THE GRAVE STOMPER
This event occurred when I was 7 years old, during the summer of 1968.
At the time we lived in an old farm house about a quarter-mile from
an old church cemetery in Southeast Wisconsin. I visited this cemetery
on most days with my dog Taffy. I would puzzle out the inscriptions
on tombstones more than 100 years old, climb trees -- just generally
having a good time for a 7 year old. I should also mention here that
in the southeast corner of the cemetery there was a collection of 4
rectangular tombstones laid flat on the ground in an open area. While
I knew every corner and stone of the place, strangely something always
made sure I would never go over there. I never had any odd feelings
or felt any threat, but whenever I approached that area something would
always distract me from going there.
It was early August and for some reason I got the crazy idea to go
to that cemetery at night to see if I could spot a ghost. I was so used
to the cemetery I wasn't afraid, I just thought it was a neat thing
to do. So on a moonlit night, after being put to bed, I managed to sneak
out of the house and bring Taffy with me. I never had to keep Taffy
on a leash, she would always dutifully stay within about 100 feet of
me no matter where I went.
When I got to the cemetery, I tempted fate by jumping on tombstones
with the hopes of insulting some ghost. I stopped and waited. Nothing
happened. Only the sounds of crickets and Taffy nearby in tall grass
looking for mice broke the silence. I then stomped on the graves themselves
demanding loudly to be haunted. I waited. Nothing continued to happen.
And Taffy still couldn’t find a mouse, not even a ghost one. I
eventually gave up, disappointed and went back home.
Two nights later I returned. As before, I stomped on some graves and
demanded to be haunted. Taffy was poking around within sight, a few
yards away. What happened next is a bit hard to describe.
I was facing the corner of the cemetery I never went into. In one instant
the crickets stopped and the air above that corner seemed like it ‘froze
then cracked. Taffy was instantly alert, then immediately bolted away.
A fraction of a second later I followed, running faster than I had ever
run in my life. We were both headed for the house and I somehow knew
that some ‘thing’ was in the air above, chasing me. I actually
beat the dog back to the house.
Inside I slammed the door and I sensed that this ‘thing’
was flying around and around the whole outside of the house. Now I hear
this terrible panicky growl and scratching at the door. Taffy was still
outside! I opened the door and let her in and she wrapped herself around
my legs shivering. I couldn’t walk without tripping over her.
At this point my mother comes down and wants to know ‘what on
Earth am I doing…’ and stops mid-sentence when she noticed
the dog shaking between my legs.
She knew something was up (the house we lived in had its own troubles)
and told me to get back to bed. I actually felt calm and no longer felt
any presence outside at all. I slept soundly.
Needless to say, I never asked to be haunted again.
Submitted by Chris
Years ago I had a health problem that I addressed in a unique way that
involved mysterious and unseen forces.
During a period of many weeks I'd come straight home from work, eat
early and get right into bed; which was easy to do due to the cold and
early darkness of winter. The only source of light in the bedroom was
a burning candle. The only sound was that of soothing flute music, sometimes
accompanied by splatterings of rain. My cats and dogs would lie in their
special little places on the bed; one at my left foot, another on my
right side, one at my head and so on. They all lay against my body;
a wonderful, loving feeling.
Once relaxed and all thoughts of the outside world a faint memory; I
First, I commanded all negative influences in the physical and/or spirit
world to not enter this healing space.
Then, I began with the visualization;
I'd imagine myself standing on the ground. Red roots grew from my feet
and and entered the soil; like tree roots securely anchored in the ground.
Next, I saw (in my mind), the Central Sun of Creation setting in the
blackness of outer space. I imagined this orb as deep gold with magenta
swirls. Upon my request, It send a shaft of healing, bright, white light
through the heavens, into the roof of my house and into my body; filling
Now, I commanded that all healing forces by beings in the physical and/or
spirit world be manifested to me.
Remember, I was lying flat on the bed, totally inert and in an altered
I felt an invisible hand gently lift my right shoulder, hold it there
a moment and then gently return it to the bed.
I was totally taken by surprise. I excitedly wondered; Did I imagine
this happening? Was it truly real?
As if to answer this questiion;
Another hand gently lifted my left shoulder, held it there a moment
and then gently returned it to the bed.
Then, I spontaneously saw (in my mind) a group of kind people standing
around me in a circle. I don't remember what they were wearing, maybe
something robe-like? That was inconsequential, anyway. They all had
extended arms and held the palm of their hands towards me. They must
have been sending me healing energy. They, too, seemed like they were
in an altered state; as they kept their focus on what they were doing
to me. In other words, i did not notice any eye contact from them.
Well, I will never forget that.
I asked for help and i got it.
Now, the fact that i asked for help and got it tells me that we humans,
indeed, are connected to these mysterious and unseen forces. It is our
divine right to connect with them and ask for help; and therefore it
is in their nature to answer our call.
Submitted by Paul
CAMP OLD INDIAN
I was lost.
For two hours I had been driving up and down the country two lane stretch
of road trying to find the turn off that would take me to Camp Old Indian.
I was following the map and directions that had been given to me by
my boyfriend's parents, but they weren't helping. The street I looking
for was nowhere to be found. I was getting so frustrated that tears
were starting to well up behind my eyes. I refused to cry, so I did
the next most logical thing.
I stopped and asked for directions.
I pulled off into a small gas station. It was a rinky-dink kind of a
place that only seemed used by the locals. It was the type of place
you'd see in a horror film where all the teenagers stop before they
die in a cabin in the woods. There was a large truck sitting in what
passed as a parking lot and leaning up against it smoking a cigarette
was its driver. I walked over to him, a little nervous. I hated talking
"Hey," I said, "can you tell me how to get to Camp Old
Indian? It's a Boy Scout camp."
"Camp Old Indian?" he asked. He took another drag of his cigarette
and dropped it on the ground. He smashed the fire out with his booted
heel. "I'm not from around here. Sorry."
I pulled out my map and pointed to the road I thought I was on. "Can
you tell me if this is where I am?
He looked at the map for a second. "That's the road, but I can't
tell you which way to go. Just passin' through myself."
"Well, thanks anyway," I said.
I got back in my car and stared at the map, but there was no flashing
icon telling me where the secretive Boy Scout camp was hiding. What
I needed was a GPS, but in 1999 it was a luxury item, and I was just
a high school student. I didn't even have a cell phone.
I looked both ways down the road. I would just need to stop and ask
someone else if they knew the way. I took a chance and went left.
Several minutes later I spotted a fruit stand off on the left side of
the road on a corner of a T-junction. Being summer, there was a large
variety of fruits and vegetables on display. My car rolled in over the
loose gravel, and I parked in front of a large box of tomatoes.
When I opened my door, the smell of all the foods hit me. It was wonderful
and sweet, almost intoxicating. I had never smelled a fruit stand quite
so ripe before.
A middle aged man was standing behind a manual cash register at a desk.
He smiled at me. I walked over to him and laid the map down. I started
my spiel again.
"Can you tell me if I am anywhere near Camp Old Indian?"
He nodded. "It's just up the road," he said, and pointed to
the road that connected to the one I'd been lost on. "You're only
about five minutes away from it."
"Really?" A huge smile spread across my face.
"Yeah, just take that road, a right at the next stop sign, and
you'll see it on your left. Can't miss it."
Another car pulled in and parked. A couple stepped out and started perusing
"Can you draw me a map? I've had a terrible time finding it. I
don't want to get lost again."
He pulled out a scrap piece of paper and scribbled out a makeshift map
and handed it to me. "There you go."
"Thank you," I said and started toward my car. "I literally
would be lost without you."
I probably should have bought something from him, but I wasn't even
I followed the map just as he'd drawn it and in five minutes I saw the
sign for Camp Old Indian. I was so relieved. There were a lot of other
cars parked in a grassy area, and I followed suit. After walking around
the camp for awhile, I finally found my boyfriend. I told him how hard
it was to find the place and how happy he should be that I made the
trip to see him for the day. He just laughed.
At lunch time, he and I, along with a few other Boy Scouts, decided
to drive to a BBQ restaurant that was supposedly pretty good and wasn't
too far away. Although, once there, the C rating in the window almost
made us change our minds, but as hungry as we were, we decided to risk
Several plates of mustard base BBQ later, we all hopped into the car
and headed back to Camp Old Indian. We drove back the way we came, but
after nearly thirty minutes we realized that we must have missed a turn.
"See, this place isn't so easy to find," I laughed.
"The road is probably a little farther ahead," my boyfriend
"Why don't you just stop and ask for directions?"
That's when I noticed the map the guy had drawn me. It was in the corner,
smashed up against the windshield. I grabbed it. Written next to the
road I had turned off on originally was its name.
"Hey! I saw this street sign, but we passed it like five minutes
ago. We're going to have to turn around."
We did, and when we got to the road there was no fruit stand on the
left side. There wasn't even gravel. It was a wooded area full of green
We followed the little map all the way back to camp without any trouble.
No one ever believed me that the fruit stand was there. But I know it
I can still remember the way it smelled.
Submitted by Gabrielle Olexa
THE LAST GOODBYE
On April 8, 1990, at 8:30 pm, I received a phone call from my brother.
We were three time zones apart. He informed me that tonight was THE
night. I knew what that meant. It was only a week earlier than originally
scheduled and I was counting days. I had depended on having at least
seven more days of sharing with him what time he had left. Since my
last visit with him, I spoke to him daily by telephone; generally once
in the morning and again during the early evening hours. I had spent
a week with him just six weeks earlier, knowing it would be our last
visit. He forbade tears in his presence. He was in good spirits and
not morose about his impending death at all. During that particular
visit, we spoke of death and pondered the afterlife and what it may
or may not be. We both believed that we are energy life forms and therefore
the energy must go somewhere. When we parted from that visit, I hugged
goodbye an almost skeleton. He was quickly wasting away.
This particular April evening would be the last time we would speak.
Our conversation lasted only thirty minutes. All arrangements were in
place. I knew he was in good hands. I wished him peace and a smooth
way. I hung up the phone and I went out on my back porch. There was
a full moon. I cried long and hard knowing I was about to lose one of
my life’s best friend.
I went to bed at 10:30 that evening. My mind was recalling past events
that involved my brother and me. Memories. Fun ones, happy ones. I saw
him on his first bicycle riding off to school. He rode his bike along
side me as I walked and he made crazy eights and circles, and we chatted
away until we had to part ways. I walked on to my high school and he
rode off to grade school. I watched him pedal up the tree lined street
on an early Spring morning. I was so happy for him that he finally had
his long awaited bicycle.
I cried off and on and couldn't sleep. I dreaded the expected phone
call that would advise me all was finished, but at the same time I would
welcome it. My brother's suffering would be over. I kept glancing at
the digital clock on my nightstand. The numbers glowed a sky blue and
cast a soft light in the darkness of the room. Each time I would calculate
the time where my brother was. My last glance at the clock before I
mercifully dozed off read a few minutes before two a.m.
I was awakened by a light tickling right between my eyes. I surmised
it was cat whiskers and I opened my eyes expecting to see my cat in
my face. But there was nothing. I closed my eyes and drifted back to
sleep for only a few seconds and felt the tickle again in the very same
spot. This time I smoothed the blanket down and looked for the cat.
But from the corner of my eye off to my right side, I caught a tiny
dot of light hovering about eight inches from my head. A tiny dot of
bright white light in the semi-darkness that did not belong there. I
turned my head and focused on the light and once I did this, the light
began to expand and it drifted away from me.
The light had my full attention and I was trying to discern what I was
seeing, although I could not recall ever seeing anything of its kind
before. I became aware of a steady, even hum. Yet, I was unable to discern
if I was actually hearing this hum or feeling the vibration of sound.
It was similar to the experience of holding a tuning fork and striking
it. The steadiness and evenness of the sound/vibration was incredible!!
The light had grown and now filled the entire corner of the room. It
was a soft light now and it had depth dimension to it, but I could see
my bedroom furniture through it and the light now had rainbow colors
within it. It had grown from a bright dot of light to something more
defined with color and depth, but less bright. All this occurred in
the space of about forty-five seconds. I then remembered the plight
of my brother and the light quickly faded away. I turned and looked
at the clock. It was 3:12 am.
I awoke just before 7am. I received the awaited phone call at 9:50 am.
My brother’s suffering was over. The remainder of the day seemed
like a fog. There was the realization and finality, the memories, the
loss, the pain. Already I missed my brother and still do. As the day
turned to evening I suddenly recalled the light and the hum that awakened
me in the early morning hours. I remembered it was 3:12 am when I last
saw it. I raced to the telephone and called the person who would know
the answer to my question. What time did my brother die? I was told
between 6:00 – 6:30am. In my time zone that would be between 3:00
I began laughing and crying at the same time. That light! That hum!
Was that my brother’s energy force communicating to me?? The deliberate
yet soft tickle between the eyes, the waiting for my full attention
and focus just to show me that yes, the energy does go somewhere and
it is conscious and aware and has purpose. I could almost hear my brother
laughing as I began connecting the dots. And I knew that he knew that
this demonstration would comfort me at this time and I would hold it
in my memory forever. A treasured last goodbye.
Submitted by N. Abele
THE MISSING KNIVES - UPDATED
This may be an update, to last year's "missing knives" story.
I've been watching for signs of the "entity" returning to
this house, where I and my parents live. Turns out, it comes back, a
lot, unless you do something.
I prayed the Rosary, and waited. Still things are happening, such as
house-keeping. It placed dirty hard linen that had been in some basement
or who knows, into my drawer and my mother's closet. I thought, why
would my mother give me this? It's filthy, she's not crazy. That same
morning she said she wondered why I put this (other) dirty thing in
her clean towel closet. So I knew it was still around and my other Mother
is letting me learn. "You will do these things in my name",
I remember from early in life, and so why not? I blessed bottled water
and began to sprinkle it here and there. Where ever it has not been,
something has happened. Where it has been, nothing new happens.
I saw the entity when I came out into the living room and saw it walking
past my elderly father as he turned toward me. It saw me see it, and
I that night sprinkled the kitchen cabinets where the cups had disappeared
two years before. My mother doesn't believe it and I told her something
had been in the cupboards again, and it had wrapped a dish in a dirty
bag, labeled "Marketing Department". After this and seeing
it emerge from the kitchen I got to work, as well as getting all the
cabinets, drawers. There were two rooms I didn't do, the garage, and
the sewing room. Since then, the lights were left on on the car, and
my mother wanted to know what I did with her sewing tape, which I had
seen in a metal container on several occasions. These are drawers, containers,
switches, metal knives, ceramic cups, metal spoons, car parts, etc.
all penetrated and moved by this thing. I got out more bottled water
This thing does not sense a Christian in the house, it does seem to
stay out of sprinkled places. I thought, thank God I was sprinkled,
as a baby. I wondered too if my ex wife was ever baptised. I doubt it,
cause she's filled with this thing.
Missing Knives (2012 submission):
Last year my mother asked me to return the knives I have been hoarding
from the silverware drawer. Not knowing what it was about I checked
and indeed there were 20 or so knives missing. I said I don't know,
and figured my father or she had taken them. No one else in the house.
Days later she thanked me for returning them, twenty knives. I looked
with my own eyes and they were missing from the drawer before, now they
are back. I thought it might be my aunt who had recently died and was
A couple of months later my mother asked me to return six heavy coffee
cups that were missing from the shelf. Huh? Where would I keep heavy
mugs, and why? She was sure it was me, and I literally stared into the
dishwasher to see that they were not in there. Again, remember, there
are no visiting workmen here or other family members. I let it go that
she thought it was me for a day, kind of sureally, and the next day
she thanked me for returning them. I also had stared into the shelf
to see it empty, six heavy mugs, gone, where? Now I just stared at them
back in place.
A while later, a month or so, the water irrigation system came on by
itself while it was cut into, system off, as I decided to go out and
work on it again before it got dark. I turned the corner of the house
and it was on, flooding the grounds, and had just gone on about the
time I got up to go out and work on it. System off, and timer set for
another day even if I (we, father too) had been absent minded enough
to leave it on while working. IT WAS OFF. I was so startled I don't
remember how I turned it off. This is the point when I am starting to
see the light here.
I began to put two and two together. My fuse had been removed from my
car almost causing a turn-signal disaster. The dog was always in my
room, freaking out and curling up to me, watching the movement of something
in the family room, once my parents moved into the kitchen. Her eyes
would actually follow something moving out there, and she's not that
friendly to me to run into my room, and hasn't since the "cleansing".
The pond motor was on once and running in the morning, and I thought
the switch must have just slipped into the on position. While putting
on my shoes I had been putting off end-capping my laces, as I had cut
them, and they don't thread the eyelets unless you do that. Here's a
shoelace, just cut, no way to thread it. When I came back to my chair
with the Scotch tape the uncapped shoelace was threaded through the
small eyelet. This is magic and it's standing right behind me!
That night, something in my soul knew this is no joke and I prayed the
Rosary. In my mind's eye, I actually saw this thing surprised by two
angels, heard their swords, saw the "thing" surprised as it
was going through towels or something, snooping. I couldn't make out
its face but it isn't pretty. Very nasty thing.
There hasn't been anything going on like that since I saw it go, like
zip, although I have looked into the mug pantry, and anything else that
might be funny going on, and nothing has. That was more than a year
ago, and the smell of that thing is Gone. Thank God and his Holy family.
Thank you Mother (I am not Catholic).
Submitted by Mitchell
THE MIRROR CAT
I was asked recently to 'draw the thing I was most afraid of when I
was young'. Artists get all kinds of requests, you see, and this one
was no different.
This request, however, was harder than I thought it would be to fulfill,
as it seems I wasn't afraid of many monsters as a child. There were
movies that had me nervous about things grabbing my feet at night, to
be sure, but those phases passed quickly for me. I knew they were not
I was afraid of particular situations. I was afraid of rooms filling
with water. Of being lost at sea. Of wandering with no way home.
This particular situation began with a scruffy stray Siamese
cat named Mr. Tee, whom we adopted. So named by my brother and I when
we were around eight years old. He was a free-spirited cat who came
and went as he pleased. Every adventure we had hunting tree frogs in
the yard was supervised by Tee, who was never too far from us with his
watchful blue-eyed gaze.
One day Tee died of feline leukemia. It shattered our small world of
ballet recitals and baseball practice. We were heart-broken.
Afterwards, I used to see him in the mirrors. Just a glimpse in the
reflection of the surface of my mirrored sliding closet door. I used
to feel his warm body sleeping by my legs, as he always had. I would
see him padding alongside me in the bathroom mirrors. In life, if I
didn't let him in the bathroom with me when I went, he would stick his
paws beneath the door to remind me he was there.
I grew up and moved on with my life. Years later, I lost another beloved
Siamese cat, but this time, I did not feel she lingered. When asked
why I didn't feel that way by my brother, I told him it was because
I felt Tee never left us back then. Much to my surprise, my brother
told me he never felt that Tee left us either. I had never spoken to
anyone about Tee in the mirrors, not even him.
In life, my brother would call Tee and Tee would always come. Even
after he died, he would call Tee, and he still felt like he came, even
if he couldn't see him.
Even still, I could dismiss this as an overactive imagination, a child's
way of dealing with grief. Only a small few years after Tee's death,
I saw another cat, just a glimpse of a gray tabby padding quickly between
the bed and the dresser in the mirror of my aunt's bedroom. I had been
staring off into it while she was getting ready for a date.
I asked her if she ever had a tabby and she paused, finding it an odd
question. She did, in fact, have a very sweet gray tabby whom I had
never met, for he had been killed by the neighbor's dogs before I could
ever make his acquaintance.
Seeing my own cat was one thing, but seeing someone else's was entirely
I don't see things in mirrors anymore, for those who might be wondering.
A good thing, too, because my bathroom walls are covered with mirrors
and I should very much like to do my business there without concerning
myself with who might be gazing through the other side.
It only crossed my mind as an adult that if Tee was in the mirrors,
what else could be? At the time, I did not worry about this overmuch,
however. He was always there, always guarding us.
My fears, I realize, are of what I can't see, what I cannot prove is
real. It is the creeping shadows and the hidden things that threaten
me with the promise of suddenly becoming real, should I become too complacent
with the rightness of the world.
As for the cats? It is in their nature to show up where we least expect
them and where they please. I have long since learned not to question
Submitted by Angela
My Story starts at a house in Forest Grove, Oregon
Now I was in college at Rock Creek PCC, and I got my fist place to live
outside the dorm. My Buddy J.R. and his grandma had a house they rented
and they rented out rooms to pay the bills.
My friend J.R lived across the hallway upstairs from my room. Grandma
Hoffman lived in the downstairs. My office was in the basement.
Grandma told us the house was haunted before I moved in. There was some
weird things that happened there. The taps would turn the water on and
off, and the lights would go on and off. If you were alone you would
hear people talking.
Once, J.R and I were watching TV and the coffee table caught fire for
no apparent reason. It was like 3 foot flames leaping out of the coffee
table for 30 seconds or so. They didn't have any heat and the table
was fine afterward. I couldn't explain that one.
I would work in the basement doing my homework for school, and when
I was typing in the downstairs basement I would see this guy out of
the corner of my eye.
It was really clear, too. He was like a fat white guy with a white stained
Tshirt, blue pajama pants, and he had glasses and a buzz cut.
I talked to grandma about the figure I was seeing and she told me "Yeah
, that's Karl. He used to live here when I was renting the basement.
He had a heart attack . I see him a lot, and he hangs out in the basement.
Don't let him frighten you."
Now in the kitchen we had another ghost. It was Grandma Hoffman's dead
husband Don, who was J.R.s Grandpa . He haunted that floor , but he
was a cool ghost.
When you needed something around the house he would show you where to
find it. I remember I was looking for a pair of scissors , and the drawer
with the scissors in it would slide open.There was another time when
I was looking for the plastic wrap and the door slid open. This kind
of thing happened all the time.
Don liked to watch TV in the evenings , so sometimes about 9 pm the
TV would come on.
But the best thing which I cant explain is when there was a storm and
the power went out . We were looking for the flashlights and grandma
couldn't remember where she put them. A base ball sized ball of light
came out from Don's office, went through the living room and down the
hallway and opened a cabinet.
I couldn't explain that one at all.
Don was the boss and family patriarch and he looked out after us. Once
there there was a tweaker that broke into the house, and I heard him
yell "Get out of here." The thieif got knocked out the kitchen
window, and left his loot behind inside. The cops caught the guy and
he described Grandpa Don as the guy who beat him up. The cops came knocking
at our door looking for the Don who they knew from previous interactions.
When I told him that grandpa had been dead for 3 years the cop told
me to stop screwing with him or I would get arrested.
Up stairs there was a Asian kid that had flunked out of school and hung
himself in my bedroom closet. At night the closet door would rattle
and I would hear people speaking Japanese, but I don't speak Japanese
so the message was lost on me. Pretty creepy really.
Well My roomie J.R . and I thought tI would be a good idea to see if
we could contact the ghosts with a Parker Brothers Ouija board.
That pissed off the ghosts and they made things very unpleasant . My
closet door would slam and I would hear crying. One night I saw The
hung kid was standing in the middle of my bed above me, staring at me
and it freaked me out. I could see his head flop and he was obviously
We all got nightmares and grandma would scream in her sleep... when
we could sleep. The radio started talking to me and calling
me by name. There were balls of light that were so bright the neighbors
started asking about them. When we started seeing shadow figures moving
around I got out of there and moved back in with my parents.
That place was really weird.
Submitted by Anonymous
October I use scary literature to teach my English classes. I had mentioned
this to a co-teacher at the beginning of the year. She made the remark
that one of her brother's very best friends had a true ghost picture.
The brother explained that his friend's grandmother had owned an old
house near Smithville, Georgia in the rural southwest region of the
state. After the grandmother had died, the family did not do very much
with the house for a while.
However, after some time, the family took several work days to clean
it out. During one of these work days pictures were taken of some of
the family members cleaning,etc. There had been no eerie feelings or
ghostly encounters or any mention of any supernatural occurrences. That
is until one of those pictures that was later developed seemed to show
that the family had an extra helper in the process. I am including the
photo below. I have repeatedly asked my co-worker if this could be some
stunt or photo shop. She insists that her brother's friend's family
"were not the kind of people to do that sort of thing".
Submitted by Trey
THAT THE OLD BABYSITTER?
I grew up in Central B.C. Canada. As a child my parents operated their
own tree planting business during the summer months. This usually meant
that my sister, brother, and I would need a babysitter for a day or
two, while my parents fixed a camp, etc for the planters.
We were blessed with the nicest neighbours! They were a Danish- Inuit
couple with their two sons. It was always a great joy to get baby sat
We rode a school bus home everyday and would go directly from the bus
stop to our neighbour’s house until our parents arrived to pick
My brother and I often explored their basement. Atari game consoles,
computers, TVs, and stereos, record players, cassette tapes, and BMX
bikes, were all neatly arranged for us to investigate.
I especially remember the smells of the laundry detergent they used.
It had that overpowering, super strong smell…
For a brief time during my adolescent years I experienced the occasional
nightmare- especially during afternoon naps! So one day after school,
while being babysat next door, I ended up dozing off...
I had fallen asleep, and risen up at some point in the warm, late afternoon;
sleep walking, eyes wide open and full of terror! My siblings tell me
I had run around the house, let myself outside, screaming and babbling
the whole time. This episode lasted several minutes.
I recall very little of the nightmare, but remember the worried looks
and comforting hugs I received after this bizarre experience. My sister
says my eyes looked like someone else’s and not my own.
Needless to say I scared the heck out of everyone. But especially Mrs.
J! She and her family had not been in Canada very long at this point
and I doubt she had ever seen a child do this before. She was left very
shocked and concerned.
This was an embarrassing event for me and I always felt awkwardness
between myself and Mrs. J after that. I could see it in her Eyes. The
awkwardness lasted many years but eventually faded away with time after
I reached adulthood.
I remember my sister would stay with Mrs. J. overnight sometimes, as
her husband and boys often worked away from home. She simply disliked
being alone in the house. She spooked rather easily, so one can imagine
the impression I had left with her!
Now we can fast forward twenty or more years. Mr. and Mrs. J have moved
back to Greenland and have sold their house next-door to one of their
Then one day last summer (2012) I received the unexpected news that
Mrs. J had passed away of a very sudden heart attack. It was quite a
shock as they were getting ready to spend the summer/ autumn back in
Canada. We all mourned her leaving as she was such a gentle and kind
person. She was known for her affection towards dogs and cats, and generally
She was buried soon after her passing and there was no time for either
son to return to Greenland for the funeral.
Early this summer (2013) the neighbours (the son and his girl friend)
decided to take a trip to Vancouver Island. Someone was needed to watch
the house as well as the dog and cats. Of course I accepted as I had
watched the house several times prior to this.
Being very hospitable neighbours, I was told to make myself at home,
sleep on the master bed, have a party/ friends over, etc. but just make
sure I clean up afterwards. Being a rather quiet and introverted person
by nature I did not throw a party or anything.
Bringing my own sleeping bag I unrolled it on the master bed to sleep
on during my stay.
I recall it being a late night and for some reason I felt a little apprehensive
about closing the bedroom door before I went to bed. Almost like someone
else was in the house. I like dogs and cats, just not on the bed, so
I decided to close the door.
The dog was sleeping downstairs in the basement. Both outside doors
were locked. One cat inside, and two cats (toms) stayed outside. I forced
my thoughts away from the strange feeling of being watched. Sleep came
rather quickly that night.
(3AM) to my great surprise I woke up to a loud, terrible, heart stopping,
screaming noise! The smoke alarm just outside of the master bedroom
was going off so loudly I thought I was going to have a heart attack!
It sounded louder than any smoke alarm I have ever heard. I instantly
sprung out of bed but was so startled it took me a minute or so to awaken
from my deep sleep as I scrambled to get my mental faculties in order.
I fumbled to open the detector; I was trembling! Instead I grabbed and
pulled it right out of the ceiling in my panic.
Suddenly the smoke alarm downstairs in the basement also went off wildly,
uncharacteristically, no smoke or fire anywhere to be found. I ran down
stairs fumbling again, pulling the thing out of the ceiling as I did
the first. My heart pounding, mind racing, I could not understand what
would cause the alarms to do this, with no heat or smoke anywhere in
In the back of my mind I instantly recalled Mrs. J's passing on. And
then the memory of the time I had been sleepwalking and scared her so.
Maybe she came back to look over things, expecting to see her son and
his girl friend sleeping there, only to find someone else in their bed..
Perhaps she was trying to scare me from the home; getting back at me
for the scare I had given her, so many years before.
Or was there something else that lived there that she never told us
Submitted by Nicko
IN THE CORNER
The summer of 76 was not a good one for me. I was living at the Geronimo
Hotel, a flea-bag mecca for Tucson's transients. I was working sporadically
as a laborer as well as taking some classes at the nearby University
of Arizona. The only people residing at the hotel seemed to be retirees
who hadn't saved enough,criminals, heroin addicts and people with minimum
wage jobs who couldn't afford to live elsewhere.
If you wanted to meet eccentrics of every stripe, you wouldn't be disappointed
with the denizens of the Geronimo.
One day, while waiting in the lobby for the rickety elevator, which
I hoped would take me to my room on the third floor, a gaunt, shiny
eyed young man accosted me.
He extended his hand and smiled. "Hey man , my name is Phil. Can
you do me a big favor, and loan me two bucks? I can pay you back in
a couple of days." His voice was soft , but had a nervous edge.
I hesitated, about to say no, but something about Phil made me change
my mind. Perhaps it was his emaciated appearance which caused me to
feel pity, or the luminous intensity of his pale blue eyes.
"Thanks man, I'll pay you back in two days," he said , as
he pocketed the bills and headed toward the brilliant sunlight which
poured in from the lobby door that opened on busy Euclid Avenue.
I never expected to be paid back, so it was quite a surprise to see
Phil two days later hurrying toward me in the lobby with two dollar
bills clutched in his skeletal hand.
"Here you go man. Thanks for the bread."
Surprised by his unexpected honesty, we exchanged pleasantries for
several minutes. He seemed to be both friendly and intelligent . I invited
him to my room.
There the conversation continued and we talked on a number of topics.
After a while Phil seemed to become rather bored and seemed somewhat
distracted. He then revealed that he was so thin because he practiced
"Why do you fast, Phil?"
He hesitated and then with a burst of excitement related to me how fasting
made him more sensitized to the world of spirits. He also said he shot
up cocaine and heroin sometimes for the same reason.
I tried to steer the conversation elsewhere when Phil, seeming to grow
agitated, his bony jaw set slightly on edge . blurted out, "Demons,
I talk to them and they tell me a lot of stuff. Things that would blow
It was then I arose abruptly and told Phil that I had to write a paper
for class and that it was nice talking with him, but that I should get
started on it. He could probably tell I was creeped out by his strange
After Phil left , I sat in my wooden chair and looked around at the
roach infested room, at the old narrow metal framed bed with its thin,
hard mattress, and the ancient writing table scarred with age, where
down on their luck tenants wrote letters to a lost love or perhaps scribbled
Several weeks passed, and between my work and studies I had largely
put the strange conversation with Phil out of my mind. I was taking
a couple of courses during the summer to gradually build enough credits
to graduate. Some days I worked in the sweltering heat, doing landscape
work: the hot desert sun shining like a little inferno in the clear
, merciless sky.
Then , late one night, I was awakened by someone pounding on the door
of my room. I got out of bed, slipped on some jeans, and groggily made
my way to the door and opened it
There stood Phil, looking wide eyed and frantic, clutching a book in
one hand. Strands of long blond hair were plastered on his sweating
."Phil, what's going on," I managed to say, waking up fast.
"Sorry to bother you man. Can you do me a big favor?"
He thrust the book into my hand suddenly. I can't keep this book. I
got to get out of here and I got to travel light. I was kicked out of
my room. Could you keep this book for a week or two? The book means
a lot to me. I'll be back and get it soon after I get settled again."
"OK, Phil, I can keep it for a while for you. No problem."
I was relieved when he left. and I no longer had to look at his skull
like face nor gaze into his intense , lost eyes. I heard him making
a kind of scuttling sound like a tall insect as he made his way down
the decrepit hall.
I was curious enough about the book to examine it to see what it was
about. It was a strange book, perhaps privately printed. It was solid
black and appeared to be at least a century old. There was no title
or author listed on the cover or spine of the book. There was no copyright
page nor date or even the name of a publisher. Opening the book at random
, I read a few pages .
It spoke of wise ones arising from the earth plane and joining the "dark
disciples" to wage a war on behalf of Beelzebub. I didn't want
to continue reading the weird book. Reading the stuff sent major chills
down my spine . I carried the book to the corner and dropped it on the
Weeks passed by and Phil never showed up.and the book lay in the corner
of my hotel room largely forgotten.
Then, one night , after fighting the heat and the noisy traffic, I
managed to fall in to a restless sleep. Suddenly I was wide awake and
sat up in bed. I instinctively glanced toward the corner where Phil's
black book lay.
Something stood there that had a human form. But it wasn't human, it
was like a blue mist only with glaring red eyes. The thing had its eyes
locked on me. They emanated pure hatred and malice.
I was shaking as I hurriedly threw on some clothes and rushed out the
door . down the fire escape and into the street. My mind was almost
frozen with fear. I somehow managed to walk down Euclid Avenue to an
all night diner and stayed there , a cold cup of coffee before me ,
trying to gain control over my fear,until daylight.
Much later that day, I managed to force myself to go back to the room.
I walked directly to the corner and picked the book off the floor and
carried the thing ,as if were a dead rat, to the dumpster and tossed
it in with the trash.
Somehow I managed to get by the next few days without incident. I never
looked toward the corner and tried not to think about the disturbing
thing I had witnessed that night. The damned book was in the landfill
now in its rightful place , keeping the rats and maggots company.
On the fourth day after the appearance, however, while picking up my
mail in the hotel lobby I was shaken yet again. The hotel clerk who
was a nosy rather unlikable sort, seemed to have something he was itching
"Did you hear about what happened to Phil? he asked, his voice
quivering with excitement. "he was shot dead, Thursday night, while
trying to burglarize a house on 4th Avenue."
I mumbled something as I left the lobby. Instead of going to my room
, I went for a long walk and tried to wrap my mind around the fact that
Phil was killed the same night that I had seen that strange being glaring
at me from the corner. Was it a malevolent spirit arising from the black
book or was it Phil's attempt to somehow reconnect with his book and
say a kind of goodbye to this life?
Submitted by R.G. Harris
When I was a small kid of about 5, we moved into a 2 bedroom mobile
home near Raleigh N. C. It was in a small park of 6 more trailer lots.
It was a retirement fund for the older couple that owned the trailers.
The area was large for a little kid, with plenty of room to ride a bike
and roam the woods in the backyard. I really had never been afraid of
a ghost or even knowing what they might entail. The little home was
comfortable for my family and I liked the area. After we had lived there
for a few months the problems started to happen.
One afternoon while me and my brother were riding our bikes, the police
came riding up, I'm thinking they're just cruising through, but they
turned into our drive. Being a kid i had to see what was going on. The
police talked to my Mom, and said they were looking for a Mr. Randall.
We had never heard of Mr. Randall or even seen him in the picture they
had of him. . At that time everyone tried to respect the police, so
when they asked to check inside the home, my mom said sure. She kept
a immaculately clean house and was proud of it. Not finding Mr. Randall,
and Mom telling them we had just moved in, they said Thank You and left.
After that, every few weeks a different set of Law Enforcement came
to the home. State Police, FBI and Secret Service visited. After a few
visits, me and my brother saw fancy, clean cars drive up, We asked,
you looking for Mr. Randall, and watched their faces drop in shock.
To us it was a game, i guess to them it was realizing the element of
surprise was blown. Mr. Randall must have been a really BAD person.
As these visits started that's when the strange things started. My brother
was older by a few years, But was really scared of things. He didn't
do anything alone at night or even daytime. One day my Mom was helping
the landlord and he wanted to get his new sneakers, in our room.
He and I went to the room and closed the door behind us. As he was
putting the shoes on we heard footsteps coming down the hall. It was
quite obvious it was a man walking, the old hard sole rubber shoes.
We stopped even breathing. Dad was at work and Mom didn't wear men shoes.
After what seemed like minutes, my brother said look outside, throwing
me to the lions now that I think back about that day. I grabbed ahold
of the brass knob, and slowly was going to turn. It was cooler than
ice, the kind that feels like it is burning your skin. I let go and
looked at my hand. It wasn't burnt, but it felt like it. After a few
minutes more he opened the door and saw nothing, and we ran outside.
Not telling our Mom, maybe it was just a squeaking floor, my brother
said. What about my hand i said. He never answered. In a couple more
days, my mom and dad started sleeping on the fold-out bed in the sofa,
I couldn't figure out why they wouldn't sleep in the perfectly good
bed in the back bedroom.
We moved out of the trailer, not to long after that. Later in years
my mom said they had been attacked in that room. My father said he woke
up with something dark at the foot of the bed, and it went into the
ceiling and disappeared. The finally straw was when the dark being woke
them both up and covered their faces. In true terror they both thought
it was going to kill them, my father was saying i'm sorry i can't move
or help you to my mother. She was just crying. Neither would talk about
that night, until i was in my 30's. And even then it was still painful
for them. I remember that the news reported that Mr. Randall was found
in a shallow grave, and had been there about six months. . . . about
the same time we had moved into his former residence.
Submitted by Tracy
My wife and I were living near Gig Harbor WA. it was 1980-81. We lived
out in the woods past the Purdy Bridge in a little town called Wana.
The running joke about me was that I was the Mayor - The Mayor o' Wana.
My kids, Rachel and Eli, were about 5 and 4 respectively. Peggy, my
wife, had put the kids to bed and gone to bed herself and I was just
checking all the doors and lights in the house before I joined her.
Standing in the hall entrance to the living room, out of the corner
of my eye, I saw someone standing to my left over by the lowboy dish
cabinet next to the sliding doors to our patio. I can't say that she
was an apparition, but it was as if I saw her in my mind but with the
very tangible "presence" feeling that one gets when someone
is really there. I turned my head to look directly at her and there
was nothing visible. It was amazing how much information I got from
that one glimpse. She was about 10 or 11 years old, long brown hair
that was pulled up on the sides with barrettes and then draped down
her back. She was dressed in a black taffeta dress with, I think, a
small white collar at the neck. She was wearing high button laced shoes.
She was kind of shy and very curious, hesitant to approach, but standing
and staring at me.
Typical of me, I immediately resolved in my mind that, "This will
not happen in my house." (as if I could stop it by will power alone).
Then I turned and went to by bedroom and got in bed. I was on the other
side of the bed from the door. I had just turned out the lamp on my
night table and got comfortable when I heard, very close to the bed
on my wife's side, a satiny swish, very clearly. Without me saying a
word, Peggy called out, "Rachel?". You could tell someone
was standing there. I turned the light back on and there was nothing
visible, of course.
From our bed we could see Rachel's open bedroom door down the hall.
So, I got up and went down to her room and both the kids were sound
asleep. I tried to recreate the noise by rustling Rachel's bed spread
and covers, but nothing would make that satin swish. That is when I
told Peggy what I had seen in the living room.
A few days later I was standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching
Peggy prepare dinner and talking about spiritual things, and when I
mentioned some deceptions of Satan, we heard from the laundry room at
the far end of the kitchen, a crash and bump. It sounded like the laundry
basket had dropped from a high shelf. I went immediately to the room
and there was nothing disturbed. I tried again to recreate that sound
with the basket, but there was nothing in the room on which to rest
it from a height to make it drop. I stood in there for some time waiting
for another noise, but all was quiet.
I kept up that attitude of "Not in my house you don't" and
there were no other strange happenings from then on, though that was
about the time that Rachel and Eli started talking about "Ha-Bobos",
the poltergeist-like boogey man that played tricks on the kids which
our neighbors had told them about. I tried to find out the source of
that name but my kids didn't know. I assumed it was probably the same
ghost just playing around.
Submitted By Lars
DANIEL, THE ROOFER
My nephew, Daniel, was a roof repairman who spent his days during the
summer of '93 in the hot sun laying down hot asphalt sheets and coating
them with even hotter tar. He became accustomed to working atop commercial
buildings and being near high voltage wires that ran from pole to pole
close to the buildings. So after a long day of work when his daughter
told him that their cat couldn't get down off the roof, he thought nothing
of climbing up and getting near some high voltage wires, which to him
were more of a nuisance than a threat.
It had been another hot day, and so he decided his daughter and the
cat could wait, until after he relaxed and knocked back a few suds.
Whether, though, it was the beer or his being tired that made Daniel
inattentive when he got up on the roof and then onto to a nearby electrical
pole that the cat jumped onto, the many years of experience safely repairing
roofs were gone. A bolt of electricity arched from a wire into Daniel's
head killing him instantly. His passing was a sudden loss for everyone.
A few months prior to his passing we became, for the time, close. He
confided in me that he was suicidal over his divorce, losing a lucrative
job in Silicon Valley when the company moved overseas and having one
day stuck a revolver in his mouth to end it but backed down.
Years later as I sat in my living room at 2 am, very loud noises of
someone clearly stomping across the middle of my roof gave me a fright.
The distinct heavy pounding of boots also caused me concern for what
was left of my roof, because the roof was old and sometimes leaked badly
when it rained, I didn't know whether it was its weakness that caused
the turbulence, or a prankster that wanted to get my attention. But,
as it turned out, it was neither.
It was a high roof with no access except by ladder. That night I was
sitting quietly at my computer and would've heard anything outside,
such as ladders going up and anyone climbing up. There was no way a
robber could get in my home from the roof, and they wouldn't be stomping
as though they were trying to break in via the roof. At 2 am in the
morning it was very quiet outside, and I had on my living room lights.
It could have been nothing other than a ghost, but who's ghost and why
wasn't clear at first, as the commotion upset and frightened me. It
wasn't until I calmed down that I got the impression that it was my
roof-repairman nephew telling me that he still existed and alerting
me, with loud stomps, to fix the roof.
Submitted by Harry White
A FLUSHING FRIGHT
Watervliet, NY, All Hallow's Eve - 1992. My cousins, my buddy Dana,
my little brother, and I decided to hike the tracks up to Albany Rural
Cemetery. I remember it was a snowless, warmer than average October
31st as we made the trek in earnest. "I hope we see a ghost!"
My tag-along little-brother commented. "Shut-up kid," Dana
replied. He was easily the biggest, and burliest member of the gang..
but as is often the case, the easiest to terrify. As usual, the rest
of us ridiculed him for this display of sensitivity.
Upon arriving to the graveyard, we were surprised by how incredibly
dark it was. While it's name suggests an image of a quaint country cemetery,
it was anything but. ARC’s scope was vast, and it's residents
seemingly ancient. I imagine this cemetery’s location being quite
rural indeed, way back when it's first occupants took up residence shortly
after the revolutionary war.
We'd planned to find our way, through the dark, to the cemetery pond
where it was rumored that the older high school kids snuck away to party
every weekend. But once we were within a hundred yards inside the gates
it became pitch black, taking from us the ability to find our way anywhere!
So we decided to hop back on the tracks, and head home for some more
Pulling up the rear of the pack, as I often preferred to do, I remember
getting the eerie feeling that we were being followed... Which wouldn't
have been that unusual of an occurrence given the number of transients
that inhabited the area. After looking over my shoulder two, or three
times, and after thinking I was now hearing someone behind us, I made
the motion for the gang to stop and see if indeed we were being tailed.
My cousin Fred seconded the motion, and the quorum halted it's progress
After a few moments, we began shouting back down the tracks at the
Bum we suspected that had decided to give us a Devil’s night fright,
but no such specter emerged. Whether everyone was now a genuinely creeped-out
as I by now, or they were simply indulging me, we double-timed it back
to the house in order to shake this curious spook...
Upon our arrival home, we began to ask each other if we thought the
ghoul had followed us all the way home. With our parents out to dinner
somewhere, I remember us being a bit more skittish concerning this far-fetched
possibility than usual, and the conjecture continued. After a few minutes
of heated debate I voicened my need to relive myself. "I've gotta
pee, !@#$..." I stated in disgust, and just as I finished saying
this, the only toilet on that floor of the house fully flushed! Now
when I say "fully" I refer to the fact that we all clearly
heard the toilet handle clinking as it was depressed, releasing the
water from it's tank, and allowing the bowl to evacuate it's contents.
Now remember, we were completely alone at the time, and the entire
gang was present and accounted for in the front room! Needless to say,
neither I, nor anyone else were able to relive ourselves until much
later that night when our parents finally arrived home. And that, my
friends, is the true story of the commode flushing ghost.. who as I
remember decided to stick around for awhile after this original encounter.
Maybe I'll post another story about him before this seasons Samhain...
Submitted by Duane Greggory Tosspon
THE OLD DARK HOUSE
My mother always told me the story of living in a haunted house when
she was a girl. Normally I'm a cynic when it comes to ghost stories,
but knowing my mother as I do, I am forced to admit that there may be
forces at work in this world that we can't understand.
It was the 1940's in rural Eastern Kentucky. The steep Appalachian hillsides
meant that most people lived in the dark, winding valleys below known
as hollows. My grandparents owned a house on Wildcat but my grandfather,
Jim, who normally taught at the local one room schoolhouse, got a temporary
position at another school. Back then, in the mountains, it was normal
for teachers to be assigned a new school every few weeks or months.
Since they didn't own a car, and the new job wasn't within mule riding
distance, it was decided that they would rent something cheap that was
close to the new school until he could secure a position closer to home.
A few days later, my grandmother, Lucy, with her two girls in tow, (my
mother, Erlene, seven, and Estelle, twelve) rode the bus to look at
a house they had heard about from relatives. It was the last house at
the end of a long hollow. The next closest house, which was almost out
of sight, belonged to the landlady.
The house had no electric or inside plumbing, which wasn't unusual for
the times, but it was roomy and clean and very, very cheap. Its long
porch culminated in a little room that couldn't be accessed from the
inside. You had to walk the length of the porch and go in by a separate
door. On the outside wall of the little room, my grandmother noticed
bullet holes. Below that, a big dark red spot.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Its nothing," the landlady said, and she sent her daughter
to the house to fetch a bucket of soapy water and a brush. As my grandmother
watched, the landlady scrubbed and scrubbed but the spot just got redder.
Finally, she had to give up. But my mother's family took the house anyway.
Just after they moved, my grandparents went to town and left the girls
home to clean the house. Being normal kids, they got side tracked and
started playing around. "Screeeech." Suddenly they heard the
screen door open. Their parents must have forgotten something. Heavy
footsteps filled the other room. Estelle grabbed a broom and my mother
grabbed a rag. Frantically they started cleaning as they waited for
their parents to walk into the kitchen. Suddenly the footsteps stopped.
When they didn't hear voices either, they went to investigate. Strangely,
no one was there. They looked outside. Nothing. The girls began to get
scared.When my grandparents got home, the girls told their story, but
with children's imaginations being what they are, no one thought much
of it. That is, until the noises began.
That night, when they were all in bed, they heard something coming from
the attic. It was a big, loud, thud. "Like a falling body,"
my mother always said. This time the adults heard it, too. And it didn't
happen just once. It started happening every night.
Soon, other noises followed. The sound of alarm clocks in the mornings.
A deep gonging at supper like the sound of a grandfather clock.
Then one morning, the landlady's husband hollered out at my grandfather
as he passed.
"Hey, Jim! I was surprised to see that you got electricity up there."
"What do you mean?" my grandfather asked, knowing there was
"I mean I looked out last night and saw that little room on the
end of the house glowing. I've never seen such a bright light."
After that, my grandfather started asking questions. He soon learned
that years before, an old clock peddler had gone door to door up the
hollow, but he was never seen coming back out. Rumor had it that he
had been murdered and robbed at the last house. The neighbors claimed
that nobody had lived in that house for years. At least not for very
My grandparents decided that my grandfather would finish out the week,
then they would go back home. That night, my grandfather stepped out
on the porch to relieve himself before bed. There was a snow on...the
crunchy kind that was covered with a layer of crackly ice. Suddenly
my grandfather began screaming.
"Lucy, Lucy, bring the lantern, quick!"
My grandmother ran out. "What is it?"
My Grandfather grabbed the lantern and waved it around, searching the
snow. His face was white.
"Somebody walked right up in my face," he said. "I could
see his outline getting closer and closer but he wouldn't say anything."
Out in the yard, they couldn't believe their eyes. The man had left
no footprints. Immediately they went inside and started packing. They
left the next morning. No job was worth that.
The landlady, they heard later, was unable to get anyone else to live
in the house. Eventually, it was torn down and no other house was built
on that spot.
Submitted by Teresa
Do you go trick or treating each year? I never have. To some, Halloween
seems like harmless fun, but during my childhood it was no benign 'trick'
– let alone 'treat'.
As Halloween loomed back then, I became terrified. I rarely slept a
wink during the witching hour, imagining evil and grotesque beings on
broomsticks flying outside, bound somehow to work their insidious machinations
inside as well. It may sound like ordinary childhood fears – monsters
under the bed – but I had good reason to fear the improbable,
or indeed, the seemingly impossible.
My home back then was a late Victorian house out in the wilds. Successive
owners had removed the original features; a house without a soul somehow.
It was a habitually gloomy place even in broad daylight. During the
winter months the heating would make the pipes rattle and the floorboards
creak, but there were also inexplicable groaning noises and other strange
unearthly sounds. Those things would scare any young child: it contained
more evil nonetheless.
I hated the stairs. They were enclosed with a door at the bottom. The
walls were papered with a largely black city-scape that reflected hardly
any light from the small window at the top during daytime. The light-bulb
wouldn't always work if you turned it on from the bottom; vice versa
if you tried the switch on the landing. It was a horrible feeling, thinking
someone, or something, was following behind you – and frequently
I'd dash into my bedroom, dive into the bed, dreading the time that
mum would come to tuck me in and kiss goodnight because of the fear
of being left alone. It was a shadowy room even in the dusk of summer
evenings – the deep red brown and orange curtains giving the spooky
impression of changing shapes. As time went by it became not just a
twilight visual abomination of sorts that forced my head underneath
the blankets, but an actual place of torture.
My first memory in that chamber wasn't connected to my parents but
to the entities who visited. I would see forms with no faces, dark outlines,
with blind eyes looking over my cot. They would pull my blankets down.
I remember feeling so cold because I didn't know how to pull the covers
back up. I wasn't scared of them at that point.
As I grew a little older however, the night, the dark, started to terrify
me. Unlike during my babyhood, I kept my eyes firmly closed as an older
child then, frightened stiff of what I might see.
Once the household was asleep, and largely only then, I would hear
a high-pitched whining noise
slowly becoming louder: I knew I couldn't escape. The eerie whaling
sound would slowly dissipate and morph into the moaning of the winds
through the trees outside, then into babbling voices increasing in volume
until deafening: enough to drive you insane. That in itself was gruesome:
more was to come.
They didn't go about things quickly, rather slowly tormenting
victims. They would paralyse me, silence me, and leave me in that state
for many a while. After that, pure silence, and the dread of every single
frozen sinew and muscle encompassed me: 'it/they' were coming. Incrementally,
haltingly, they would ease my bed-covers down: first off my face (ahhhhhhhhh);
over my nose; chin; down the line of my neck (they're...ahhhh help:
someone: help!); then chest; towards my stomach (pleeeeeeasse: hellllllp!!);
groin (noooooooo!!!); thighs; knees (leave me alooooone!!!!); ankles
(Oh God, pleeeeease: nooooooo)!!!!!; toes....(NOOOOOOO!!!!!!)
The touching started; creeping multiple fingers and hands fondled,
grabbed me, over and over; sometimes tickling me, again and again until
I felt physically sick/retching: out of my mind with fear; passing out
They never physically hurt me, but due to their mental torture, by
the age of 8. I was so anxious and sleep deprived that I pulled my hair
out leaving bald patches; I behaved in other weird ways too. I never
told anyone however thinking that adults wouldn't believe me: children
were 'to be seen and not heard' back then.
These things continued through teenage years into adulthood following
me wherever I lived, but I haven't had such intensified experiences
of late. The odd thing happens though. Most notably, one night in the
winter of 2011, my friend Elaine – who attends a local church
– asked if we could discuss a section of the bible concerning
satan the devil to ascertain my thoughts (I'm not religious but I studied
the bible). She sat adjacent to me and started reading. On reaching
the words 'satan the devil', at the exact same time, a bulb in the brass
candelabra hit the ceiling and floated down slowly – still lit
– landing with its tip facing outwards between the two of us,
as if it had been exactly placed.
I turned to my shocked friend and said: “ now do you believe
The dark doesn't terrify me now; neither Halloween. It's been a long
road. I guess you become hardened to it in the end. Ultimately, I think
that ignoring these evil ghosts, not showing I'm scared – even
when I am – is the answer. Like bullies, in time they get give
up if you don't respond.
Those thoughts of further monstrosities on Halloween back then –
the witches on their brooms – subjecting me to some other form
of ghastly torment was unbearable, but strangely nothing did happen
on that night. But, this Halloween, if you hear anything in your bedroom
– if you feel an invisible hand over your mouth – lie very
still. Most of all, keep your eyes firmly shut and don't bother screaming:
though, of course, I hope you'll never have to.Kind Regards
Submitted by Sasson Hann
THAT OLD TIME RELIGION
It was back in 1950's-something;
I was just a young kid then with a mother and a step-father and a life
that was pretty lame considering the only path I had to real enjoyment
was watching the world as it passed by from the backseat windows of
the old family Dodge, a real rattle trap of a car that thing was and
that's for sure. And strong too, metal wise I mean, as I remember the
time my step-dad's foot slipped from the brake pedal and hitting the
accelerator sent us all crashing through the large plate glass window
of the local Diner in his attempt to park the darn thing. The front
end of that Dodge was like a tank. But that has nothing really to do
with my story now, sorry about that, I get side tracked so easily these
days remembering the past. As I was saying...
There was this one trip we made to Southern Missouri from our home
in Illinois. Our destination the boyhood home of my step-father, a country
home near the Missouri-Arkansas border. After what seemed a very long
and tiring road trip we finally pulled closer to our destination turning
down this winding gravel road which extended for many miles deeper into
the remote countryside. Arriving at the home I was disappointed to learn
the place was without many modern day conveniences. No electricity,
for example, and a none too-cozy out-house when nature called as it
Wait.., an important piece of this story I have forgotten to mention
up to this point was my step-father back then considered himself a street
corner preacher of sorts; oftentimes stopping at busy intersections
and with Bible in hand and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbow he would
deliver the Words of God to all that would listen. Not that others stopping
to listen seemed that important to him as he would almost always without
fail get on an alcoholic roll so to speak and with Bible raised high
into the air say whatever it was he felt compelled to say, listeners
Thinking back I'm sure it was the alcohol responsible for sending us
through that window That I mentioned. Well.., back to this trip to Southern
Missouri, and no electricity...
My step-dad one night with his Bible clenched tightly to his chest and
his other hand extended out firmly in front as if holding back an unseen
force, put that trembling hand of his on the forehead of his elderly
Mother who was seated in a rocking chair in front of him. I have no
idea who everyone else was there in the living room that evening but
in the shadowy-flickering orange light of the oil lamp we all watched
from our various seated positions taken up around the room in preparation
for what was to come as my step-father commenced what can only best
be described as an exorcism of sorts.
Holding tight to that Bible and his hand on top his Mother's head he
repeated over and over, "In the name of the father... etc., etc.,"
until such time as the woman in the rocking chair stopped her rocking;
and with the roaring sound of a lion, jumped to her feet, and then collapsed
to the wooden floorboards where she was quickly assisted and comforted
by one of the onlookers.
My mother later recounting this event declared that she had seen a
beast that night, a Devil, come from the mouth of the woman when she
sprung to her feet and roared like she had, and that this beast jumped
out the open window past the moving curtains into the dark of night.
As for me I continued looking in the direction of my step-father with
what I'm sure must have been an open mouth and wonderment in my eyes
as slowly the sounds of women sobbing and various men praising The Lord
came to my ears. I still see my step-father turning and looking in my
direction and with the demeanor of a barber asked.., "Who's next?"
I don't know what else to say about that old woman in the rocking chair
or anyone else in the room for that matter but that night my Bible thumping
alcoholic step-dad with a heavy foot on the accelerator scared the living
hell out of me.
Submitted by Jerry Bridges
It was earlier this month, in October, that I saw something quite strange
and find myself even today wondering what, or even who, it was that
I actually saw. Here let me explain:
I’m a self-employed contractor, working mainly in what’s
oftentimes in the hot sun in the laborious field of construction. That
said I consider myself lucky to have landed this otherwise relatively
easy job, with good pay, doing some inside renovation work for a local
old folk’s home here in the shadowed, peaceful suburbs of nearby
San Antonio, Texas.
I had gone to work eager this one morning with a couple of assigned
projects awaiting my attention, one of which was some general dry-wall
repair in a bathroom in one of the many numbered rooms located along
a narrow and dusty corridor in what is best described as a lonely and
isolated section of the building. I say lonely and isolated because
other than the lady that hired me, I saw no one while walking to this
quiet and dimly-lighted work site.
Additionally, another commitment that waited was to remove and replace
a section of old and musty and badly stained carpet in yet another room
located also along that same hallway.
The kind of things I’m generally pretty good at doing, nothing
complicated, and an excellent means of some easy cash as I‘ve
Searching the numbered room signs above each door while walking down
the hallway, I soon found myself facing the door to where I was to enter
and perform the assigned dry-wall repairs. As I always do upon entering
a new work area, I knocked briefly on the door before stepping inside.
The wooden door swung easily inwards and while standing there expecting
time to allow my eyes to adjust to any changes in light, and while still
holding to the door knob, I noticed it being little different from the
dimly-lighted hallway. I observed the room was as I expected to find
it, nondescript with little furnishings. Standing there longer I took
note of how quiet it truly seemed to be here in this section of building.
Turning my head in the other direction it was unavoidable that my eyes
could see the old, white-haired woman lying peacefully asleep on a bed
there at the far end of the room, her arms held stiff across her chest.
Out of reflex, I suppose it was, I apologized, nearly whispering the
same, and without expecting answer backed quickly and quietly out the
door to the hallway again where I quietly and carefully closed the door
behind me. I decided it best not to disturb the sleeping occupant and
in so doing went in search of the other room and carpet project. Finding
that room to be located a few doors further down the hallway, I entered
having every intention of returning later in the day to tackle the dry-wall.
A good hour into the carpet removal and replacement, the lady that
hired me approached and asked how things were progressing? She was surprised
seeing that I had moved on so quickly to the carpet and asked if all
had gone well on the dry-wall project? I told her that I was going to
take care of that next, when I was sure that the old lady there on the
bed was awake. I didn’t want to be a disturbance to her.
The lady standing there went silent. Becoming aware of this, I looked
up into a questioning face, one that asked for clarification, saying
there’s no one living in this part of the building; they were
all moved out to other rooms in other hallways months ago in preparation
for major construction renovations. This had been deemed necessary for
their comfort and safety.
Makes good sense them doing that, I thought to myself, moving the old
folks I mean, but who then was that old, white-haired woman I clearly
saw there on the bed? She looked asleep -- But as we discussed this
matter further, it got me to seriously thinking:
Could it have been something entirely other than that? A woman asleep,
I mean. I learned not only was this building an old folk’s home,
one badly in need of repairs, years earlier its former purpose had been
that of a mortuary for the county.
Hearing that, the short hairs stood up on the back of my neck.
I did return to the dry-wall project later that day but only after peaking
first around the open door, a door I left open thank you very much.
No old, white-haired lady lying there on the bed at that time, asleep
or otherwise. I did what I had to do to earn my cash and then I got
the hell out of that room as fast as I could.
I find myself still wondering what it was I saw that October morning,
yet I know damn well there was a person lying there on that bed. All
things being considered, I do believe in ghosts; now so more than ever.
Submitted by Jerry Bridges