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True stories of the weird, supernatural, ghostly and bizarre!


Directory of Stories

Whatever It Was!
A House Cleaning Gone Awry
McDow's Hole
The Face of Death
Zone Of Fear
Dead As A Coffin Nail
Strange Things In Louisiana
Ghost At White Rock Lake
Handsome Ghost
Very Special Forces
North By Northwest
Haunted Hotel
I Ain't 'Fraid O' No Ghosts
Growing Up In A Haunted House
The Squeaky Toy
A Haunting In Sweden
A Curse Before Dying
The Haunted Harley-Davidson/Ford Test Track of Naples Florida
Ghosts At The Jersey Shore
A Friendly Hand?
Ghostly Gas
The Ouija Board


Dear Jeff, As a long time listener and subscriber I just had to write to you when you announced the Halloween ghost stories. I have 3 grandchildren I adopted 10 yrs ago. One of them a girl is 10 and she can see dead people and hear them. Her little dog Rosie dies two yrs ago and she was devastated . Rosie died in the evening and we were all up until late.
The next morning She told me Rosie slept with her and kept pulling her clothes trying to play. She sees Rosie at school, at home. Anyway the scary part now. My grand daughter went over to a little friends house to spend the night , the next morning she called me and I could hear a difference in her voice. I asked her if she was ok and she said just come get me now gramma. I rushed across town and the minute I pulled up in the drive way she came running out saying lets go gramma , lets go now. I was stunned at the fear in her voice. Right away I left. She would not say anything to me for several hours. I kept asking her are you alright, what happened to you , what happen did someone hurt you. Finally I thought I would let her be for awhile, but watch her. Finally about an hour before bed time she came to me and said gramma can I talk to you and I jumped on it so I could see what was wrong with her. We went into a room away from everyone and she broke down crying hard and shaking . Now this is a child that does not cry to easy nor scared to easy. Remember she sees her dead dog . I said oh my god what is wrong and she said gramma there is two evil demons in that house.
I was shocked and she was shaking hard. She said that she was asleep and something was breathing hard like a growl on her neck and then it had her by the ankle pulling her across the carpet, she broke free from it and it went into the corner of the room and she said it was a black figure with red eyes. Then a poster on the wall that read Proud to be American changed it's words and it then read I want to kill you. Boy I have the willies right now telling this. She said it was in the bathroom earlier that night when she was taking a shower and she ran out in just a towel because it was in the bathroom with her. She then said it pushed the other little girl down a few stairs earlier that day. About this time I am crying to, I just hugged her and felt so sorry for her. She was not going to sleep alone so she slept by me. The next morning I called my friend and told her the story and she came right over. My grand daughter was telling her everything and yes she believes in this stuff. What was shocking most of all is when she told my friend , it plays with your baby all day.
Man, my friend jumped up and started crying and said it play with the baby , this baby was 1 yr old in a walker. She told my friend there are two shadow men and they are mean. My friend said she heard things bang at night but never thought anything about it much. My friend stayed for awhile and we tried to get a grip on this, she did not want to go back to that house but she had to. I gave her a ride home a few hrs later that day and I told my grand daughter don't worry we are not getting out. So my friend got her baby out of the car and all her stuff and she was telling me goodbye. All of a sudden Jeff my grand daughter starts screaming at the top of her voice with a terrified look and sound . I almost fainted I said what is wrong, she started kicking the back of the seat and screaming louder go, go ,go ,go gramma he is coming and man I ripped out of that driveway and almost tore the front end out from underneath it. I was crying , she was crying , we were both shaking.
What ever it was , was coming out of the bathroom window upstairs.My friend called the lady that owns the house and the land lord told her that she bought the house brand new and that she always felt something dark upstairs mainly in the bathroom. My friend called me the next day crying telling me she can not let the baby down because she was scared it would play with her baby . I told her she might reconsider that , after all she should not make it mad . She did keep the baby from it and the noise started getting louder at night and more frequent. She ended up moving right away in fear for the baby and herself. My grand daughter is ok now we go no where near that house. She slept with me for over a month before I could even get her in her bed. I had to buy a see through shower curtain before she would take another shower because she had to see what was on the other side. She still she Rosie and she still hears someone call her but these are familiar to her.
Thanks Jeff I just thought this was scary.

Submitted by Martie Turner



In 1997, I was heavily involved in the metaphysical community working as a medium counselor. One of the services I usually offered free of charge was house cleansings. A mother of a close friend of mine called to ask if I would cleanse and bless their home, her tone was far from her typical normalcy of cheerfully light. Her voice ached with weariness, which I contributed to health issues she had currently. I inquired when a good time would be for her and her family. She responded that this coming weekend, on Saturday, would be an ideal time since they would be out of town leaving my friend "Star" at home on her own.
I arrived Saturday evening about 5pm, greeted by my friend "Star" and her friend "Kim". Star asked me if I wouldn't mind spending the night, because she felt uneasy in the house. I quickly agreed, the home was empty for the exception of the three of us mingling in the living room. Star nervously began to discuss the house. Star's mother was in unfavorable health the last few weeks, especially since "things" began to occur. Such as doors slamming, noises, voices in the hallways, there had even been sightings of a "dark figure" in the kitchen and hallway. It was evident to me that Star was terrified. We laid out a game plan for the house cleansing, dinner being first on the agenda.
After dinner, we went outside on the patio closing behind us a large sliding glass door. All three of us sat outside for about 20 minutes before we decided to head back in to ready the home. Star headed in first, with each of us following directly behind her. Suddenly she shrieked, "Oh my God! See! See!" Upon viewing the kitchen, we saw every single door opened. Cabinets, pantry, refrigerator, dish washer doors all flung open. Kim offered to clean up, and motioned Star to go outside while we prepared the house. I immediately grabbed my bag; I told the girls I would take a shower quickly.
As I entered the bathroom, I closed the door and locked it. I began the shower as I heard Kim clearing dishes in the kitchen. The feeling in the home was getting thicker with heaviness, like a blanket smothering your breath. I slid open the shower door stepping into the shower, closing it behind me I passively noticed it was frosted glass that is common in bathrooms. Five minutes went by as I continued my shower, however after I began to rinse my hair from shampoo, I had a feeling something was watching me. I opened my eyes to see a dark shadow standing on the opposite side of the frosted shower glass. I stood there, shampoo on my head, frozen in stance. Watching this dark figure stand there unwavering, almost challenging me. Thinking it was one of the girls coming in, I yelled, "Star! Kim! I'll be out in a minute!" Immediately outside, I heard both the girls respond through the little window "What Kelly? What's up?" Both of them were outside. My eyes pulled away from the tiny bathroom window to where the figure had been, it was still standing there. Immediately I slid open the shower door to see nothing there, however the bathroom door was wide open. I knew I had locked it by habit.
After showering, we collected ourselves and began to clear the house room by room. I looked for these entities not seeing them directly, but I found a trail of negative energy. I followed one of these negative trails to the hallway where the bathroom sat between the master bedroom at one end and Star's bedroom at the other. I got the impression this negative spirit roamed this hallway between the two bedrooms. I began to sage the hall but felt compelled to Star's bedroom. I asked the girls to help me with setting up in Star's bedroom as the base of the cleansing.
It took 30 minutes to set up, ground in prayer and begin the ceremony. I called my Archangels and spirit guides to assist in blessing the home and also for assistance in protection. As I began my prayer out loud, the room grew cold and eerily quiet. It was so quiet that the noises of passing vehicles (only apparent from the headlights passing the window), the air conditioner, and even our breathing had "muted" themselves instantaneously. The sound had escaped us, which was immediately noticeable to all three of us in the room. I glanced back at the two standing at my side and they looked at me with confused apprehension. Star immediately began to shake, "Why is it so quiet?" Kim shook her head in disbelief at the question, "No idea." I continued in my prayer ignoring the silence.
As I prayed, a groan of such intensity shook the room. This terrifying growling groan penetrated every pore in my physical body. From behind me, I heard the two women shriek in response. They immediately jumped on Star's bed huddled together in fear; their expressions were of pure horror. Quickly from the corner I saw something dark, the size of a man, emerge from darkness. Its red eyes were blazing in hatred, unrecognizably as a human being for the exception of his black form. Seeing this dark twisted mass, I remained standing and continued. The dark mass growled again, terrifying both Star and Kim. I turned to them and instructed them to cast out their fears.
I began my cleansing prayers with angels at my side; each prayer seemed to dissipate the demonic hold on the room and eventually the house. After 3 hours of prayer, smudging and the reluctant assistance from the girls; the home was cleared. Within days, Star's mother recovered from poor health, the cabinets became inanimate once again all cleansed away. I reminded my friend, Star, and her mother to continue to cleanse the house and have it blessed from their family Priest to ensure this demon did not find a way back. It's a process, sometimes it works long term and in others these demons do come back. This was a life lesson I never have forgotten and it took me many years to continue house cleansings because of the experience.
Submitted by Anonymous


My name is Jesse Reed and this is my ghost story. I am not to say that I am a believer, a believer does not know, I know. Just outside of Dublin Texas there is a well know haunted location known as McDow's Hole. Bing it, Google it, what ever you do you will find some info on McDow's Hole.
We are five deep in a local boys car, it's 1996ish if memory serves me well. I think his name was Peter. So Peter is driving, his girl friend is in the passenger front seat and two of my buds and myself are in the back seat. I am directly behind the girl friend, passenger side window seat. Peter has pulled up the the reported haunted area and begins his scary story narration of the McDow's Hole history. As He is explaining the back ground to the haunting a orange glow catches my eye out of the passenger side.
At this point Peter is directing everyone's attention the to the driver side. I look out the passenger side window and there is a woman, glowing orange, dressed in cowboy period clothing. She walks from my right to my left down a ravine and back into the trees. I try to make sense of what I am seeing but it was so real. She passed in front of some trees and behind others. Her glow was not reflected on any of the trees but the trees did block her light. As I am watching her I am frozen, I say not a word. Then the girl friend began to scream "GO, GO, GO, GO...." so Peter slam's the gas and takes off. Peter is yelling "What, What, WHAT?!" the girl is crying and shaking, trying to get out the words "It was her, I saw her, IT WAS HER!!". Now mind you, I am the only other one in the car that seen anything, and to be frank about it I did not want to be ridiculed so I said nothing. Never did I conform what was seen to anyone that was there with me that day.
What I have is my memory, and it is vivid. I have never seen another "Ghost" after this, and I am not to upset about that. I can tell you this, I don't believe they are out there. I know. Win or lose I don't care for the money, the books would be nice. I will say this one last thing, If you want to see a ghost and can find a local to help navigate the maze of country roads go to McDow's Hole just outside of Dublin Texas, and call me up. I would like another show down myself.
Submitted by Jesse Reed

I have never considered myself psychic and indeed until recently have never had a psychic experience, but I have always had an open mind. This tale was related to me back in 1968/9 by a school friend. We had a mutual acquaintance by the name of John. John was asked by his friend (a reporter on the Romford recorder newspaper) if he would like to go with him and a photographer to investigate some strange goings on at a local church. John, being curious by nature, jumped at the chance. He also thought it would be quite a laugh. He was picked up by the reporter at about 11:30 p.m. and they made their way to Cranham Church where they met the photographer. He had brought along his girlfriend (who also thought it would be a laugh). By now it was about a quarter to twelve, so the photographer set up his camera and lights and they all began waiting.
At this point I should give you a description of the location, as it is relevant to the story. The Church is approached by a small lane, which leads from the main Upminster road. It is about a half mile to the church, which stands on the left with a low stone wall (about 4 feet high), there is a gate and a path leads up to the front door, this path however turns sharp right at the door and then winds its way around the side of the Church and into the graveyard. The area surrounding the Church property was then made up of farm buildings (barns, etc.) and this is also where the road ended. So they had been waiting for about half an hour and were almost ready to give up and go home when one of them noticed a shadow that had appeared on the path from the side of the Church. As they watched with mouths agape, the shadow was gliding silently along the path toward the Church door. Now this turn of events had taken them all by surprise, as none of them really expected to see anything that night. As the "thing" reached the Church door, it suddenly turned left and started down the path toward the four of them. (At this point my friend described what they were seeing and, I quote, "It was pitch black, and about 10, yes TEN feet tall.")
Of the four of them, the photographer had the presence of mind to start taking pictures, and he continued to do this until the "thing" was only 10 or 15 feet away, and then they panicked. They ran to their cars. Unfortunately, the photographer's car was facing the wrong way! He made a rapid three-point turn and headed down the lane. In doing so, however, he had to pass the Church gate and the "thing had now passed through it and loomed up to the car. The photographer stared steadfastly ahead with his foot firmly pressed down on the throttle. His girlfriend turned and and looked directly into the face of... "DEATH." At least that is how she later described what she had seen - a death's head shrouded in a black hood.
They all drove back to the reporters house and started to discuss the night's events. And then things started to happen: cups flew off the table and smashed on the floor. It was the start of what was to be a two-year nightmare for all of them. John actually developed a severe ulcer brought on by the experiences. As a footnote to this story, many years later my daughter started horse riding, and to my surprise the husband of the woman who owned the stables turned out to be John's brother. Although he was not present at the Church that night, he confirmed to me the hell that John went through. Oh, and yes the photos did come out, and they appeared on the front page of the recorder the following week. I had this page for a while but have since lost it during a move, I would imagine that the photo would be available at the recorder offices.

Submitted by Mike C.

It was a year before I would marry my first wife and I was in Baton Rouge, Louisiana attending classes as LSU. I was blessed with a wide variety of eccentric friends who made life interesting while I was there. Each colorful buddy could have qualified for a character in a movie. We entertained ourselves with wine and cheese parties on the Mississippi River levy, or played chess after smoking pot, we enjoyed progressive rock music, maybe we had long philosophical debates on a number of social issues, but one thing was for sure, it was never boring.
Among a number of my colorful acquaintances were Joel, a huge powerful guy who some might have mistaken for the defensive linemen of the LSU Tigers football team. However Joel was a tender hearted intellectual we called "Thunder Chicken". On the other end of the spectrum was perhaps his opposite, a mirror image into the darkness of the occult. This dude wore a long black robe, possessed a piercing eyes yet a paranoid countenance, and spoke very guardedly of things paranormal. It seemed he specialized in the world on the other side, yet it seemed he lived in fear of it at the same time. His name was John.
This incident predates anything I'd ever heard of from author John A. Keel. I once mentioned the subject of possession in John's presence and he immediately yelped, " don't even talk about it," with those bulging untrusting eyes of his.
It was nearing Halloween and Baton Rouge was undergoing an unusually chilly and wet fall season. We were all gathered at John's rented house. He often had a harem of groupie girls in his midst who seemed clustered around him much of the time, which many of us found to be peculiar. Another mutual friend, Wayne, had joined us that evening. Wayne with his long dark hair and goatee often slept over at our place if not someone else's until he began taking classes again the following semester. He was taking a break from academics. Wayne had a bizarre habit of always walking around on his tip toes. So here we were.
John suddenly announced that he knew of a place we could go to where a zone of fear existed. He warned that it was not for the faint of heart. He cautioned us with his typical gloomy persona. He should have been Alfred Hitchcock's assistant. We were basically skeptical, but we were also curious and in search of something to do that cold, nasty, night. So we all loaded into either John's gigantic station wagon, everyone else got into my 1960 Cadillac resplendent with its rear fins and wrap around windshield. Our trek took us to an old abandoned city park that looked as though the city didn't even maintain it anymore. The park was lit by one street lamp on one end looking as though it had been put there 50 years before. The rest of the field was darkened and sloped below street level. Even the side walks were made of an antiquated concrete, worn and cracked.
John had all of us gather at one end and urged us to walk into the park as a group. There was a cold stinging mist that hung in the night air as we made our way over the mucky ground. John with three girls that hung onto him, Wayne, myself, and the towering Joel all trudged into the dreary park grounds not knowing what to expect. The further we went we all began to notice a growing anxiety. As a matter of fact, what we initially tried to ignore or rationalize became overwhelming. I will readily admit there was something to it. We needed no prodding, nor was John provoking the situation, who was most aware of such things compared to the rest of us. A weird and undeniable veil of desperation seemed to have descended upon all of us. The women seemed to be on the verge of hysteria as they gasped and looked to the brooding John for consolation.
"What is this anyway?" Wayne blurted out.
"John," Joel demanded, "Is this some kind of trick?"
"You doubted me, didn't you?" John replied with a strange evil twist to his voice.
The girls that clung to him were now in a panic. I didn't know them that well nor did I respect them for spinelessly following John around all the time. Maybe I was a little jealous. However, the situation had suddenly gotten bizarre and unnerving.
"Do you enjoy this kind of thing?" I asked irritably in that wet chill that was clinging to all of us.
"Everyone, move back this way. The way we came," John ordered.
Strangely, as we moved away from the area our collective hysteria seemed to diminish, but as we realized what had just happened to us, the sudden realization that there was something unknown and evil out there in that old abandoned park that had just washed over us. Scarier perhaps was the speculation about what it could have been. Was there an unmarked cemetery out there? Was this one of many sites of unmarked Indian graves such as the earthen mounds that marked many areas on the LSU campus? It raised goose bumps on our backs.
Before piling back in our cars I insisted that we revisit the zone of fear just to make sure. John refused along with his clinging women, who were obviously overwhelmed. That left Joel (Thunder Chicken) Wayne, and I. The three of us waded back into the foreboding darkness of the old park. Once again the further we ventured into the mysterious grounds it became quickly apparent that our first impression was not a fluke. An ominous state of mind once again descended upon us. We endured as much as we could before returning to our cars which we quickly loaded into. I remember having a hopeless feeling at a loss to be able to explain what it was we had just experienced as well as what was causing it. I don't think I'll ever quite forget that very weird evening in Baton Rouge.
Submitted by Doc Vega

I was six years old when I died. I'm sixty-five today. And when I say died, I really mean I was murdered. It was entirely an accidental death but dead is dead to those being the dead. Here, let me explain: I was down by the woods one morning, playing. That's what we kids called a weedy section of town, the woods, the brush and other natural entanglements separated the two locations and the cover offered a jungle playground of sorts and a nice quiet place for many of us in the neighborhood.
Now some of the older boys used the area to hang out with girls, and smoke cigarettes, and even more I suppose now thinking back. Surely some of the cigarettes were stolen from their father figures or older brothers. Mine was, as my stepfather routinely emptied his pockets of crumpled cigarettes, his lighter, his loose change all in a pile at the top of the dresser. I found his catch one day while looking for some of that change, and became guilty of sneaking those strong but nicely smelling, white, round, and brown-tip tightly-packed paper sticks, along with a kitchen match or two. Then I'd head for the woods just to be alone there in search of that feeling of me being me. One morning and one stolen cigarette, two older boys I didn't know walked into the area where I was sitting, using a second match and trying to light my cigarette. The boys began harassing me almost immediately, calling me childish names, telling me I was in for an ass kicking or words to that effect. One boy forcefully snatched away my ignited paper stick and began puffing at it himself all the while asking if I had more? Saying he wanted more and I was to give them to him now. When I said I didn't have any more, he pushed me to the ground where both pinned me to the earth using a handy length of timber about the dimensions of an elongated but bark-peeling baseball bat. Struggling to free myself to no avail, the boys straddled the stick like on a teeter-totter, shifting their weight, rocking and pushing with their bended knees. For all of their frivolity, I couldn't breathe.
My chest and arms were immobilized, unable to twist free or budge those two rocking, laughing boys or the weight of that horribly heavy stick. There was no screaming, no STOP you're killing me, for their game had inadvertently shut off my ability to speak, and my air supply, as their shifting broke my rib cage, crushing the left side. I was soon dead, sure enough. And not soon enough the boys tiring from their game, stood, and seeing my lifeless body and realizing what they had done, ran back to the comforts of their respective homes to tell no one. And in quick time I too was somewhere else. Oh I was still there on the ground, still in the woods, but that unbearable pain was gone. And I slowly became aware that before me, on a higher plane, was an unseen voice welcoming me. And as images became refined it became clearer the welcome was not coming from the strangely dressed Oriental man standing looking down at me. The voice informed me that I was dead. Yeah I kind of figured that. The voice said that this man standing here was also dead. That he had been a decent man, having set himself above others, and as his reward was being offered another lifetime to spend upon planet earth. It was explained the man was in need of a body to inhabit, to share; and the question was put to me: Would I willingly give my young body so we both might reenter the world anew? Was I willing to accept this person's spirit and make us a part of each? We would have no knowledge of the joining; together we would lead our life as one, unaware, throughout the remainder of my natural days. I wouldn't be dead? Would I accept this stranger, this apparition? Why sure I'd be glad to, I said, but I have a question: What justice is there for those boys who killed me? I was told trouble not over such matters. That each would answer in time, my death included, when their individual life forces came to end. The scene then abruptly disappeared. I opened my eyes to the tops of trees swaying in the gentle wind.
I remained motionless for a few moments before I moved to stand. Holding my side, I looked around me but the place of the voice, that strangely dressed man, and those two boys, were nowhere to be seen. I was alone again in the woods. I stood there trying to sort out what had just happened to me. Where were those boys? I certainly wasn't afraid of them any longer. They had wanted my cigarette. Well, they were welcome to it. They had used me as a teeter-totter and I couldn't breathe, and my side had hurt terribly; but not now. There was no pain at all. That's when I remembered: I had died but now I'm alive again. And there had been this unseen voice asking me questions. And a strangely dressed man, a silent man looking down at me, wearing what seemed to be dark gray trousers, his ankles strapped in black wrappings, wearing brown leather slippers and a rope of sorts holding his long, loosely flowing purple colored vest to his mid-section. And when the voice had said what it said: I had agreed to it; and the man had nodded. And that's when I woke up. As I went towards home the particulars faded but the truth remained. I had seen a ghost. Hell, I had been a ghost. And I have a ghost residing inside me now. Sure gives a renewed meaning to how cigarettes can harm one's health doesn't it.
Submitted by Jerry Bridges


Being born in Alexandria and living in Louisiana all my life I definitely have stories to tell about strange things that don't make any sense. I will speak of two creepy incidents that I personally experienced.
While hunting during the wee hours of the morning sometime in 1983, my buddies and I spotted something that seemed normal at first. We had been hunting rabbits, squirrels, even javelinas. Often we brought our kills home to cook and eat. It was normal for my friends and I to be out in the darkened hours frog gigging out on the lake, but sometimes things go awry.
It had been a long day. We were tired and ready to head home. Our trucks were parked some distance away in a clearing off of one of many two lane black top roads that wind through this dismal swamp and lowland. With our rifles set on safety we were headed back in what we thought was the right direction. We began to climb a small hill where we had seen what we had thought were bright headlights heading down the road. Reasoning that we were headed toward the road at the top of the hill and that we would then locate our vehicles, we made our way up the incline. When we got to the top we were shocked! There was no road there! Where had those lights come from? In fact, when we did finally find our trucks they were in the opposite direction we had gotten disoriented on that dark moonless night. My buddies and I discussed it over and over again and couldn't come up with how those mystery lights we had mistaken for headlights on a road that wasn't even there.
During World War II there were two active military bases near Alexandria, LA that trained troops who would deploy for the Pacific theater of operations. They used the dense and tangled brush of Louisiana to train young men for jungle warfare. Camp Beauregard and Camp White still have signs along one of the old asphalt roads that run near those old abandoned areas where now only concrete foundations stand with weeds growing up through the cracks. For years there have been reports of teenage lovers being run off by monsters or UFO-like aerial lights as people go out in the bush to party which is about the only pass time out here in these small rural communities.
One day I had been squirrel hunting and had fired my rifle at a squirrel that had scrambled into a hollow tree stump. While I was standing on a big root and reaching down into the rotten old stump something terrifying happened to me!
A very strange and eerie sound caught my attention. It was like a scream only more like an electronic screech that was totally unnerving. I immediately looked up from what I was doing and saw an object hovering over the ground about as big as a car that was running around skimming over the ground. It seemed that the terrifying sound was emanating the strange craft as it hovered over the wooded grounds. Then I noticed that a jet fighter was flying above. It seemed that the Air Force plane was searching for the bizarre object that was levitating over the ground. I've never seen such a weird spectacle in my life.
Submitted by John Barios

In Dallas we have an old haunted legend. We call it the "Lady Of The Lake" a well known entity that makes its appearance known from time to time. Although the most well known version centers around a young woman who, has drowned to death, is picked up by a driver, while hitch hiking, and requests to be dropped off at her parent's house before disappearing and leaving a puddle of water on the car seat, apparently there is another.
The most well known form of this apparition had nothing to do with what appeared to my best friend as he, our girl friends, and I parked at a field next to the lake one summer afternoon in 1973. We went back a ways. Don, my buddy, had played on the Lake Highlands Wildcats with me. I had thrown more than one touchdown pass to him as he played one of my two receivers in that 8th grade season, but we were now graduated from school and out with our dates.
Don and I both played the drums so we had a lot in common. We were big time into hard rock music. Even our dates were both blonde and pretty, but the evening we were about to experience had nothing to do with good times. The experience haunts me to this day.
We'd drank some beer that hot evening but were anything but drunk as we strolled down toward the shore of the lake and then divided into two separate pairs. Don wandered a little further down by the lake with his little hottie while my woman and I cradled together on the low lying limb of a tree not too far away from them. Dusk and the end of a typical hot Texas day summer day descended upon us. As the yellow rays of sunset began to transform into the shadows of a coming night, a strange and unnerving incident occurred.
Don must have been 50 yards away from us when he began screaming and ran toward the two of us. He sprinted right past his girl friend, who quickly followed confused by what all the excitement was about. Of course Don was a tall long legged former athlete who quickly closed the distance between my girl friend and I and himself as we walked toward him in surprise. He ran past me screaming for me to unlock my car and for us to climb in.
I had no idea what was happening until a strange feeling came over me as I stared toward White Rock lake and wondered what he was running from. His date ran past me and jumped into my 1960 blue Cadillac trying to find out what had happened to Don. We all quickly loaded into my car and Don urged me to drive away.
As soon as he calmed down, Don explained that he had wandered down to an old fishing wharf that went out onto the water and was secluded among low hanging trees and cat tails that grew out of the water and clustered at the shore. He had gone to relieve himself out on the wharf as a result of the couple of beers he'd consumed. While standing there in the growing shadows he was suddenly aware of a presence. Thinking he had not noticed a stranger as he stood there, Don muttered, "oh sorry. Excuse me," he apologized.
Don was wrong though. He hadn't accidentally intruded upon some solitary figure who had been lingering by the lake. All Don heard in response to his apology was a strange groan. He looked to his right to see the blackened figure of an entity hovering above the water. Where as he had thought he had seen a person standing near him, he was jolted by what appeared to be a dark form that floated over the surface of the darkened lake and had glowing red eyes that glared right at him. It emitted a low menacing moan as he stood frozen for a moment before bolting for the open park in terror.
Don was so stunned that he at first had began running his jeans fell down around his legs as he turned to flee. His scream erupted shattering the silence of that hot evening and quickly ended the double date we had both looked forward to in a sudden cloak of fear. As I drove away, Don finally filled me in on his bizarre encounter with the haunting presence that has continued to leave a calling card around the fringes of White Rock Lake in Dallas. Although Don was quite shaken by his experience, the rest of us were more bewildered by the abrupt end to our the double date we had planned on that weird summer evening.

Submitted by Doc Vega


In 1969 when I was fifteen I was living with my family in a 120 year old Victorian house in Oregon that had been a coach stop, a hotel and a boarding house and so on. Early one morning I was sitting in the living room reading, I even remember what book, "The Guns of Navarone" For some reason I looked at the door that led from the living room to the kitchen to see a tall man, 6'0" to 6'3" walk from the front section of the kitchen to the inner pantry area of the kitchen. He had thick dark chestnut hair, and tanned skin. He was wearing a loose fitting long sleeved white shirt, black tight fitting pants and high riding boots.

I was so startled I just sat there for a minute when I realized he hadn't made any sound. This was an old wooden house with wooden floors that creaked when our cats walked across the floor! Such a big man most certainly couldn't have walked so quietly. I also realized I hadn't heard the kitchen door open and close, I hadn't heard the pantry door open or close, a VERY noisy door. I sat there debating what to do so I went into the kitchen, slowly, and saw nothing. I then followed the route the man had to have taken, floors creaking under my feet all the way, and found nothing. Both the outside back doors were locked as was usual so he didn't leave by that way, he had simply vanished. Let me stress though it was morning, it was broad daylight and this apparition made no noise whatsoever. I believe I witnessed someone's long ago routine. By the way, he was very handsome!

Submitted by Jeanette


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; 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


When I was still living in Denver, CO. and my wife (before we were married) was coming out to visit me, she used to bring her favorite travel bag with her. On one occasion she could not locate the travel bag. She looked and looked and looked for it but it was nowhere to be found. After we got married I moved in with her and we live in this home to this day. The home is a 6,300 sq. ft., 3 story home built in 1912 and we have a lot of unexplained things that happen here. The home was built with a maids quarters with her own private staircases so she wouldn't have to be seen by the family. There is a cedar closet that has been built over the maids' staircase from the second floor to the kitchen but it is still accessible via a trap door. My wife used (and currently uses) this closet as our travel closet: lot's of luggage and anything travel related. Its packed floor to ceiling. There were enough suitcases, even before we got married, on top of the trap door that if you wanted to get down there you had to move them.

When I came to visit the first time before we were married, she wanted to show me the trap door and the hidden staircase. We moved all of the suitcases out of the closet and opened the trap door. There, down in the staircase, was her travel bag - along with two Kool Menthol cigarettes, and the light bulb was missing from the light socket. The strange thing is how those things got down there. The trap door was covered with suitcases. You literally have to lift that door and hold it because it will not stay up on it's own. Kool Menthol smokes? We don't know anyone who smokes Kool Menthols. And who took the light bulb? And why and how? The house is locked up tighter than a drum with a very good security system so we are dumbfounded as to how her travel bag, for one, got down there. The smokes and the light bulb? Who knows!

I tell you that story so I can tell you this story:

One morning after we were married we heard footsteps walking down the hallway just outside our bedroom on the second floor. The footsteps went down the stairs and we heard both sets of front french doors open and close. We freaked! We carefully walked around the house together checking every nook and cranny to make sure no one was in the house. The alarm was still set and the front doors were locked! Once in the basement we checked the walk-in storage closet where we store all of our videotapes (this was before DVD's). The tapes stood vertically on end on wall shelves and there were probably 200 tapes on those shelves. When we opened the door there was a tape standing vertically on end on the floor directly in front of the door. The video was Alfred Hitchcock's North By Northwest. The space where the videotape had been on the shelf - was no longer there. All the tapes had been pushed back together.

Here's the intriguing thing about this story: The maids' bedroom is on the North side of the house and the hidden staircase is on the Northwest side of her bedroom - North by Northwest! We're not certain if it's a message to us or simply a coincidence. We have surmised that the first owner of the house had an affair with the maid, something went wrong and he threw her down the staircase and killed her and it is her spirit that continues to haunt our home to this day! These are two of many, many unexplained events that happen in our home.

Submitted by Marc


Me and my family took a trip to Tombstone Arizona, we stayed at the Best Western (Lookout Lodge) just outside town. (which happens to be about a half mile away from boot hill)
It was a birthday present for my twin brother who wanted to check out Tombstone so all of my family went (all 5 of us). We ended up getting to Tombstone pretty late in the night maybe around 10 pm... we checked in and them headed to our room, (I can't remember what room it was but if I saw a layout of the hotel I could tell you what room we were in).
There were five of us staying in the room all together, with only two beds, it really didn't matter, because my parents could sleep in the same bed, my two brothers in the other bed, I would sleep on the floor (I didn't mind).
As we were unpacking all of are stuff, my brother noticed a dead scorpion on the floor....well.....that was it....I wasn't going to sleep on the floor with scorpions.
So me and my brothers had to sleep in one bed together (3 in one bed, great!) since there wasn't enough room in the bed for us to sleep the "normal" way, we ended up sleeping like the 3 stooges, one sleeping at the head of the bed, one in the middle (me) and one at the foot of the bed. (with our heads and feet hanging off each side of the bed)
Eventually we fell asleep...
Sometime in the middle of the night I remember waking up to someone shaking me, and this wasn't just a little nudge to "wake up" kind of shake. This felt like someone was actually using the full force of there body to physically push me down into the bed and release, this happened at least 5 times in a row (as if someone were violently shaking me)...
I woke up screaming....but nobody else woke up. Being freaked out by now I started pushing my brothers and trying to wake them up, but still nobody woke up, so I just ended up putting the covers over my head, and "sweating" myself to sleep. (I had noticed that the time on the clock when this happened was 3:16am)
A short while after this, I was still freaked out trying to fall back asleep, I heard my dad start to murmur/sort of cry in his sleep.....and I thought to myself "OH GOD! its attacking DAD!" by now I was whiter than the sheet I was hiding under and but soon fell asleep, still scared to death!
Early the next morning, everyone was already up when I awoke, I proceeded to tell my family what had happened the night before, and how freaked out I was and that nobody would wake up.
My brothers both mentioned how they both woke up around 3 am (independently), and pulled there legs closer to their bodies (because they were hanging off the edge of the bed) after getting a creepy feeling.
Later, during breakfast (free breakfast at the hotel) my dad asked the lady behind the counter if anyone had reported anything weird happening in the hotel, and she had mentioned that a lot of people reported weird things happening in the room next to us but not in our room.
This hotel is definitely haunted.....
Submitted by Bekindtoyurbuds

One Night me and my mother (I was about 17) followed my dad down stairs....
We started on the 2nd story of our house, from the main living room, where the couch and TV are. Down the hallway (20ft), down the first flight of stairs (8ft), down the second flight of stairs (8ft), down the first level hallway (10ft), down another hallway (5ft) to the house/garage door entrance and into the laundry room
Me and my mother followed my father all the way from the upstairs to the down stairs a total, of at least 41ft, if not more. Keep in mind that we were two steps behind him the whole time, all the way from the upstairs room to the laundry room (down stairs), prob about 3 ft away from him the whole time. (if I would have taken a "double step" I could have touched him in the back)
Each time my dad turned a corner, 1 sec later, me and my mother turned the corner, with my dad in sight for 98% of the journey (from upstairs to downstairs)
When we turned the corner down the last stretch of (downstairs) hallway, ending in the Laundry room, we froze.... my dad was nowhere to be found.
I paused... said "what the hell" turned to look at my mom, (she gave me a weird look) and we both started calling for my dad. Who happened to be sitting upstairs where we started the journey.
Submitted by Bekindtoyurbuds

My ghost story is probably not a tale of horror. I was never even scared. But it was as real they get. I moved into an inlaw suite that was for rent in avon ohio. Lived there by myself. It had big patio doors in the living area, and a patio outside. I had drapes on a traverse rod on those doors. Every evening around dark, i would close the drapes to prevent a view inside my home. Eventually I would go to bed. Every morning when I got up, the drapes would be wide open, with the light coming in. I didnt even notice this going on for a while. And when I finally realized this was actually happening, I thought somehow it was me, "did i really close them?" whats wrong with me?" Well that evening I made a big deal about closing the drapes so I would be sure to remember. Sure enough, they were open in the morning again. This continued for two years on a daily basis. I was never scared, and sometimes even found myself talking to whoever it was. The only other related incident was once when I had a girlfriend over for the night. She saw a shadow person walk across the living room. Upon further inspection, I found nothing or nobody, obviously I believed her The same night we both saw a faded face looking through the window in the other room. It appeared to sidestep the window as i approached. The girlfriend was really scared. But for some reason i wasn't. Whoever or whatever this was seemed to me to be of a good nature. I thought about it many times over the years, because it really was weird. What i always figured is that the original inlaw for which the suite was built, was still hanging around there, in the spirit. If I could have only gotten her to do the cleaning as well.
Submitted by George

My name is Cynthia, my sister and I grew up in a haunted house...really!
I can tell you many stories, but for now will limit it to a few experiences that stand out amongst the rest. Years ago, in the late 70's, my best friend Carol came over to my "parents" house (haven't lived there now for over 25 years) ;0) Mid afternoon. We were in the living room watching a movie, the front door was opened, screen door closed. We both heard someone knocking at the door. As we both turned around, this entity, invisible to us, opened the screen door and slammed our heavy OAK door closed. I guess he/she was interested in joining us for the afternoon movie. Carol and I just stood there and stared at each explanation!
Lots of things happened throughout my years growing up in our house on Spruce St. in Trenton, NJ. I 've told you one experience, Another one involves my sister Karen. When we were young (school aged), Karen and I would walk home everyday to an empty house so to speak. Being "latch key" kids, I would let us in and we would do our homework and hang out for an hour or so before our Mom came home. One afternoon, Karen refused to go inside (she was about 8, I was 10) because she said that she saw a man inside our house looking out of the front window; He was looking at us and laughing. Karen described him as tall and thin, and, that he resembled Abraham Lincoln. That day, she stayed outside for nearly 2 hours until our Mother came home. I saw nothing at the time and quickly forgot about it. Years later, November of 97' if my memory is correct, I had just had my oldest child who was at that time, 16 months old. It was the night of thanksgiving dinner, and although I no longer lived with my parents, my mother had a crib set up in my sister's old room because she would occasionally babysit my daughter. That night, I slept on the living room couch...exhausted, from a day of setting up the table for guest, cooking etc... I woke up in the middle of the night because the "baby" was crying.
I was so tired, I could barely lift my head but it was at this time, I saw him. The tall, thin man Karen had seen years earlier. He wore a grayish burial suit, had black hair and beard resembling Lincoln. He came out of my sister's room, turned looked at me and smirked! He then, turned back around and walked straight into the linen closet before disappearing. After he walked out of the room, the baby stopped crying. Although Lincoln did address the NJ State Senate and Assembly in Trenton on February 21, 1861, I don't think it was him, although, this man did resemble him. My girlfriend's father, JB had lived in the area for years and was one of the first homes built in our development. He later told us (karen, carol and myself) of hungarian gypsy's who camped out right along a stream where our house resides today. At that time, it was undeveloped...and adjacent to an old farmhouse (still stands) and apple orchards. Who knows, maybe this guy is buried somewhere next to the old stream? I guess we'll never know. My parents basement has had problems with water/flooding for years even after sub pumps and french drains; the old stream would explain that problem!
Another story involves Carol, and occurred when we were in our early 20's...just before I moved out and on my own. We were young adults, going to clubs etc.. and my parents were vacationing in Europe. Carol and I had planned to go out to a local club, Zadars in News Hope, PA. We used to go to "the station" in Lambertville NJ first, and then, over to Zadars; loved that alternative music! Carol wanted to borrow something to wear, it was summer and being much taller than me, asked if she could wear an outfit belonging to my mother. I remember saying, "it doesn't bother me, besides she'll never know; just try it on an see if it fits." Well, she did just that. Carol tried on the shirt and it looked great. So, she goes to iron it...base stitched all the way across; go figure! Somebody didn't want her to wear that shirt.
Although more quiet in recent years, as per my parents, everyone growing up in/or associated with that house has had at least one story... whether it's someone snuggling in bed next to you (unseen), band music playing/ parties (champagne glasses toasting, talking, old styled music) without any kind of device on, the doorbell ringing by itself (disabled now), footsteps, whispering voices, apparitions, doors opening and closing, unexplained lights, perfume and other unexplained smells, the list continues on and on.... Happy Halloween!!!
Submitted by Cynthia

It was Christmas 2003, I had driven 610 miles that day, down Interstate 95 in heavy holiday traffic, from Arlington Virginia, across the river from Washington DC, to Savannah Georgia, to see my 10 year old son for Christmas at his mother Vicky's at home with her new husband, Chris.
I arrived late, my son was asleep, Christ and Vicky were waiting up for me. There was a lovely Christmas tree, a fireplace and mantle on the right side wall and gifts all around on the floor. Visibly tired from the long drive and the late hour I was offered a recliner in the living room facing the Christmas tree. Chris had a old white mixed breed dog, Alfie, who was sleeping in front of me on the floor by the tree. I nestled in and put the seat way back, dozing off.
I slept, for about a hour when something woke me, I heard what sounded like a squeaky high pitched voice, saying was seemed like "baby talk" to the dog. I opened one eye, Alfie was asleep, no one was in the room, I thought maybe I was dreaming, exhausted I went back to sleep. Again I awakened, hearing the same voice again, and from the same direction as before. It came from where Alfie was laying a little to my left in front of me. I opened my tired eyes, but there was nothing in the room to account for it. I rationalized that the dog simply must have one of those squeaky dog toys and be chewing upon I watched Alf carefully for a few minutes, but he was sound asleep, as I wished I was. Again I drifted off to a dreamless sleep. Some time later, I heard what now seemed like a mans voice in a falsetto saying baby talk "Oh you cute puppy, come here, oh you are a such a good boy..." but this time, exhausted, I did not open my eyes again, not until morning.
When Vicky awakened me, she asked if I wanted some coffee, I said , "Please" Over morning coffee, I told her what I described for you above, and she said, "You need to tell this to Chris" She went off to get him, and brought Chris into the room and I repeated what occurred and then he said with wide eyes.. "Arnie, my dog doesn't have a squeaky toy, but my brother used to talk to that dog just that way. He really loved that dog" I asked, "Is he here or live nearby that he might have stopped by?" Chris paused, and took a deep breath, then said,
"My brother committed suicide two weeks ago" and while pointing at an ornate vase on the mantle over the fireplace 6 feet away from where I slept, he continued: "and those are his ashes in that vase on the mantle."
Submitted by Anonymous

Strange things are happening here. A locked door was suddenly unlocked (the key was broken and gone, thrown away by myself), the dog's waterbowl was placed somewhere else, which we didn't do and she couldn't have done, we heard a chair moving upstairs when we were downstairs at the diner table, candles were missing, when I walked up the stairs in the evening I suddenly frooze: as far as I knew my husband was still downstairs in the bathroom or wasn't he? I listened for a while, yes he is in the batroom! But if he is there then who just walked into our bedroom? When I went to check no one was there, still I saw someone walking, can't even be discribded as a shadow figure, I saw very clearly the lower part of a body walking just around the corner of the bedroom door. I was reading a book one night when I heard music from my MP3, Lional Richie - "Say you, say me", music I don't have, when I wanted to turn the MP3 off my blanket started to slide off me, at least so I thought because when I turned back to grab it I noticed it was pulled and I saw a figure of an older man laughing at me, like he was playing a prank with me. My husband who is very sceptic about the paranormal can't deny some of these happenings.
The area where I sense something mostly is the staircase. Always when I walk past it I look up like I'm expecting someone or something. Also when I walk down the stairs I grab very tight to everything, strongly feeling a fear I will fall or being pushed, someone might really have been pushed or fallen there? In the bedroom itself I noticed cold spots and once I was sitting on the edge of the bed reading a book when I suddenly got freezing cold and had the feeling someone was reading over my shoulder with me, jet no one there. I know the house belonged to an old man living there alone, maybe he died in the bedroom?
I have the impression he's just curious and a bit of a tease. It's just that staircase which kind of freaks me out.
This already happened before, but in the meantime it continues.
The closet door was open again, this time still in it's lock, we heard footsteps upstairs whilst being in the livingroom ourselves, I felt a hand on my shoulder one evening whilst playing a game, but my husband was not home, and last night when I was laying in bed (partly not covered by blankets because it was so warm) I felt someone(thing) touching my bottom and eventhough nothing was seen I did feel like there was a presence.
In the meantime the fear of the staircase is gone. I guess I truly sensed something from the past and do not have to fear it myself as something which is still to happen. I looked into old pictures (the 80s) and did recognize the man I saw, but younger of course.
Submitted by Wilhelmina Knobbout-Krutrök

Many years ago I was a gunfighter in an "authentic Western town". I robbed the Bank several times a day, busted Black Bart out of the hoosegow, and entertained the tourists with a smoking six-gun and my John Wayne walk. Hardly a day went by that I didn't die twenty times in a hail of blank bullets. We gunfighters were a tight crew. We knew our jobs and did them well. Between gunfights we'd sit around and talk about all kinds of things.
One day we got to talking about magic. Real magic.
I'd always been interested in magic. I'd read about it. I knew it was real. I knew some people had the power and some people apparently didn't. I also knew a person's level of belief could affect how well magic worked. One guy was a pure skeptic. "It's all bull," he said. We debated it for a few days but neither of us could convince the other to change his viewpoint. Eventually my friend Buckshot-which wasn't his real name any more than mine was Arapaho Jack-took it to the bottom line:
"Jack," says he, "If you're so sure magic is real, prove it! Put a curse on me-right here and right now!"
No self-respecting outlaw ever walked away from a challenge. I couldn't either. "OK," says I. "What do you want? Hives all over your body? Unlucky in love? How about a little general misfortune?" This was a friendly thing so we agreed it shouldn't get out of hand. Nobody should get badly hurt (or dead-for-real) but it had to something unmistakable.We decided on some kind of physical injury that would not cause Buckshot to miss any work or put him in the hospital overnight. I told him with a straight face that I could do it. But it would take three days for The Curse to take effect. And I'd need something personal of his, like-three hairs from his head! He plucked them out and gave them to me.
"I need a match," I said. He gave me his Bic. I twisted the hairs together and held them in the flame until they burned to ash. As I did I recited a little incantation. The thing is - I remember everything else perfectly, but I have no idea what I said. None whatsoever. Only that it was loaded with intention and it rhymed. Then I looked at Buckshot and said "Okay. That's it. It'll take about three days, and you'll know it when it happens." This was on a Friday, the last workday of the week. I figured next Monday was plenty of time for Buckshot's secret beliefs to kick in and do the job.
"No," he said. "Make it happen today. Before the end of shift. "All right," I said. "It-Shall-Be-As-You-Wish."
I was bluffing, pure and simple. Then we set off to rob the Dance Hall Saloon.
Now, the thing about being a gunfighter is that every time you get "shot" you have to die spek-tack-u-lur. You can't just fall down. You have to give up the ghost with some style. Accordingly, each one of us had his own signature fall. No two bad guys fell the same way and every guy fell his way every time, without exception. At 11:30 we died at the OK Corral. We picked ourselves up, shot each other a few more times, and broke for lunch. Around 1PM we went over and robbed the Bank. We died there, too, but that's Showbiz. Ditto for the Saloon, and the Dance Hall. Dead again. The day was almost over and the tourists were leaving. We had one gunfight left. We had to bust Black Bart out of jail. As always, the Sheriff would show up and blow us to doll-rags with his sawed-off shotgun. For the Last Jailbreak I was the mike-man. I described the gunplay to the tourists over a set of loudspeakers. "Dead-Eye Dan" walked past me on his way to being Dead Outlaw #1. Buckshot was scheduled to be Dead Outlaw #4. I stopped him and said "Dan, tell Buckshot I got a feelin'. It's gonna be now."
I did have a feeling. A really strange one.
The show started. Everyone died on cue. Buckshot was the last man to go down. I watched him do his fall, just like a hundred times before. Shotgun to the chest. Up and back. Lose the six-gun. Back roll. Flop over and roll a half-turn to the left. Sprawl. End of fall. I was standing where I could see all the action. I saw it happen. Buckshot did his fall and came to a complete stop. Zero motion. End of fall. Then a giant invisible hand seemed to snatch him six feet sideways across the gravel and flip him over two more times like a rag doll. He didn't get back up.
I called the "man down" code and the medics raced out to him. He was alive and not even in pain. But his left arm was 100% paralyzed from the shoulder to his fingertips. They rushed him to the hospital.We spent two hours wondering exactly what had just happened to Buckshot-but no one wanted to say a single word on the subject. Especially me. Buckshot came back all strapped up and wearing a neck brace. He had some feeling back in his arm and could move his fingers. A little. The doctor said he'd pinched a nerve in his neck but should be all right in two days. He wouldn't even have to miss any work.We found a few moments to talk in private before the end of the day.
"Jack," he said, "I felt it happen. Exactly like you said it would. I will never doubt that magic exists again." Well, that made two of us. I hadn't stopped to think that maybe just believing in magic might give a person the ability to do magic.
Now I know.
Submitted by Arapaho Jack

Robert W. Teeters experience, as told to and written by K. Scott Teeters
You have probably known a coworker like this. They get to work a few hours early and stay way past quitting time. They work weekends and never put in for overtime. Their Life is their Job! This is such a story.
This experience happened to my older brother, Bob. Since he is seven years older than me, he always looked after me and today, we are the best of friends. I have memories from the early '60s, when we would lay on the floor with the lights out, watching "One Step Beyond" and "The Twilight Zone." It's what started my interest in the paranormal. While I haven't "seen anything" paranormal, Bob has. Here's his story.
In 2000 I decided it was time to do something different. Since I had over ten years experience as a corrections officer for the State of New Jersey, I had no trouble getting hired by Wackenhut as a security guard at the Ford/Harley-Davidson test track in Naples, Florida. I was the night shift guy and my 12-hour shift was from 5pm to 5am. The prototype and parts testing was always done before my shift started, so it wasn't as interesting as it might sound.
This part of Naples is VERY rural and sits next to a wildlife preserve. The main road is, "Alligator Alley." I saw lots of small critters, panthers, big gators, and a few mama bears and their cubs. Yes, this is RURAL and VERY DARK at night. The guard shack was situated about a half-mile off of Alligator Alley. My duty every hour was to take the golf cart, lap the track, and do a walk-through in the office/garage building that was about 100 yards from my booth. At night, only the hall lights were on in the building, but from my station, I could clearly see through the windows into the offices, illuminated by the ambient light from the hall. The only lights there in the middle of nothing, were the inside hall lights and one outside light.
A local Native American man named Angel worked there as a maintenance man and sometimes he would stay late. This night, Angel left around 11pm and was the last man out, or so I thought. Around 2am while listening to the radio, I just happened to be looking at the office building. It was something I'd done hundreds of times, after all, there wasn't much else to look at out there. That's when I saw someone walking through one of the offices! I said, "Oh shit! Someone's still here!" As I stood there watching, I could clearly see "someone." It wasn't a shadow caused by a far off car headlight. It was the shape of a man wearing a ball cap, walking like he was "going somewhere."
I was stunned! As far as I knew, Angel was the last man out. Then my mind kicked in. "Oh, maybe Angel left a helper here. Or Angel didn't know there was one more guy here. Or...." The mind just has to have a logical answer. Thinking that we had an intruder, I picked up my billy club, tamped down my adrenaline, and immediately walked through the very quiet, dark office. But, there was no one there but me. Ford and Harley-Davidson were very concerned about intruders because of the advanced prototype machines that were there. I didn't walk out by the parameter fence because it wasn't uncommon to find a gators there. After I completed my walk through, I thought, "Oh well!" And that was that. Until the next day.
The job could be very boring, but this time I was looking forward to seeing Angel. I had a few questions. Like any other evening, Angel was the last man out. We chitchatted a little and then I asked him, "Ah, I know this probably sounds odd, but have you ever seen anything strange while working here at night?" With an expectant look on his face, Angel said, "Yea?" So I told him my story.
When I was finished, he said, "Oh, that could have been Joe Turner (made up name)." "Who?" I asked. Angel went on to explain, "Joe Turner was an engineer that used to work here about two years ago. He was ALWAYS here, totally dedicated to his job. He didn't have a life outside the office. His work was his life and so was his death. He died at the office. And he ALWAYS wore a baseball cap."
For me it was an "OH-MY-GOD!!!" moment. I felt frozen at the implication of what Angel had just said. I want to reiterate what I saw. It was not a shadowy, wispy, fleeting kind of thing. I saw the shape of an adult man wearing a ball cap, silhouetted by the ambient light from the hallway, that looked as if he was quickly walking into another office to get something. If there had been a crew of men working late and someone was walking through one of the offices, that's what it would have looked like, and I wouldn't have given it a second thought. But that night, I knew I was alone.
In odd moments like this, thoughts fly through your head. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. Angel went on to explain how sometimes while working in the building at night, he has heard foot steps and quiet voices - like someone shuffling about and talking to themselves. He said, "I just figured it must be Joe Turner." Then Angel said, "Bob, have you seen the American Indian maiden that floats out on the test track? Now that really creeped me out!"
I was already dumbfounded! I said, "Ah, no... and I really don't want to know about it. I still have a long night ahead of me." I worked at the test track for another year or so and never saw Joe Turner again. But then again, I wasn't really looking for him.
Submitted by K. Scott Teeters

The Jersey Shore area is full of wonderful old Victorian mansions that mostly have fallen on hard times. These beautiful old houses, usually three stories tall, are often partitioned into apartments. My husband and I were lucky enough to rent one of these apartments when he was in the U.S. Army Signal Corps and stationed at Fort Monmouth. We rented a small one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a grand old house in West Long Branch, New Jersey. It was owned by an Italian immigrant couple who lovingly cared for it. It was the first house that they bought in the states and it was their home. The husband became a contractor and eventually they had moved into a modern house of their own. They kept their first house and maintained it with the help of friends and relatives freshly arrived from Italy who usually spoke no English. While they were learning English they worked at maintenance chores such as caring for our house. We would often hear noises in the hallway and find someone polishing woodwork. There were two apartments on the second floor. In the hallway there was a skylight in the ceiling with a beautiful stained glass dome that lit the hallway and three flights of an ornate wooden stairway.
The house sat away from the street on a beautifully kept lawn with huge trees. It had a large covered porch that wrapped around the house on two sides. The entry was ornate. There were two sets of double doors. The outside doors were heavy and very tall. There was an air lock in between the doors and mailboxes were located on one wall. The interior set of doors had windows with a design of thick, beveled glass, cut into designs similar to the way a stained glass window is made. Inside the entryway there was a fireplace, the circular stairway to the other floors and two doors to first floor apartments that were each the size of an average house.
One bright summer day my husband and I were leaving to go to the beach. All outside doors were standing open to allow fresh air to enter. As I reached the first floor landing, I looked up and toward the doors and was surprised to see a little boy of about ten years old sitting in the airlock. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, under the mailboxes. He had his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around the knees. I could not see his face. He had dark, shiny hair and he was dressed in old-fashioned clothing-short dark pants and a white shirt with very old-fashioned looking high top shoes. I was so surprised that I could not say anything but I stopped dead in my tracks! I was pointing toward the little boy and my husband had no idea what was wrong. Then, the little boy faded until there was no trace. My strong impression was that he was crying and very upset. My husband did not see the little boy.
This was not the only time that I saw a ghost in this house. There was also a four-footed ghost. One afternoon I was home alone and lying on my stomach across the bed, thinking about what I would do next. I had just come home from class, as I had enrolled in a local college. I could look out of the bedroom door, toward the living room. As I was looking into the living room, I saw a beautiful, long-haired white cat come walking slowly out of the living room, into the hallway and toward the door. Its tail was straight up in the air and the tip was waving slowly from side to side. It passed out of my sight toward the door. I thought I must have left the door ajar and a cat had found its way into the apartment. I got up and walked to the door and found that the door was not only closed but also locked. I opened the door and looked outside in the hallway and saw no cat.
I saw the cat on another occasion but this one was startling. I was ironing clothes one day and out of the corner of my eye I noticed something to my right but it was higher than my head. I looked and was startled to see the white cat in a sitting position with its tail curled around its feet, looking at me. The cat was floating in the air about six feet off the floor and only about three feet from me. It was quietly observing me while I ironed. And, of course, as I looked at it looking at me, the cat faded. What an incredible experience that was-to lock eyes with a ghost.
I cherish these memories and to me they signify that there is survival after death. It is surprising how solid they looked and then just faded. Being able to casually watch the white cat slowly walk across a room and into a hallway and out of sight, with that lovely fluffy tail straight up in the air with its tip gently waving back and forth was a treat. I wish I had been aware that it was a ghost. It didn't fade at all and looked so solid, as it did when it was watching me iron clothes. When I think of these memories they are so vivid that I still see them clearly in my mind's eye, especially locking gazes with the white cat. I wonder if I will meet the cat someday. Maybe!
Submitted by Sharon Armbrust

During the period of 1989 through 1999 I worked for a large insurance company in Austin, Texas. I was employed as a Data Center Specialist in the heart of a large computer room in the center of a huge building that housed about 2500 employees. If you work in data processing you inevitably have to work different shifts. I worked them all; third shift was the least populated. There was just one management person in the clerical area and three or four technicians in the huge computer room keeping all the machines and industrial printers in good working order.
Part of my responsibilites included keeping the print band in a large Storage Technology impact printer clean. We had two of these large printers and they ran continuous printed forms 24x7. So the print bands needed to be cleaned quite often since the ink from the ribbon would build up in the nooks and crannies of the individual letters and symbols that made up the type/characters on the metal print band.
One night, probably about 3 a.m., I opened the top of the printer to clean the band. The top was at about four foot wide by about three foot deep. The top was hinged, so it rolled up towards the back. You had to lean your body into the printer and under the top to get to the controls that released the tension on the print band. Once you did that, you could pull the band up and out of the printer, use a brush with some Ethanol and clean the ink residue off.
I was in the process of leaning into the printer when I felt a hand brush up the hair on the back of my head just above my shirt collar. So, I'm literallly in the printer and I'm thinking one of my co-workers has come by and is horsing around with me.
I straighten my body out and turn around and there is NO ONE THERE! The place is empty except for me. Well, cold chills ran up and down my body when I realized I had just had physical contact with an invisible entity. I found out later that two University of Texas coeds had been murdered and their bodies were dumped in a field very close to what eventually became the site where this insurance company facility was later built. The hand that ran up my neck had fingers and mass. It felt like a human hand, it was almost a friendly gesture; something an aquaintance would do. My only problem was the invisibility factor. When I retell this story the hair on my arms always shoots up and along come the goose bumps. That computer room never felt the same after that night.
Submitted by Oscar Decker

Dia de los Muertos, on November 1st, is a special time of year in Mexico when the veil between living and dead is widely believed to be the thinnest. In colonial San Miguel de Allende, in the central highlands, the residents create a merry festival atmosphere and actively try to tempt the souls of dead relatives, friends and cultural idols to return for a visit. Fireworks and loud explosions are set off to attract these spirits, and altars are constructed and filled with favorite things of the dearly departed. Common among such items are bottles of tequila, plates of tortillas, sweets, candles, flowers, fruit, bread, photographs and sugar skulls. A glass of water to quench the thirst of the spirit is typically provided as well as myriad petals, bunches and garlands of brilliant orange marigold, the official fiesta flower. Pungent copal incense is burned in some places to repel negative entities; nevertheless, as I was to learn, this doesn't always work.
Late in the afternoon of October 31, 2008, camera in hand, I paid a visit to the elaborate public altars covering the central plaza known as the Jardin. Most were laid out flat, end-to-end, on the ground with boxes or small tables serving to hold some of the various objects. I was busily taking photographs of these displays when I spotted nearby what I thought would be a great photo-op: a middle-aged indigenous flower lady with long, sleek, ebony hair, surrounded by baskets of vivid blooms. I knew that many campesinos did not welcome being photographed, but I thought that maybe I could sneak an image of her in profile or quarter profile, and that she would be none the wiser .
The cobblestone street around me was crowded with visitors, but it seemed that the flower lady was quite aware of my presence, and that she was purposely keeping her back to me. I waited her out. When she finally turned slightly in my direction, I seized the moment and pressed the button. To my horror, the flash went off, alerting her. She whirled around with dark eyes flashing. She pointed an angry index finger at me and hissed something that I intuitively interpreted as a curse of some kind.
In general, I'm not a fearful person, but the negative energy directed at me by the flower vendor was so jarring that I opted out of my plan to attend a traditional evening event at the local cemetery. Families typically prepare an honorary feast for the dead and gather at gravesides to dine by candlelight. I had wanted to witness this unusual custom, but, instead, I walked directly back to my rented studio and stayed there. The studio was located in a sprawling hacienda-like adobe home fronted by high walls and a lush garden that was half a block long. The former owner-builder of the place, who was recently deceased, had designed it to accommodate his large family of eleven children. Most of the adult children had scattered, and their quarters, as well as those of he and his wife, were rented out to gringos like me. I occupied the former master bedroom and kitchen.
Just prior to turning in for the night, I reached into a darkened built-in closet to get a bottle of vitamin E oil. Facing the nearly empty shelves, I was applying the contents to my nose and cheeks, when, suddenly, my head was enveloped in a cloud of searing, choking gas that issued from somewhere within the open closet doors. Gasping, I stumbled back and away. The mysterious fumes burned the inside of my mouth, throat and lungs for several minutes. At one point, I thought that I should get myself to an emergency room, but, I waited and, thankfully, the effects dissipated. I then inspected the closet top to bottom. There was absolutely nothing in it or attached to the thick adobe wall behind it that could possibly have caused such a phenomenon. No pipes, no aerosol cans -- no nothing.
As a protection, I mentally surrounded myself with white light and repeated a favorite Sanskrit mantra. Then, I climbed into bed, crawled deep under the covers and fell asleep. There were no further disturbances. In the morning, I began to consider a possible connection to what I had experienced on the previous day with the woman at the Jardin, and to wonder whether I should risk telling someone about it. I also entertained the idea that it might have been the dead owner of the house, himself, who had paid me an unfriendly visit. The closet, like all other wood, tile, and stonework was entirely his craftsmanship.
When my landlady dropped by after breakfast, I decided to share my story. She agreed that there was nothing in or around the closet to explain the gas. She had known the owner, and thought that he had been a kindly person who would not have played such tricks. Her inclination was to finger the flower seller as culprit, and, so, she called a Mexican friend for advice. The friend urged that I see a local curandero in order to cast off any possible remnants of a curse: however, after giving it two days of thought, I concluded that, as curses go, perhaps mine was only a short term variety.
So much collective, invitational energy was directed toward the astral plane on the eve of Dia de Los Muertos that it was bound to have attracted at least a few disembodied mischief makers. My own fearfulness after the encounter at the plaza may well have contributed to spirit contact. I suppose it would make a better tale if I had paid a visit to the shaman. He might have provided a clue as to the true source of the gas. As it was, I simply deleted the image of the flower lady from my camera, and, for the rest of that visit, restricted myself to shooting non-reactionary subject matter.
Submitted by Donna Cleveland

It was just a thick rectangle of cardboard decorated with black ornate curly-cues and a sinister-looking sun and a grinning half-moon. A big "Yes" and "Hello" were on one side and a big "No" and "Goodbye" were on the opposite side. The 26 letters of the alphabet made an oval ring in mid-center. The only mysterious-looking item that we drew out of the game's box that Christmas of 1963 was a pear-shaped flat piece of plastic called a "planchette" with a small window in its center.
This game was nothing like Scrabble or Monopoly; the instructions said we could communicate with the spirit world by having two to four people rest their fingers on the planchette while asking questions.
My brothers John and Gerald, sister Mary, and I gathered around the board Christmas night and immediately began to call on spirits to come "talk to us." With our fingers lightly resting on the planchette, we suddenly felt a slight movement. I took my fingers off and the planchette stopped.
"What's the matter?!" John yelled. Mary accused Johnof tampering. And I jumped up from the table, but our sister Lois slid in to take my place. Easily spooked, I had already had enough. I was more than willing to watch from the sidelines.
With 12 finger pads lightly resting on the planchette, it began to move again. As if tripping over itself, the planchette zoomed towards the "Hello" and then flew off the board onto the floor.
"You're pressing too hard!!" John accused Mary. "No, I'm not," Mary shot back. The group began again. After a few more failed attempts to find balance and unity, the planchette finally started to look like a smooth, well-oiled hovercraft flitting from letter to letter.
"Hey, somebody write down the letters!" One of them yelled. So, I grabbed the pencil and paper that Lois had abandoned and wrote down the first words of communication fromthe board.
"Who are you?" Johnasked.
"S--- E--- T--- H,"came the response.
"Are you a good spirit or a bad spirit?" Mary asked.
"Y--- E--- S"
After some coaching from John, Mary asked her question again. "Are you a good spirit?"
"Y---E---S" the planchette pointed out.
"Who are you?"asked Mary. The planchette stopped cold in the center over the letter "D."
I wrote down the letters as quickly as I could: D O N O T K N O W
"Okay, Seth, do you have something to tell us?"
The planchette moved in a wide circle several times around the board. Then, Seth spelled out: B A D C H IC K E N
John lifted his fingers off the planchette and declared that he was not going to continue toplay if Mary kept doing all the pushing. Mary denied pushing with her fingers.
Gerald, always the peace maker, said, "Okay, okay nobody's pushing. Let's finish this."
Fingers back inplace, Mary asked, "What do you mean, 'bad chicken,' Seth?"
"G R A N D M A"
Just then, our little sister Alice, who had been standing near the end of the table, leaned closer to get a better look. The flimsy folding table tipped a few inches and John's glass of soda pop spilled its contents across the Ouija Board's surface. As if acid had hit it, the Ouija Board began to develop pimples and pits. I grabbed a towel and soaked the cola off the surface, but it was too late. The once glassy surface was ruined. We could no longer play.
We were stuck withthe message, "Bad chicken" and "Grandma" and did not know what it meant.
Two days later, our grandma, who lived next door, asked my brother John to help her carry in and put away her groceries for her. She was recovering from a cold; her nose was still a little stuffed up and her eyes were still watering a bit, but she had been able to go shopping. However, the grocery trip made her a bit tired, so she needed some help. While he was loading the refrigerator with the perishables, grandma told him to hand her a white plastic container.
"I'm going to make a chicken sandwich. Do you want one too?" She asked as she was cutting the breast meat into slices.
Remembering the message from the Ouija Board, John said, "Grandma, can I see that chicken?"
The chicken smelled spoiled, so grandma threw it away instead of eating it. John and Grandma ate ham sandwiches instead.
Submitted by Carol Armbrust