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source:wpbf.com tv 25
Halloween is right around the corner, the season of ghouls
and ghost, candy corn and corpses, and we have a dare for
you. No, we’re not trying to get you to toilet-paper Old
Man Wilson’s house or kick over tombstones in the ol’ pioneer
graveyard. We dare you to 
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There was one night where the mother left me in charge of her two daughters, as well has her friend’s daughter and a rebellious bratty eight year old. I told the parents I could handle it, locked the doors behind them and got the girls entertained in a puzzle in the front room. Kelby, the boy was in the back playroom with the door shut, mad at me because I wouldn’t allow him outside.
It was about two hours later, after the sun had set and the darkness was upon us that I heard a door in the back of the house open. That’s strange, I thought. It hadn’t sounded anything like the sound the poorly fitting playroom door makes.
“Kelby?” I hollered.
No response.
I wandered into the kitchen where I could view the back door as it was flying open. Kelby had spent the whole night prior trying to pester me, so I thought this was just one of his tricks. It was at that moment, when I glanced to the playroom door and noticed it was STILL CLOSED, that I started to panic.
My eyes flickered back in fear just in time to watch the screen door slamming shut. And I realized that earlier that day, I had locked both deadbolts and the screen door FROM THE INSIDE.
Kelby had never opened the door.
Someone else had been in the house with us.
I did the only thing I could think of and called my mom, who promptly came over with…*drumroll please*
a pair of scissors for protection.
Oh and to make things worse? The grandpa of these kids had died in that home, and I swear it was haunted. I’d wake up during the middle of my babysitting shift (I babysat from 4PM to 2AM) and things would literally be moved from where I last left them. “Jack” as a ghost apparently liked to move things around and turn the TV and radio on and off. I could even hear him walking over the creaky floorboards at the exact same time every night – 2:30 sharp. I eventually quit babysitting there, that place gave me the creeps!
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There were 2 couples that decided to have a picnic in a wooded area in Cassadega. The 2 woman went on ahead. A man came out of the woods and grabbed one of the woman. The guys that they were with heard the screams, grabbed a shotgun from their truck and ran after the man. He let the woman go and one of the guys shot the guy, they all saw him bleeding , leaving trails of blood. They left their picnic items and went to the police to report what happened (this was before cell phones). When they came back to the spot there was no blood on the ground (even though they said they saw him bleeding alot) or any evidence that it had happened. The police had a search party looking for the guy, but nothing was ever found. True Story.
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Two roommates (and me) lived in the South Carolina countryside. It was a very old farmhouse. Two story wood. On a large piece of property. The events started out friendly enough then over a period of 2-3 months escalated into serious physical damage. It started with objects missing for no reason. Then forks and knives and spoons appearing on the floor. Just laying there. Strange. Like, I would wake up in the morning and find knives or spoons or forks set in a circular pattern on the living-room floor. Then things started to disappear. The can opener. Gone. Looked and looked but never found it. A box of cereal would disappear from the cupboard and we would find it in a bedroom closet. And other stuff just disappeared. More than I can list. It was just plain weird. Lights would shut off by themselves. My radio on my nightstand would just turn off by itself.
One of my roomies had his bedroom on the first floor. One night he woke up and found a man standing over the bed staring down at him. He described the man as tall and bulky with a short haircut. He couldn’t see the features of his face. Then the man spoke. “You feel cold don’t you.” My roommate didn’t reply. He was scared stiff. The man repeated the question. “You feel cold don’t you.”
Two nights later my roommate woke up choking and gasping for air. There was a wool blanket covering his head and he was being smothered…by someone…by something. He fought the thing. He said it was really strong and wouldn’t stop. Finally whatever it was that had a hold of him let go and my roomie twisted out of bed and threw the blanket in the corner. He turned on the light and there was nothing there. The door was closed.
About a week later he woke up in the morning with 2nd degree burns on his arm. We asked him. You didn’t WAKE UP??? He said no. Something happened during the night. We don’t know what it was. The burns looked like when boiling water comes in contact with the skin. But all up and down his forearm. Big water filled blisters. And there were red 1st degree burns as well.
I moved out that same day.
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October 13th, 2009 at 12:02 pm
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All of a sudden a man appeared, he said he saw that I was terrified he helped me down.
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My father broke his leg and soon found himself confined to the lonely trailer. One day, his friend had to go out to a meeting and my father was left alone at the trailer. As night fell, the drums began on the mountain. My father tried to occupy his mind with other things, but soon he began hearing strange sounds just outside the trailer- footfalls in the yard, things scraping the siding of the trailer, and creaking floorboards on the porch.
Leaving his crutches in the trailer, my father grabbed a baseball bat and stepped out onto the porch. Only the empty yard was there to greet him. He heard a sound behind him and spun around. Nothing was there. Thinking an animal or person might be sneaking around the trailer, he crept off the porch, squeezing the baseball bat, and toward the corner of the trailer. But when he rounded the corner, nothing was there. The hairs began to stand up on the back of his neck and he suspected his visitor was not an animal after all. From the far corner of the trailer, he heard the sound again. He began shivering at this point and stepped lightly toward the corner of the trailer. The drums were loud from the mountain, and, from where he was, he could see yellow pinpricks of light, torches, winding their way up the side of the mountain.
At that moment, my father became aware of a commotion in front of him, the sound of dozens of feet shuffling through the ravine just below the trailer. He eased forward, half of him wanting to flee, the other half unable to look away, until he stood at the edge of the ravine. His breath stopped short. A horde of desert creatures- coyotes, lizards, and birds- were marching together in an unending body through the ravine toward the mountain.
As his eyes were taking in the bizarre spectacle, he felt something closing in behind him, the feeling you get when someone is standing immediately behind you. Without turning around, my father bolted around the trailer, hobbling on his leg cast, and sped away in his pickup truck, his heart racing.
He didn’t return again to the trailer alone. Soon after, he related his experience to some of the locals. They told him of the skinwalkers, members of the community who are secretly witches. They perform atrocious acts to gain the power to become whatever animal they wear the skin of. My father had seen dozens of these witches heading toward one of their ceremonies. As to the invisible creature stalking him around the trailer, he had no idea.
And he would see one of these witches again a few months later…
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He refused to fill out the forms or give his name and just kept demanding to see the doctor. Policy said the forms had to filled out. They had to know his name at least. The only thing they could find out from him is that it hurt to pee. He kept trying to enter the patient care area despite being told he could not with out the proper forms. He became increasingly agitated and screaming I need the doctor. Security was called. He tried to hit the guard. He was lead out to the street and security stood by the door to make sure he did not try reenter.
Up stairs in room 631 two women slept calmly. Both were doing well and soon would be going home. One had a bad case of pelvic inflammation and was on iv antibiotics. He bed was furthest from the door.
2 nurses manned the entire floor that night. They were busy answering call lights and checking on all the rooms.
He was out of his mind with rage. How dare they toss him out of the emergency room. It was no one business who he was. He was not about to fill out the forms. He walked over to the basement employee entrance. He was in luck. The door was open and no one was around. He went to the elevator and pressed 6. Again luck was on his side. The long dimly light hall and nurse station was empty. He went to room 631 and quietly entered. There he quickly pulled out the knife he had hidden in his
shirt pocket and approached the woman peacefully sleeping with the iv antibiotic furthest from the door. He expertly sliced through every major artery of her body. She struggled and screamed. Terrified the woman near the door heard the commotion and the screams of her room mate. She pushed the call button not removing her finger for a single second. She could not get out of bed and run. The rails were up and she too had an IV running. Her only hope was that some one would come before the man got her next.
The nurse exited the room from down the hall. It had been a long night and she was tired. As she approached the nurses station she could see the light flashing for room 631. Wearily she walked toward the room in the dimly light hallway. Suddenly a wild eyed man dripping with blood appeared and pushed her to the floor. He ran to the stairway and bolted down. Confused, scared, and dazed the nurse entered room 631. There she found a hysterical patient shaking and crying in bed 1 nearest the door. Pulling back the curtain she found massive amounts of blood splattering the floor, bed, and walls. She quickly picked up the phone and called a code. The doctor and his code team arrived immediately. They tried the best they could to save the poor woman. It was impossible as the man that did this had cut all her major arteries. She had bled out quickly.
The police were summoned. All hospital head honchos were alerted and soon showed up. The press quickly arrived. The hospital was being searched top to bottom for this unknown assailant. Was he still in the building? Why had he gone to this particular room and killed this woman? Who was he? Everyone was scared and on edge as the search for this unknown attacker went on.
Soon it was determined he was no longer in the building. It took the detectives only a day or two to find him. Seems the woman in bed 631 was not a random target after all. No it was not her husband.
It was the guy next door who she had been having an affair with. He blamed her for the infection he could not get treated for that faithful night.
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admin Reply:
October 13th, 2009 at 11:58 am
Bloody but not exactly scary.
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In an effort to accumulate wealth, he has taken to ordering medical products from third-world countries and then selling them to patients at astronomical mark-ups.
Yesterday, he had a patient who was semi-conscious on the operating table, an elderly lady whose loving family waited in the reception area. As was his custom, he would tap his bony fingernail onto his patient’s forehead and swear whenever the individual became groggy from the anesthetic.
“Dammit, b*%&$ hold still. If I get this wrong you’re a dead woman.”
The white-haired lady sobbed in fright but tried to remain motionless.
“Oops.” The surgeon whispered and then glared at his nearest technician. “Fetch Dr. Truman.”
“Dr. Silas is the anesthesiologist,” the young assistant whispered.
“I want Truman,” the old surgeon hissed in anger.
She nodded and fled the operating room. Thirty seconds later, she returned with Dr. Truman.
“She’s not doped enough, Bill,” he growled. “She’ll remember the surgery.”
“According to the chart, she had the maximum dosage.” Dr. Bill Truman flipped through a few pages of the old ladies record. “Besides, she has a weak heart.”
“This is my center, Bill. This is my patient. I want her to have another 250 milligrams.”
The younger doctor nodded.
“What’s wrong?” The elderly patient whispered from beneath her surgical mask.
“I misdiagnosed your problem.” Her physician stated. “You’ve got terminal cancer. It’s metastacized all over your body. You’re going to die anyway so I’m going to make it worth my while and perform every procedure that your insurance will reimburse. Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing and by tomorrow, you won’t remember a thing. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”
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Late at night I hear them. Laughing. Moving through the darkness. Searching for something to eat. It’s long past midnight. I’m hiding beneath my covers hoping they won’t find me and praying that the thin blankets are enough to protect me from their troubling presence.
I hear the doorbell ring. It’s 2:00am. I hear the neighbor’s dog barking. More of them are coming in. I start to cry. The fear is deep in my heart. It aches. I won’t be able to stop them alone.
There is a loud crash as something breaks downstairs. I cringe. My doorknob rattles. I locked it but that doesn’t always stop them. Often I come home from work to find that my drawers have been searched. Much of my jewelry has gone missing over the previous months. My refrigerator is always empty no matter how much food I buy.
I hear a tapping on my window pane. It’s him again. Wearing my Winnie the Pooh pajamas, I throw off my covers and march over to the window to see him hovering outside my bedroom. His skin is pale and his long fangs glisten in the moonlight.
“Let me in.” He whispers. His eyes are mesmerizing. His jet-black hair is slicked back to his scalp.
“Fine. I yell. Come in. The front door is open.”
He smiles wickedly and vanishes.
I hear screams downstairs. I quickly grab a pack of belongings I’d prepared and unlatch the window to sneak away. I brush away the garlic and crosses that cover the window sill.
No matter who wins, I’ll be long gone. Most people would bet on the vampire. But even the living dead are not as horrifying as my deadbeat bloodsucking in-laws. I put the stakes at dead-even.
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My feet were a thud—thud—thud on the pavement like the beating of a heart. The music began as I ran down my street and towards the quiet roads that were my usual route.
I like things a certain way. From the music I listened to—to the exact cadence of my feet on the road, it’s always a pattern—always. The first song took me by surprise, and I yanked out my MP3 player to check the name. There was no way “I just died in your arms tonight” was supposed to be on there. Did I even have that song? I live my life a certain way, though, and I don’t skip songs, and I don’t change my route.
The shadows as I left the neighborhood behind were longer than normal. It was a quiet night, and still my feet thudded on the ground in sync with my heart. I tried to shake the eerie feeling that someone was watching me. It was the darkness, and maybe I was too tired to be on a run.
“My Little Runaway” came on, and I yanked my MP3 player out again. I definitely don’t have that song. The previous song might have snuck on with an eighties compilation, but no—I didn’t have that song. Behind me, a pair of headlights illuminated the street, but when I turned—nothing. There was no car.
“Freaky,” I whispered to myself.
“I Will Survive” by Cake started up—and while I have that song, it wasn’t supposed to be on here. I have a routine—a set routine. Besides, the scrolling letters said, “I will NOT survive.” It would have been funny—except that it wasn’t. I was skirting the forest and a strange breeze fluttered through the trees and chilled my arms which already were covered in goose bumps. Nearby, a dog howled just as “Thriller” began.
“What is going on?” I asked my MP3 player and then felt stupid. It was like an homage to strangely-titled songs for running in the dark, but it was a weird fluke. Once again, headlights swung past, but there was no car behind me. There was a dog, and it was getting closer.
I didn’t change my route, but I did pick up the pace. The thump of my feet still matched the beat of my heart. I ran faster. I hit the hill I despised going twice my usual speed. The dog was coming, and it was big.
My MP3 player started to play “Helter Skelter.” There was the sudden spot of light from headlights that I knew weren’t behind me. A spot of uneven ground made me stumble, and I caught a glimpse of something large pursuing me as I twisted before recovering. I ran faster. My throat felt torn and painful. I was back in the neighborhood and the headlights swung around again. I couldn’t look. Whatever was behind me was coming faster.
My heart was pounding. My feet were pounding. Faster. I had to go faster. Hitting the end of my street just as “Silent Night” came on, I yanked the ear buds out of my ears.
A quiet rain fell around me, but that was the only sound. I turned to look behind me. Nothing. Nothing was there. I held one of the headphones up to my ears—nothing—my MP3 player was dark as if turned off. My breath was the only sound in the silence. Nothing. It was a quiet run, and nothing had gone wrong, had it?
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admin Reply:
October 13th, 2009 at 9:55 am
True story? If so, I hope you replaced your demonic MP3 player.
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Wendy Sparrow Reply:
October 13th, 2009 at 10:14 am
I have replaced my MP3 player. For the record, I wanted to upgrade. Off the record, the thing scared the crap out of me. It would pull up strings of songs that created sentences, and it seemed to sense my mood and be communicating with me.
While this EXACT scenario didn’t play out, I didn’t have to search very deep for it, and I did stop running at night with it because it was so creepy. So, I’d call it “based on a true story.”
Seriously… sentient life isn’t as far away as we’d like.
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It’s just a room, nothing more I told myself then. So what if this is an abandoned prison, nothing is here now. Well other than these bunk beds, which were arranged so that if you laid in bed and turned your back to the cement wall you would be looking at the other bunk.
“#&$*ing sleepover!” I cursed only to have it echo back at me down the long hallway. Cell after cell arranged just like this one: two bunks, four beds across from each other the cell door open on every one. I was in the very middle cell, ‘To make it harder to get out, that’s the fun of it’ my “friend” had said, ‘and for five dollars.’ I had refused, but when every one of the six boys there had put in five dollars as well, I knew I was going to do it. I was a sucker for money, but as I unrolled my sleeping bag on the bottom bunk on the right side of the room I was intending to change that aspect of my personality.
SLAM!!
I jumped and hit the back of my head on the top bunk; cursing again I looked at the bars of the cell door which had slammed closed and bounced back open an inch. I stepped toward the door and a shiver scraped down my back as I touched the door. I pulled it all the way open. All the way so that it connected to the other bars, but when I let go it slowly sung closed. I intercepted it and again tried to get it to stay open, but over and over it swung closed. It would not stay open. I slammed it against the bars again, and held it there as the echo took painfully long to fade.
I was breathing fast, why wouldn’t it stay open? Didn’t it stay open when I first walked in? I couldn’t remember. Using my flashlight I scrutinized the door, and the lock, an old lock with a skull shaped keyhole. I looked in the end, the locking bar had been removed, I breathed a little easier, but my heart beat didn’t slow. I turned around and walked back to the bunk expecting the door to slam again any second.
Any second now.
Nothing.
Nothing.
I’m not looking, I told myself. Instead I sat down on the bunk, the old mattress was musty and I could feel all the springs through my sleeping bag. I wrapped myself up in it and feeling not at all ready for the night as I shut off my flashlight.
Please fall asleep, please fall asleep.
I looked at my watch, 2:00am
Please fall asleep.
The cement behind my back was cold. Not just cold though, it was emanating cold. I shivered and looked at my watch 3:30.
Please fall asleep, 4:00.
Please fall asleep 4:30
5:00am, that’s morning right. I opened my sleeping bag in the dark cell. I put my feet down on the floor and looked at the door. It was closed!
How? I never heard it, I should have heard it. I never fell asleep, how did I miss it?
I walked to the door, it hadn’t opened back up an inch like before. I pulled, and I couldn’t move it. Pulled again, and again, I couldn’t move it. I took out my flash light and could clearly see the door’s locking bar securely latched into place. “NO!” I screamed, NO!”
“Let me out!”
“Let me out!”
Voices.
I heard voices and they were…laughing, and I knew those laughs. It was my “friend”, and the others from the sleepover. Relief flooded over me they would find me and get me out.
“I’m in here!” I yelled, and their voices came closer. I could hear what they were saying.
“…bet he didn’t make it! I totally bet he ran away!” said my “friend” to the laughter of them all. “He probably didn’t even go into the cell.” More laughter. “This is the middle cell right, and surprise, surprise he isn’t here. What a moron!”
“NO!” I shouted, “I’m in here! You’re not to the middle cell yet!” I screamed, “Come here! Get me out of here!”
“He probably never even came down the hallway, I totally bet he didn’t even dare look in one of these cells. Come on, lets go eat; I want breakfast.”
I heard them start walking away, they couldn’t have been more than four cells away, maybe even three. “I’m in HERE! I CAN’T GET OUT!”
I heard their voices leaving. They were laughing farther and farther away. “THE DOOR LOCKED!” I pulled and pulled rattling metal against metal, still their sound was fainter. “DON’T LEAVE!”
“I’M IN HERE”
“I’M IN HERE”
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As she passed the statues of the “Fremont people”, she noticed they were dressed in hula skirts and coconut bra’s today, but even that could not cut the tension of her first time into the parking lot after hours. The parking lot seemed ominous at this hour, she had heard the stories, over-embellished by co-workers eager to weave a good tale. No matter how tall the tales seemed, there was a kernel of truth, she had seen the articles in the paper, the obituaries, the emergency phones strategically placed. It was impossible to keep in the back of her mind. She tried to push the thoughts back, to tell herself that it wouldn’t happen to her, not her, never her. Trying to fool herself by running the odds, was it really that often? Could it be her next time?
The early morning fog had laid a thick canvas of white for her imagination to paint the most grim scene her mind could envision. She slowed, hearing her heartbeat pounding over the sound of the car engine. Her mind keenly tuned to the muffled sounds that made there way through the fog. A sudden blast of a horn made her jump and jam on the breaks. Nothing to worry about, she thought, only a ship’s whistle sounding a signal to the drawbridge nearby. Her heartbeat pounding now, ration giving way to fears. Was it really unlikely? It had happened before, and nobody was foolish enough to think it wouldn’t happen again. It was just a matter of timing that determined its unfortunate victim. Was it so unreasonable that it would be her? A scream rang out in the night, a chill ran through her soul. Did it happen? Would she be the one to discover the unfolding scene? As the scream faded the familiar crashing sound of a dumpster being emptied brought her back to reason. It was just a garbage truck that needed some lubricating. She would be calling the Public Works folks to complain about this one! They shouldn’t put people through that kind of fright in a place like this, not at this hour. A second scream rang out through the night, “stupid garbage truck” she muttered just as the body hit her windshield at terminal velocity. She screamed in unending horror as the jumper, mangled across her hood, bled out while taking a final rasping breath.
As the security guard approached the car, he radioed back to the desk guard “Looks like we got another one, I think this is number 6 this year, call it in would ya”. Then looked in at the driver he asked “You OK ma’am?”. She would never be OK again.
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Joel Reply:
October 13th, 2009 at 4:25 pm
And for those curious, this is based on events that occur in the Adobe building parking lot in Seattle, placed unfortunately underneath the Aurora Bridge. I am quite thankful they did not happen to me, so I cannot truly speculate what was going through our driver’s mind and had to fill in the gaps. I hope the true victims of these horrific events, and the poor souls that must traverse that parking lot with dread in the wee hours, will be understanding in my telling of this tale.
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So, for a scaredy-cat like me, finding a real live bat when I was younger was memorable to say the least. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday and I was playing with my friends around the apartments where we lived. One of the kids spotted a black thing on the ground. You don’t expect to find a bat during the day, but there it was. I still remember the crew member who removed the creature but it in a pink-tinted baggie. And the bat bared its teeth at us. I was glad it was safe in that bag, I’ll tell you. Found out later it had rabies. Really good thing I’m not the type to go in for a closer look….
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Butterman Reply:
October 14th, 2009 at 4:23 pm
Bahh.. caps locks makes my blood pressure rise, and my doctor says thats unhealthy.. GG mate. try again next time WITHOUT THE CAPS LOCK, MK?! kkthxbye
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Have you ever spent the night in a haunted house? Well, I have and I assure you that this is a true story (0nly the name has been changed to protect the departed). My husband’s family lived in an old home that was built around the turn of the century. His parents collected antiques and purchased this particular house to showcase their collection. It is a lovely farmhouse with a wide inviting porch, hardwood floors, high ceilings and a GHOST! After they had been living there just a short while, they began to notice some strange and unexplainable occurrences. At first, they tried to justify these occurrences as, “It is just an old house, it’s settling” or “some creeks and groans are normal in an old house”. My husband and each of the other members of his family all noticed the strange noises but did not mention it to each other for fear of being teased of being afraid of ghosts.
One evening, my future husband and I returned to his house after going out on a date. We were walking down the wide dark hall to the family room when all of the sudden he was in mid-sentence dumbstruck. I ask him what was wrong and he exclaimed “Did you see that?” I replied, “What? I did not see anything.” I knew that there was something seriously amiss because he was literally white as a ghost. He ran through the house, retracing his steps looking for something or someone. I followed him to the kitchen where his Mom was just finishing up the dinner dishes. He asked his Mom, “Were you just in the hall?” But even as he was asking the question, he already knew the answer was NO, because he was eyeing her clothing, a puzzled look on his face. She answered, “No, I have been right here, why? You saw her didn’t you?” He hesitated, “Who?”
She said, “Mrs. Brown.” He exclaimed, “Mrs. Brown, they lady that used to live here, but she’s dead!”
They compared notes and had both seen the same thing on different occasions, a lady wearing a long blue-gray dress passing silently by the doorway. Everyone else in the family soon admitted to having seen “Mrs. Brown” and she peacefully co-existed with his family until the occasion of his sister’s wedding day.
A family friend was to stay at the house getting ready the food for the reception which was to be held there after the ceremony. I’m not sure what had “Mrs. Brown” so upset that evening, if it was having a stranger in the house or maybe she knew the marriage was doomed, but she cause quite a stir. There were doors slamming shut by themselves, cabinet doors opening and closing and all manner of strange noises. The friend was terrified, but she stayed until the family returned. Upon reporting her terrifying experiences my Mother-in-Law, in a matter of fact tone, replied, “Oh, That was just Mrs. Brown.”
After the party, they decided that maybe something should be done as not to scare their friends away. My future husband had been reading a book about the paranormal and found a reference to “exorcising” a house. They performed the ritual, taking care to do exactly what the book said. The exorcising must have worked because no one saw her again. Or perhaps, her work was done. Had she tried to warn my sister-in-law? Who knows, but her marriage failed within just a few short years of that night.
I have spent many nights visiting my in-laws in that house and while “Mrs. Brown” has not made her presence known by appearing, she is always the last thing that crosses my mind before I drift off to sleep.
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This is my story, it all started when my grandmother died and we moved into her house. We ended up keeping her dog. When we always left the dog outside we saw the dog just starring at something, he would not even move. There were times when we could hear her calling him. So we ended up putting curtains in the back door. One day we left the door open and the dog got away, hours later the dog was run over. The person driving the car wanted to take him to a vet but my mom said he was going to die anyway. So we buried the dog in the backyard. The next day while we were trying to sleep somebody was slamming our doors. The next day we felt something under our bed we looked since we also had cats but no one was there. When we sat back on the bed someone moved the bed up. We only lived there for two years. My dad was even scared if we were not home he waited in the car until we arrived. We decided not keep my grandmother birds when we moved we just let them get away.
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When my younger brother was a toddler, he ran across the street when he saw me and got hit by a car.Luckly he was all right only a few bruises but boy was I scared.
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My oldest sister is eight years ahead of me was in her second year of college. She just finished her winter break and was a new mother in early Dec to my nephew TJ who was maybe two months old when this happened.
Since it was winter break my whole family was home. Which is not usual cause we have only a three bedroom split among of family of eight. My sister and newly born TJ were sleeping in the living room on the hide a bed. My other sister and I were in the girls room. Two of my brothers were in their room. My parents were in their own room along with my lil brother who sometimes slept there. We had a split single level floor plan with our living area in the center of the house. We had an enormous kitchen window facing the east. And a sliding door just off the living area.
We live on the Northern NM and the area we live is really “country” as in we have no neighbors. The closest town is Shiprock. And our house is right by a mesa. Growing up I had always heard kids at school telling stories about the area I live and creepy things happening to a family member of theirs as they drove through at nite. The road was called US 666 and in recent years has been changed. Anyway. I was still a lil kid for my age and my sister who I was sleeping by would tell stories to me so I would fall asleep. It was always three bears or something else remembered from heart from our hans christian anderson book of fairy tales. We had several dogs cause we lived in an area where people would dump their pregnant mutt. So the passed few nights something just didnt seem right. The dogs would be barking and barking. So it took a long while to get to bed. In the other room my oldest brother was playing games. We must have fell asleep at around the same time I am thinking 1ish.
So I kinda wake up I keep hearing things at my window. Our bikes are all leaned up next to our window and its kinda windy. So I am thinking that one of the handle bars are rubbing. But this sound is loud kinda like something is trying to get it in. I brush it off and try to rationalize the sound and try to get to sleep and close my eyes. Its not going away. So I try waking my sister up and I get no response shes totally out. The sound goes away after awhile.
Minutes later I hear my brothers door bang open and then it seems not even more than a fews seconds later my brother rushing out.I am just laying there thinking I am tired. I like being a brat and so I decide to pester my brother about making noise and rush out of bed. I open the door and see my brother but he looks scared. He is never scared. He is 6′3 and kinda a tough guy. He is trying to talk but the words arents coming out. Finally he snaps out of whatever was wrong with him. He runs and I just kinda follow suit. Our house is kinda small so this running isnt even too big of a distance maybe like ten feet. Anyway my brother yells and I hear the sliding door open. I am still kinda like adjusting to the different lightness in living room cause we had curtains in my room and it was dark.Meanwhile my nephew is crying. My brother rushes to him. My oldest sister was still asleep. This all doesnt make sense still.
So my brother after a minute or so of holding my nephew says what happened.
He was too barely falling asleep when he was looking at the window with heavy eyelids. And thought he saw something and could hear some noise. The window was broken a lil. During the summer we were playing baseball and broke it. My dad just “fixed” it by putting up that window plastic stuff. But my brother didnt mind he was always hot anyway. Well so my brother says he sees something but not sure cause a little breeze is coming through and the sheer curtain is swaying just ever so slightly.He said he was just laying there and thinking his sleepiness was getting the best of him. He said all of a sudden the thing (it was tiny like maybe an elf but very darkish) he saw was moving towards him and he couldnt move or anything. It then hurried and the door swung open. He said he struggled trying to get control of his body and thats when he went out and when he saw what he saw. The troll thing was holding up my nephew and looked like it was ready to take him. But it saw my brother. He said it looked really surprised and just took off towards the back sliding door. I guess the point I saw my brother was when he saw the troll holding my nephew. After he told me what he saw. I ran to wake up my sister in the room and my brother on the top bunk in the boys room cause I was scared and didnt want it to come back. My brother got my oldest sister up recapped what happened to her really quick and handed my nephew to her. She went into my parents room. By that time we all gathered in the living room. We all just stood in the living room and stared at the back sliding door. It was open maybe four inches. We were trying to think if what happened just did and it did.Sorry if its long but this is real.
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So my “scariest, most bone-chilling stories” are likely to make you laugh.I have a low threshold for fear, what can I say?
One of my scariest moments was shortly after I moved to Pennsylvania. I’m from the West where streets are numbered and follow a logical grid pattern. Easy to navigate, hard to get lost. And round-abouts were unheard of in my home state at the time.
Well, the suburbs of Philadelphia are not like that. Unusual terms like “turnpike,” “round-about,” (and “The Y” not standing for BYU) were things I was still trying to adjust to then. Worse yet, I was trying to figure out the system for their road names. Apparently there isn’t one. If I’m wrong about that, will someone from Bryn Mawr, PA., please explain how you start heading south on one street, cross an east-bound road and *poof* the name of the street suddenly changes, though still going south? I never could make any sense of that.
So, in this state of confusion,I went for a drive.
It was not long at all before I was lost on some turnpike or other. And, worse yet, I was on empty. Every time I tried to exit, I just ended up on residential streets – not a gas station in site.
These were the days before cell phones, and I had no change to call anyone for help, and could find no business to ask directions home.
But here is the scary part – I have no idea how I made it back home. Lost, on empty, in an unfamiliar state full of strangers, yet somehow I made it back. Don’t ask me, I must have blocked it all out. I skip over the frightening parts, remember?
Well, it’s a true story, and as an 18 year-old on my own, I was terrified at the time. But I’ll bet you are laughing at me rather than shuddering with fear. Well, a little comic relief should prepare you for the next truly scary entry.
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when my son was a month old he suddenly stopped breathing on my husband’s shoulder. we rushed him to the emergency room they gave him all kinds of tests but found nothing. he spent in the hospital a few days my husband demanded him to be sent home.
what a scary experience was that.
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The parking lot was pretty much cleared out and I was the only person walking to my car. As I got into the car I noticed a red truck pulled right behind my van. As soon as I turned on the car, the red truck flashed its brights on me. “Okay…that’s weird,” I thought. But I just started driving. I pulled right out of the parking lot and the red truck followed me. As I waited at the stop light, the red truck flashed its lights on me again. “Okay, that’s freaky!”
My heart was racing!!! I started to speed up and drove down the road…the red truck followed me. As I turned left into my housing development, the red tuck flashed its brights on me and kept following me.
By this point, I was freaking out… I didn’t stop at any stop signs…I just wanted to get home. I sped down the street and turned on the street that I lived on ….the red truck had its brights on me…flashing them.
I pulled into my driveway and jumped out of my car rushing to the front door screaming for my dad. My dad heard me and ran to the door. As we looked out our front door, the man from the red truck was getting out slowly pointing a gun at my van.
I yelled “dad, that guy is following me, call the police.”
The man started yelling into my van… he held up his gun, and walks towards it.
I was shocked when a man in a black ski mask held with his hands up came out of MY car.
The guy in the red van was helping me… evidently, every time he flashed his lights it was because he had seen the man in the black ski mask get into my car and had a knife…he flashed his lights every time he sat up to attack me.
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On a pleasantly warm evening in mid-June, hours after my high school graduation ceremony had ended, my best friend Jim Taylor visited me at my parents’ house for some celebratory drinks. It was around midnight or so, and the two of us were sitting around the white plastic patio table on the deck behind my parents’ two-story raised ranch. In the center of the table a large citronella candle was glowing, with its faint smoke slowly curling in the calm night air. We were both three beers into the evening and I could sense that like me, Jim had a mellow buzz, and we gazed into the candle like mediums peering into the future. We were at peace, calmly listening to the soft chirp of crickets in the distance.
I looked across the table to Jim, who had his Boston Red Sox hat pulled down low over his thick eyebrows and long, angular nose. He hardly moved at all except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.
“Hey Jim, are you sleeping buddy?”
“No, just thinking man. Just thinking,” he said quietly, taking another long pull from the glistening, half-empty beer bottle in his hand.
“What about?” I asked, trying to look beyond the shadow of his baseball hat and stare into his eyes.
“I’m thinking about life.” he said seriously.
I hadn’t expected such a profound question from a guy I’d only ever known to be interested in baseball and girls. Sometimes in that order and sometimes not.
“You’re shut off pal. Philosophical thought is the first sign of drunkenness you know,” I said laughing, figuring he’d succumbed to the cheap beer and the lulling effect of the flame.
“Naw, Pete I’m serious!” He barked and reached into the pocket of his khaki shorts, pulling out a slightly crumpled soft-pack of Marlboro Reds. I watched him grip the pack in his massive forearms and tap out a smoke. As he held the cigarette in his right hand, I noticed it was shaking. With the cigarette in his mouth he bent over to light it on the candle and with his head tilted to one side I could see a troubled look in his blue eyes. After taking a long, deep drag and exhaling slowly, as if sighing, he remarked, “Actually, I’ve been thinking about Crazy Wilson.”
“Oh…” I replied anxiously. Crazy Wilson, also known as Craig Wilson, was one of our former classmates. He was a small kid, about five feet, six inches tall, and thin as a rail. His vision was horrible and his glasses must have been a quarter of an inch thick. He’d earned his nickname freshman year because he constantly talked to himself. Whenever he was seen walking in the hallways or running around the gym, his lips would be moving like two little buzz saws. You could say hello to him and have a conversation with him just fine. Yet as soon as he walked away, you’d hear his soft, endless stream of muttering, in a language that seemed nothing more than gibberish. Sadly, he was disliked by most of the people in our class and used to get beat up quite a lot. Eventually toward the end of sophomore year, most kids just ignored him. Jim was the only guy in our group of friends that always greeted him in the hallways.
“You know Pete, that kid lived next door to me my whole life and he wasn’t always screwed up like that you know,” Jim said, while sitting up straight in his chair and readjusting his baseball cap
“I know Jim, I remember you telling me that. He started going nuts around eighth grade or so, right?”
“Don’t say “nuts” Pete. And yeah, up until the eighth grade he and I used to get along well. I mean, he was always kind of a nerd and he was addicted to comic books. But he was an OK catcher, and he’d catch for me in his back yard…. Eventually I made new friends and saw less and less of him. Every now and then I’d say hello to him if I saw him near the house, or in school, but nothing more.”
I watched Jim take another drag of his cigarette and reflected on the way he spoke about Crazy Wilson. His tone was one of considerable respect, as if he was talking about one of his baseball heroes.
“What do you think really happened to him?” I asked, referring not to Craig’s general oddness, but to his sudden disappearance from school just two weeks prior. None of the teachers would talk about it, claiming no knowledge of it. Rumors had run rampant in the school and they ranged from the morose, suggesting he’d committed suicide, to the down-right comical, proposing that the mother ship had come to take him home. Really only one thing was certain: his inexplicable absence from school had created a major stir.
“I don’t know Pete. I think it was that damned mother of his. She was never there for him. Used to work nights a lot, and hardly spoke to him when she was home. I think he just ….” His comment trailed off into silence and I could see in the amber glow of the candle, his eyebrows furrowed, his forehead wrinkled in thought, and his eyes locked on the flame. He stared like that for about a minute, wrestling with some difficult decision. “Hey Pete I’ve got to tell you something,” he said with a noticeable quiver in his voice and a shutter that wracked his powerful frame. I had never seen Jim that nervous, not even when he pitched in the state championship that spring. If that stress-filled start hadn’t shaken him up, I wondered, what the hell would?
“Jim, what’s the matter?”
“I never told you about this before. The day after I won State, Craig came over to my house to congratulate me.” Jim said hurriedly, while absently sliding his cigarette under his shoe and stamping it out. The statement immediately aroused my curiosity, for that day was the last day anyone had ever again heard from “Crazy” Craig Wilson.
“It was around three o’clock. Craig rang my doorbell, and was standing outside the screen door to my parent’s house with a huge grin on his face. He was covered in sweat, and his eyes looked even buggier than usual behind those glasses of his. I swear to you Pete, it looked liked he’d just run a marathon.
“So I asked him what was the matter, and he told me he had just stopped by to congratulate me on my win. But as he was saying this, I could sense that he was excited about something, and it didn’t seem to have anything to do with me. I got nervous talking to him because he had a really strange look in his eye, and I just hoped our conversation would end quickly. But I didn’t want to turn him away either, seeing as he was kind enough to stop by.”
Jim hesitated and looked at me as if for affirmation, so I said, “No, what the hell, the guy was nice enough to stop by, you can’t just shoo him away.”
Appeased by this comment, Jim continued. “Before I knew it, he was telling me that he had to show me something, something incredible. Said I’d be really proud of him. That everybody would be really proud of him. He asked me to go over to his house with him for just a couple of minutes so that I could see what he was talking about. And you know, I wouldn’t normally have gone over there, especially with him having that look in his eye. But he was so damned insistent that I go, that I went just went to shut him up.”
Jim paused again to pull another cigarette out of his pack. Trickles of sweat were streaming from his forehead as he once again lit his cigarette off the flame of the candle.
“He brought me to his bedroom, which was small, about ten by ten, and it had only two things in it: his comic book collection and his bed. His comics were in large cardboard boxes all over the room, in stacks about four feet high – you couldn’t even walk around them. He’d only cleared a path from the door to his bed.”
“He brought you over there just to show you his comic book collection?” I asked skeptically.
“No. But that’s what I had thought, and when he mentioned the comics as we entered his bedroom, I acted really impressed, hoping that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t.” Jim paused and took another drag of his cigarette.
“Craig had walked over to the corner of the room, and lay down on his bed. As soon as he did that I thought he was trying to get me in bed or something and I immediately went for the door. When I did he told me it was nothing like that, ‘just stay for a second and watch.’ My patience was wearing thin, so I yelled at him to hurry up and show me. And he did…. He lay on that bed and started to mumble.
“And while he was mumbling,” Jim continued, “he was lying stiff as a board, looking toward the light switch that was just behind and to the right of me. I turned around to look at it and as I did, it shut off and the light on the ceiling went out.” “What do you mean it shut off?”
“I mean, I was looking at, listening to the kid mumbling, and the switch shut itself off.”
“Come on man, what are you talking about? Shut itself off? The kid must have had it rigged, or put it on remote control or something.” I was getting a little frustrated with Jim. I never knew him to be a genius, but I’d also never known him to be so gullible.
“Trust me Pete I was thinking the same thing you are right now. And I told him so. I told him that I wasn’t in the mood for his games and that I was going home. Then he looked at me from his bed with those beady eyes and said ‘watch this’, and started with his gibberish again. This time it was a lot louder and he was sweating all over and I could see veins popping out in his forehead. But this time, he wasn’t looking at the light switch. He was staring at the boxes of comic books piled in front of us. After about ten seconds, I watched as every stack of boxes in that room slowly rose off of the floor to touch the ceiling. They just floated there, in mid air.”
From across the white patio table, in the light of the candle, I could see Jim shaking violently, his last sentence barely intelligible over his pitiful sobbing. I rose out of my chair to put my arm around him, hoping to calm him down. All the while, my own thoughts were racing, and my stomach was one giant knot of fear. I didn’t know what I feared more, that Jim’s story might be true, or that Jim might be going utterly insane.
“Then what did you do Jim?” I asked, when his crying had let up; I knew that this was a story he had to finish: if not for me, for him.
“Well, what would you have done?” Jim asked with a pause and then continued. “I bolted out of that room faster than lightning. All the while Craig was yelling from his room, ‘The language. I figured it out! I finally figured it out!’ He kept on shouting it, and shouting it, and it was the last thing that I heard before I slammed the door to his house and ran back home.
“I didn’t eat that night and didn’t get any sleep. I couldn’t tell my parents because I was sure they would think I was crazy.” With that comment Jim looked at me a little more closely. “Like you probably think I’m crazy,” he said disappointedly.
“I don’t think you’re crazy Jim,” I said confidently. Even if I did think he was crazy, why would I tell him?
“Well, you can think what you want I guess. But just know this: The day after I ran out of Craig’s house, I got a call from his mother. She was angry and had asked me if I’d been over to the house recently. I told her no. She told me I was lying and that it didn’t matter. She said that nobody would believe my story. She said that her son was a freak and that she was going to take him somewhere with no comic books and no light switches. I haven’t seen either of them since.”
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This happened Twenty seven years ago we were coming home from a weekend party which my cousin’s husband drove us home with his family when my cousin’s husband stopped his car to take out the suitcase when two guys told him to give him his money. My husband saw and ran to help him, the two guys chased my husband back to the car and pointed the guns at us and my baby who was sleeping on my lap. I told them to take my purse and leave us alone, thank god they left and we went home with a car service because my cousin’s husband was too jittery to drive us home.
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My niece and I went our first and only ghost hunt in the abandoned Rolling Hills Infirmary, Bethany NY. An asylum built in 1827 to house the poor souls who were insane, old age, terminally ill, disabled or simply unwanted. It was a dark and cloudy night and we were to stay until the morning hours. We stumbled around the long dingy corridors, tunnels and the many small rooms in complete darkness with only a flashlight. We giggled at ourselves, taking on such an adventure but decided we would take our task seriously and seek evidence of its ghostly claims.
We were fortunate that weekend, because TAPS experts Jason and Grant from the show Ghost Hunters were there. These guys are just as nice in person as they appear on TV. We were given many tips on how to do our investigation.
Our first experience was in a place they called the “Christmas Room”. There were many old decorations there and supposedly was a place haunted by children that resided in what could hardly be a proper home. We took turns asking questions hoping that we would get a response. I can barely explain the heaviness in that black and damp room. Thinking I could provoke a young one, I stated “Hello, I am a teacher”. “What is your name?” At that very moment a ball went flying across the room into a pile of boxes! Gasps filled the room.
The scariest part was when my niece and I were safely back in our hotel room. I had carried a digital recorder with me. In one room I ask the question “Are you here?” On my recorder, clear as day I received the following response from beyond what we could see and hear at the time. “no..i’m right here…behind you”.
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This story is strange but true.I am an elderly woman who walks with a cane and am on constant pain medication due to the pain from arthritis.I had just arrived home from the grocery store, I was hurting really bad and it hurt to carry in the groceries so I was moaning. I heard wings fluttering above me and looked up. Two vultures had just landed in the big pecan tree by our front door I took the sacks in came out for more and heard more fluttering two more vultures were landing. I got a couple more sacks of groceries and here comes two more. I’m freaking out by now The birds are just sitting in the tree not making any sound but I kept remembering that movie “The Birds” By the time I got all the groceries in there were 10 vultures in that pecan tree. I just looked up at them and said I wasn’t dying yet and went inside. I don’t know if my moaning brought them or if it was just coinsidence what do you think?
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Chapter1
Jeffery, Jeffery wake up Jeffery it’s time for you to go over your grandmothers house ,but mom I don’t want to go. Now Jeffery we’ve already been over this. Now get cleaned up and come down stairs for breakfast. “Hey mom I’m your son the most miserable person on earth.” Come on Jeffery your dad and I don’t want to miss our plane, yes mom here I come. Come on Jeffery your dad and I don’t want to miss our plane. I could care less; at least I would not have to go over to granny’s house. Mom I told you grandma is creepy. Now I will not sit up here and have you talking about your grandmother like that, now you’re going over there and that’s final!! Yes ma’am. Well here we are we’ll try to remember to call you when we get to Pennsylvania. Bye dad, see you later champ. Bye mom, bye Jeffery baby tell your grandmother I love her for me. Okay mom.
Chapter2
Hi Jeffery I’ve been waiting. H hey granny. What’s the matter you seem frightened .come
Let me show you to your room. Pleh, Pleh, Pleh. What’s that granny? Oh that’s my pet parrot Pleh she ugh came from Yorksonville she speaks another language but please don’t try to understand it. Yes ma’am. Well here’s your room. Listen im about to make some chocolate chip cookies, and some hot chocolate. It should be done when you’re through unpacking. Okay grandma I’ll be down soon. Well I guess she’s not so creepy after all 1 week here and im gone. These cookies are delicious granny. I made them from scratch. Oh look at the time it’s time for you to go to sleep. Aww granny do I have to go to sleep now. Oh yes dear you must I have business to tend to. Aww ok granny. As I was watching television that night I heard some very faint chanting noises.
Chapter3
When I opened the door the noise got clearer. Yellowish green ooze sank from under my grandma’s door. I tiptoed to the door and pushed it opened and through a mirror I saw some kind of portal or warp hole opening from her mole. Then as I looked up at her eyes she stared at me with a dead look upon her face. I hurried back to the room ducked my head under the covers and pretended to sleep. she came in my room Jeffery are you up she didn’t sound like her self I heard footsteps then the door slammed shut. I laid there till I fell asleep. The next morning the great smell of bacon and pancakes awoke me. I got washed up and dressed then ran down the stairs. I looked at the table there was no food. Were you looking for something? Uh yes I was expecting breakfast. She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of what looked like the yellowish green ooze from yesterday. Here you go eat up. Now I have to run to the store when I get back I want every drop gone.
Chapter 4
So when she left I ran to the bath room and flushed the strange element down the toilet. Then I thought about what had happened last night. As I was thinking I was interrupted by what sounded like a cry for help in the next room. I ran into the room and all I saw was my grandmas bird Pleh. Pleh Pleh staht ton ynnarg mi ynnarg. I tried to understand what she was saying. Then she started twitching as if she was reaching for something. She looked as if she were reaching for some paper I set the paper in the cage with a pen. Pleh picked up the pen and wrote on the paper the words… Pleh staht ton ynnarg mi ynnarg esaelp pleh em uoy tsum. What are you doing boy. Nnnothing grandma.
Chapter 5
So you were keeping the bird company. Yes ma’am she looked lonely .okay do you want to feed her, I just brought her some food it’s in the kitchen. She went into her room. I snatched the paper and stuffed it into my pocket, I put the pen back. I fed Pleh and went to my room as soon as I shut the door my grandma had called me, ma’am. Did you eat that food I gave you earlier, yes ma’am? Don’t you lie to me boy. Yes ma’am I ate it. Ill believe you this time. I ran to my room shut the door and looked at the paper. It was like a riddle and I was the best riddle solver at great bens ballas middle school. I studied for hours till finally it hit me. The words are backwards…help that’s not granny I’m granny please help me you must. Then the rest was torn off. I tried to go finish the riddle but my granny was gone.
Chapter 6
You looking for something boy. No ma’am. Then what’s this, she said holding up the riddle. Yeah I took care of your granny. Then her mole made a crunching sound. And she tasted like chicken. By now she had an alien type voice similar to the one I heard the night before. I turned and ran as fast as I could towards the front door. Then she shot some acid out of her mole at the door knob the door knob had melted so I turned and stood there I was cornered. Then her mole started to suck me up there was nothing I could do. I started calling my mom. Mom mooommm. Dad dad someone help me. Jeffery Jeffery wake up Jeffery its time for you to go over your grandmothers house. Well here we are, we’ll try to remember to call you when we get to Pennsylvania. Bye mom and dad. Bye sweetie tell your grandmother I love her for me. Okay mom. Hi Jeffery I’ve been waiting!!! AAhhhhh!!!
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I sat at the kitchen table reading deep into the night. I did a lot of reading in that house, that one-story house on an isolated rural road. I’ve always read a lot, but in that house far away from all my friends and relatives, with no TV and no phone, I read even more. That night, my husband was at work, and my daughter and newborn son were asleep.
I heard someone walking overhead. It was a crunching sound, as a person in heavy boots walking on gravel, only amplified. It began in the living room, then came across the ceiling diagonally to the kitchen. I froze in place and watched the ceiling. I couldn’t see anything, but I had to keep watching. There was something there. Something. Or someone. It stopped right over my head.
When the sound stopped I wanted to run outside and see whether someone was on the roof — in the middle of the night it was unlikely, but it was the only thing that made sense. But if there was something bad in my house, walking on the ceiling, I did not want to leave my children alone with it.
I told my husband about it when he got home. He looked at the roof, and called me out to look. There was nothing there, there was no ladder or anything else that anyone could have climbed on to walk on the roof. The downspouts were flimsy and wouldn’t have held a human. He asked me how fast the walking sound was and I counted it off, a slow walk. He shook his head. There was no way anyone could walk that fast on such a steep roof. I was making it up to get attention. I had post-partum depression. I was imagining it. In other words, I was off my rocker. I was ticked, but I couldn’t prove I’d heard anything.
I tried to forget it.
Three nights later, I heard it again. The same sound, the same part of the house. I went to the children’s room and listened. The walking sound was coming from the kitchen and living room. I could hear it from the bedroom, but it didn’t follow me to the bedroom. I don’t know what I would have done if it had.
This happened five or six more times, and my husband dismissed it every time until one weekend evening it happened when he was home. He looked up, startled. He spoke in a whisper. “What in the name of God is that?”
“That’s the sound I was telling you about. It starts right over there, over your head, then it goes to the kitchen table.”
He looked like he was going to wet his pants.
We started packing and moved out a few days later.
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Hot debate. What do you think?
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http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/DukTape?ref=profile
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This is a true story no jokes no lies. It was about four years ago I decided to spend the night at my friends house. She lived in the middle of no where basically. The town was about a mile up the road as well as the closes neighbors. That night her grandmother and us were sitting in the living room talking. Her grandma was telling us how a 5 year old little girl named lilly had burned to death in the attic of the house 11 years ago. The family could not find here and ran out the house in fear of there own lives. It is said to be that the lil girl runs threw the house haunting those who dare to live there. That night we decide to stay up in the attic. After all it was just a story we thought. We turned on the light and the TV. Around 12:30am we started hearing noises we thought it was in are heads. All of a sudden the TV went off, the lights began to flicker. We heard laughing and running. The attic became colder. We had goosebumps all over. All of a sudden the window blew up. as we ran downstairs we heard foot steps, screams. We had freaked out and left the house. As we got to my house we started to calm down. The next morning we had returned to her house. We had to face are fear one way or another. we went back to the attic. as we looked around we had found a baby doll laying on the bed. The doll had dirty on her face and her dress was slightly burned. As we were looking at her we had saw a name on her foot. The name read Lilly.
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It’s strange to say I can feel it watching me, despite my knowing that it has no eyes. Sometimes I wish Starson and I had never went exploring the thick and swampy woods just outside of town. Sometimes I wish I was safe at night. But I am not. Not without lights and walls. But even with the curtains pulled I can hear the shadowy whisper and see the scowl from the temporary face, calling me to come out again. I will never go out again.
Just two months ago, on April 12th, Starson and I had started attempting exploration of the swamp-ridden woods just beyond town. The walk there was long, so we brought water and made them weekend camping trips.
I still remember that night vividly in my mind’s eye. I can’t forget. The shapeless shadow outside my window whispers reminders every night, chattering sounds like teeth clattering together. It’s out there, grinning horribly—somehow, without a face.
Starson led the way, more daring than I, as always. As we ventured deeper into the forest, the moonlight became very difficult to see, and we walked slowly with our hands out in front of us. The ground became more damp, until it was mush, but Starson pressed on, insisted there was a clearing ahead.
There was.
Just enough for a few beams of moonlight to draw a circle, leave highlights of dew on the grass, to see our blurry, haunting shadows. Here. It was here we decided to place the tent. It was here we fell asleep, with the wind rushing hard through the trees, screaming of the horror.
I awoke suddenly in a sweaty fervor and turned to see that Starson had left the tent. Still night, the cold wind hit my spine. I shivered as I quickly moved outside, finding Starson on his knees, digging with a single stake. He heard me and turned toward me, his face shadowed in the moonlight, his eyes hidden in darkness. “It must see,” he whispered, and then his face twisted painfully as he turned and continued digging feverishly. But, when I approached, I saw that Starson was not digging. He was cutting out the eyes of a rattlesnake.
The following morning, Starson arose with only a vague recollection of what he had done and claimed that I had simply had a strange dream. The stake was there. But no rattlesnake. We camped there again the following night. I did not sleep, but upon tossing and turning, Starson had slipped out without me noticing. When I moved to leave the tent and find him, a deep voice just outside the tent warned, “run.” When I jumped out of the tent to see the source, I saw no one. But then I heard the horrible whispers, the chattering, and then from the darkness came Starson, running and screaming. Without question I turned and followed, running as hard as I could. The wind was heavy on my back and hot almost like breath. I nearly fell face first into the swamp. We made it to the edge of the forest where I mistakenly turned around. The moonlight revealed an unnatural shadow lurking out of the forest, formlessly moving, against the wind, against the trees’ shadows from the moonlight. Independent from nature. I could feel its facelessness staring at me with a hunger I did not understand, but filled my chest with fear. “Run,” the deep voice said, and I did.
Through most of May, Starson and I avoided the forest, terrified by the whispers we still heard at night. One night I felt watched, every movement, every twitch, but I attempted to ignore it. But, as I approached my window and opened the curtains, a shadow blew across in the moonlight and away from the window. I could not turn off the light.
So, May 24th, upon Starson’s extreme restlessness, we went back to the swampy, thick woods, to find our camp. It was surprisingly untouched, save the stake in the center was now resting deep into the eye of a rattlesnake. Despite my warnings, Starson insisted we spend the night. I could not sleep, I felt watched. I did not remove my eyes from Starson. Suddenly, from just outside the tent I heard the deep voice, “run.” I ran out to see nothing but a shadow with a vague unnatural form resting in the center of the camp. It waved fluidly, turning and standing—perhaps floating, I could not tell—and began to chatter again. Then I could hear the terrible whispers. More of them, faster, louder, and the shadow rushed against the wind, shapelessly and suddenly in front of me. In horror I stood and stared as a face, no eyes, big teeth in a sinister scowl, formed in front of me, whispered with hunger, “I can see.” Then the deep voice from nowhere said simply, “run.” I turned and fled in utter horror as the hot wind landed on my neck, my shoe stuck in the swamp, I removed my foot and left it. Suddenly, I was tackled to the ground outside of the forest, and there above me the shadow chattered loudly, scowled before a flashlight suddenly beamed through it, and Starson came out confused by the fear on my face and the blood on my arms as if nails had dug into my skin.
It was every night after that. The chattering never stopped. Sometimes I would awake and hear it right next to me. I would turn on the lights, and a shadow would dash across the room to the window. Once I opened the curtains. The scowl stared back at me, whispering me to come out. Telling me it could see. Chattering as I closed the curtains. The feeling of being watched never faded. It could see.
One night I didn’t hear the whispering. There was no chatter. I wasn’t being watched. But as I lied in bed with the lights on, I heard the deep voice, “run.” I sat up straight, clutching a flashlight tightly, wating to hear the wind, to see the shadow, to feel the stare. But nothing. I waited. Then I heard the scream. The blood-curdling scream of agony. Then the deep voice, “run.” Without understanding I fled my home and ran to the thick forest outside of touwn, and as I ran into the forest the sun was coming up, but I could hear the faint whisper, a soft laugh and a chatter, like teeth clacking together. There, in the swamp, I found Starson face first. I pulled him out, lifted his head to face me. But staring back at me were eyeless sockets. Starson’s body limply laid in the swamp. I stared in horror at his eyeless, lifeless face. My mouth fell open as did his. Then it suddenly moved and said in a deep voice, “run.”
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I woke one morning to a breathing sensation on the back of my neck, I knew my husband had left for Air force duty so I was alone. Just me and the cat. When my husband left in the early morning he would put the cat outside. I was so scared when the breathing on my neck continued that I froze in fear for about 20 minutes. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep but I could tell something or someone was in bed with me. When I opened my eyes I finally leaped out of bed and turned suddenly behind me and nothing was there but the bedspread and pillow had a strange indentation as if someone had been sleeping in that spot. Chills were overtaking my body and I ran out of the room and called my husband. I told him about the strange experience and he laughed and said it was just grandpa John, he died in that bed in 1979.
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Warning: TOP SECRET
The following information has been considered classified and has been recorded by the U.S. Government, and Federal Bureau of Investigation. Making copies of any kind is illegal and can result in the penalty of death or fines up to 4.5 billion dollars. The following is of the incident of Barlow city. If an infection breaks out, the area will be quarantined with a dome, and incinerated.
Viewer discretion is advised
The Infection of Barlow
The clouds were dark and the air was brisk. Tara was a new resident to the city of Barlow. She was a brunette with dark brown eyes, long curly hair and thin eye brows. Most people who meet her seem to always remember her some way or another. She was unforgettable. She was quick on her feet but was the type of person who keeps her calm even in the hardest situations.
She has moved here in pursuit of a good job and where housing was cheaper. Now, ever since Tara arrived at Barlow city something seemed wrong…Really wrong.
Tara was scanning the area looking for a place to stay for a while until she could get up on her feet. A nearby apartment complex seemed to stick out like a sore thumb and caught her eye. The building looked about four or five stories high; the windows didn’t have bars unlike a couple of the one near her area.
She wanders over to the apartment complex and looks at the place. It looks more decent than the other ones around here, so naturally she choose that one. She dragged her luggage to the main entrance of the building. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that security cameras were all over the vicinity, as if they were waiting for someone…Or something.
Tara walks in and notices that the room was completely white. The walls were white, the furniture was white, and the desk was white. The floor had small black dots on it after each square. She drops her luggage by the couch and trots over to the desk. She peered over it, nothing was in sight. Looking around she noticed the bell that was next to her.
She rings the bell and right on the wall behind the desk, what looks like the apartment manager appears. His eyes looked heavy and his skin was an unnatural pale. Like he only goes outside every couple weeks.
“Um… Are you renting any rooms?” She asked in an unsure voice.
After a second or two the manager replies. “We have one room left; rent is 100 dollars a month”
Once she accepts the price, the manager gives her the key to her room. She gets her luggage and walks down the hall right behind him, the white hall. Each step she takes seems to echo down the hall…An echo that implies that it will last. She approaches her door and settles in.
The next morning she decides to look around and see what jobs are out here. As she walks out of her apartment complex the manager walks to her, “Before you go there is one thing you need to know. Don’t go wandering at the outskirts at night; the roads are full of sick people.”
She nods as she walks past him. Today she decided to wear a blue short sleeve, with some shorts. As she wanders down the street she spots a gas station, but it looked suspiciously wealthy. It probably was the only one for miles.
As she wanders over to the station an attendant stops washing one of its many clean windows to walk over to Tara. “Hi, welcome to Sauni’s Gas station. My name is Matt and if you need any information about this station or this city I’m the person to ask.”
Before Tara says anything she puts in a moment of unneeded silence. “Uh… Um… Hi, I am a new resident here; I want to get a home. Even though I need a job first… Is there anyone around here hiring?” She abruptly asks.
The station attendant thinks for a moment then bluntly says “Sauni’s Station is always looking for new employees. I can see if you can get a job here, if you want?”
Tara nods her head and he smiles at her. For the next two days Tara and Matt got to know each other and Matt seems very charming. That day she gets called to have an interview for the job.
The manager asked a lot of questions about her past and what she wants to accomplish, like a counselor. Thirty minutes later the interview is over. After Tara gets home her phone rings, and rings. Once she answers it she is told that she was hired.
She smiles then jumps with glee, Tara dances around a little bit and calls Matt.
Ring…Ring…Ring… She hears a click. “Hello?”
“Hey Matt, it’s me Tara!”She says.
“Oh hey, so what’s up?”
“I have good news! Wana hear?”She exclaims. Before he could answer she told him about how the interview went and told him she got the job.
“Wow, that great! We should celebrate this, how about dinner?”
She paused for a moment. (Is he asking me out? Is this going to be a date? OMG!!!)
“Yeah!” she squeals.
“Good, how about Sparta’s?” He asks.
“Sparta’s sounds great!” She says gleefully.
“Where should we meet? Do you want me to pick you up?”
“Can you pick me up?” Tara implores.
“Alright, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He says.
“Ok, bye!” She hangs up.
She runs over to her bed and jumps onto it, then screams with joy into her pillow. She starts to wonder what she is going to wear. Maybe a blue or green gown or maybe the special dress she has. It’s a long red dress with a nice white stripe from the right shoulder to her left leg. That’s the most beautiful dress that she posses. She determined that the special dress would be fitting. So Tara got dressed up, put nice makeup on and lipstick.
She hears knocking on her door and she gets all flustered. She takes a couple of deep breathes and walks to the door. As soon as she opens it she sees Matt in a very formal suit, it made his eyes sparkle. He holds his arm out like a gentleman.
Tara slides her arm through his and they start walking outside. She sees that Matt had rented a limo for the both of them. He walks over to the door and holds it open. Tara blushes as she goes into the limousine. Once she gets settled in, Matt gets in and closes the door behind him.
Matt signals to the driver and the limo start moving. The limousine was silent until.
“You look very handsome tonight Matt.” She moves to him and gives him a light kiss on the cheek.
Matt stutters for a minute, “I think you look exquisitely gorgeous tonight also.”
They start to chat for what seems like ten to twenty minutes, but then they hear a loud screech and the limousine starts to lose control. At that moment time seemed to slow down for Tara. She saw Matt’s mouth moving in slow-motion and his hand tries to grab a hold of handles on the roof of the limo.
Then the limousine got bashed from the side by an out-of- control truck. They weren’t on the ground anymore. The limousine was thrown into the air and turning over and over. Matt and Tara hit the ceiling and the limo was upside down in the air, and still spinning.
Hence forth the front part of the limo hit a light post, which threw the back end at the post’s direction. The rear of the limo smacked against a building, and then the limousine rolled to the ground. Tara and Matt saw that the one of the door’s ripped off. They quickly crawled through and got a bit away from the limo.
The Limousine was totaled, crushed. The wheels where destroyed, the engine was on fire, the driver was dead, and it was leaking gas. As soon as they saw the gas they darted away and not even twenty seconds later, the limousine exploded. The explosion shook the ground and the building it was next to caught on fire and parts of the building where already breaking off.
They took cover in a nearby alley way, and tried to recuperate.
“Damn! This was a rental suit, and it’s full of rips now.” Matt exclaimed.
Then Matt looked around with curiosity, Tara noticed him.
“What’s wrong?” She asks.
He stays quite for a while, still looking around. “Um… I’ve never been in this area. This is new grounds for me.”
With the confusion of that they didn’t notice the groans and eerie moans. Tara heard something that was slowly walking to them from behind. She nudged at Matt.
“Hush. Listen…” she whispers.
They stop and hear that the groans are getting closer. Matt turned around; he saw a group of people. Something was wrong; they were coming over to us. Their eyes were…. Dark, their teeth covered in some kind of blood or something.
Tara jerked at his sleeve nervously.
“I don’t like this… Come on, let’s get away from here! Please!” Tara fearfully muttered.
“Hold on,” Matt got cut off. A cat walked right in front of the group, and then they made this deafening scream. Before the cat could run they grabbed it. Matt and Tara looked with disgust as the group of those people started biting and ripping pieces of the cat.
“Yeah… Let’s go before they notice us.” Matt says.
As they turn to run, one of the members looked up and shrieks. They rest of the sick people look at Tara and Matt. Matt and Tara run as fast as they could go to a building nearby. As soon as they got into the building they closed the door. Then those sick slam at the door trying to get in. Matt tries to hold the door close but they kept pushing.
“Tara hurry, find the lock on the door and lock it!” He yells.
She scrambles to the door and moves her hands over the door looking for a locking mechanism. Her hand goes over a lock.
“I found it!” Tara announced.
She turned the lock and it clicked. Matt takes a breath of relief, but Tara points out that the door won’t hold forever. Matt sits for a while trying to divulge a plan.
“Uh… We need some kind of weapon, a kind of protection.” Matt stutters.
“I don’t think that will be hard to find, Matt.” Tara says.
“What are you talking about; there are no weapon shops around here!” Matt reports. He continues to ramble on about something, but Tara states to Matt that this is a new area here that he hasn’t been to.
“So? This is a safe city, but this… This is something new. All this is new.” He utters. He goes silent when he turns around, because they ran right into a weaponry store.
Matt stood there with a dumbfound look, but the silence broke when they heard that the banging was getting even harder.
“Since we have protection, let’s make a plan on how to get out of here.” Mentions Tara.
Matt walks over and looks at the amazing set of guns. Tara grabs several holsters and attaches them to her legs. She puts a dessert eagle in one, a semi-automatic smith & Wesson in another holster. She puts a weapon belt on and slides one Jericho 941 F in its holster. She grabs magazine cases and fills them.
She grabs a Remington 1100 Tactical Shotgun and a holster. She straps it on her back and grabs a FN P90.
Matt grabs a MP5SD3 with some ammo for it, a couple of grenades and a MP5. Last but not least, a Shotgun.
Tara and Matt got all they needed for weapons and looked around for some-sort of escape route. After five minutes of looking, they both noticed that the pounding stopped. Something is about to happen. The room starts shaking, and the doors are cracking. Something big is trying to kill Tara and Matt.
Matt quickly notices that there is a hatch on the ceiling over in the corner.
“If we hurry we can get to the roof!” Bursts Matt.
He grabs her arm as he runs to the corner. He looks around but sees nothing that could help up to the hatch. Silence again. The room shakes even harder, and the door is about to break. The window is cracked. Tara and Matt hear the creaking of the hatch as it opens and they see a face. Matt faltered back a little and was about to fire.
“Give me your hand! We can get you out of there. We’re not infected, hurry give me your hand!” The person exclaims.
Just them the door collapsed open and those things started rushing into the room. By the time Matt looks at the guy, he sees Tara is already up there. He raises his hand and he gets pulled up. When he was almost up they were all over the store the things were. One grabs his foot trying to pull him down. Tara pulls out semi-automatic to shoot, but she hears three shots. That sick guy had one shoot in his head and two on its hand.
It released him and Matt got on the roof. Matt lies on his back catching his breath, Tara talks to the man who saved them.
“Who are you?” Tara asks.
“I’m Tom, the captain of this crew.”
Tara Turned around and saw a group of people, two girls and three guys.
“I saved these people from being killed and turning into one of the infected. We’re gathering enough people to kill all the infection.” Tom claims, before Tara could say anything those infected shriek in anger.
“We should stay here for long, the last thing that we need is one of those hunters.” Tom announces.
Tom gathered up everyone and laid out a map. On the map was Barlow city and the outskirts too. Tom pointed out where they were at. Our location was at the very edge of outskirts. “Expo”
They started to move roof to roof.
“What are those things down there?” Tara questions.
“Experiments gone wrong,” Tom grimly replies.
“Scientist had a research lab a mile from here. They had test subjects that they abducted from the streets randomly. Injecting the victims with a serum that calmed them to obey and give themselves up for research.”
As they continue to cross roofs its starts raining, the sky darkens. Thunder booms in the distance.
One of the members of the group says, “Um. Maybe we should get off the roof for now and get some sort of shelter. You know, from the thunder.”
Tom looks up at the rain with revolt. He agrees with the member and they all start looking for a shelter from both; the lightning and the hordes of infection. Two buildings on the left had small rooms on the rooftop. The rooms are most likely stairs to the lower levels, but they needed shelter.
Captain divide everyone into two groups, he gave one of the members a radio. Members went in the right. Matt, Tara, and Tom went into the left. Tom signaled Matt to kick open the door. He ran over and stomped on it. The door broke down; with it was a loud slam. Matt cringed while Tara elbowed him.
Tom ran in with his flashlight on, he scanned the room. It seemed empty; Tara then Matt came in and scanned too. It was safe. They settled into the room and waited for communications from the other group.
They sat down together in a group, and the radio was in the center. The only thing that was coming through was static. In the distance they heard abrupt shots. Guns fired over and over. Someone is coming over in the radio.
“… Killing all… appeared from… the hunter it’s…” The radio transmission ends.
Before anyone can say a word they hear the eerie cries of their team mates as their getting slaughtered. Their screams echoed…
“Hunter” was the word in Tara’s head. Matt was shaking, and Tom appeared very troubled.
The night was very menacing, with the moans of the infected. Tom curled up in the corner on the across from the door. He woke up now and then to glance around the vicinity to see that everything is right. Whenever he woke up his pale green army hat falls off his head.
You have been warned.
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It doesn’t really matter how early in I began noticing the presence of ghosts or spirits, just that it’s been something I’ve experienced my whole life. The earliest encounters were difficult only because my own identity was just developing, not too mention certain notions that my Mother was instilling in me regarding God, faith, Heaven and Hell. When the frequency of these events increased I couldn’t help but develop my own understanding of “they” were in conjunction with the world around us. Even at a young age the intent of certain spirits was obvious; despite my inexperience and relegating them simply as “Good” or “Bad.” On one occasion however, during my final year of elementary school I encountered the most hateful spirit in my life.
In my home state of Washington, my fifth grade class was visiting a historic resort that had been converted into a camp for kids. This camp often facilitated the needs of local schools when they organized yearly trips for their students. One of the initial tours explains the history of the place; how prior to this switch it had been visited by royalty and various Victorian wealthy.
That first night we gathered around a massive campfire and began telling ghost stories, which, as you might imagine made me uncomfortable. The history inparticular of a murdered employee for his earnings drew my attention. Afterward we left in groups to our cabins, which definitely had the appearance of early 1800’s design. As everyone began to fall asleep, I of course being the last, noticed the room began became uncomfortably cold- my breath clouding in front of my face. It was at this moment that I felt compelled to roll over towards the window. I couldn’t see through, as the curtain was drawn, but I felt as though something was just on the other side staring, waiting. Never in my life has such dread and fear washed over me- it was as though I could feel the hate, the resentment that fueled it. I began to sweat and shake uncontrollably trying for more then two hours to roll from my side, back to my stomach.
The next morning, after waking, I quickly dressed and fled the cabin wanting to be in the sun that morning more then ever. Before we could leave for breakfast my teacher, Mr. Gilmore, asked rather heatedly why I broke the window. I felt chills run down my spine and the hair on my arms and neck stood up. He took me back inside and pulled the curtain next to my bed back, revealing the shattered corner of the window. The glass came out onto the bed, at least 5-6″ away from the actual window- as though someone tried to punch or break through. From the look on my face, and his confusion at the physics of the situation; he seemed to believe me when I said that I hadn’t touched the window. Whatever it was that I felt that night tried like hell to get to me.
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