CEMETARY GHOST

This encounter took place when I was 9 years old but I can still remember it like it was yesterday. At the time I lived in a small village in the cotswalds, England. My mother used to work in the village bakers shop opposite the church cemetery on the high street. Every day during the school summer holidays I used to sit on the cemetery wall around 5.30 in the evening and wait for my mother to finish work and then I would walk home with her and every day at around the same time old Mrs Davis used to arrive at the cemetery gate with fresh flowers for her husbands grave.

This was a regular thing and every day when she saw me sitting on the wall she would say to me 'good afternoon young man.' And on her way out she would look at me smile and say 'see you tomorrow.' To which I would reply 'see you tomorrow Mrs Davis.' I still remember the events that led up to my encounter with the paranormal.

The following day which was a Wednesday I was sitting in my usual place waiting for my mother but this time no Mrs Davis turned up at her usual time. When my mother came out of the shop I mentioned it to her; she looked at me and said very gently 'I am so sorry my love, Mrs Davis died last night.' I was quite upset for a while, but being only 9 years old I soon forgot and life went on.

Fast foreward to October it was half term and I was in my usual place on the cemetery wall waiting for my mother day, dreaming in a world of my own... suddenly I sensed somebody close to me coming out of the cemetery gates. I looked up and there was Mrs Davis walking out of the gates. She looked in my direction smiled and was just not there any more.

I ran screaming into the bakers shop.

Submitted by V. Moss

UNSEEN FORCES

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 would begin.

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 my bedroom.


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 state.

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

A FAMILY GHOST STORY

I was seventeen and a young soldier in 1965 on reassignment orders to a U.S. Army overseas facility at Kaiserslautern, Germany.

I reported for duty only to find that the unit was deactivating, then in the process of moving all of its soldiers to new locations. The sergeant told me to go find myself a cot in one of the vacant rooms, that I could have my pick as to which, that I would be notified in a few days as to my new orders.

It was on day two that I met two other soldiers in the same boat; however, unlike me, they’d taken up temporary residence on another floor. We became friends, mainly taking our meals together, avoiding all authority while waiting for our new assignments.

The room I selected was on the second floor of the drafty, old, stone structure that I reasoned had in the past housed many German soldiers. But now all was quiet, and as I learned a vacant billet was an understatement regardless of who used to call it home. It was like a ghost town.

My room was empty of all furnishings except for two other cots. No one was claiming either and I enjoyed the privacy knowing it would be short lived once my orders came.

On day three after a good night's rest I woke to the door opening. In stepped a young soldier, about my age, wearing a dress green uniform and sporting a green beret. He stopped at the doorway and asked if he might join me in the room? I welcomed him to come in, so much for privacy, and quickly pointed out that I recognized him as a Special Forces soldier, the beret he wore cocked on his head being a dead give away for same.
He smiled.

Closing the door, he stood next to my cot where we engaged in further conversation. I could see by the black plastic name tag he wore that his last name was similar to my own:

-- His name was BRIDGER, mine BRIDGES.

I pointed out this fact, excited as I had not encountered another soldier with a similar name as mine. He told me he and his family were firmly rooted in North Carolina. I told him mine was from Kentucky. We exchanged further small talk at which time I again brought up his green beret. That's when he explained that he really wasn't Special Forces; that he really wasn't even old enough to be in the army; that by some trickery he had managed to join with a group of real Special Forces soldiers that had deployed to a place far from his home, a place called Vietnam.

I had not heard of Vietnam, and told him so. To which he explained to my amazement that he had been caught by surprise almost immediately upon arrival in the jungle there -- and shot -- and killed.

What? I will admit I was surprised by what he was saying but at the same time found his story, and his manner in an oddly and curious kind of way, quite believable. He explained further that as he lay on the ground dying he had wished he had not tricked anyone; that he had stayed with family and friends back in North Carolina and not gone to Vietnam; and, how he had wished with all his might to be able to visit with another soldier, a relative. And that was me.

The names were different but he claimed we were related and that's why he was there in my room. His wish had been granted if only in part. Saying beyond that he had little understanding as to why he was there in my room and became visually surprised that he was in Germany.

After a few minutes more he moved to one of the vacant cots and lay down. I got up and dressed in my fatigues and was lacing my boots when my two buddies came crashing into the room with purpose of gathering me up to go to the mess hall for lunch. One of the two sat on the edge of the cot where BRIDGER lay quietly looking over at me, listening to the general festive conversation then happening from the two, but himself not participating.

I thought this rude that no one had acknowledged BRIDGER’s presence so I asked if it would be okay if BRIDGER joined us? They looked at each other, and at me, seemingly lost as to what I was asking.

BRIDGER said they couldn't see him. That no one else could see him. He said he would stay until we left and then he’d continue on with his journey.

That sounded strange but so had everything else up to that point.

Caught up in my two friend’s insistence, we left the room with BRIDGER looking over and waving goodbye as the door closed behind us.

Thinking this had been an elaborate ruse at my expense, I laughed and said so, bringing up the matter again as we continued down the stairs; but again to vacant stares and comments they had no idea what I was talking about.

I tried relaying BRIDGER's story as we went but they wouldn’t listen. Seated in the dining facility, they insisted they saw no one in my room and asked that I drop this idiotic conversation for more logical chit chat. I was beginning to believe they actually hadn’t seen BRIDGER and perhaps I might be losing my mind.

Upon returning to my room BRIDGER was gone, never to be seen by me again.

My new orders came that day and that was the last I saw of my two lunch buddies. For which I was thankful, for I was sure they thought me completely nuts.

Nearly ten years later I learned our family name of BRIDGES had in fact long ago been BRIDGER. My ancestors had migrated from North Carolina and taken up residence in Kentucky.

Submitted by Jerry Bridges

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 R., Chicago

A MESSAGE FROM A FRIEND

I had a very close friend pass away from cancer a few yrs ago and a very strange thing took place following his death. This friend was well known for his sense of humor and routinely would call and, if encountering an answering machine, would always leave a strange sound instead of a message. Invariably, that strange sound would involve peculiar items, like crackling crumpled paper, hissing sounds, anything that would make strange noise while he would verbally spout some equally weird gibberish or other nonsensical vocal sound effects. This way, we always knew it was him who had called. Never a question. It became his signature and he did it for many, many years.

The day he died I had purchased a new phone with a built in message system, and was boggled by the manual on setting it up, so I put it off. That night, at roughly the time he expired (I later learned), 3 messages were left on my machine from an "unknown number" as the display on the message window recorded. The three messages came only a few minutes apart. Each one was distinctly a call from him, making all the usual strange noises and garbled verbiage, only the calls sounded like they were coming through a very bad radio or something, loaded with static which caused the sound to pitch and diminish. There were no storms happening, but it reminded me of how some calls can sound during a bad electrical storm. I didn't hear the messages until the next day when I noticed a little light on the side of the phone blinking and realized messages had been left, despite having not set up the message part of the phone at all. I had to look up how to play them for fear of missing them, but once I figured it out, I knew he had called. But I simultaneously knew that was impossible, because late that same night, the phone rang and I answered and his significant other told me he had passed away only an hour or so earlier. The phone was clearly operational. He had been in a hospice because his condition had weakened so drastically. He was not able to make phone calls, and was for several days far too out of it from the morphine to have done much of anything.

None the less... he called, somewhere just after the time of death. Not once, but three times, as if to say, "Yeah… it's ME." I was able to play the recordings for my wife, who was equally mystified by them. She knew his signature goofy phone message sounds all too well. In setting up the message system later that day, I somehow managed to erase or destroy the messages entirely. I thought it was a little odd, too, because I was following the instructions perfectly and being very careful about making sure any existing messages would NOT be voided from the chip.

Not more than a month later, my granddaughter who was 2 and a half was spending the night with us, and stopped and looked down the hall and appeared to be looking at someone and nodding at them. I asked her, "Who are you looking at?" And she immediately waved to whomever it was down the hall (there was no one else here but my wife, who was in the same room as we were) and motioned for the person she was looking at to come, and she said, "It's ok, come in." I again asked her, "Who are you seeing?" And she then got a sudden shocked look on her face and kind of gasped a bit and jumped up on the bed with me, clung to me tightly and said, "Who is it, Grandpa? Who is it?" and kept looking back toward the hallway. I went down the hall and looked around, and of course, found no one. Saw nothing. I asked her what she saw and she seemed to struggle to make a good description. I asked her if it was a boy or a girl? She said "no." I asked if it was a man or a woman? And she seemed puzzled for a second and said "Who is it?" instead of "no" again. She just couldn't seem to make sense, or explain or describe what she saw, but it was definitely a "who" to her.

Later that night as we were putting her to sleep, something in the very back room at the end of that hallway came crashing down loudly startling all three of us. I went into the room which was basically empty and used only to store a few things and found nothing out of place. But the sound was distinctly of something large with many parts spilling or falling out, like a box full of various items. But nothing was out of place at all.

No further calls or apparitions have been experienced. But there is no question in my mind that some one or some thing was tapping through, by phone and perhaps with a personal appearance as well to the only one capable of seeing it. And I have a good feeling it was my good friend who passed.

Submitted by Alton Raines

THOSE OLD HAUNTED HOMES & CEMETARY

One family's experience in the state's oldest community.

Our family moved to a small eastern Washington community in 1989 where I took a job with the City. One of my responsibilities was the overall management of the cemetery. It dated back to 1854 and had roughly 6,300 burials. Early in 1990 I hired a sextant to make an effort to correlate all of the cemetery records through an on site review and then we would compare the records at City Hall to see where it would come out. During the preceding years, I and the office staff had data based all of the city's cemetery records.

By the spring of 1993, I had a very strong knowledge of this cemetery and its various sections.
At the time, we were living a few blocks away in one of the community's older homes. My wife and children professed a great amount of anxiety and fear over what they perceived as an incessant amount of strange occurrences in this house, none of which they were able to explain. I frankly was very skeptical, although we had lived in homes before that had a lot of paranormal activity. I decided to check out this one. A number of the City staff had lived in town all of their lives. Upon inquiry to one of my clerks, I was informed that at one time there had been a third floor on this house that had burned during the war. There had been a fatality. Consensus seemed to indicate that the casualty was a young man. This entity was very mischievous. Apparently, he enjoyed turning on water faucets, opening washing machine doors, turning on or off lights, slamming doors etc. I was skeptical of these claims.

One Saturday night I got up to visit the bathroom. The only light that was on in the house was in the hallway. When I exited the bathroom, I was quite surprised to see that the only lights that were not on were in the bedrooms. The front room, dining, kitchen, and laundry room lights were all turned on. I decided that the family was right, we need to move.

The very next morning, I was on a walk through the cemetery when I noticed a young woman in a faded dress standing in front of a headstone in one of the older parts of the cemetery. The dress looked like an early 20th century wedding dress. I turned and walked over to where she was standing. She appeared to be in her twenties. She was slim, long brown hair and of medium height. She was looking down at the headstone with a very sad look on her face. I quickly surveyed the cemetery. There were not any vehicles or other people in the cemetery. From where I stood, I could see all of the grounds. She vanished as I approached. I noticed a man's name on the headstone. I wondered what could be happening since she probably wasn't buried here. The name on the front was that of a man, Slocumb. But, since the stone was four sided I decided to check the back of it. It was the only Jewish headstone in the cemetery. It was unique in shape and I had remembered it from previous trips to the cemetery.
The name Emma Moore was on the rear of the stone. She died at age 26 in the early part of that century. A daughter, maybe. A check of the City's burial records confirmed that they were both buried in this grave. Sad.... Never more Emma Moore.

We soon found another house and moved ASAP. The children were becoming paranoid and my wife was unhappy with the current arrangements. Peace at last, I thought. Wrong. It wasn't long before the children began complaining about noises in the basement and footfalls on the stairs coming up from the basement. One afternoon, several months later, I was home preparing lunch when I heard footfalls coming up the stairs. They were located directly behind the kitchen and these footfalls were quite loud. I sprang to my feet and ran to the door at the top of the stairs. This will end right now, I thought. As I opened the door, A wispy figure of a middle aged woman scooted by me and into the kitchen where she soon vanished. That afternoon I checked with the long time residents again about the prior occupants of that house. The building inspector informed me that a woman fitting the description had lived there about twenty years earlier. She died in a plane crash a few miles west of town. The call went out again, we're moving. We subsequently found a fairly new home that had no complications.

I then received a phone call from a local car mechanic that had moved into our prior residence. He stated that he had heard about our experiences in this house and that he and his family had recently moved into this house and was having some strange experiences. What kind I asked? He stated that he had placed their three month old child into a play pen in a side bedroom. When he entered the room some twenty minutes later to check on the baby, he found it crawling around on the floor outside of the pen. How could that happen I asked ? I don't know he responded. What should I do he asked ? MOVE I said.
Move. Now....

Submitted by Don Avery

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 – 3:30am.

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

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 to strangers.

"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 the merchandise.
"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 thinking.

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 it.

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 said.
"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 leaves.

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 was.

I can still remember the way it smelled.

Submitted by Gabrielle Olexa

INEXPLICABLE PHENOMENA

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 dead.

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

WAS 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 there.

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 us up.

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 sons.

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 all people.

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 the home.

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 about!?

Submitted by Nicko

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

NO VACANCY

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 said.

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