leading to the bedrooms. Any time I left my room to go downstairs, I would see this doll. Oh well, at least it was suspended there, it could never get down.
The next year I visit, the doll is gone. I do not notice that it is gone. However, one night, as I am lying on my back in bed, I hear footsteps above me. Footsteps of a very, tiny biped. It was clearly not a squirrel or something. Two tiny feet running up and down the attic. They sounded as if they had wooden shoes on.
The running went on for about 5 minutes, and suddenly stopped when I got out of bed to alarm my aunt and uncle. Oh well, time to go back to bed. The next morning I tell them about the running, and my uncle says it was most likely a squirrel. I then think of the doll that hung at the top of the staircase. He said he put it in the attic. I hate dolls.
Two nights later. I am again waiting to fall asleep, when I hear footsteps. However, they are not above me, nor are they small footsteps. This time, they are on the small roofed ledge outside of my window (about 10×10’ or so). It sounds like someone wearing large boots, taking heavy, slow steps in circles on the small ledge. The sound shakes my bedroom. I lie there, paralyzed with fear, waiting for this thing to burst through my window and kill me. It continues to stomp around, I attempt to reason with myself and say it must be the neighbor’s turkeys that have flown up onto the ledge (they do quite a lot). Turkeys don’t wear fucking boots.
After what seemed like an eternity, I quickly jump out of bed, hit the lights, and face the window. The stomping stops. I hear a loud thud on the ground below. I see my reflection in the glare of the window. I move closer to the window, not exactly sure of what just jumped to the ground. Nothing. The ledge is empty. I lean to the side to inspect the ground below me. I don’t see anything running away from the house.
Zantie
When I was little and living back in California my room had one of those closets with two sliding doors. However both these doors were actually mirrors, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, and the way my room was set up, my bed was directly across the room from them.
One summer night I could not sleep. I just laid in my bed waiting for some kind of tiredness to come, but it never did. Thinking laying in a different position would help I rolled onto my side and looked in the mirror, seeing the reflection of myself and my bed, but also the image of a large black cat sitting by my feet. Now when I say large I mean large. Sitting up with the tail around its paws it was about 3ft tall. I couldn’t see anything specific like eyes or whiskers, but by the ears and the outline of the face, it was clearly a cat.
At this point I sat up and looked at the foot of my bed. Of course, nothing was there. I looked back in the mirror and the image of the cat was still there, it hadn’t changed. Figuring something’s casting a shadow I looked to the wall my bed was up against, but there weren’t any posters or stuffed animals to make a shape like that. Looking back to the mirror again I was startled to find the cat wasn’t there. Looking around at everything reflected in the mirror I couldn’t find it, and thankfully so. Pretty much every night from then on I didn’t look towards my closet in case it came back. I didn’t feel sick or scared when I saw it that time, I just didn’t (and still don’t) like the idea that something’s keeping me company.
Ozma
My dorm is completely silent (it’s an upperclass dorm, so it’s quiet), but when I walk into the bathroom the sound is completely different. I hear something that sounds like a metal door opening and closing, slamming against walls, and so on. But none of the doors to the stalls are moving, and there are no metal doors outside the window. I step out of the bathroom for a second, but there’s NO SOUND at all in the hallway. I go back into the bathroom, and it’s still going. I go into the middle stall and suddenly I hear these whispery noises, like old pipes. I go out and try and trace the sound by putting my ear against the wall, the floor, the sink pipes, etc. Nothing. It’s coming out of thin air, or so it seems.
The pipe-noises just sound like people whispering, and meanwhile the arrhythmic metal-slam is still going on. I say “Is there someone in here?” Of course, there isn’t anyone there. I decide to go around the corner and check the shower room. As soon as I brush aside the curtain in there, I hear a fucking GIGGLE. Now I think, okay, someone is in the shower and they’re just fucking with me. Great. I walk over towards the shower and I hear the sound of running water, only it sounds very, very distant. Once again, I think it’s the pipes. But I put my ear against the wall where they should be, and nothing is there. I walk towards the shower stalls and don’t see feet on the tiled floor. But the whisper is there, and once and a while a the giggle starts up againa. I say “okay, fuck this” VERY loudly. Then the sound just STOPS- the whisper, the metal bangs, everything stops for about 10 whole seconds. I turn and start to walk away when I hear another giggle, and then it starts up full force again.
As soon as the door to the bathroom closes, the sound is gone. I don’t even hear ANYTHING coming from the bathroom. What’s fucked up about that is that the walls in there aren’t very thick. I can hear someone coughing in there from down the hall. So why couldn’t I hear all the shit that was going on in there? Fucked. Up.
DesertRat
In college I lived in the oldest dorm on campus. It actually used to be the governor’s mansion before it was turned into an all girls dorm. Everyone who lived there would tell you it was haunted whether they had any supernatural experiences or not.
There were ghosts who inhabited the place but could not be seen, and one special ghost who would show herself to different people on occasion. There was also a tunnel leading from a door in the basement to the catacombs under the campus. Lots of stories surrounding both the door and the catacombs.
My door story:
I actually hated the basement of this house/dorm. Every time I would go down the stairs it felt like someone was behind me and when I would look there would be no one there. I used to run up and down the stairs as quickly as I could just to get away from the feeling.
One night with my now ex-boyfriend we were going down to the basement because that was where the only male bathroom was in the entire building. We walked down the set of stairs that was on the same side as the door to the catacombs. This door was always locked and actually had deadbolts installed from both sides. It was also linked to campus security so that if it was opened it would sound an alarm in the building and notify the police/security to come check on it. I had regularly passed this door during the day and at night and always felt CREEPED out by it. Several people, including myself, had heard noises from the other side of the door such as scratching and banging. We had heard of murders and ritual sacrifices that had taken place in the catacombs so when screams were also heard from the other side of the door by everyone who was in the dorm one night we all tried to avoid it if possible.
Well, as we got to the bottom of the stairs we started getting nervous. Both of us felt our skin crawl for no reason we knew until we saw the door. It was open and no alarms were going off. An open door isn’t usually scary but this door was different. Even though there were lights in the hallway, there was no light penetrating the open door way. We couldn’t see anything past the door but absolute darkness. We both just kind of looked at each other and knew that both of us felt the cold and emanating darkness and decided to book it back upstairs and call security. The cold followed us up the stairs and was even noticeable in my dorm room which was the first dorm room directly above that door though two floors up.
Security called the Head RA of the dorm and had her let them in and we all went downstairs to look at the door. No one wanted to go in there so they quickly locked the door from our side and apologized profusely for the lack of Security response to the door being opened. They were quite perplexed that it didn’t show up on their monitors as being opened, but were happy to lock it back up for us.
Ever since that incident my room had the weirdest stuff happen around it. Strange sounds, weird shift in temperatures, and my roommate who was Wiccan even tried to kill herself in the room.
As to the ghost sightings:
I never saw the ghosts but I saw some of their after-effects. Working in dorm/conference services one summer we had a conference for musicians on campus. A lot of them (male and female) were housed in my dorm. I guess the ghosts didn’t like having males living in the dorm because they wouldn’t let any of them sleep. The morning after the first night all the men asked if conference services would stop working in the dorm during the night moving furniture on the 3rd floor. Well none of us worked at night! We just told them that we would look into it and let it go at that. A bunch of us then went up to the 3rd floor and opened the rooms above those of the male guests on the 2nd floor. The furniture in those rooms had been moved around and piled on top of each other. We straightened the rooms and left.
The next afternoon we got complaints from the musicians again that someone had gone into their rooms and moved their instruments around. We notified Security but everyone who had keys to that dorm had been working at one of the other dorms setting up for a conference coming in soon.
All that week it was one complaint after another until all the musicians decided they didn’t want to stay there and we had to move them to another dorm.
During the school year ghost sightings:
Everyone who saw the ghost described the same or similar image. A woman in a light colored gown walking through the hallways. Sometimes you could see her feet other times just from waist up. The descriptions always matched the picture of this woman that was hung in the piano/ball room area on the first floor. No one knew who she was but all who saw her was convinced she was checking up on those who lived there like she was watching over everyone. I had one friend who stole Holy Water from her church to bless her dorm room she had seen the ghost so many times. My Wiccan roommate saw her and talked to other ghosts. She would even burn sage in our room at times to try and communicate with the dead. I don’t know what made her finally decide to try to kill herself in our room. Was glad I wasn’t the one who found her though. I don’t think I could have stayed in that room afterwards.
We would never tell the new residents that the place was haunted until they told us of something weird they saw or heard. After we told them the place was haunted and that even a Head RA had once killed herself in the dorm in the 80s, they would really get freaked out.
inkblot
Anyways, a couple of my friends along with some other people that aren’t that important, decided it’d be funny to go wander about my old highschool one night at around 2 in the morning. Of course, after graduating highschool the only sane reason a person could have for returning to said school is of course, vandalism. And their little outting soon turned into one of urinating on the building. However, no sooner had they decided to do this than a cop decided to patrol the parking lot of the school. Now, needless to say having a cop spot you and your buddies pissing on a building isn’t the greatest way to spend an evening. So they had to wrap it up real quick and go hide. Now, there’s a bunch of portables at my retardedly huge prison of a highschool, so it’s a great place to hide. Well, normally. A couple of minutes after they go hide in the varitable maze that is the portable cluster, then they hear this grating noise. Like someone was dragging a large metal object across the ground. There was some construction happening to the school at that point, but no form of machinery sounds like someone dragging a heavy shovel along the ground. Curiosity got the better of them, so they first went off to find out what the hell it was. However, because they weren’t complete idiots (or maybe because they were) they all decided to grab some decidely B-grade zombie movie type weapon. So now a group of high strung teenage vandals with rocks and pretend ninja powers are patrolling the school grounds trying to find the source of this bizarre noise. Everywhere they went they could hear the noise, like it was following them, but they never found what was making it. And this school is really big, so if you could hear it on all sides of the school it was probably following you, or you were following it. Eventually though, they caught sight of their missing unimportant group member driving into the parking lot, so they desided to call it quits on their ghost hunt and got the hell out of there.
I personally however, have only ever had one weird thing happen to me. A weird, silver colored beam of light appeared for a brief second while driving late one night, and then it was gone. That’s it. What garbage.
The Remote Viewer
This doesn’t make for a very exciting story, but when we were about 17 my friends and I used to go out to this old cemetary out in the middle of nowhere to hang out, at like 2am. One night a friend and I were standing in the middle of the cemetary looking out across the newer section when we saw a red floating ball. We both ran like hell back to the car. It could have just been swamp gas or whatever, but it was still scary as fuck at the time. There were a few creepy things about this cemetary. For one thing, there was this really tall monument, maybe 15 feet high. On top of it was a statue. For some reason the statue was missing a hand. It didn’t look broken off or weathered away or anything. It looked like it was cleanly severed. There was also this weird rusted box sticking out of the ground. We shined a flashlight down inside of it and it looked like there was a human bone of some sort inside. Also, there was this really creepy headstone with a picture of a guy and his dog carved on it. I’ve always had the strongest feeling that they both died in some sort of jeep accident, though I’ve never been able to figure out why.
There was another cemetary about a mile away that we also goofed out at in the middle of the night. This cemetary was just as creepy as the other one. It was far older. There was a pine tree in the corner with a plaque under it saying a revolutionary war soldier was buried there. There were lots of extremely weathered tombstones, including some tombstones for infants that were never even named. There was also a REALLY freaky looking tree there. It had a huge branch growing out the side at a 90 degree angle, and growing out of it was another tree. If you stood on the other side of the cemetary and looked at it, it looked like two evergreen trees standing side by side, except the second one seemed to be growing out of thin air. The first time I noticed this it was like 3am. It had my scratching my head for a few minutes until I went over to investigate with a flashlight. There was also a really weird monument there. I have no idea what it was when it was first made, but all that remained of it was a single razor-sharp spike sitting on a pedestal. You could literally impale yourself on this thing if you tripped and fell. The weird thing is that the spike was always WAY colder than the temperature outside. In the middle of July you could put your hand on this spike and it felt like it had just come out of a freezer.
But anyway, I’m getting away from my story. One night we were all there fucking around and I jokingly suggested we have a seance. There were about six people there and we all sat down in a circle and started linking our hands. Right as the last set of hands linked together, we heard a horrible moan come from the woods at the edge of the cemetary. Needless to say, we got the fuck out of there and went home.
and now for my third and final story. When I was 12 I got a golden retriever pup who we named Shelby. Unfortunately when she was about six months old we had just gotten her out of the bathtub when she started having violent seizures. We rushed her to the vet, but there was nothing they could do. By morning, she had died. The weird thing is, after she died, every now and then I’d hear the sound of her running downstairs from the attic. Even though I knew it was just Shelby, I never had the courage to go investigate. After about a year, the noises stopped and I never heard them again. I guess she went on to doggy heaven or wherever. It broke my heart when she died and we’ve never owned a dog since. Probably never will.
Computer Jesus
It all started when my mom and her brothers and sisters where kids. Over the course of years, my Grandmom and Grandpa where deeply religious. If this was DAoC, they would be Friars or Clerics or even Paladins. Anyhow, there was a devil worshiper husband and wife down the street from my grandparent’s house. The following stories are the ones that I remember. I do not believe these are in chronological order.
1) “My mom and the twins”
My Grandparents where both helping out at the church, and my mom being the only one who had time on her hands, had to stay home to watch the youngest kids (Jan and Nan, twins). After a bit, she hears something outside the front room window. She pulls open the blinds to find the Devil worshiper crouched, peering in. He is appearently startled and runs off. My mom just shook the accident off, and went on with watching the twins. Then the phone rings.
It is my oldest uncle (John, named after Grandpa). He tells my mom to lock all the windows, and she does. A few minutes later she hears sirens blaring down the street, as my uncle John and police cars pull up to the house.
While my uncle was coming home, he seen the devil worshiper creeping around the house. Back then they didn’t worry much about crime, so everything was pretty much unlocked. He was tugging slightly on windows, probably to see which ones opened with the most ease.
Back to the police. My uncle dashes the hell out of the police car and after the devil worshiper, with the police closely after him. My uncle is not the kind you wanted to fuck with. He was in the army, crew cut, well built(not gay), and strong as hell. He tackles the devil worshiper, pinning him to the ground. The cops then handcuff him and wizz him away in the cars.
It turns out that my uncle and the police got their just in time. The devil worshiper was slipping in a window as they pulled up. He went away to jail for who knows how long.
2) “My Grandma and the old woman”
Much like a post in this, my grandma was startled by an old, beaten, woman laying on the ground.
My grandma was in the kitchen, when she heard the front door burst open, then be slammed shut and locked. She bursts into the frontroom to see an old women laying, blood soaked, in the middle of the floor. The old lady tells her to “lock the back door”. So my grandma runs to it, and just as the 1st screen door was being opened, she locked the 2nd heavy wood one. The looked through the window, and there he was, knife in hand, the devil worshiper.
This, being after the story with my mom, ment that when the police arived they arrested him. Then they checked his house.
In the attic was the circle with a star in it, drawn in blood. Candles, and finally, the bones of his baby and son (who my mom grew to like before he got killed by his dad, whole other story). They had been getting complaints about this guy for a longggg time. Now they had him. Sentenced him and his wife to life in prison, where they either rot today or are dead.
Saint-X
About two years ago, my mother was involved with PTK, the honor society at the local college, which she teaches at. They were doing a clean-up at the park next to my house, and I was helping out. When they started to work on cleaning up the creek, I decided I’d put some boots on so as to not mess up my shoes. I went across the street and back home, walking to my room and pulling on boots.
Then, from the basement, I hear a voice shout something like my name. Out of instinct, I reply. Then it kicks in. I’m the only person home. An instant later, I feel as if something rushed towards me, and the ground beneath me shakes like someone hit the basement ceiling. I bolted out of the house, my mind racing.
What makes it even better is that nothing could’ve done that. There’s about ten inches of clearance between the ceiling of the basement and the floor of my room. Greeeeeeeeeat. And now, on with the show.
Just to put forwards reasons to doubt this stuff, my friend and I are pretty decent sized druggies, and he’s about half-burnt. We had done some coke cut with perc about five hours earlier, but that wears off in no time.
We were hanging out in my room, messing around with AOL chat rooms since I had both PCs in the house in here. Finally, we decided to just say “fuck it” and chill. We crashed on my bed with the black light and some Godspeed You Black Emperor! (Lift Yr. Skinny Fists) on and I jokingly said we should try to creep each other out. My friend Trevor said it was a bad idea, because he’s had some bad acid experiences in the past and isn’t a fan of the creep out thing.
A little background on Trevor. He’s 15, and spent most of 14 doing every drug he could get his hands on. He’s about 5’8″, squat, and pretty fucking built. I’ve never seen him scared in my entire life. Well, until last night.
After awhile of just chilling, me trying to sleep, we start feeling a presence in the room. My house is pretty much assuredly haunted, so I’m used to it. But this time, the presence wasn’t the kind one I normally felt. It was sinister. We were seeing shit, which is pretty easy to do when there’s just a black light on in a cluttered room, but then strange shit started to happen. We’d have these bizarre visions when we’d close our eyes about a tall figure in a black robe, and cold chills were running rampant every few minutes.
I’ve got a hole kicked in my wall that’s a couple inches deep. Beyond it is a blackboard, then the brick wall that’s the outside of my house. Out of masochism most likely, I glanced at the hole and saw what looked like a poorly defined face in very blurry TV static. I told Trevor to look, and asked what he saw. It was the exact same thing. Each time we looked, it became more defined, turning into a skull, and then an alien like figure.
I’m getting chills right now, because the hole is behind me. I wanted to sleep tonight. Fuck. I really don’t wanna go on, but I haven’t hit the money shot yet.
Finally, I lay my head down and close my eyes, trying to forget everything and just finally get to sleep. Trevor, of course, keeps reminding me that there’s no way in hell I’m going to sleep, and I laughingly agree. And then… it happens.
His voice loses all inflection and he says, “Jayce… I think I should tell you what’s in the hole right now…”
“Why?”
“It sort of concerns you.”
“Is it looking at me?”
“No… it’s reaching for you…”
I freeze. For half an hour, my body had been locked into fight or flight. We’d been wanting to turn the light on, but were frozen. Rabbit in headlights. Then, my instincts kicked in. In a split-second, I was off the bed (I’m a big guy, and nowhere near in shape. The cord for my light is about six feet from the ground. My “bed” is just a mattress and a box spring laying on the floor. It was a big jump) and pulling the cord.
I looked at Trevor. His face was full of relief, but completely white.
“What did you see?”
“Claws… reaching for you…”
Again, as I’m writing, the fear is taking hold. It’s 4:32 am, and I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight either. Maybe when it’s light out. Maybe.
We sit down and start breathing sighs of relief, as if we’d beaten it. Then, Trevor’s arms goosebumped and he shivered, jumping a little. Earlier in the night, we had a candle lit so it wouldn’t be too dark, and we re-lit it. My fan was on medium speed, but the flame wasn’t moving at all.
You know, until I asked it a question.
“Is there an entity here?”
The flame nodded towards me. I looked to Trevor, and he looked to me.
“More than one?”
It nodded again.
We kept asking it questions from about 5:30 am until 8. What we learned was that the flame was controlled by a weak ghost, the woman that used to live in the house. It wasn’t the claw. The claw was something larger, an entity that she didn’t like. The dark entity, supposedly, is going to become a recurring thing in our lives. After one question, Trevor’s nose burst into blood out of nowhere, and began bleeding like no nose bleed I’ve seen before. It went on for ten minutes before finally stopping, and we made it back to the room.
We asked if we should turn out the lights, and we did. Something began to form in the hole, like a large figure, far in the distance, and we instantly got them back on.
We walked to the park beside my house, and directly in line with where the hole in my wall is, was a tree. The tree was one that branched into three from the base. It looked exactly like the three claws.
On one was a face. A mixture of a Tiki Mask and Richard D. James’ face in a spectograph analyzer from track 2 on Windowlicker. As soon as we found that, the sense of dread in the area left, and we were left only with an internal fear.
We got home, walked onto the deck outside my room, and put our ears to the wall. We heard a deep evil laugh. We heard talking. When we got into the room, the smell of sulfur would come and go, very heavily.
We are very fucking scared.
Addendum:
Later on, before Trevor had to get back to his house, he was playing songs where the titles finished his sentence.
“Hey, Jayce,…” *plays “We Die Young”*
The lyrics:
“Scary’s on the wall.
Scary’s on his way.”
This isn’t going to end very well, is it?
CgiBinLaden (not really a ghost story, but I’m going to leave it in)
It was Easter Sunday in 1983, and we were visiting my grandparents in Griswold, Connecticut. I was 11 and my sister, being six years younger, was a precocious five year old. We were walking down the road with my older cousin, who was in his late teens, picking some of the daffodils on the side of the road to put in a vase for Nana. Cute kids stuff, and justification for all of the chocolate she had just loaded us down with.
As we walked along the road, we saw a little blue toyota up ahead, just sitting on the side of the road. It either had broken down or someone must have been at the house across the street. As we walked by a thin man with dark rimmed glasses strode out of the woods and made his way up towards the car, and being the polite children we were, we all nodded and wished him a happy Easter. He smile, nodded as we wished us the same as he got into his car and drove away.
If we had only followed the daffodils a little deeper into the woods, we would have found the bodies of two teenage girls. One was gutted from the throat to her belly button, and had been filled with the smooth slate rocks that one finds in the woods around Griswold. The other was tied to a tree nearby, a bloody broom handle near her naked body. She had been forced to watch as her friend was raped and gutted like a fish, before she too was violated by the broom handle until she bled to death.
The man who wished us Happy Easter was Michael Ross, a serial killer who killed young girls indiscriminately in the early eighties in Connecticut.
Happy Easter.
Labratio
First, the set-up: My great-grandfather built a small fishing resort (pretty much a bunch of cabins near several good fishing streams) in Long Pine, Nebraska. . A great many family reunions happened there, while it was still “in the family” on the property, which was owned by my great-uncle until he passed away.
There was a field that was either on the property, or right next door to the property. When the grass was allowed to grow long and was generaly unkept, it was swarming with grasshoppers. We’d go over there and whack them with flyswatters, then use them as fishing bait later.
Also, there was a gate-like structure (no gate involved; more of a frame for one) seperating it from the rest of the property
Now, the story: During one of the last trips to the resort, I noted a sort-of… heavy sensation in the air around the field. I thought myself somewhat clairvoyant at the time (I was about twenty at the time, and very wet-behind-the-ears), and hung around the place, pondering over the presense I felt there even when we weren’t hunting for bait.
After the first day, I started feeling a femininity to the presense, and started catching myself having some fairly erotic daydreams about a brunette woman in a white dress. I was just writing it off as my hormones going into overdrive, and let it rest, even though it seemed to come and go with my being in the field. As the week went on, I started wandering about, and found myself on the far end. I heard the sound of children laughing, but didn’t really see anything. I also saw a rustic-looking log cabin with clothes drying on a line between the trees at the end of the field. I felt something urging me forward, but something else holding me back. I figured if I felt any trepidations about it, I should really just hang back.
On the last day that I was there, being as intrigued by the sensual feelings I had there, and the experience with viewing the cabin, I returned, and had the usual experiences; erotic daydreams, hearing children laughing, seeing the cabin, not going toward it, etc. On the way out, as I walked through the gate-like structure, I was suddenly met with resistance. It was like I was walking through some fairly sturdy plastic-wrap. I heard a very distinct, female voice in my head plead “Please, don’t go!” I pushed forward, now pretty much frightened out of my mind, and broke free. Then, well, we left to visit other family members on the vacation we were on.
About a year later, we returned for another family reunion. The field was mowed, the presense apparently gone. What gave me a real shiver was the fact that the scene with the rustic-looking log cabin was gone, along with the sounds of children laughing that accompanied it. In its place was what was really there; the road up to the resort, which continued up past and to what was apparently a logging operation. There was some fairly steady traffic on that road. If I’d walked too far forward toward that cabin, I probably would have been hit by a car.
N-Hyumin
I guess it’s my turn. My father bought a house back in 1990. I have no idea about any previous owners or exactly how old the house is, but I’m not sure that it’s the house that is haunted, I think its the whole neighborhood. The scary shit only seems to happen when there is an argument or somebody disturbs the peace in the area.
All the bedrooms in the house we bought are upstairs. My brother had the bedroom next to the stairs, and my parents and I had the rooms on the other side of a small walkway with a bench. At nights you could hear footsteps go down the stairs sometimes, which nobody found too odd at first because there is a bathroom at the bottom of the stairs that my brother would use regularly. One night, though, my mother and I were awake at the bench next to the stairs(the “honey your father and I are going to seperate speach was happening)when we heard steps go down the stairs. When we look over the bench we see a shadow walking down the stairs. No actual form to it. WTF commences. The next night my mother and brother witness this as well. This is fucking GREAT… a fucking ghost has decided it likes doing stairmaster excercises in our fucking house…
A couple months later I woke up in my bed scared nearly to death, for no reason that I could tell. Until I look across the room and see a person wearing overalls with long matted hair hanging from the banister that goes across the top of my room. I don’t remember screaming, but apparently I did because next thing I know my brother and mother are in the room. In the movies this is where the ghost dissapears leaving me looking like a dumbass; not so in real life. The ghost continues to swing back and forth for a good 30 seconds. I spent the rest of the week sleeping(or trying) in my parents room before I was convinced the coast was clear.
After that shit started happening all over the house. The lights would turn themselves on randomly in various parts of the house, you could hear people running upstairs when you were downstairs while nobody was up there, and our cats would only go upstairs if you picked them up and brought them up, then they would claw you and run back down. During the whole first year of living there I would have recurring nightmares of a party going on downstairs, and when I turned around there was a person walking out the door laughing, then when I turned back to the party everybody was on the floor dead.
Across the street at my friend Charlie’s house shit would regularly happen too. There was an attic upstairs that was accessed through a ironing board which folded down from the wall. When Charlie, his older brother, me, and my older brother decided to go into the attic we had to pry rusted nails out of the ironing board to force it open. Inside we found just a bunch of stuff you could expect to find in any attic, boxes, a couple matresses, a table, and some sheets. It was all at the far end of the room which also had a old dusty window that looked out into the neighborhood. After exploring some we decided it was just a bunch of crap and went downstairs to play some Contra. When we went back to take the stuff out of the attic everything was piled up against the entrance. We finally pushed and pulled stuff out until we got back into the attic. There were footprints all over the floor where the stuff had been. Fuck that place, we nailed it shut again. Two days later his dog dissapeared. We found it starved to death in the attic when the smell finally started showing up. The nails we had put in the ironing board were still there. Fuck all that shit, Silent Bob.
I still go up to the house every once in awhile to visit the old man, and that thing still walks down the steps every couple of nights.
krayola
My mom was born into one of the those large midwest families…the 6th child out of 10..So necessity dictated that not just rooms be shared but beds as well..Hence, Mom shared a bed /w 2 sisters, Louise and Sue. One night while alll girls were lying on bed, Mom and Sue hear the sound of something falling on their pillow between their heads. (Mom demonstrated my ligtly flicking a pillow /w her finger) Turning on the light, thinking maybe a bug or something had fell on the pillow, they discover blood dripping from the ceiling. Instantly freaked, all 3 run to my grandparent’s room. Grandpa, not one to to be stirred by much, tells them to sleep on the floor in the living room and that a squirrel or rat or something must have died in the attic crawlspace. Next morning….All go up to investigate..Nothing in the crawlspace..no blood on the pillowcase…no blood on the pillow…no blood on the sheets…but a large about 5in diameter pool of dried blood on the mattress….That my grandpa simply flipped over and the girls slept in that night.
Another…Same cast of characters…
Mom wakes in the middle of the night /w the urgency to do her duty. She heads downstairs and is confronted by her sisters sitting in bed waiting for her…”We know it was you!”, they say. “We know it was you.” Mom is puzzled as she has no clue what the fuck they mean. “We saw you! Trying to scare us!” Mom now wants the explanation as the sisters realize she really doesn’t what shit they’re talking. Well, a few seconds after Mom leaves..someone begins tugging on the blankets…Thinking it was one of the other siblings, they shout out common annoying sibiling phrases..it stops but now there’s a tapping at the foot of the bed.
Now spooked, the sisters look down a see “a figure” as my mom described it hunched over as if trying to hide behind the bed and then scurry away all hunched over into the adjacent bedroom. None of the other brothers and sisters heard or saw anything.
Another..This one just my mom and grandpa..
Mom wakes up in the morning, comes downstairs. Grandpa’s in the kitchen drinking coffee and says “Where’d you get that dress?” Mom gives him the WTF look. “I saw you walking around the house last night wearing that old dress.” Mom denies anything. Grandpa don’t like being called a liar so now he’s wanting to know what the hell, adament he saw my mom. He checks Mom’s closet and dresser. No dress. Checks siblings closets and dressers. No dress. Grandpa gives up.
This one…My uncle Gene and Grandpa
Grandpa’s on his last legs /w emphesema. Late at night Gene goes downstairs (drink of water, whatever) and hears small thumping sounds coming from the room of my Grandparents. Grandpa’s lying awake in bed. The thumps now are more like taps and they they are coming from under the bed, almost marching from end to the other. Grandpa looks to Gene like he knows that he’s going ask what that noise is and says “Don’t worry. That’s just my Guardian Angel come to take me home tonight.” Being a hillbilly dipshit, Gene writes that off and goes back to bed. Grandpa dies that night.
Same Vein…Grandpa and Mom
This one’s just a dream my Mom said she’d had about a week prior to my Grandpa’s passing…Mom comes downstairs into the kitchen. Grandpa is sitting in a chair, stiff, his eyes rolled back into his head. My two uncles Mike and Dan pick the chair up /w Grandpa in it and turn it upside down, shaking the hell out of it. Mom screams for them to stop. They reply they’re trying to wake him. Mom screams “Can’t you see he’s dead?” End of dream.
This one….Mom and Dad
Being young parents /w no dough, my parents first lived /w the Grandparents. Same scenario as one of the previous stories, Mom leaves to use the bathroom ‘cept now pregnant /w my little sister. Ain’t it great to see folks learn from mistakes? Sorry. Tangent. No I need to explain the infrastructure a bit…Ma and Pa slept upstairs. Going up, you enter into a large ‘main’ bedroom. At the foot of the stairs is a door. From where the bed was positioned one could easily look doen the flight and see the door /w no problem. Okay, now Mom leaves, keeping the door open. Dad hears a knock a little later and peeks down the stairs. The door shuts and has one of those hook locks on the inside. The latches, locking whatever shut the door in /w Pops (and me!). Soon, poundings all over the room. Dad sits up and bed and not to take shit from anyone I guess shouts “YOU EITHER SHUT THE FUCK UP OR COME THE FUCK OUT!” With that all noise ceases. Mom’s lockedout now so Dad let’s her in. Having experienced strange shit herself, she’s ready to get the hell outta Dodge so we spend the night at my Aunt’s. This one my Mom told me on several occasions but Dad never told it. But a few years ago, having one of those “grown son to father chats” he did confirm it. He said he’d never been so scared in his life but he just didn’t know what else to do.
Still more….Dad, Mom, (Me!)
Here’s a little string of things from when I was a baby growing up at the Granparents..We moved out when I was about 1 1/2. My parents used to place me in a Johnny Jumpup. For those unfamiliar, it was a seat /w tethers that hung in doorways /w a spring mechanism that allows babies to “safely” leap about. Anyway, Mom and Dad sais I had a tendency to reach for someone all the time. To go so far as to speak to an unseen invidual, pointing out out “mommy”, “daddy”, and “baby” (my little sister who had since been born). My parents had friends over one night and I was in the midst of having a conversation /w this invisible friend of mine. My parents explained how frequent it was (multiple times, daily) That the adult conversation turned to “Who was I speaking to exactly?” People who had passed were mentioned, My grandpa and such…Then my dad suggests “Maybe he’s speaking to ‘The Number One Man” (aka God) At this, my parents say, I began to howl furiously at the figure no one else could see. Like have you ever scared a baby on purpose (yes, you have. you damn liar) And they WILL NOT take their eyes off you cuz you scared them shitless so they watch you. They say I did one of thise numbers and just kept my eyes trained on where I would usually speak to “that guy”.
Chapter 2.
I can walk now. Dad at work. Mom’s doing dishes. Sister’s /w her in the high chair.I’m watching “The Muppet Show” or some shit in the living room. I tear from the living into the kitchen, hysterical. “MAN, MOMMY! MAN!” I shriek while pointing to the door way. Mom sees nothing. Says there is no one there. Still hysterics, still pointing. “MAN! MOMMY, MAN!!” Mom picks a knife. “Okay. I’ll kill that man.” She says, and begins to stab the air where I was pointing. Now utter hysterics, as I point behind us…”MAN! MAN!” Mom takes the quick way out scooping upi me and sis. Back to the aunts.
Chapter 3
Now this one I remember…Not sure if it might’ve been I dream or what but I remember is really vivid and it goes along /w the story Mom said. Now she didn’t tell me this one until I was about 15 or so. It was something she recalled after we telling these stories over agin I told her the only thing I remembered from that house. Here’s mom first..Eating breakfast, I tell mom “The devil choked me last night.” She, knowing how kids pick stuff up, writes it off. Dad comes home, I tell him “The devil choked me last night.” He, knowing how kids pick stuff up, writes it off. Grandma’s around. I tell her “The devil choked me last night” She, knowing how kids pick stuff up, writes it off.
Here’s my story…I fell asleep beside the couch. I guess instead of disturbing me, the folks decided it’d be cool to let me be. Then I woke up to a scratching sound under the couch. Looking into the space, I could see a leather driving glove scurrying all Adam’s Family like (No Shit!) Next thing, it attaches itself to my face…such as when you place your hand over someone’s mouth and nose so they can’t breathe. I don’t recall how it came off but I seriously remember the smell and taste of leather and even the feeling of trying to pull it off and feeling those three little lines they sew onto the back of the gloves.
My grandma has since passed and the house has been sold due to her many outstanding debts. While cleaning it out, we actually find the original deed that dated back to 1810. It listed people who had died in the house and while I’m not sure of the exact count it was upwards of 20 with several of them children. This number doesn’t even include the family members of mine who’d passed there (Uncle, Grandfather, Grandma’s new BF). There were even a number of funerals held there in the house itself. There’s a still a few more short little stories my mom told me…Maybe the people who live ther now have some as well.
hilikus
When I was around 6 or 7, I used to go to my Grandparent’s house everyday after school. I loved it there, Nan would cook an early dinner for me and we’d watch Count Duckula movies in the lounge room together. A few times I’d ask if I could stay the night, and every time I did I got the same answer, “um.. no not tonight”. Some days I would get tired and start to fall asleep on their couch, but just before I was about to, *BAM* I’d get the sensation that I’d just fallen about 3 feet straight down. Now I’ve had this sort of thing happen before, but it was never as violent or frequent as it was when I was in their house. It wasn’t uncommon for it to happen a few times in succession and usually left me feeling more than a little uneasy; I never mentioned it to anyone. Eventually I changed schools and stopped going there altogether.
My Grandparents moved house a few years later, but it wasn’t until I was about 16 that I bothered to ask them about the place. They told me some weird things that used to happen there, how the washing machine had a habit of turning itself on and ‘jumping around the place’, wine glasses would mysteriously disappear from a closed cabinet only to turn up days later as a pile of broken glass, packed into the corner of a completely different room. What freaked me out most was them saying they heard what sounded like an old man sobbing. I can remember hearing a man sobbing on more than one occasion while trying to sleep on the couch I mentioned earlier, I had just assumed it was coming from outside since there was no way it could have come from behind the couch, like it seemed to. They told me they never would have let me stay there at night and that I should ask my Dad about it, he’d lived there for 15 odd years.
Dad was surprised when I asked him, turns out he’d wanted to share quite a few experiences of this nature with me but wasn’t sure how I’d take them.
[A little background, my Dad has been teaching internal style martial arts for more than 20 years and runs at least 2 schools that I know of; He is also heavily into meditation and traditional chinese healing.]
He told me he woke up one night to the faint sound of a man sobbing; he mustered the courage to get up and followed the sound to the lounge room. That’s when he saw it, a translucent figure looking out of the window, quietly sobbing to itself. The sobbing stopped as the figure became aware of his presence, slowly it turned to face him. He saw its eyes widen and in a split second, he understood exactly what had happened to it, the figure then drifted into the kitchen and out of sight.
Hey told me the figure was the remnants of a man that used to live there with his wife. She was apparently an evil manipulative bitch and never let him leave the house. He would often stand by the window, watching life go on without him. One day he told his wife that he’d had enough and was going to leave her, well she went nuts and started throwing shit all over the place, he locked himself in the bedroom and waited for her to calm down. After a while he opened the door, his wife was waiting there, she had cooked him dinner and started apologizing for everything she had done. He ate the food she’d cooked and talked with her about how they could work things out. That’s when he started to notice a burn in his throat and began to choke. He fell to the floor. His wife had put something in his food (or drink I guess) and just let him lie there and choke to death.
Mightybec
Tales from my haunted house Vol 2: “The Lady in the Window”
I was the only one in my family to ever actually witness this ghost, although I am also by far the most observant; furthermore, due to my experiences in the Graveyard, I had begun to take notice of the little things that so many of us ignore during the day. The house we lived in near the graveyard was 2 stories, plus an attic with a window. My sisters bedroom was just below the attic, and the windows were lined up nicely. When I first began to see the face of a woman, probably mid 30’s, watching me very time I came in through the back, I thought that my sister had put some stupid doll or something (she collected porcelain dolls, so it was possible) in a dumb position. The figure never moved, just sat there facing the yard and following me with hollowed out eyes. I realized that it was more than just a doll when it started appearing in other windows of the house. First the attic, and then the bathroom on the second floor that was next to my sisters room. Finally, the face appeared in the bathroom in the garage that also faced out on to the back yard of the place. I tried to point it out to people, but by the time they looked, it was gone. I think that they may have noticed it in passing, or in the fleeting moments that try your soul and make you choose between an unhibited stable reality or face the possibility of the unkown, and taken the easier road.
Anyway, while I alone may have seen this ghost, we all knew she was there. Not because of the usual “ghostly” things, the wilting laughter, the echo of chains in the darkness, or the sounds of sobbing in the distance. We knew she was there because it was her house, and she managed the furniture. The rooms were set up according to her needs, aside from one special item that will come in to play later. In the living room, the couch was next to the big bay window, and ran horizontally away from it against the back wall. This allowed you to look at the entertainment center, which was against the far wall, the stairs, or out the window on to the front yard. You could also see the entrance form the miniscule dining room. Upstairs, in the large bedroom, the bed (or beds, when my brother and I shared that room) were placed next to the closet and against the wall opposite the dresser. This room was not allowed to be messy. It would be cleaned, two teenage boys or no. The other bedroom on that floor, my sister, had the bade against the back wall opposite the walk in closet next to the entrance, and also the dresser against one of the other walls. Bookshelves sat against the wall next to the bed.
In the converted Den/bedroom, the head of the bed was against the wall on left of the entrance, in the middle of that wall, or (when my brother and I had that room) one in the corner next to the back wall and one next to the closet. The dresser was aganist the right wall regardless, and the desk in the house was in that room opposite the closet. The kitchen had no room for rearranging anyway.
This leaves the dining room: it was pretty normal, stuff had to be on the right shelves and in the right drawers. The table was in the middle, surrounded by chairs. The other addtition to this room was a computer desk, that I got to place. At first, the ghost kept moving the desk around the house. Eventually, she left a note stating “This is my house,” So I left a note on the computer saying “this is my desk, I choose where it goes.” She seemed to accept that, although my mothers attempts at “owning” the other furniture never panned out, and eventually my mom couldn’t take it any more (she’s a bit of a control freak) and after four years of this shit, we moved.
The lady in the window appeared for the last time, in a window she’d never been in before; the other second floor bedroom, which looked over the front yard. She seemed sad to see us go, but that could have been because I wanted the ghost to have liked us. I always thought she was amusing, although my mother couldn’t stand her. I also liked the fact that she was very unghostlike; no random “spooky” noises (you couldn’t even hear her move the furniture) and no messy or violent explosions of ghostly rage. Just a quiet ownership of what she saw to be her home, with the exception for the contraption that she had probably never seen before: a PC.
Treytor
One time when I was really young (about 7) I remember sitting in my room eating an english muffin. I had two and didn’t feel like eating the second one. So I didn’t know what to do with it so I stared at it for a while, took it in both hands, and threw it up towards the ceiling. I didn’t look up while throwing, I just did. Anyway it didn’t come back down! I looked up, all over the floor, no muffin.
So a few minutes passed andmy mind drifted on to other things, I carried on doing something else, I don’t really remember what. Then during an idle moment I was just kinda staring at the floor… the muffin fell into my lap! It scared the SHIT out of me!! It was still warm and buttered and everything… man that was wierd.
ChlamydiaJones
When I was a kid(6 or so) our German Shepperd got squashed by an oil truck.
We lived on a 5 acre lot in Virginia which was surrounded on 3 sides with woods.
picture and acre and a half of lawn and the rest of the 5 in pine.
My mom tried to drag his drippy corpes into the woods without the kids seeing it, but we did of course.
REALY traumatic for me anyway.
We lived in that house until I was 15 years 8 months old(I remember cause thats when I got kicked out of the house!).
MANY times, when I had to go out after dark I could hear the sounds of panting and running and crashing in that woods right around where my mom buried that dog. I could never see anything but I took a flashlight with me on several occasion and tried to spotlight that sound. Whatever sound was happening when the light went on stoped instantly.
This never happened in any other part of the woods either. Scared the CRAP out of me.
Another story;
(That was all in Mannassas Virginia by the way)
Anybody who knows the civil war knows Manassas knows how bloody the Battle of Bullrun was. Well Bullrun Battlefield is in Mannassas and it’s a National Park.
You aren’t supposed to sleep there but the local highschool kids do, occasionaly, go out drinkin’ on the battlefield and end up falling asleep.
On one particular occasion, after Rocky Horror, a bunch of people(and yours truly) descided that it would be a great idea to go wander across the battlefield after the movie. (Just to prove how cool we were you know) We accomplished this and were sitting around drinking between the cannons on Henry Hill. People started hooking up and things got quiet.
Now I don’t know if I was awake or asleep when this happened but I was looking at the woods across the battlefield and I swear I started seeing things moving around in there. Just slightly less dark then the dark of the treeline I SWEAR could see things moving around. After some indeterminate amount of time watching the woods I saw what I’m sure was a line of people come out and slowly walk towards where I was sitting.
Henry House on Henry Hill (realy creative, I know) was used as a hospital during both battles (1st and 2nd Manassas) and I’ve read, in the house, that the amputated so many limbs that there was a stack as high as the window outside the room used for surgery. They just sawed ’em off and chucked ’em out.
Since I was sitting about 30 feet from Henry House and since the woods was about 300 feet away, the concept that that column of shapes coming out of the woods could be dead solders looking for their missing limbs crossed my mind.
I broke like the biggest chickenshit motherfucker you have ever seen and ran out to the main road yelling my ass off. A very short while later the rest of the group of people showed up where I was and asked my why I was running around yelling my head off. Once I told ’em everybody laughed at me of course. On the other hand, not a DAMN one of them walked BACK across the battlefield to the cars – they all walked around the outside with me. And thats at least a mile and a half further.
ndmonkey
But I do have a short story of my own. I was riding with my mom one day, late at night, out on some deserted road in eastern north dakota, south of wahpeton, nd. Now, if you havent been to that area, lemme explain it: theres nothing there. nothing. at night, if you turn off your headlights..poof. nothing. you cant even see 2 inches in front of your face. anyways, she was driving and chatting away. Of course, I spaced out. And I swear to god..I saw this odd little light up in the sky that had no godly buisness to be up there. it wasnt a star. it wasnt the moon. I noticed it swoop down over a corn field, and flash lights randomly into the field. And just as quick, it went back up. I looked over at my mom. She was still gabbing away. I looked back out the window, and sure enough. there it was again. I looked at it every now and then for 2 hours while we traveled back to her place. Keep in mind now: this was a year before 1997, which was the big flood. I guess theres countless accounts of wierd crap in the sky, up until the very day the dikes broke in Grand Forks and downtown Fargo. They stopped. Wierd? Read The Mothman Prophecies. It seems even wierder now
SkaWes
I have family from San Jose. My cousin at one time moved in with a mutual friend of ours for a short time, and their house was haunted. (The house was in San Jose)
Note the section that has a red bar is where the couch was located, but more importantly right above it was a big glass mirror. Why it was there I still don’t know it was fucking ugly, but anyways moving on with the scaryness.
There was a ghost in this house. It never really did much. You just saw it walking around most of the time. Walk down the hall and fade out of view. Most of the time it would just stand at the entrance where the hall comes out to the living room. It was a woman in a night gown or something similar to that. Like I said she never did a whole lot, nothing scary even. Except once.
Now this ghostwoman looked fairly normal. However you never really got a good look at what she looked like. If you looked up and she was standing there, she would dissapear. Also it isn’t like every 5 minutes ghost lady is standing there. But it happened with at least a fair ammount of frequency. Well one night we were all partying pretty hard (Insert party hard image) and we all finally crashed out. Me my cousin and another dude slept in the master bedroom, and the other 3 in the other bedroom. Well at about 1am we hear a loud crashing sound, a sound like glass breaking. Being a fairly bad part of San Jose we figured some local ruffians had thrown a brick through the window or something similar. However upon investigation we found that the mirror above the couch was broken. It had a big smash mark in the middle of it, however there was nothing around to suggest what might have broken it.
We woke the straggler up to come look at what had happened. We all stood there for a few minutes talking about what had happened when we all heard what I can only describe as a low moaning/growling sound. Seeing as everyone in the house was in that room, and there were no pets, everyone froze. We all turned towards the hallway, and who is standing there but ghost lady. Except she looks kind of pissed. Actually no wait she looks really pissed, and her eyes have a red glow to them. It is kind of faint and not as bright as my shitty illustration. She is sort of leaning against the wall to our left. Then all of a sudden she sort of does this weird freak out move and makes a loud hissing noise, and proceeds to hauls ass down the hallway towards the kitchen. We all run after to see what happens but she is gone.
That was it. The final time we saw the ghost lady in the house. Nothing
remotely scary or ghost like ever happened again. However that las occurance freaked us out pretty badly. Shortly after they all moved out and that was the end of that
Lauren
Probably not, but has anyone ever been to or heard of Arcadia, Missouri? It is where the old convent still stands as a bed and breakfast/museum. I went last semester to a field trip (GRY 142) in Ironton, MO. This whole place is huge. Multi-leveled, full gymnasium, auditorium, surreal two-storey white chapel with life-sized saints lining the walls, etc.
There is a cemetary on the grounds, which you must go through to get to the main door. Life-sized statues in the cemetary. All of the headstones are in a uniformed pattern and face one way, except one is backwards. Creepy in general.
I rode up there with two girls from my class. We were shown our room, which had 3 full-sized beds in the middle of a long room, complete with the old wooden nun-lockers or whatever they are called. Me being the coward that I am, I chose the middle bed. The two girls decided to go look around, and since I didn’t want to be left alone in there, I went, too. We had to take flashlights because this place was still being renovated in some places, and didn’t have lights everywhere. There were two bathrooms in this section–one with pink tiles and one blue. I had on a pair of thick-soled, heavy black boots. I was making a lot of noise in the quiet hallway, so I took them off after I heard some kid crying and coughing.
The next day, I overheard one of the older ladies that went with our group telling someone that her room was across from the blue bathroom. I appologised for waking her kids up. She was like WTF? She said she didn’t have any kids. I told her that we all three heard the crying and coughing. One of the ladies that worked there told us that the area with the blue and pink bathrooms were part of the orphanage back in the day.
It was spooky afterwards, but the crying/coughing did not in anyway sound surreal or ‘ghostly’.
It only costs $5-10 dollars per person to sleep in a regular nun cell for the night. Our room was only $30, so we split the cost. I know this sounds weird, but I wouldn’t mind going again. There is a lot to do around the area if you like outdoor stuff, too. My geography teacher, who is the biggest skeptic in the world (as he claims), would not stay there.
KittenofDoom
Most of the good stories so far have been pretty long, so I’ll do my best to keep these fairly short, which I won’t. I happen to work at Disneyland as a caterer. Setting up a party anywhere in the resort that serves food up to health department standards is pretty time-consuming, and I’ve literally been at work all hours of the night. My department has slow periods in which we’re scheduled to work in other areas of the park, just to give us extra hours. I’v egotten to know a great many people, many of whom have been at the park long enough to know some nice little secrets.
Disneyland relies on having a good reputation as a family place, meaning whenever someone gets hurt or killed, the Corporates dish out assloads of money to shut witnesses and family members up. It’s a pretty common business practice. Ever hear of someone getting injured or killed at Disneyland? No? Exactly. As safe as Disneyland tries to keep itself, several people have died at the park, and a lot of good ghost stories have popped up over the years.
For example, people who have worked at the Haunted Mansion for long enough can tell you about some of the shit that goes on there. Really. The irony makes it seem stupid, but when the Haunted Mansion was originally being built in the 50’s or whenever, it’s said that an actual female skeleton was found. The builders really couldn’t explain who it was or where it came from, it was just there. They kept quiet and finished the building. Since then, cast members working there have said that they sometimes see a woman in white after the park is closed. She never really causes any problems, just the disappearing act. The part about this particular story that gives me the creeps just imagining is that when the cast members do a walk-through of the ride to make sure all the park guests are gone at the end of the night, there’s a little figure of a woman in white that gives the guests a “spooky” goodbye, along the lines of “Thanks for visiting! We’re dying to have you come back!” in this sultry and creepy voice. Every fucking person who works there that I’ve talked to says that sooner or later, she’ll call your name as you walk by. If your name is Bob, she’ll say “Goodnight, Bob!” If you’re named Spongebob, it’ll be “Goodnight Spongebob”. You get the picture.
The park keeps radios with specific channels for each department. My department happens to share the same channel as the attractions people. A couple years ago on the crappy Roger Rabbit ride in Toontown, a girl in a red dress climbed out of her bumper car (before they used the safety harnesses), got run over, and died. Her parents are now rich. Every once in a while, though, a guest will complain that a guest in a red dress is walking around the attraction outside of her car. The people in charge of the ride have to stop the ride and make an announcement over the radio that a little girl in a red dress is walking around inside the attraction. It usually takes fire and brimstone to shut down a ride, but guest safety is a big issue, so they have to announce it before they shut down the ride. They never find anyone inside the ride, but the girl still gets seen every once in a while, and it inevitably gets announced over the radio. Strangest shit you’ll hear if you know what’s going on.
The park has changed attractions considerably over the years, some for saftey, some for modernization, and they take some out altogether to make room for something new. Anyways, we’re required as employees to wear an attraction-specific uniform which we refer to as “costumes”. These costumes change with the times and the attractions as well. One popular ride in Tomorrowland was called “The People Mover”, another one of those lame-assed futuristic concepts people in the 50’s came up with, which is roughly equivilant to a gondola riding along a track. Whoopty-fucking-doo. A few years ago, fairly recently, actually, the People Mover was replaced by another attraction called “Rocket Rods”. It doesn’t run any more, but the tracks are stil in place all over Tomorrowland. It was pretty much like it sounds: rockets riding along a track. AT least it was faster than the People Mover. One day Rocket Rods broke down. It happens. Guests weren’t allowed to wander out of their cars and onto the track because of safety and liability reasons. The cast members working the ride would instead walk along the track and let the people know that they would be moving again shortly, even if they weren’t. One cast member was in this situation and started making his rounds. He got a few cars out of the way and everything was routine until the occupants of one car informed him that “Brian” had already checked on them and that they were fine. The cast member shrugged it off as being one of his friends who may have been wearing the wrong name tag tht had gone ahead of him. Wanting to find out, ther cast member went up to the next few cars and received the same response: “Brian has already checked on us”. The cast member asked what Brian looked like, because he hadn’t remembered any of his friends going ahead of him on the tracks. He had the guests recall what Brian had been wearing. The costume they had described was exactly that of the People Mover, a costume that had long-since been retired and wasn’t availible to check out any more. We’ve never really been able to figure out who Brian was or if he had actually ever worked there.
Before the Innoventions buidling was rennovated, it was roughly the shape of a cross with 4 equal sides rotating slowly inside a circle. The fit between the two shapes as the wall enclosed them was pretty tight. Innoventions rotates at about 1 mph, which anyone can easily catch up to if they walk even slowly. A cast member one day was trying to catch up to the audience she was going to lead on a tour inside the building but was about to be closed off from them as they rotated inside the building. It was only 1 mph, so she figured she could slip inside the gap before the wall closed the gap. She was wrong. In full view of the audience, the cast member was caught in between the two walls and was stuck until she was cut cleanly in half by the platform that rotated at 1 fucking mph. Well, not very cleanly. Anyways, one year to the day later, Innoventions suddenly stopped working. They couldn’t get the platform to work regardless of what they tried. It started up again as quickly as it had stopped, but they hadn’t done any repairs to it and cannot to this day explain what had happened.
This final story is pretty funny, as opposed to the not-scaryness of the stories above. A friend of mine who also happens to be one of my lower-level bosses was cleaning up an old area in Frontierland called the Big Thunder Ranch that’s closed to the general public but is still used by our department as a picnic venue. We do pretty well there. There are bathrooms that are specially set aside for cast members in backstage (out of the view of guests) areas, but once the park is closed no one really gives a damn where you crap. My friend used the guest bathroom at about 2am, long after all the guests had left, and he was completely by himself. He was using one of those automatic-flush urinals, so he thought very little of the fact that all the toilets in the bathroom began flushing at once. He thought it was some automatic timer or something that had set them off. One toilet in the far back, a sit-down type, continued flushing even after all the other toilets had died down. After he had finished, my friend went to investigate the back toilet, which was flushing louder and louder. He stopped and ran out of the bathroom after he saw a shadow move inside the cubicle. He was completely alone at the time, and didn’t care if he looked like a wussy. A few days later during the daytime, he went back into the bathroom as a joke to see if anything would happen. He had found out from a tech guy that the toilets don’t have an automatic flushing system, and that he might have been mistaken. My friend checked out the last stall to see if there were any more “boogiemen” haunting it, but was actually pretty fucking scared when he saw that the last toilet was not an automatic flusher; it was the type you flush by hand!
Krispy Kareem
House sitting on an old Vermont farm one winter, my wife was warned that there was a relatively benign ghost who frequented the downstairs study. This particular room, which could be closed off by two sets of doors – was unusually cold. Therefore the entrances to the room were generally closed off to conserve heat.
The owners of this house had a cat. This cat hated the study. Would never sit foot in it. Which wasn’t a big deal, because like we said the doors were shut usually anyway.
Well, one night my wife is sleeping upstairs and all of a sudden she hears a terrible racket downstairs. She rushes down the steps, runs toward the sound of crashing and wailing, opens the study doors, and the cat screams past her in a whirl of fur. She didn’t see that cat for the next two days.
This begs the question, how did the cat get into a closed off study? And once there how did the cat get locked in?
Mr_Magoo
Anyway, her and her sister shared a room back when they was around 10 years of age. At about 2 in the morning, she hears her door open. The door woke her sister up too. A man about 6 foot tall says hello and actually engages in a full blown conversation with my mum and aunt. He then says he has to leave and throws some sweets (they were called bullseyes or something equally lame) across the room and they land under my mothers bed.
Now, i asked my mum what this person looked like and she just told me that it was like a shadow, no distinct facial features etc. I also asked my aunt the same thing and, surprise surprise, she said the same thing. Anyway, after this guy leaves the room, they both go back to sleep as their father (my grandfather) would have beaten them if he caught them out of bed. They check under my mothers bed in the morning but there are no bullseyes. They both get up and try and open the door but its locked. From the inside.
Anyway, later on the week they told my grandfather of this and he told them about the old owner. Seems he was a sweet shop owner who died of heart failure about 10 months before (they moved in about 2 months prior to this happening).
MisterExit
I was about 8 or 9 years old when this happened.
My family lived on a farm that had a creek running through the property. The road that we lived on went over this creek as well and at night, it was dangerous as hell to drive on. There were no street lights anywhere on this road. You would be going down this straight away and then, all of a sudden, you’d go down this blind hill that turned into this fucked up “S” curve just before you crossed over the bridge.
People were always loosing it on this road and a few of them even ended up in the creek, and I could actually watch the police and towtrucks from my bedroom window pulling these cars from the creek. No one had been seriouslly injured or anything…yet.
Well one night after about a week or so of some heavy rains, a car came cruising on down the road, hit that “S” curve, lost control and skidded into a tree and then spun around and went hood first off the side of the bridge into the creek. The water was up a lot higher than usual and moving a lot more quickly due to the storms.
I watched as my dad went out there to try and help out. I assume that the cops told him to go on home because after about 5 minutes or so, he came back. He must have saw me in my window because he came upstairs and told me to go to bed. He seemed a little freaked out. I turned my light out and continued sitting at the window watching the drama unfold down at the bridge.
After about 30 minutes or so, I started getting tired and turned away from the action at the creek. I was now looking straight ahead down the length of my house’s driveway. At the end of the driveway were two large bushes. As soon as I turned I saw a floating, bandaged up head move between the bushes and disappear. This image is etched into my mind and I can still draw it from memory today.
The head was wrapped up almost like a mummy in pale, yellow-ish bandages. There wasn’t any blood or anything but I remember seeing what looked like hair poking out from the top of the head. Needless to say, I lost it.
The next day my dad told me that there were four people in the car. Two of them made it out alright, one was banged up pretty bad, and the person in the passenger seat next to the driver had died in the car.
I’ve often wondered if the “ghost” I saw was of the dead passenger. Why was it just a head? And why was it all bandaged? Well whatevr it was, it scared the shit out of me. Severed ghost heads are never a good thing to have around.
Pepper
There’s one weird thing that DID kinda happen 4 years ago on 20 Nov, `99.
Our Bichon Frise, Brandon, had recently been put to sleep due to old age (13) and sickness. This was my mother’s dog, and the dog had a bond to her like no other. Long story short she was incredibly upset about it.
We’re driving in a horrible rainstorm and she has a little figurine of a Bichon with angelwings and a halo on the dashboard. (She’s the biggest believer in angels.) I was lying down in the back of the car trying to catch a snooze. I remember her saying that it looked like Brandon was “watching over us from Heaven” on this trip. I smiled and closed my eyes because it was comforting to think of.
That’s when it happened.
We got into a HORRIBLE car crash on an Alabama highway. I’m not going into the details of how it happened because it’s a VERY long story, but my Mom got hurt bad because the car that slammed into us hit her in the head as it flipped over our roof.
The car was totally scrapped. The next day I had to go to the impound lot and reclaim our items. John told me to look for the figurine as best I could. I searched so hard for that little angel dog in our bloodsoaked car. The impact was in the front, so obviously everything was thrown BACK, so where’d the statue go?
I never found it, and to this day my mother SWEARS up and down that the little statue flew off to Heaven. Who knows? It couldn’t have left the car. Hell, I woke up with the hood ornament in my lap.
I’d like to think it was Brandon’s help that kept us from getting killed. Me and my stepfather were FINE. My mom was lucky to get away with a head injury from what the staties told us. Her head could have been sliced right off if the other car flew any closer.
I can see the headline: “DEAD DOG SAVES OWNER’S LIFE!” on Weekly World News!
Dr_Hydin
When I was a kid (i think 1st grade?) my grandmother got sick and had to go to the hospital.
She was in there for a few weeks, and she fell, broke her leg, and a clot moved along and stopped her heart. This was the same day the challenger exploded. (nothing to do with the story, just gives you a year to go by)
My parents forbid me to go to the funeral, although they didnt have to forbid much cause while i was pretty freaked out about my grandma dying, i REALLY didnt want to go to the funeral. I was pretty messed up. She was really important to me and was a pretty big figure in my life.
Anywho, long story short, I did go to the wake ( i wanted to say goodbye), and promptly broke down again and had to be brought home and knocked out. I woke up later that night, maybe midnight or later, and saw my grandma standing in the foyer between where the living room is, and where my bedroom was at the time. I could see her perfectly, except she was sorta whitish blue colored and see through. she was dressed exactly the same as i remembered from the wake, except for a jeweled pin that she had on. It was a rocky horse pin or someting like that and it had been a gift from me to her for christmas i think.
She waved goodbye to me, and I waved back to her, and she smiled and vanished, and I felt really peaceful and went back to sleep.
I didnt think much of it, but when i got up the next morning to eat breakfast, i had moved past grieving pretty much, and mentioned to my mom that I had seen grandma standing in the foyer, and waved goodbye to her, and she had that “patient parent” look that all parents have when thier kids are rambling. I told her about the pin, and my mom almost had a heart attack, cause they had pinned it to her the night of the funeral, and there was no way it was something I would have known. I described it to the last detail, including the dress and where it was pinned, and both parents just kinda sat there dumbstruck. I told them what happened again, and they just said she had wanted to say goodbye and she did.
Jagiello
Back in college, my botany class took a field trip out to the desert to look at plants and stuff, and long story short it was really boring except for the campfire we had that night. People were telling random stories (not neccessarily ghost stories), when the professor himself busts out with this one:
He was out in the middle of nowhere in the Arizona desert, collecting plant samples like any good botany geek would. He was making a multi-day backpacking trip out of it, so he brought his dog with him for companionship. He’d finished up for the day and was making camp, getting ready to cook dinner, when his dog suddenly springs to life and starts off into the brush. The dog clearly wanted him to follow, so he did. The dog led him straight to this cabin in the middle of the desert. Being a friendly guy, my prof knocked on the door and said that a kindly old man with a German accent opened the door. He introduced himself, said that was out collecting plant samples and came across the cabin, and just wanted to say hello. The old man cheerily invited him and introduced himself (I can’t remember what he’d said his name was, but I believe it was something like Dr. Hermann. I’ll just call him that to make things easy).
So inside the cabin my prof sees all kinds of reference books, notes, and an excellently kept insect collection. Dr. Hermann offers him some dinner, which he gladly accepts. The two of them have dinner together and talk about science and such, because clearly they’re both interested in the field. Well as the night wears on, Dr. Hermann suddenly decides to tell him about something very strange that he’s seen out in the desert. For those who don’t know, wildflower blooms in the desert are an incredible sight to behold. From seemingly dead earth once a year come more flowers than you’ve ever seen in your life. Dr. Hermann claims that the wildflowers of the desert aren’t all pollinated by insects and hummingbirds as everyone thinks. He claims that coyotes are responsible for the great blooms, and they do it after a bizarre ritual that he says he’s seen. He says that the coyotes gather in a valley and do some sort of dance, then go forth in all directions and stick their noses in every flower they can find, thus pollinating the entire desert.
My prof hears this story and concludes that maybe Dr. Hermann isn’t entirely all there. Saying that coyotes are responsible for wildflower blooms is like saying the moon is made of green cheese. Deciding that maybe now’s the time to say goodnight to Dr. Hermann and go back to his camp for the night, he thanks him for dinner and leaves with his dog.
The next morning, before he leaves the area , he figures that the old man was very hospitable and so he ought to go and say goodbye. So he gets to the cabin and knocks on the door, but no one answers. He opens the door to see if Dr. Hermann’s there, but inside he finds that the place looks completely barren. It looks like no one’s been in this place for decades because of the incredibly thick layer of dust that coats everything. Perplexed by this, he looks around and eventually walks out the back door of the cabin. While he’s looking out across the desert, he sees something staring down at him from a not-too-distant ridge. A coyote, in fact.
Now I want to note something which I find a little interesting about this story. It’s a fairly common kind of outdoors/camping ghost story that you hear from people, isn’t it? But here it featured an old German guy who knew a lot about botany. My professor definitely knew his shit about botany, and was in fact first generation German himself (his first name was Dieter, and as far as I know he was born in the US). So here’s a ghost experience that seems almost custom tailored to the individual to which it happened. I’m not saying that I doubt my professor’s sincerity, but it seems a little odd that a botanist from a German background got haunted by a German botanist. I haven’t had any ghostly experiences myself but I wonder, if I ever do, will I be haunted by FYAD threads and hello.jpg?
Rashaverak
t’s sometime in late august, early september 2001 (I can’t remember when precisely) at Ft. Knox, in a company for those who got injured during basic training.
I had a friend there who was about 30 years old with the greyest hair you’d ever seen, almost like he was in his 70’s. Well, one day when there wasn’t much going on, he and I got to discussing the events in his life that’d brought him to this point.
He mentioned that he’d been a satanist, and showed me several upside-down crosses and other various satanic tattoo’s he’d had done. We also got to discussing his life in satanism, and he had quite a few interesting stories. The one that really stood out to me, and that I asked him to discuss most, was his tale of attending a satanic party once (Note: I make no judgement on this story, and instead simply try to make it as accurate as I can remember). Apparently during the course of this party, he met three men.
His description of them is foggy to me now, but the basics stand out – these were old men. I don’t mean that they were in their 80’s – more along the lines of these three men had been around for hundreds of years, yet still looked quite young and spry. These three men also had various… abilities – conjuring fire at will, making objects levitate, etc. The suggestion was also made that these men had the power to… affect people, even over great distances, and that because my friend had spoken with them before, they maintained some kind of link with him.
As we were talking, I noticed him growing progressively paler and weaker, and as he neared the end of his tale, he slowly stopped talking, looked at me, and asked me to get the drill sergeant on duty. I could visibly see that all the blood had drained from his face and he was having trouble breathing. I went downstairs and asked the D.S. to come up and take a look at my friend – he barked something at me along the lines of telling him to walk down there his damned self. Being the dutiful friend I am, I walked back upstairs to check on my friend and see if he could make it downstairs, and by this time all he could manage was a squeak to tell me that no, he couldn’t, and I needed to *hurry*… I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a look of stark fear in someone’s eyes.
I once again hurried downstairs, and this time managed to convince the drill sergeant that yes, my friend did need help and yes, I am an utter asshole for daring to speak to you(tangent…). He goes upstairs, and by the time I show him to my friend, my friend is no longer breathing and is turning cyanotic (blue tinge to the skin). He immediately starts slapping him on the face and trying to get him to wake up, and once he realizes that he isn’t going to be able to he tells me to go downstairs and call 911.
Long story short, the ambulance gets there, rushes him off to the hospital after restarting his breathing and he doesn’t spend the night in the barracks that night. Sure, it’d be nice if my story ended there. But it doesn’t.
That night, I slept in his bed (for reasons that I have absolutely no desire to go into now, or ever, but that are crucial to this story). Every hour of every night, teams of two men patrol the 3 story barracks looking for fires. And every single pair of guards that night, without telling the guards before or after them what they saw, later reports to me that there was a sort of shadow standing in the middle of the small 4-man room where I was. This shadow was staring directly at the bed where my friend normally would have lain that night, and each guard reported that when they shined their light directly at the shadow it disappeared.
Later that morning, one of the other occupants on the room was found on the stairwell to the third floor (which in and of itself is a metric fuckton of stories, but I digress) gibbering to himself.
Yaos
My parents have left me alone for the rest of the week. I get ready to jerk off to some hot porn, when I hear a noise in my basement. As I approached the basement the door slowly opened, I stopped and then the door flew open. I ran to my bedroom and closed the door. A few hours later, I decided nothing was going to eat me up, I walked out and the basement door was closed.
I opened the door and the light was off, sadly the light switch was at the bottom. I wanted to make sure there were no crack addicts living in the basement, so I walked down the stairs. About halfway down I felt something grab my foot and I fell all the way to the bottom, I jumped up and hit the switch, nothing was there. I looked around and only found an oversized clown shoe and tons of boxes, I decided everything was okay and I went upstairs.
At 6 PM I decided to go eat something, I made myself a pizza and watched TV. I heard a clatter in the kitchen and I ran in, nothing seemed to be wrong. I checked on the pizza and saw what made the noise. The pizza was covered in glass, the pizza was still frozen, so I removed all of the glass and cooked the pizza. It was yummy.
After eating I wanted to look at more porn and play ET. During this time I heard someone stomping around downstairs, chairs moving, etc. I would check and nothing would be changed. This leads me to now. I can only guess…I can hear footsteps on the steps. Okay, now they are walking down the hall, oh shit it stopped at my door. Now the door handle is turning HOLY FUCK THE DOOR FLEW OPEN! Nobody is there, except I can see someone in my mirr
A few years ago, back when I still went to sleepover camp, there was a story that was often told to the younger campers about an old cabin known as the “wombats,” which burned down in 1951. However, the story goes, every once in a while the cabin reappears, and odd scratching noises are heard emanating from the windows of a cabin that didn’t exist anymore. The story went on to be somewhat interesting, but I don’t remember the rest and it’s not really that important to my story.
As we were young and naive, we believed the tale, and many of us had trouble going to sleep that night. Half of us kept murmuring “Dude, you think that story is true?,” while the other half, trying to appear hardcore, replied “Naw, dude. That’s just stuff they make up to scare us. Right?? Guys??” After a few hours, we managed to go to sleep, and woke up the next morning already forgetting the story. The next night, we would be brutally reminded of the horrors.
Because at three in the fucking morning, we heard these scratching noises coming from the windows. And we had no idea what the fuck was going on, nor were any adults in the area. Whenever we shined our flashlights out of a screen that was making noise, we would see nothing, and the noise would immediately move to another window. We yelled and screamed for help for what seemed like an hour before anyone arrived. Once angry counselors arrived, wondering why we were making a racket at three AM, the noises stopped.
The next morning, the camp director informed us that there was a rational reason why the noises were occurring, a goat had escaped recently, and, apparently, this goat was the culprit. We didn’t believe him. Then again, the wombats tale was just a horror story that they tell kids to scare them. Right?? Guys??