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

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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


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


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


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


This may be an update, to last year's "missing knives" story. I've been watching for signs of the "entity" returning to this house, where I and my parents live. Turns out, it comes back, a lot, unless you do something.

I prayed the Rosary, and waited. Still things are happening, such as house-keeping. It placed dirty hard linen that had been in some basement or who knows, into my drawer and my mother's closet. I thought, why would my mother give me this? It's filthy, she's not crazy. That same morning she said she wondered why I put this (other) dirty thing in her clean towel closet. So I knew it was still around and my other Mother is letting me learn. "You will do these things in my name", I remember from early in life, and so why not? I blessed bottled water and began to sprinkle it here and there. Where ever it has not been, something has happened. Where it has been, nothing new happens.

I saw the entity when I came out into the living room and saw it walking past my elderly father as he turned toward me. It saw me see it, and I that night sprinkled the kitchen cabinets where the cups had disappeared two years before. My mother doesn't believe it and I told her something had been in the cupboards again, and it had wrapped a dish in a dirty bag, labeled "Marketing Department". After this and seeing it emerge from the kitchen I got to work, as well as getting all the cabinets, drawers. There were two rooms I didn't do, the garage, and the sewing room. Since then, the lights were left on on the car, and my mother wanted to know what I did with her sewing tape, which I had seen in a metal container on several occasions. These are drawers, containers, switches, metal knives, ceramic cups, metal spoons, car parts, etc. all penetrated and moved by this thing. I got out more bottled water as needed.

This thing does not sense a Christian in the house, it does seem to stay out of sprinkled places. I thought, thank God I was sprinkled, as a baby. I wondered too if my ex wife was ever baptised. I doubt it, cause she's filled with this thing.

Missing Knives (2012 submission):

Last year my mother asked me to return the knives I have been hoarding from the silverware drawer. Not knowing what it was about I checked and indeed there were 20 or so knives missing. I said I don't know, and figured my father or she had taken them. No one else in the house.

Days later she thanked me for returning them, twenty knives. I looked with my own eyes and they were missing from the drawer before, now they are back. I thought it might be my aunt who had recently died and was mischievious.

A couple of months later my mother asked me to return six heavy coffee cups that were missing from the shelf. Huh? Where would I keep heavy mugs, and why? She was sure it was me, and I literally stared into the dishwasher to see that they were not in there. Again, remember, there are no visiting workmen here or other family members. I let it go that she thought it was me for a day, kind of sureally, and the next day she thanked me for returning them. I also had stared into the shelf to see it empty, six heavy mugs, gone, where? Now I just stared at them back in place.

A while later, a month or so, the water irrigation system came on by itself while it was cut into, system off, as I decided to go out and work on it again before it got dark. I turned the corner of the house and it was on, flooding the grounds, and had just gone on about the time I got up to go out and work on it. System off, and timer set for another day even if I (we, father too) had been absent minded enough to leave it on while working. IT WAS OFF. I was so startled I don't remember how I turned it off. This is the point when I am starting to see the light here.

I began to put two and two together. My fuse had been removed from my car almost causing a turn-signal disaster. The dog was always in my room, freaking out and curling up to me, watching the movement of something in the family room, once my parents moved into the kitchen. Her eyes would actually follow something moving out there, and she's not that friendly to me to run into my room, and hasn't since the "cleansing".

The pond motor was on once and running in the morning, and I thought the switch must have just slipped into the on position. While putting on my shoes I had been putting off end-capping my laces, as I had cut them, and they don't thread the eyelets unless you do that. Here's a shoelace, just cut, no way to thread it. When I came back to my chair with the Scotch tape the uncapped shoelace was threaded through the small eyelet. This is magic and it's standing right behind me!

That night, something in my soul knew this is no joke and I prayed the Rosary. In my mind's eye, I actually saw this thing surprised by two angels, heard their swords, saw the "thing" surprised as it was going through towels or something, snooping. I couldn't make out its face but it isn't pretty. Very nasty thing.

There hasn't been anything going on like that since I saw it go, like zip, although I have looked into the mug pantry, and anything else that might be funny going on, and nothing has. That was more than a year ago, and the smell of that thing is Gone. Thank God and his Holy family. Thank you Mother (I am not Catholic).

Submitted by Mitchell


I was asked recently to 'draw the thing I was most afraid of when I was young'. Artists get all kinds of requests, you see, and this one was no different.

This request, however, was harder than I thought it would be to fulfill, as it seems I wasn't afraid of many monsters as a child. There were movies that had me nervous about things grabbing my feet at night, to be sure, but those phases passed quickly for me. I knew they were not real.

Rather, I was afraid of particular situations. I was afraid of rooms filling with water. Of being lost at sea. Of wandering with no way home.

This particular situation began with a scruffy stray Siamese cat named Mr. Tee, whom we adopted. So named by my brother and I when we were around eight years old. He was a free-spirited cat who came and went as he pleased. Every adventure we had hunting tree frogs in the yard was supervised by Tee, who was never too far from us with his watchful blue-eyed gaze.

One day Tee died of feline leukemia. It shattered our small world of ballet recitals and baseball practice. We were heart-broken.

Afterwards, I used to see him in the mirrors. Just a glimpse in the reflection of the surface of my mirrored sliding closet door. I used to feel his warm body sleeping by my legs, as he always had. I would see him padding alongside me in the bathroom mirrors. In life, if I didn't let him in the bathroom with me when I went, he would stick his paws beneath the door to remind me he was there.

I grew up and moved on with my life. Years later, I lost another beloved Siamese cat, but this time, I did not feel she lingered. When asked why I didn't feel that way by my brother, I told him it was because I felt Tee never left us back then. Much to my surprise, my brother told me he never felt that Tee left us either. I had never spoken to anyone about Tee in the mirrors, not even him.

In life, my brother would call Tee and Tee would always come. Even after he died, he would call Tee, and he still felt like he came, even if he couldn't see him.

Even still, I could dismiss this as an overactive imagination, a child's way of dealing with grief. Only a small few years after Tee's death, I saw another cat, just a glimpse of a gray tabby padding quickly between the bed and the dresser in the mirror of my aunt's bedroom. I had been staring off into it while she was getting ready for a date.

I asked her if she ever had a tabby and she paused, finding it an odd question. She did, in fact, have a very sweet gray tabby whom I had never met, for he had been killed by the neighbor's dogs before I could ever make his acquaintance.

Seeing my own cat was one thing, but seeing someone else's was entirely another.

I don't see things in mirrors anymore, for those who might be wondering. A good thing, too, because my bathroom walls are covered with mirrors and I should very much like to do my business there without concerning myself with who might be gazing through the other side.

It only crossed my mind as an adult that if Tee was in the mirrors, what else could be? At the time, I did not worry about this overmuch, however. He was always there, always guarding us.

My fears, I realize, are of what I can't see, what I cannot prove is real. It is the creeping shadows and the hidden things that threaten me with the promise of suddenly becoming real, should I become too complacent with the rightness of the world.

As for the cats? It is in their nature to show up where we least expect them and where they please. I have long since learned not to question that.

Submitted by Angela R. Sasser


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


Every October I use scary literature to teach my English classes. I had mentioned this to a co-teacher at the beginning of the year. She made the remark that one of her brother's very best friends had a true ghost picture. The brother explained that his friend's grandmother had owned an old house near Smithville, Georgia in the rural southwest region of the state. After the grandmother had died, the family did not do very much with the house for a while.

However, after some time, the family took several work days to clean it out. During one of these work days pictures were taken of some of the family members cleaning,etc. There had been no eerie feelings or ghostly encounters or any mention of any supernatural occurrences. That is until one of those pictures that was later developed seemed to show that the family had an extra helper in the process. I am including the photo below. I have repeatedly asked my co-worker if this could be some stunt or photo shop. She insists that her brother's friend's family "were not the kind of people to do that sort of thing".

Submitted by Trey


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


The summer of 76 was not a good one for me. I was living at the Geronimo Hotel, a flea-bag mecca for Tucson's transients. I was working sporadically as a laborer as well as taking some classes at the nearby University of Arizona. The only people residing at the hotel seemed to be retirees who hadn't saved enough,criminals, heroin addicts and people with minimum wage jobs who couldn't afford to live elsewhere.

If you wanted to meet eccentrics of every stripe, you wouldn't be disappointed with the denizens of the Geronimo.

One day, while waiting in the lobby for the rickety elevator, which I hoped would take me to my room on the third floor, a gaunt, shiny eyed young man accosted me.

He extended his hand and smiled. "Hey man , my name is Phil. Can you do me a big favor, and loan me two bucks? I can pay you back in a couple of days." His voice was soft , but had a nervous edge.
I hesitated, about to say no, but something about Phil made me change my mind. Perhaps it was his emaciated appearance which caused me to feel pity, or the luminous intensity of his pale blue eyes.
"Thanks man, I'll pay you back in two days," he said , as he pocketed the bills and headed toward the brilliant sunlight which poured in from the lobby door that opened on busy Euclid Avenue.

I never expected to be paid back, so it was quite a surprise to see Phil two days later hurrying toward me in the lobby with two dollar bills clutched in his skeletal hand.
"Here you go man. Thanks for the bread."

Surprised by his unexpected honesty, we exchanged pleasantries for several minutes. He seemed to be both friendly and intelligent . I invited him to my room.

There the conversation continued and we talked on a number of topics. After a while Phil seemed to become rather bored and seemed somewhat distracted. He then revealed that he was so thin because he practiced fasting.

"Why do you fast, Phil?"
He hesitated and then with a burst of excitement related to me how fasting made him more sensitized to the world of spirits. He also said he shot up cocaine and heroin sometimes for the same reason.

I tried to steer the conversation elsewhere when Phil, seeming to grow agitated, his bony jaw set slightly on edge . blurted out, "Demons, I talk to them and they tell me a lot of stuff. Things that would blow your mind!"

It was then I arose abruptly and told Phil that I had to write a paper for class and that it was nice talking with him, but that I should get started on it. He could probably tell I was creeped out by his strange conversation .

After Phil left , I sat in my wooden chair and looked around at the roach infested room, at the old narrow metal framed bed with its thin, hard mattress, and the ancient writing table scarred with age, where down on their luck tenants wrote letters to a lost love or perhaps scribbled suicide notes.

Several weeks passed, and between my work and studies I had largely put the strange conversation with Phil out of my mind. I was taking a couple of courses during the summer to gradually build enough credits to graduate. Some days I worked in the sweltering heat, doing landscape work: the hot desert sun shining like a little inferno in the clear , merciless sky.

Then , late one night, I was awakened by someone pounding on the door of my room. I got out of bed, slipped on some jeans, and groggily made my way to the door and opened it

There stood Phil, looking wide eyed and frantic, clutching a book in one hand. Strands of long blond hair were plastered on his sweating thin face

."Phil, what's going on," I managed to say, waking up fast.
"Sorry to bother you man. Can you do me a big favor?"

He thrust the book into my hand suddenly. I can't keep this book. I got to get out of here and I got to travel light. I was kicked out of my room. Could you keep this book for a week or two? The book means a lot to me. I'll be back and get it soon after I get settled again."
"OK, Phil, I can keep it for a while for you. No problem."

I was relieved when he left. and I no longer had to look at his skull like face nor gaze into his intense , lost eyes. I heard him making a kind of scuttling sound like a tall insect as he made his way down the decrepit hall.

I was curious enough about the book to examine it to see what it was about. It was a strange book, perhaps privately printed. It was solid black and appeared to be at least a century old. There was no title or author listed on the cover or spine of the book. There was no copyright page nor date or even the name of a publisher. Opening the book at random , I read a few pages .

It spoke of wise ones arising from the earth plane and joining the "dark disciples" to wage a war on behalf of Beelzebub. I didn't want to continue reading the weird book. Reading the stuff sent major chills down my spine . I carried the book to the corner and dropped it on the worn floor

Weeks passed by and Phil never showed up.and the book lay in the corner of my hotel room largely forgotten.

Then, one night , after fighting the heat and the noisy traffic, I managed to fall in to a restless sleep. Suddenly I was wide awake and sat up in bed. I instinctively glanced toward the corner where Phil's black book lay.

Something stood there that had a human form. But it wasn't human, it was like a blue mist only with glaring red eyes. The thing had its eyes locked on me. They emanated pure hatred and malice.
I was shaking as I hurriedly threw on some clothes and rushed out the door . down the fire escape and into the street. My mind was almost frozen with fear. I somehow managed to walk down Euclid Avenue to an all night diner and stayed there , a cold cup of coffee before me , trying to gain control over my fear,until daylight.

Much later that day, I managed to force myself to go back to the room. I walked directly to the corner and picked the book off the floor and carried the thing ,as if were a dead rat, to the dumpster and tossed it in with the trash.

Somehow I managed to get by the next few days without incident. I never looked toward the corner and tried not to think about the disturbing thing I had witnessed that night. The damned book was in the landfill now in its rightful place , keeping the rats and maggots company.

On the fourth day after the appearance, however, while picking up my mail in the hotel lobby I was shaken yet again. The hotel clerk who was a nosy rather unlikable sort, seemed to have something he was itching to say.

"Did you hear about what happened to Phil? he asked, his voice quivering with excitement. "he was shot dead, Thursday night, while trying to burglarize a house on 4th Avenue."

I mumbled something as I left the lobby. Instead of going to my room , I went for a long walk and tried to wrap my mind around the fact that Phil was killed the same night that I had seen that strange being glaring at me from the corner. Was it a malevolent spirit arising from the black book or was it Phil's attempt to somehow reconnect with his book and say a kind of goodbye to this life?

Submitted by R.G. Harris


When I was a small kid of about 5, we moved into a 2 bedroom mobile home near Raleigh N. C. It was in a small park of 6 more trailer lots. It was a retirement fund for the older couple that owned the trailers. The area was large for a little kid, with plenty of room to ride a bike and roam the woods in the backyard. I really had never been afraid of a ghost or even knowing what they might entail. The little home was comfortable for my family and I liked the area. After we had lived there for a few months the problems started to happen.

One afternoon while me and my brother were riding our bikes, the police came riding up, I'm thinking they're just cruising through, but they turned into our drive. Being a kid i had to see what was going on. The police talked to my Mom, and said they were looking for a Mr. Randall. We had never heard of Mr. Randall or even seen him in the picture they had of him. . At that time everyone tried to respect the police, so when they asked to check inside the home, my mom said sure. She kept a immaculately clean house and was proud of it. Not finding Mr. Randall, and Mom telling them we had just moved in, they said Thank You and left.

After that, every few weeks a different set of Law Enforcement came to the home. State Police, FBI and Secret Service visited. After a few visits, me and my brother saw fancy, clean cars drive up, We asked, you looking for Mr. Randall, and watched their faces drop in shock. To us it was a game, i guess to them it was realizing the element of surprise was blown. Mr. Randall must have been a really BAD person. As these visits started that's when the strange things started. My brother was older by a few years, But was really scared of things. He didn't do anything alone at night or even daytime. One day my Mom was helping the landlord and he wanted to get his new sneakers, in our room.

He and I went to the room and closed the door behind us. As he was putting the shoes on we heard footsteps coming down the hall. It was quite obvious it was a man walking, the old hard sole rubber shoes. We stopped even breathing. Dad was at work and Mom didn't wear men shoes. After what seemed like minutes, my brother said look outside, throwing me to the lions now that I think back about that day. I grabbed ahold of the brass knob, and slowly was going to turn. It was cooler than ice, the kind that feels like it is burning your skin. I let go and looked at my hand. It wasn't burnt, but it felt like it. After a few minutes more he opened the door and saw nothing, and we ran outside. Not telling our Mom, maybe it was just a squeaking floor, my brother said. What about my hand i said. He never answered. In a couple more days, my mom and dad started sleeping on the fold-out bed in the sofa, I couldn't figure out why they wouldn't sleep in the perfectly good bed in the back bedroom.

We moved out of the trailer, not to long after that. Later in years my mom said they had been attacked in that room. My father said he woke up with something dark at the foot of the bed, and it went into the ceiling and disappeared. The finally straw was when the dark being woke them both up and covered their faces. In true terror they both thought it was going to kill them, my father was saying i'm sorry i can't move or help you to my mother. She was just crying. Neither would talk about that night, until i was in my 30's. And even then it was still painful for them. I remember that the news reported that Mr. Randall was found in a shallow grave, and had been there about six months. . . . about the same time we had moved into his former residence.

Submitted by Tracy


My wife and I were living near Gig Harbor WA. it was 1980-81. We lived out in the woods past the Purdy Bridge in a little town called Wana. The running joke about me was that I was the Mayor - The Mayor o' Wana. My kids, Rachel and Eli, were about 5 and 4 respectively. Peggy, my wife, had put the kids to bed and gone to bed herself and I was just checking all the doors and lights in the house before I joined her. Standing in the hall entrance to the living room, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone standing to my left over by the lowboy dish cabinet next to the sliding doors to our patio. I can't say that she was an apparition, but it was as if I saw her in my mind but with the very tangible "presence" feeling that one gets when someone is really there. I turned my head to look directly at her and there was nothing visible. It was amazing how much information I got from that one glimpse. She was about 10 or 11 years old, long brown hair that was pulled up on the sides with barrettes and then draped down her back. She was dressed in a black taffeta dress with, I think, a small white collar at the neck. She was wearing high button laced shoes. She was kind of shy and very curious, hesitant to approach, but standing and staring at me.

Typical of me, I immediately resolved in my mind that, "This will not happen in my house." (as if I could stop it by will power alone). Then I turned and went to by bedroom and got in bed. I was on the other side of the bed from the door. I had just turned out the lamp on my night table and got comfortable when I heard, very close to the bed on my wife's side, a satiny swish, very clearly. Without me saying a word, Peggy called out, "Rachel?". You could tell someone was standing there. I turned the light back on and there was nothing visible, of course.

From our bed we could see Rachel's open bedroom door down the hall. So, I got up and went down to her room and both the kids were sound asleep. I tried to recreate the noise by rustling Rachel's bed spread and covers, but nothing would make that satin swish. That is when I told Peggy what I had seen in the living room.

A few days later I was standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching Peggy prepare dinner and talking about spiritual things, and when I mentioned some deceptions of Satan, we heard from the laundry room at the far end of the kitchen, a crash and bump. It sounded like the laundry basket had dropped from a high shelf. I went immediately to the room and there was nothing disturbed. I tried again to recreate that sound with the basket, but there was nothing in the room on which to rest it from a height to make it drop. I stood in there for some time waiting for another noise, but all was quiet.

I kept up that attitude of "Not in my house you don't" and there were no other strange happenings from then on, though that was about the time that Rachel and Eli started talking about "Ha-Bobos", the poltergeist-like boogey man that played tricks on the kids which our neighbors had told them about. I tried to find out the source of that name but my kids didn't know. I assumed it was probably the same ghost just playing around.

Submitted By Lars


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



Watervliet, NY, All Hallow's Eve - 1992. My cousins, my buddy Dana, my little brother, and I decided to hike the tracks up to Albany Rural Cemetery. I remember it was a snowless, warmer than average October 31st as we made the trek in earnest. "I hope we see a ghost!" My tag-along little-brother commented. "Shut-up kid," Dana replied. He was easily the biggest, and burliest member of the gang.. but as is often the case, the easiest to terrify. As usual, the rest of us ridiculed him for this display of sensitivity.

Upon arriving to the graveyard, we were surprised by how incredibly dark it was. While it's name suggests an image of a quaint country cemetery, it was anything but. ARC’s scope was vast, and it's residents seemingly ancient. I imagine this cemetery’s location being quite rural indeed, way back when it's first occupants took up residence shortly after the revolutionary war.

We'd planned to find our way, through the dark, to the cemetery pond where it was rumored that the older high school kids snuck away to party every weekend. But once we were within a hundred yards inside the gates it became pitch black, taking from us the ability to find our way anywhere! So we decided to hop back on the tracks, and head home for some more hijinks.

Pulling up the rear of the pack, as I often preferred to do, I remember getting the eerie feeling that we were being followed... Which wouldn't have been that unusual of an occurrence given the number of transients that inhabited the area. After looking over my shoulder two, or three times, and after thinking I was now hearing someone behind us, I made the motion for the gang to stop and see if indeed we were being tailed. My cousin Fred seconded the motion, and the quorum halted it's progress to investigate.

After a few moments, we began shouting back down the tracks at the Bum we suspected that had decided to give us a Devil’s night fright, but no such specter emerged. Whether everyone was now a genuinely creeped-out as I by now, or they were simply indulging me, we double-timed it back to the house in order to shake this curious spook...

Upon our arrival home, we began to ask each other if we thought the ghoul had followed us all the way home. With our parents out to dinner somewhere, I remember us being a bit more skittish concerning this far-fetched possibility than usual, and the conjecture continued. After a few minutes of heated debate I voicened my need to relive myself. "I've gotta pee, !@#$..." I stated in disgust, and just as I finished saying this, the only toilet on that floor of the house fully flushed! Now when I say "fully" I refer to the fact that we all clearly heard the toilet handle clinking as it was depressed, releasing the water from it's tank, and allowing the bowl to evacuate it's contents.

Now remember, we were completely alone at the time, and the entire gang was present and accounted for in the front room! Needless to say, neither I, nor anyone else were able to relive ourselves until much later that night when our parents finally arrived home. And that, my friends, is the true story of the commode flushing ghost.. who as I remember decided to stick around for awhile after this original encounter. Maybe I'll post another story about him before this seasons Samhain...

Submitted by Duane Greggory Tosspon


My mother always told me the story of living in a haunted house when she was a girl. Normally I'm a cynic when it comes to ghost stories, but knowing my mother as I do, I am forced to admit that there may be forces at work in this world that we can't understand.

It was the 1940's in rural Eastern Kentucky. The steep Appalachian hillsides meant that most people lived in the dark, winding valleys below known as hollows. My grandparents owned a house on Wildcat but my grandfather, Jim, who normally taught at the local one room schoolhouse, got a temporary position at another school. Back then, in the mountains, it was normal for teachers to be assigned a new school every few weeks or months.

Since they didn't own a car, and the new job wasn't within mule riding distance, it was decided that they would rent something cheap that was close to the new school until he could secure a position closer to home.

A few days later, my grandmother, Lucy, with her two girls in tow, (my mother, Erlene, seven, and Estelle, twelve) rode the bus to look at a house they had heard about from relatives. It was the last house at the end of a long hollow. The next closest house, which was almost out of sight, belonged to the landlady.

The house had no electric or inside plumbing, which wasn't unusual for the times, but it was roomy and clean and very, very cheap. Its long porch culminated in a little room that couldn't be accessed from the inside. You had to walk the length of the porch and go in by a separate door. On the outside wall of the little room, my grandmother noticed bullet holes. Below that, a big dark red spot.

"What's that?" she asked.
"Its nothing," the landlady said, and she sent her daughter to the house to fetch a bucket of soapy water and a brush. As my grandmother watched, the landlady scrubbed and scrubbed but the spot just got redder. Finally, she had to give up. But my mother's family took the house anyway.

Just after they moved, my grandparents went to town and left the girls home to clean the house. Being normal kids, they got side tracked and started playing around. "Screeeech." Suddenly they heard the screen door open. Their parents must have forgotten something. Heavy footsteps filled the other room. Estelle grabbed a broom and my mother grabbed a rag. Frantically they started cleaning as they waited for their parents to walk into the kitchen. Suddenly the footsteps stopped. When they didn't hear voices either, they went to investigate. Strangely, no one was there. They looked outside. Nothing. The girls began to get scared.When my grandparents got home, the girls told their story, but with children's imaginations being what they are, no one thought much of it. That is, until the noises began.

That night, when they were all in bed, they heard something coming from the attic. It was a big, loud, thud. "Like a falling body," my mother always said. This time the adults heard it, too. And it didn't happen just once. It started happening every night.

Soon, other noises followed. The sound of alarm clocks in the mornings. A deep gonging at supper like the sound of a grandfather clock.

Then one morning, the landlady's husband hollered out at my grandfather as he passed.
"Hey, Jim! I was surprised to see that you got electricity up there."
"What do you mean?" my grandfather asked, knowing there was no electric.
"I mean I looked out last night and saw that little room on the end of the house glowing. I've never seen such a bright light."

After that, my grandfather started asking questions. He soon learned that years before, an old clock peddler had gone door to door up the hollow, but he was never seen coming back out. Rumor had it that he had been murdered and robbed at the last house. The neighbors claimed that nobody had lived in that house for years. At least not for very long.

My grandparents decided that my grandfather would finish out the week, then they would go back home. That night, my grandfather stepped out on the porch to relieve himself before bed. There was a snow on...the crunchy kind that was covered with a layer of crackly ice. Suddenly my grandfather began screaming.
"Lucy, Lucy, bring the lantern, quick!"
My grandmother ran out. "What is it?"
My Grandfather grabbed the lantern and waved it around, searching the snow. His face was white.
"Somebody walked right up in my face," he said. "I could see his outline getting closer and closer but he wouldn't say anything."
Out in the yard, they couldn't believe their eyes. The man had left no footprints. Immediately they went inside and started packing. They left the next morning. No job was worth that.

The landlady, they heard later, was unable to get anyone else to live in the house. Eventually, it was torn down and no other house was built on that spot.

Submitted by Teresa


Do you go trick or treating each year? I never have. To some, Halloween seems like harmless fun, but during my childhood it was no benign 'trick' – let alone 'treat'.

As Halloween loomed back then, I became terrified. I rarely slept a wink during the witching hour, imagining evil and grotesque beings on broomsticks flying outside, bound somehow to work their insidious machinations inside as well. It may sound like ordinary childhood fears – monsters under the bed – but I had good reason to fear the improbable, or indeed, the seemingly impossible.

My home back then was a late Victorian house out in the wilds. Successive owners had removed the original features; a house without a soul somehow. It was a habitually gloomy place even in broad daylight. During the winter months the heating would make the pipes rattle and the floorboards creak, but there were also inexplicable groaning noises and other strange unearthly sounds. Those things would scare any young child: it contained more evil nonetheless.

I hated the stairs. They were enclosed with a door at the bottom. The walls were papered with a largely black city-scape that reflected hardly any light from the small window at the top during daytime. The light-bulb wouldn't always work if you turned it on from the bottom; vice versa if you tried the switch on the landing. It was a horrible feeling, thinking someone, or something, was following behind you – and frequently there was.

I'd dash into my bedroom, dive into the bed, dreading the time that mum would come to tuck me in and kiss goodnight because of the fear of being left alone. It was a shadowy room even in the dusk of summer evenings – the deep red brown and orange curtains giving the spooky impression of changing shapes. As time went by it became not just a twilight visual abomination of sorts that forced my head underneath the blankets, but an actual place of torture.

My first memory in that chamber wasn't connected to my parents but to the entities who visited. I would see forms with no faces, dark outlines, with blind eyes looking over my cot. They would pull my blankets down. I remember feeling so cold because I didn't know how to pull the covers back up. I wasn't scared of them at that point.

As I grew a little older however, the night, the dark, started to terrify me. Unlike during my babyhood, I kept my eyes firmly closed as an older child then, frightened stiff of what I might see.

Once the household was asleep, and largely only then, I would hear a high-pitched whining noise
slowly becoming louder: I knew I couldn't escape. The eerie whaling sound would slowly dissipate and morph into the moaning of the winds through the trees outside, then into babbling voices increasing in volume until deafening: enough to drive you insane. That in itself was gruesome: more was to come.

They didn't go about things quickly, rather slowly tormenting victims. They would paralyse me, silence me, and leave me in that state for many a while. After that, pure silence, and the dread of every single frozen sinew and muscle encompassed me: 'it/they' were coming. Incrementally, haltingly, they would ease my bed-covers down: first off my face (ahhhhhhhhh); over my nose; chin; down the line of my neck (they're...ahhhh help: someone: help!); then chest; towards my stomach (pleeeeeeasse: hellllllp!!); groin (noooooooo!!!); thighs; knees (leave me alooooone!!!!); ankles (Oh God, pleeeeease: nooooooo)!!!!!; toes....(NOOOOOOO!!!!!!)

The touching started; creeping multiple fingers and hands fondled, grabbed me, over and over; sometimes tickling me, again and again until I felt physically sick/retching: out of my mind with fear; passing out eventually: eventually.

They never physically hurt me, but due to their mental torture, by the age of 8. I was so anxious and sleep deprived that I pulled my hair out leaving bald patches; I behaved in other weird ways too. I never told anyone however thinking that adults wouldn't believe me: children were 'to be seen and not heard' back then.

These things continued through teenage years into adulthood following me wherever I lived, but I haven't had such intensified experiences of late. The odd thing happens though. Most notably, one night in the winter of 2011, my friend Elaine – who attends a local church – asked if we could discuss a section of the bible concerning satan the devil to ascertain my thoughts (I'm not religious but I studied the bible). She sat adjacent to me and started reading. On reaching the words 'satan the devil', at the exact same time, a bulb in the brass candelabra hit the ceiling and floated down slowly – still lit – landing with its tip facing outwards between the two of us, as if it had been exactly placed.

I turned to my shocked friend and said: “ now do you believe me?”

The dark doesn't terrify me now; neither Halloween. It's been a long road. I guess you become hardened to it in the end. Ultimately, I think that ignoring these evil ghosts, not showing I'm scared – even when I am – is the answer. Like bullies, in time they get give up if you don't respond.

Those thoughts of further monstrosities on Halloween back then – the witches on their brooms – subjecting me to some other form of ghastly torment was unbearable, but strangely nothing did happen on that night. But, this Halloween, if you hear anything in your bedroom – if you feel an invisible hand over your mouth – lie very still. Most of all, keep your eyes firmly shut and don't bother screaming: though, of course, I hope you'll never have to.Kind Regards

Submitted by Sasson Hann


It was back in 1950's-something;

I was just a young kid then with a mother and a step-father and a life that was pretty lame considering the only path I had to real enjoyment was watching the world as it passed by from the backseat windows of the old family Dodge, a real rattle trap of a car that thing was and that's for sure. And strong too, metal wise I mean, as I remember the time my step-dad's foot slipped from the brake pedal and hitting the accelerator sent us all crashing through the large plate glass window of the local Diner in his attempt to park the darn thing. The front end of that Dodge was like a tank. But that has nothing really to do with my story now, sorry about that, I get side tracked so easily these days remembering the past. As I was saying...

There was this one trip we made to Southern Missouri from our home in Illinois. Our destination the boyhood home of my step-father, a country home near the Missouri-Arkansas border. After what seemed a very long and tiring road trip we finally pulled closer to our destination turning down this winding gravel road which extended for many miles deeper into the remote countryside. Arriving at the home I was disappointed to learn the place was without many modern day conveniences. No electricity, for example, and a none too-cozy out-house when nature called as it indeed does.

Wait.., an important piece of this story I have forgotten to mention up to this point was my step-father back then considered himself a street corner preacher of sorts; oftentimes stopping at busy intersections and with Bible in hand and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbow he would deliver the Words of God to all that would listen. Not that others stopping to listen seemed that important to him as he would almost always without fail get on an alcoholic roll so to speak and with Bible raised high into the air say whatever it was he felt compelled to say, listeners or not.

Thinking back I'm sure it was the alcohol responsible for sending us through that window That I mentioned. Well.., back to this trip to Southern Missouri, and no electricity...
My step-dad one night with his Bible clenched tightly to his chest and his other hand extended out firmly in front as if holding back an unseen force, put that trembling hand of his on the forehead of his elderly Mother who was seated in a rocking chair in front of him. I have no idea who everyone else was there in the living room that evening but in the shadowy-flickering orange light of the oil lamp we all watched from our various seated positions taken up around the room in preparation for what was to come as my step-father commenced what can only best be described as an exorcism of sorts.

Holding tight to that Bible and his hand on top his Mother's head he repeated over and over, "In the name of the father... etc., etc.," until such time as the woman in the rocking chair stopped her rocking; and with the roaring sound of a lion, jumped to her feet, and then collapsed to the wooden floorboards where she was quickly assisted and comforted by one of the onlookers.

My mother later recounting this event declared that she had seen a beast that night, a Devil, come from the mouth of the woman when she sprung to her feet and roared like she had, and that this beast jumped out the open window past the moving curtains into the dark of night.

As for me I continued looking in the direction of my step-father with what I'm sure must have been an open mouth and wonderment in my eyes as slowly the sounds of women sobbing and various men praising The Lord came to my ears. I still see my step-father turning and looking in my direction and with the demeanor of a barber asked.., "Who's next?"

I don't know what else to say about that old woman in the rocking chair or anyone else in the room for that matter but that night my Bible thumping alcoholic step-dad with a heavy foot on the accelerator scared the living hell out of me.

Submitted by Jerry Bridges


It was earlier this month, in October, that I saw something quite strange and find myself even today wondering what, or even who, it was that I actually saw. Here let me explain:

I’m a self-employed contractor, working mainly in what’s oftentimes in the hot sun in the laborious field of construction. That said I consider myself lucky to have landed this otherwise relatively easy job, with good pay, doing some inside renovation work for a local old folk’s home here in the shadowed, peaceful suburbs of nearby San Antonio, Texas.

I had gone to work eager this one morning with a couple of assigned projects awaiting my attention, one of which was some general dry-wall repair in a bathroom in one of the many numbered rooms located along a narrow and dusty corridor in what is best described as a lonely and isolated section of the building. I say lonely and isolated because other than the lady that hired me, I saw no one while walking to this quiet and dimly-lighted work site.

Additionally, another commitment that waited was to remove and replace a section of old and musty and badly stained carpet in yet another room located also along that same hallway.
The kind of things I’m generally pretty good at doing, nothing complicated, and an excellent means of some easy cash as I‘ve 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