|
   Welcome to this year's ghost story thread! If you know the drill, skip to the links or start posting. For those unfamiliar, read on: Since 2002 or so, Something Awful has hosted seasonal incarnations of ghost story threads. Some of them are original experiences, some have been retellings from old campfire stories, others have come from ancient BBS boards, and still more have been tales from original authors. Onic, Canis Latrans, Khazar-Khum, and HumperMonkey/50-Foot Ant/Nostalgia4ColdWar all have stories that have become major favorites. Discussing everything from Skinwalkers to security cameras, these threads persisted yearly until neo-GBS arose, at which point things nosedived as you'd expect, and former SA mod noni decided things would go more smoothly here in PYF. So here we are now keeping the storytelling alive. Post your own spooky experiences, hauntings, or just favorite stories your granddad told you. Here are some basic links, courtesy of Missing Name:
I've compiled (as far as I know) links to all past major ghost story threads (note that Archives are required for most of them, but if you don't have the feature and can't find it in the above links, I'll be happy to do my best to retrieve it for you): quote:Goldmined: Fine Print just in case: Nobody cares about you being the brilliant skeptic who conclusively says ghosts aren't real. We know. These are fun stories. Conversely, nobody cares about the time you were falling asleep and saw a shadow. Basically, don't be an rear end in a top hat. 
Hazo has a new favorite as of 19:22 on Apr 23, 2015 |
#
?
Jan 29, 2015 09:55
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 16, 2024 15:16 |
|
|
And here are a couple of favorites to get us started: The Wireman Stuntcock posted:Last night, I was derailed from seeing a movie by a pal of mine ‘J,’ who needed a ride to a barbeque, with an invite as barter. drat right I could see the movie another time! The Patch Darth Tang posted:Frankly, I do not expect this to be believed. But I’m going to tell it anyway, simply because its been weighing upon my mind lately. I ran into Flash last weekend, who was back in town, and he spoke to me about it.
|
|
#
?
Jan 29, 2015 10:00
|
|
|
I dont think any of these stories are true.
|
|
#
?
Jan 29, 2015 13:26
|
|
|
Yay! 2015's ghost story thread! I look forward to these every year. New threads bring new stories, I can only read the Wireman so many times, ya know?  (Un)fortunately I don't have any stories of my own written. With every new thread I think, 'this time I will contribute!', then I don't. Oh well. Maybe this time! Anyway, thanks for the great OP Hazo. 
|
|
#
?
Jan 29, 2015 17:58
|
|
|
Sleep paralysis is really spooky, man. Why do we have to make jokes about it in the title  . . . There's supposedly some stuff happening in my city. Some I've heard about, but the big library? It was even on loving Ghost Hunters. Didn't know that. (It apparently has nothing to do with the awesome hidden room behind a swing-out bookcase. I'll watch this bullshit TV show episode just for laughs.)
|
|
#
?
Jan 29, 2015 20:20
|
|
|
Missing Name posted:There's supposedly some stuff happening in my city. Some I've heard about, but the big library? It was even on loving Ghost Hunters. Didn't know that. (It apparently has nothing to do with the awesome hidden room behind a swing-out bookcase. I'll watch this bullshit TV show episode just for laughs.) edit: S8E05 "Due Date With Death." I had it backwards-- the regular motion-highlighting camera caught it, but nothing showed up on thermal. 
|
|
#
?
Jan 31, 2015 19:15
|
|
|
OK, so somebody poked a sack round the corner on a stick then?
|
|
#
?
Jan 31, 2015 19:19
|
|
|
They usually make it a point to emphasize that everybody on the filming and "investigator" crew was accounted for, but sure I guess they could just be flat-out lying and nobody's come forward yet.
|
|
#
?
Jan 31, 2015 19:29
|
|
|
Hazo posted:They usually make it a point to emphasize that everybody on the filming and "investigator" crew was accounted for, but sure I guess they could just be flat-out lying and nobody's come forward yet. They were all accounted for. That could still mean "We knew one was poking a sack round a corner on a stick", and wouldn't be a lie.
|
|
#
?
Jan 31, 2015 19:52
|
|
|
Hijo Del Helmsley posted:They were all accounted for. That could still mean "We knew one was poking a sack round a corner on a stick", and wouldn't be a lie. Speaking as someone who unabashedly loves crappy ghost hunting shows, I genuinely believe that the hosts are well meaning, but that some of the crew are probably encouraged to "help" the show along for the sake of getting decent footage. And then maybe 5% of what happens is genuinely inexplicable, but in the sense that it can't be recreated, not necessarily that it's paranormal.
|
|
#
?
Jan 31, 2015 20:02
|
|
|
Hijo Del Helmsley posted:They were all accounted for. That could still mean "We knew one was poking a sack round a corner on a stick", and wouldn't be a lie.
|
|
#
?
Jan 31, 2015 20:15
|
|
|
Rapman the Cook posted:I dont think any of these stories are true. The Telephone Man most certainly is. If the family still owned the house, I'd be more than happy to have a Ghost Goon Hunt there. I'm pretty sure the Ghosts would find Goons.
|
|
#
?
Feb 1, 2015 00:33
|
|
|
Back around the turn of the century I was living in this house owned by this wonderful woman named Rosie. She had lived in Maine all her life, but she had traveled extensively through the orient in the 70's and 80's, and she was fairly well off. She even ended up bringing back a crazy-rear end cherry blossom tree thing that, somehow, managed to actually survive year after year in Maine. She often sang to herself while she worked around her half of the house or in the yard, both in English and Chinese. Anyway, she eventually passed away one quiet night, just shy of 100 years old. Like I said, lovely woman, and, while sad, we all knew she had a great life and ventured into the great beyond not with sadness or fear, but with the excitement that she would see her life come full circle. It was lovely and sad when she passed. I was 17 at the time, and I had a girlfriend who lived on the other side of the village. It was summer and she worked late at an ice cream place, so I'd head off at 9 or 10 in the evening, cut through the woods behind our house, and pop out near downtown, go to walk her home and get free ice cream and what-not. We had a barn converted in to a garage on the edge of the property by the woods, and Rosie parked her clunk giant Oldsmobile out there. It was sitting there after her death, waiting for her grandkids to sort out the estate. I remember looking at the front of that car, poking out of the garage, as I started to take off to meet my girlfriend. Then the headlights turned on. At first I assumed her kids were there, so I hupped over to the garage. Nope. Doors locked, no one there. Than I started to get unnerved, almost electrically so. It felt weird, this strange crinkle on your skin. Goosebumps from it. I ran back to the house to tell my parents what had happened, and, also, to see if she had spare keys so we could turn if off. We didn't. We all went out there and, of course, the lights are off. So I'm telling my family that they were on, we're standing there, and, sure enough, they turn back on. This was an old vehicle, I think early 90's, well before any sort of wireless control. We though maybe it was an electrical storm coming in, or humidity, or some other random explanation. We hit a point where we're just going to let the battery wear itself out; we can't get in the car to turn it off. As we're about to leave I turn and say "Rosie, if the battery dies, how is Dick (your grandson) gonna the car out of here? The lights turned off. So, that was weird, but it was a thing that we just filed under "Huh" and moved on. Like I said, I was a teenager with a girlfriend and free ice cream, so solving mysteries with my parents wasn't exactly high on my list of ways to spend a summer eve. Two days later, daytime, and we hear Rosie start singing. My mom, my dad, my three siblings, her grandkids, all of us here it. Clear and distinct, coming from her half of the house. We went over there, and we could hear it, distant, somewhere. We legitimately searched for a tape, for a radio, anything. It was her, we were all positive it was her singing, and we could all here it. Eventually it grew quiet and faded and was gone. Off and on you would hear it over the next day or so while her grandkids cleaned up her stuff. We never figured it out. There was no terror or anything. Even when we all started to think that it must be paranormal, no one was too scared. We never figured out what to make of it. It was pleasant normal weather, summer, no real wind to speak of, sunny and typical. You could hear radios from the next few houses over, but nothing that sounded remotely like a 100-year old woman singing a combination of English and Chinese. Not much of a ghost story to tell around the fire, but 100% true, cross my heart.
|
|
#
?
Feb 1, 2015 03:53
|
|
|
You know, I don't really believe in ghosts. We only live one life, and when we're gone, we're gone. There's no God or Satan, or if there are they certainly don't do anything on our plane of existence. But there's places that are just...off, you know? Places that feel all tense, like they're trying hard to pretend their normal when they're really not. My grandparents' church is like that. It's one of the older churches in South Carolina. It's in the style of a pole barn, and the basement is stacked stone and mortar that was shored up with concrete sometime in the 40s. A look at the exposed rafters give you some idea of the age - they're massive old-growth oaks, the last of which were harvested well before the Civil War. Despite sitting at the foot of a steep mountain of exposed rock that towers a couple hundred feet above it, the church somehow manages to be the more imposing structure. Despite the bone white paint and eggshell blue roof, the narrow, gothic-style stained glass windows manage to make it look dark and brooding. Despite the dense stand of trees and underbrush that lay behind the church, you worry more about getting lost in the gloomy sanctuary. It's a structure that seems to have not only transcended its builders, but the surrounding landscape. Next door is a log cabin, which was moved to the church lot when the state began constructing a reservoir that flooded its original location in the 50s. It seems to have absorbed off-putting aura of the church since arriving - my grandparents say that it used to be a very cozy home for the church's pastor. Within a few years, the pastor moved on, and the next pastor, after living there about a year, opted for new lodgings. Today it's used as the nursery and Sunday school for younger kids. I said before that it tries to pretend it's normal, but tips its hand to the people who do things there on a regular basis: My grandma, vacuuming the stairs down to the basement. The stairs open into a narrow hall, and when she reached the landing there was a strange man standing at the other end of the hall, smiling. A man in a black suit and red tie, she claimed, the spitting image of Old Scratch. My grandpa, practicing guitar in the sanctuary one evening in preparation for a Christmas service the next day. He claimed the piano in the basement was playing along with him, but in the wrong key. My mom, taking piano lessons one afternoon, when the sounds of chairs crashing around in the basement interrupted. She and her teacher went downstairs to investigate, and no one was down there. As soon as they got back upstairs, as if to taunt them, the racket started again. My cousins, my brother and I, playing hide and go seek in the cabin. We're hiding, and a cousin is counting when every single door in the house (all three or four of them!) slam at once. The last time I went there for any reason other than a funeral was when my aunt, cousin, and brother dragged me along to go ghost hunting. We picked 2am to do our sit-in, because if anything was going to happen, it would be the witching hour. After poking around the basement, which just seemed like a normal basement that night, we headed back up to the sanctuary. That's where the strangeness started. You know how if you sit in the dark a while, you start picking things up in the darkness? Well that wasn't happening. If anything, it was getting darker in the baptistry and behind the altar. The light from the lone street lamp outside seemed to lose its power, and the darkness began to surge out of the basement door. A shadowy wave sloshed back and forth across the first rows of pews. I don't know who ended up flicking on the light for the sanctuary, but as soon as it was on, the tension broke. Maybe it was just nerves, but christ, I've never had nerves as on edge as that. I said earlier I don't believe in ghosts. But I do believe that there are places where the atmosphere is so poisonous that we psych ourselves out, see things that aren't actually there. Maybe we've collectively managed to fill them with so much hatred that we'll continue to feel it for generations. Perhaps, to paraphrase Stephen King here, we make poor real estate decision and build our structures on sour ground. Whatever the case, I have a prediction: the church's membership will continue its steady downward spiral and eventually putter out. The heavy development that has been spreading through the surrounding area like a cancer will continue to ignore this small little valley. (Maybe like recognizes like.) And, in 50 years, when no one lives for miles around, the church will continue to stand, forlorn, but as imposing and powerful as ever.
|
|
#
?
Feb 1, 2015 10:18
|
|
|
do you have the PDF collection of goon ghost stories linked yet? it has a lot of good stuff in there, all in one place
|
|
#
?
Feb 1, 2015 12:17
|
|
|
vaguely posted:do you have the PDF collection of goon ghost stories linked yet? it has a lot of good stuff in there, all in one place but I added it.
|
|
#
?
Feb 1, 2015 16:44
|
|
|
Venusian Weasel posted:Despite sitting at the foot of a steep mountain of exposed rock that towers a couple hundred feet above it, the church somehow manages to be the more imposing structure. Despite the bone white paint and eggshell blue roof, the narrow, gothic-style stained glass windows manage to make it look dark and brooding. Despite the dense stand of trees and underbrush that lay behind the church, you worry more about getting lost in the gloomy sanctuary. It's a structure that seems to have not only transcended its builders, but the surrounding landscape. Next time you're there you gotta get some pics
|
|
#
?
Feb 1, 2015 16:45
|
|
|
I always like the more outrageous and obscure cryptid/paranormal stories. Don't really care whether or not they are true. They just need to be entertaining. The Van Meter Visitor is pretty weird/enjoyable, I think: The Van Meter incident actually happened over a series of 5 nights, from early morning Tuesday Sept 29th – October 3rd 1903. On the first night, at about 1 am., respected businessman U.G. Griffith noticed what he thought was a spot light moving around on the rooftop of one of the downtown buildings. At first he thought it might be a burglar, but when he approached it jumped to another rooftop across the street and disappeared. The next night (again around 1 am.) Dr. Alcott, the town doctor, was sleeping in a room at his office when he was awoken by a bright light shining into his face through the window. He rushed outside with gun in hand only to discover the source of the light was a tall humanoid with bat-like wings. The blinding light came from a blunt horn in the creature’s forehead. He fired five shots at the creature at close range. After seeing the shots has no noticeable effect he fled. The bank where Clarence (Peter) Dunn encountered the creature The next night local banker, Clarence (Peter) Dunn, had an encounter with the Visitor. After hearing about the previous night’s encounters, Mr. Dunn felt he should watch over the bank. Fearing burglars, he brought along his shotgun for the night’s watch. Around 1 am he heard a “strangling noise” outside. Before he could investigate he was hit full in the face with a blinding beam that shone through the font window. The light suddenly switched off and then back on again as if scanning the room, finally swinging back at him. He could make out “some kind of great form” behind the light. Dunn fired his shotgun at the mysterious being, right through the bank’s front window. Then it vanished. In the morning he noticed sets of large three-toed foot prints outside the bank and claimed to have made plaster casts of them. By the following day the previous nights events had circulated around the town. Later that night local hardware store owner O.V. White had an encounter with the Visitor. He was jolted awake by a metallic rasping sound outside his 2nd floor room above his hardware store on Main St. He grabbed his gun and moved toward the window. Outside he saw the Visitor perched close by on the crossbeam of a telephone pole. White, a known marksman, took deliberate aim and fired at the creature. It had no effect, and only seemed to awaken the Visitor. The creature emitted a stupefying odor that overpowered White, knocking him unconscious. The shots awoke White’s neighbor Sidney Gregg, who raced outside to see what the commotion was about. He watched in disbelief as the “monster” descended the telephone pole after the manner of a parrot, using its huge beak. Upon reaching the ground it stood erect, and by Mr. Gregg’s estimates it was “at least eight feet high.” Whatever it was, the light from its forehead was as “bright…as an electric headlight.” The light again darted about just as it had the nights before in a “searching” motion. The creature paused only for a moment before taking off towards the old coal mine. The following night strange sounds were heard coming from the abandoned coal mine at the edge of town described by a local as “though Satan and a regiment of imps were coming forth for a battle.” The Visitor, accompanied by a second creature, were spotted emerging from the mine and taking off into the night. A large crowd of armed men gathered at the mine to ambush the creatures when they returned. They were reported as having enough firepower to “have sunk the Spanish fleet”. Shortly before dawn the creatures returned. The crowd opened fire on the creatures. To their bewilderment, the creatures were totally immune to their assault and only gave off the terrible odor as a response before they crawled back down into the mine. The next day it was reported that “a force of men has been set to work to barricade the mouth of the mine” sealing the creatures inside. The creatures were never seen again. Credit to http://thebigfootdiaries.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-twisted-strange-tale-of-van-meter.html
|
|
#
?
Feb 1, 2015 17:08
|
|
|
I love ghost stories and I love these threads. There's too many nights I've spent perusing the old posts and one of the main reasons (well, the only reason at the time) I bought an account and archives. I just had to read the Skinwalkers thread, man. Unfortunately I haven't had many experiences of my own. My friend and I bought $30 tickets to a "Seattle Underground Paranormal Tour" which involved us wearing uncomfortable vests and walking around talking to ourselves for 45 minutes before we were rushed back. There were some unnerving parts like a half-rotted room that of course I had to step into, but otherwise the disappointed ghosts and supposed ghost hookers that are apparently down there only taught me never to fall into an overpriced tourist trap ever again! I do have one (true!) story that was told to me by another friend, however, but I'll need to get their permission to post first.
|
|
#
?
Feb 2, 2015 01:26
|
|
|
vaguely posted:do you have the PDF collection of goon ghost stories linked yet? it has a lot of good stuff in there, all in one place This also crashes my Adobe reader and browser (spoooooky). Anyone have another version somewhere? I love these stories.
|
|
#
?
Feb 4, 2015 23:38
|
|
|
Hey, wondering if you guys can help me out on finding some specific stories from SA lore. I remember years ago (probably around 2001-2003) a friend who was on SA sent me a compilation of ghost stories that had been posted in a creepy story thread, and I'm trying to figure out whether they can still be found. It's possible they're pre-archives, but might have been reposted since. Apologies if they're totally obvious to all of you, but I'm not even sure where to start looking for them. All I remember is that the original poster had "taco" in their username, and that the stories had something to do with ghosts and multiple mirrors in an old house where the OP had lived. Anybody know what I'm talking about? I want to say the user was TacoDemon, but that doesn't sound right.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 01:30
|
|
|
That's "Blood Mirror" by TacoCriminal. It's a pretty often-requested story. I'll dig around and try to find the original post but here's the text (sorry about formatting, ASCII doesn't work well in archives) in the meantime: ------------------- EDIT: That actually wasn't too hard. Original found here in the 2003 thread (archives needed): http://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=668360&userid=36639 ------------------- My grandmothers house is a restored and remodeled farmhouse. The foundation, and most of the downstairs, is unchanged from when the original house was built around 150 years ago. All of the materials, the lumber, iron nails, thick door frames, are all the same. For a better mental picture of the house, the downstairs is very similar to the house in the 1990 return of the living dead. The difference is the hidden basement, and the previously sealed room. Without going into boring detail, a hidden basement was discovered at my grandparents house about 40 years ago, and there was a strangely shaped room down there. No one knew what the room was for, until a local psychic looked at the room and immediately told my grandparents to stay away from it, and to move the antique furniture out of the room. The psychic, or as the town called her "witch," left the house in a panic repeatedly mumbling "bad people," and "cursed." My grandparents didn't do as she said, and only moved out the furniture when my father and mother bought a house. Family and friends always thought the old witch was just a crazy woman, until the problems started. Now, no relative on either side of the family will accept the furniture, and some can't even bring themselves to look at it when they're at my parents house. No one goes in the basement. No one can figure out why the basement has smelled like rotting meat ever since the furniture was moved. There has never been an explanation why the door to the basement will unlock itself, and open. The fresh flowers grandma used to arrange downstairs will always wilt in a day, and everyone who has stayed and been in the bathroom has heard at least once someone knock on the basement door and quietly ask "hello?" Like my parents house. . .except not as worse. This is the background story before the serious stuff. The death bed/ The silent mirror. The worst part of the furniture that was moved was an old wooden bed that was painted in a faded, pea soup green, and the matching mirror cabinet. Everyone hated these pieces of furniture after the move. The bed frame had a huge, plain headboard, and there were pillars in the four corners of the bed that ended in a dull, arrowhead shape. Because of the design of the bed, the mattress would rest just below a thick frame that connected all the pillars. When you laid down in the sunken bed surrounded by its high, wooden walls, you always felt like the bed was swallowing you. About 150 years ago, an unknown relative of the family built this bed, and no parts had been changed since. Every time you rolled on the bed it would creak loudly, moaning under the stress it has had to endure over the decades. The matching mirror was a huge and flawless despite its age, and the ornate frame for the piece showed no signs of wear. The mirror was attached above cabinets, so an average size man could only see his reflection above his waist. In the room that had both pieces, the mirror faced the bed. The headboard of the bed faced the door, and the mirror was on the same side as the door. If you wanted to see your reflection in the mirror, you had to walk into the room and stand in front of the bed. The reason the bed is called the death bed is because family members would always sleep on the bed when they were extremely sick, or going to die. Almost all of my dads family had died on that bed, and by coincidence, a few of my mothers family passed always as well there. My first experience with the death bed was when I was a child, and I had a bad case of strep throat. I had to sleep on the bed. I had fallen asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, but my fever was too strong, and I woke up in pain around midnight. As I lay in the bed, struggling against the pain and facing the wall on the left side of the bed, I heard the bed creak. Not only did I hear the bed creak, but I could feel it move. I lay motionless until the creak happened again, and I felt someone roll over closer to me. Thinking it may be my mother who might have come in to keep an eye on me since I was sick, I rolled over to see if she was asleep. Someone else was there. A woman, probably in her thirties, was facing me. She was staring right at me with her eyes and mouth wide open. She looked like she was going to start crying and wail out in pain, but she just stared. Surrounding her eyes and mouth were dark blue circles, and her straight black hair was thrown covered part of her face. Her cheeks were sunk in, and her mouth kept dropping more and more open like the sorrow was becoming too much. I turned away to try and grab a hold of the side bed and pull myself out, and when I looked back she was no longer there. I crawled back into the bed, put the sheets over my head, and didn't move for the rest of the night. I told my mother what I saw in the morning, and she didn't seem too concerned until I mentioned how sad and hurt the woman looked. My mother, who was sitting at the kitchen table with me, stood up, went to the bedroom where my father was getting ready for work, and starting talking to him. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but he came out soon after and said "don't go in that room again, and you're not to sleep in there again, I don't care how sick you are." I asked if it was because of the woman and he said yes, and then I asked if I'm going to be in trouble and he said "your great aunt is dead, she won't bother you and she was nice woman." She is the only young woman to die on the bed. She died of some type of asphyxiation that the farmland doctors couldn't figure out. Apparently she stopped getting enough oxygen being pumped in her blood, and she died being virtually paralyzed and unable to call out for hours. The good poltergeist stuff is coming up; this is the calm stuff. More death bed/mirror Although this particular mirror (there are three total) never conjured the big problems like the other mirrors, it did something strange always. The room with the bed and mirror had blinds that keep all the light out of the room when closed, and at night, there was no light at all. The room was always pitch black except the mirror, which would glow. It wouldn't project light or illuminate anything, but it would glow brightly despite no light being directed to it at all. If you went to look in the mirror, you could see a clear reflection of yourself, but NOTHING else in the room. It was like you existed in a void. Death bed silent man My first encounter with the silent man was about two years after the dead woman on the bed. It was during the day, and I was looking through the mirror cabinet draws for an old stapler. I found the stapler, and I as I was looking at it to see if it needed staples (or if it would work), I heard a man clearly say: "Hi" He didn't say it in a friendly tone, but more of "I see you" sort of tone. What's worse is I looked up into the mirror and I was alone in the room. I moved as quickly out of the room as I could, and as I did I heard the same voice, but in a growling, angry voice say: "Get back here" I didn't, but whatever it was now angry, and people started to take notice. Since the room with the bed was at the end of the end of the hall, you could look right in to the living room from the doorway. Also, you could always see me leave my room since. I remember the first time I left my room and froze in fear as I looked into the doorway of the death bed room. There was something like a man, translucent, crouched down like a panther ready to pounce. I stared into the top of the head of the "man" (because the figure was looking down), until I gathered enough courage to run for the living room where my parents were. As I took off, so did it, and it jabbed me in the small of my back, knocking me down. Over the period of a year, this happened a few more times, and I have scars on my lower back the size of fingertips. There are no fingerprints, but there are unusual and consistent oval scars. Also, since my parents room were right next door to the death bed room, the door to my parents room would slam shut. It would only slam shut when someone was trying to enter or leave the room, sometimes hitting one of my parents in the face with the door. My mother was pissed one day that the doors would do that and I said it was the ghost in the death bed room. She said she knew, and her and my father could hear something laughing through the walls sometimes. She closed and bolted the door shut until we moved. Occasionally you would hear something knock lightly on the door and ask "hello" very quietly. When we moved, my parents had the bed and mirror destroyed to take care of the problem. Unfortunately we then decided to keep the old music boxes and the buried mirrors. On a kinda side note: No one had ever experienced anything bad with the bed, or anything with the angry male ghost until it was moved into the séance room in the farm house basement. People don't go down there anymore because something else also knocks lightly on the closed basement door and asks "hello." The big stories about the old music boxes and the two mirrors are next. First the old music boxes. I hated this fuckin' things since the first time I saw them. They were about 100 years old, ceramic (mostly), highly decorated with sky and clouds type themes, and the music that came out of them were perfect. All three of them, the two clouds and soaring ballerina (the top had a ballerina that would twirl when the box was wound), were in perfect condition. They just didn't seem right. The people had left these boxes and everything else their daughter had behind. They were angry with her because she committed suicide, and didn't want a reminder of such a bad child. Wow, what a happy family. We stored everything she used to have in the attic except the boxes (my mom loved them), and we didn't take down this mirror thing she had in her room. Instead of a full-length mirror, she took mirror squares and glued them almost next to each other on a part of the wall. It was like a broken, full-length mirror that faced the bed. Luckily, I got the room with the horrible mirror. One day, the dog was chasing one of our cats around, bumps into the dresser that had the music boxes on them, and all the boxes fall to the floor and break. There were only two people that were upset that happened: my mother and the daughter. We were there only one month after that, and it was a nightmare. Our dog suddenly developed over 50 ulcers in her stomach and died. . .in three days. Even though there was no smoke, you and everyone around you would start choking and coughing. Air would rush so strongly by your ears sometimes that you couldn't hear the world around you. People would start sleep walking (the only time ever in this house during this period) and leave the house. You would always wake up outside like it was an eviction of a supernatural kind. Then there was her mirror. She looked very similar to the girl in the ring (no drowning symptoms, evil whitish eyes, or any of that stuff, but she wore a white night dress and has long, dark hair). I remember being in bed and looking at the mirrors, when I saw her for the first time. It was like the mirrors were really one big, broken window, and she was looking through. Just her upper body because she was like peering around through the mirrors at me, and she was angry. Sometimes she would look scared or worried, but most of the time is was pure anger. I hid every time I saw something like that, except when I was leaving the room. Sometimes I would be walking out and I would look at the mirror at an angle, and I could see her kinda like hiding behind the wall so you couldn't see her if you looked directly at the mirror. She apparently appeared in some other mirrors in the house, but I didn't see them. New tenets moved in after us, and then quickly moved away. The house had been abandoned for a few years and was recently torn down. Next are the antique mirrors that used to be buried. (Why my mother and father wanted them, I have no idea.) More about the death bed I forgot Just about everyone that knows the death bed room remembers the mumbling voices. If you left my room at about 1 a.m., or at noon, you could hear about 10 people "talking," but it was more like a whole bunch of mumbling voices. If you got to about two steps from the doorway to the room, they would stop but not all at once. It was like someone said "everybody quiet," and not everybody did right away. I had a sleep over, and one of my friends got up to use the bathroom at night. He said when he was coming back that he heard the mumbling in the room that I told him about a while ago. However, he didn't go up to the door, but stood there and tried to listen to what's going on (the angry male ghost hadn't appeared yet, so there was no reason to be scared). Eventually, the voices quickly died down and he left about 5 seconds after it was quiet. As he started to walk to my room, the door to the death bed room closed very slowly, and he says he heard something like a giggle. When he made it to my room he was so scared he was crying. would rather have the death bed than this mirror. Sure, I don't live at home anymore, but the fact that it exists bothers me. It's called the blood mirror because the seal used to keep the back of the mirror to the frame is blood. Blood isn't like glue so we were able to crack the frame off easily (we were going to save the frame and replace the mirror around the first week we had it, but we put everything back together). One of my mothers relatives (the first woman to kill herself) used to do this with cabinet seals and stuff, so we weren't shocked when it happened, but we were spooked. She tried to put her blood in everything because she was some type of witch, and she was trying to live forever or something. I know that's going to raise questions but we don't really know because there aren't any records of her anymore or any solid information or basis really in witchcraft. She was probably just plain nuts. Here's a diagram of the upstairs where the mirror is. It will be important later. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Brothers Room | Bathroom | Parents Room | | | | |--------------------D------------------------------| D D -----------------| Hallway | Blood Mirror D | Room |--------------------------------D------| | | Metal frame mirror room | Stairs | | | | | | | ---------------------------------------------------------- It's crude, but there you go. It's all upstairs. Ghost stairs There are three types of ghosts on the stairs. The first is the casual walker, who will walk at a calm pace. Even if you stare at the stairs, whatever it is will keep walking. This doesn't happen to often anymore, but it was really cool when it did. The second is the clumsy runner. Someone just takes off and kinda trips and stumbles on the stairs on the way up. It's like a kid running. Very rare to happen. Both all reach the landing on the second floor and walk towards the blood mirror room, past the metal mirror room. That's how I connect the stairs walkers, but I could be wrong. The third is horrible. I was asleep one night and I woke up to a loud thud downstairs. I listened as whatever it was ran full speed to the stairs, up the stairs, down the hall, and slammed into the door with the blood mirror in it and kept slamming. . .where I was sleeping. I started shaking because I just woke up and it sounded like some madman was in the house coming for me and I wasn't ready. My dad comes out of his room and yells "what the gently caress are you doing at. . " and trails off. No one was there in the hallway. The knocker The knocker comes in two varieties. The knocking with the death bed room is more of someone making a fist, sticking out his or her index finger, and gently rapping on the door. The first knocker with the mirror is nothing like that. It's more of a full fist, all four knuckles rapping on the door. This one comes once in a while and just knocks on the blood mirror door for about two minutes, sometimes during the day. "knock knock knock" (quickly but gently) Me: "yeah, what?" "knock knock knock" Me: "yeah?" "Knock knock knock" Me: "what?!" (I go to answer the door) I open the door and there's only dead silence. The second knocker is a full-fist pounding that shakes the door. This has happened twice. The first time was 10 seconds of beating on the door at 2 in the morning. I go to the door because I think it's an emergency, and no one is there. The second time I heard the pounding and didn't get up (this was about six months later). Every ten seconds something would pound on the door and pause for about one minute. Then I heard the doorknob wiggle. Scratching on the door. The doorknob shaking slightly. Then BAM!! One big hit smacks the door and I hear something run downstairs and into the kitchen, where there is no more noise. Scratching. Scratching has been heard on many separate occasions, from either inside the closet or from behind the mirror. I would have to say from behind the closet is scarier to me because I saw the movie House when I was young, and if you've seen that movie you know that a certain part can leave an impression on a kid. The scratching is very light, and not in one spot. The scratching will go from low in the closet to high like something trying to figure a way out. If you see the original haunting, there is a scene when something is trying to get into a door and it sounds just like this. The pounding on the door wasn't similar, but the scratching is dead on. Behind the mirror you hear scratching sometimes, only around 1 or five in the morning. Sometimes there is a tapping sound, but mostly scratching. I got more, but I got to take a break for a sec if that's ok. Why I hate the blood mirror. Sure it attracts things that knock on the door and run up the stairs. Yeah there's scratching and tapping from the closet and mirror. When you look at it though, it's just noise. The blood mirror, however, is more than just noise. It could be any day, at any time, with any one in the room, and then it attacks. Since the mirror has no way to directly hurt you, it makes you hurt yourself. I have been quietly watching TV or talking to friends that are in the same room with me and the blood mirror, and you can feel it come alive. The room temperature will drop 40, 50, 60 degrees within minutes so you can see your breath. You can't concentrate or focus on what you were doing. Your eyes can't focus on one point, and you're unaware of what you're body is doing. All you can really hear is your heart pounding at a rhythmic pace. Suddenly you, and anyone else around, is in a haze. . .a trance. When you regain focus, you realize you're bleeding. The most common thing people will do is scratch themselves with their fingers on their left hand on their right arm or upper chest. Without thinking, people will dig huge gashes into their bodies with just their fingers and not know it. Every time they will look at the mirror when they realize what they just did. It doesn't happen often, but when it does it's truly frightening. The best example I have is when I brought my now ex-girlfriend to show her the room because I had told her about all the ghosts in my house. When we walked in I said: "Here's my old room, and there's the mirror." And as soon as I said that and pointed to the mirror, the temperate began to drop drastically. I went over to some shelves to see how much of my stuff my little brother had taken since I had left, and I took my eyes off her. When I looked back at her she was staring at a wall, with a desperately sorrowful face, and digging into her right arm. I grabbed her, and as I did I must have woke her up out of her trance. She looked scared until she saw the cuts in her arm and screamed. She was out of the house before I could leave the room. As soon as she left, the room instantly got warmer. It wanted her. . .something about her she liked. The blood mirror still stands today behind an old dresser. My mother always gets crippling arthritic pain whenever she goes to take down the mirror and get rid of it. The pain is so bad she can't even grip silverware. . .until she decides to do something else. I moved the dresser drawer to hide the mirror, to bury it, so it won't bother anyone else. Some day the dresser drawer will be moved and the mirror will reflect the light of day again, and I know it will be even angrier than it was before I hid it. I pity the person that inherits it then. Thank God for eBay. Sorry for the crappy joke. Anyways, I need to clarify some earlier stuff I wrote about so I'll do that in another post if you want me too. Also, I've got some other stories, some of which are my friends if you want them. Thanks for all the support so far. In regards to the séance room in the basement: Furniture from upstairs was moved downstairs, and into the séance room accidentally. The furniture was later moved out when my parents bought a house, and put the death bed and mirror into the third bedroom for guests. I have no idea why they would want to use the family death bed for a guest bed, but I guess it was free. If you want a mental picture of the basement, here it is. The basement is a simple rectangle, maybe 20 feet long, and 15 feet wide. Then there is a séance room, I forget the specs but it's built for "satanic" type rituals, attached to the basement walls. The séance room is right by the steps up to the basement door. The basement door was hidden on a wall in the huge downstairs bathroom. The mirror faces the basement door, so you could be looking in the mirror and hear the knocking behind you. Whatever it is in the basement "talked" to me three times in one day. The first time it knocked and asked hello, the second time it knocked and asked hello but a bit more worried than before, the third time it just angrily "breathed" out at me. If you exhale lightly at first and then exhale strongly and quickly at the end, you can kinda get the idea of what I heard. As for why my parents keep these things, I have no idea. My parents are addicted to anything that has been passed down through the family, and their house is now loaded with stuff from both sides. My mother hates the mirrors, but she only wants to take them down and not throw them away because they've been in the family. It's a weird mix of stuff from both sides of my parents families. My father has old, ratty stuff like the old death bed, and my mother has expensive stuff from when her family was rich and lived in a mansion. It's like we have stuff from Night of the Living Dead, and The Haunting all in one place. My mother has the family opals, which are exquisite pieces of jewelry that only women in the family can wear, not because of tradition, but of some type of super bad luck. She also has these 80+ year old ruby glasses. The glasses aren't made of rubies, but they are a beautiful blood red and flawless. When she inherited them about 10 years ago, she said she had to put them in a sturdy china cabinet or they'll fall and break. That's because every other day you can hear someone run through the dinning room and to the china hutch, where the glasses are. My dad has this old trunk from Ireland that has the creepiest lamp (that used to be kept in the séance room too) in it, pictures of my Indian (native American) relatives that we no longer know who they are, and some sentimental news clippings from a cousin of ours in Ireland who was with the IRA, but was really a child killer. No one wants this stuff, the trunk used to be in the basement next to the séance room, and it's ugly to boot, but it's old and has stuff from the family. They just won't get rid of stuff that's old and has been in the family. Destroying the death bed was kinda hard for my dad to do, but WE STILL HAVE PARTS FROM THE MIRROR. All of it is ugly, everyone knows the pieces are cursed or at least haunted, and we don't need any of the pieces at all, but they still keep them. I mean Christ, those opals, once put on, cannot be taken off until right before the coffin closes, and you are to be buried in the ground. If you take them off the body earlier, or accept them as a gift while the original wearer is still alive, you will go mad. Apparently that's not enough to call the pieces cursed since it has only happened TWICE in the past 40 years. It also happens 100% of the time too, but that doesn't matter. I'll take as many pictures as possible while I'm there. It's like sentimental pieces from a haunted mansion all over the place. About why there are things happening in the basement to our house, I don't know. There are things everywhere in the house, and the basement is no exception. I'll do an outline of the house, and when I get a Chicago ghost hunt going, we'll stop by my house for a quick tour. Basement: Only thing here is the shadow man and the swinging boxing bag. The shadow man has only been seen twice, and has "charged" every time he knows you're looking. He doesn't come straight at you, but follows the walls around. The swinging punching bag was really fun. It happened about every other time anyone was downstairs, and it was really cool. I had a 110 pound leather punching bag attached to the ceiling of the basement. Really simple construction: just a swivel hitch bolted into the ceiling, and a three chains attached to the hitch. You would be sitting downstairs, watching TV or talking to friends, and the chain would start to creak. For a while we thought vibrations somehow moved the bag, until two of us saw how it started. The bag would be perfectly still, then it would move about a foot in one direction, and then swing back. It was creepy because you knew something was moving that bag. Ground floor: All you get are the occasional runner, the night light painting, and I guess orbs. Once in a while you see a quick flash of light like a firefly, usually in the spring or fall. Upstairs: This is where the mirrors are and the knocking. Sometimes you hear mumbling, something moving papers (and always loving up the system you have), lots of motion in the mirrors (bathroom and metal frame), and one of our dogs growling at something in the hallway briefly. If you have cat in your room, the cat will wake up sometimes and just stare at the door for a good five minutes, and then sometimes go under the bed. The upstairs is where the fun is. Oh, and I should mention that our new dog won't go into the dinning room where most of our inherited stuff is. He'll whine and cry if he looks in there, won't come if you're offering him tasty hamburger, and will fight you if you carry him in there. He gets over it, and then one night you hear the china cabinet move in the dinning room, and he freaks out. Until this thread, I never really thought about all the hosed up stuff we have in our house. I knew we had some bad things, but I just realized how much we have there. Hazo has a new favorite as of 05:25 on Feb 5, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 04:57
|
|
|
I don't have a story, have a video instead. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X72xDpv898Y
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 05:32
|
|
|
There are caves around where I live (southern Illinois). They're mostly small, nothing near the size or majesty of a place like Mammoth Cave. Mostly just a couple big chambers connected by narrow, contorted passages that you need to crawl and squeeze through. Remember Floyd's Tomb in that Ted the Caver story? They're mostly like that, except no one around tries to squeeze their way through them. Usually you can only climb down into collapsed chambers, have a look around, and climb back out. One cool thing is that they're connected to the surface by small vents. On cool spring and fall mornings, there's usually a little bit of air movement, and the moisture-laden cave air condenses out a small plume of fog. One cave around here is different from the usual small caves, though. I went on a walkthrough with the landowner and a few other geology nerds one day a few years ago. The guy collects folklore about the cave, mostly the activities of Native Americans. In this area, that would be the Shawnee or Pauwnee, and given that they were never really on good terms with land-grabbing whities, I'm not too inclined to believe the stuff he's collected. Nevertheless, it's kind of interesting. The entrance is about 10 x 10 feet in the north-facing side of the hill. The hole opens into a slightly sunken chamber about 20 feet in diameter. The central 2/3rds of the room is filled with a pool of water about a foot and a half deep. At the back is a jagged hole, big enough for a man to walk into and out of. According to the lore, this was a ritual bathing site, only to be entered after the spring rains had come and mostly gone. Apparently this was to allow the cave to flush itself out after people went in the year before. Being north facing and not well lit, people brought their torches in to illuminate the room, but they were never taken further into the cave. This much I can believe, there are soot marks on the ceiling. One curious thing was the little quartz pebbles with a sparkly crust scattered around the room. These appear to have been prayer beads, and originate in a single particular sandstone bed that crops out nearby but isn't present here. Thus, they must have been brought here and left. Some legends say the beads were left there as offerings for the dead, others say they're simply good luck charms that had used up their luck, and were brought to the cave to be replenished. At any rate, the pebbles that washed out of the cave were good luck, the ones inside the cave were not to be taken. One legend in that's especially interesting concerns earthquakes. If you live in the midcontinent, you've probably heard about the New Madrid fault system and are scared shitless by stories about them. Earthquakes that swallowed houses and towns; that turned the course of the Mississippi backwards for days; that rang church bells as far away as Boston. According to this pseudo-Native American folklore (it seems to have acquired a Christian flavoring in the 200 years since the natives were forced out at gunpoint), supernatural beings lived under the ground, commuting through the narrow passages to hold dances in the chambers. These dances would cause the earth to tremble when mortal sins were committed, but grew catastophic when times of great evil walked the land. Some tellings seem to imply that it's Satan dancing for joy, more traditional tellings suggest that it's the underdwellers performing a sort of medicine dance to right wrongs. Tecumseh, the great Shawnee warrior, traveled to the Memphis area in late 1811 to recruit tribes to join his alliance with the British to fight away the encroaching Americans. The tribes declined, believing that they could negotiate with the US. Tecumseh stormed out, and told the tribes that they would know when he returned home. He would stomp his feet, and the war would begin. Only a few weeks later, the famous New Madrid earthquakes, and the ultimately devestating (for the Native Americans) War of 1812 began. Prior to that, the last earthquakes in the area are thought to have happened ~1500 AD. Coincidentally, this was also about the time that the smallpox was making its first pass through the Americas, decimating tribes. So maybe there's some sort of historical origin for the myth, even if we can't track it back too far. Anyway, we're walking deeper and deeper into the cave as he's explaining this, and we get to a room that's not very wide, but rather tall with some rock shelves sticking out of the wall. He tells us to find a shelf to sit on and turn out our lights and be quiet for a few minutes. Now, if you've ever been in a cave with no lights, you realize how well and truly dark it is. Your eyes try to pick out shapes, but there are none. Your smell, your hearing, even your taste become heightened as your brain tries to get its bearings. The first thing you notice is the low groan of the cave and the high trill of the small stream running through. Eventually you realize there's a pattern to the groan, it slowly comes and goes. You're listening to a breath, of sorts, of the Earth. It sends goosebumps up your back to realize that this is a living, breathing system (controlled even as it is by the atmospheric pressure not far above). Finally, the guy clears his throat and begins telling the story of the night he spent in the cave. He had come down with a couple of friends one clear night in May 2008. (A cave is the last place you want to be when it's raining!) They had decided to spend the night there, just to see what it was like, and had stopped in this very room because it was the only dry place to lay out a sleeping bag. After a few hours of talking, they turned out their lanterns and gone to sleep. A few hours later, he wakes up. The cave is pulsing. Not the low, rhythmic groan we're hearing, but sharp staccato moans. He reaches for his lantern, but goosebumps run up his neck and he stops himself. He's about to say something to his friends when he hears splashing noises. A few seconds later, there's the rush of air past his face and the heavy smell of sweat, animal fat, and incense. He stifles a scream as whatever they are (there's more than one) marching down the creek in rhythm to the moaning. After a couple of moments, the noises fade Scared shitless but curious to see what just passed, he turned on his lantern to catch a flash of deerskin and bone white disappear into the cave. Cue goosebumps. Almost immediately one of his friends goes "what the gently caress was that?!" The next question is also an obvious one. "Which way do we head out?" There are two exits to the cave. One is the way they came in, and the other is a partially collapsed section of the cave. They're about 2/3s of the way to the collapsed section, but that's the way the whatever-they-weres were going. Meanwhile the moans have morphed into a surreal chant whose pace is building up. It's clear that something is about to happen, but they don't know what to do. Bolt for the closest exit? Run for the entrance and hope the chanting doesn't reach a climax before they get there? Wait it out in case more of the things are moving through the cave? They settled on making for the nearest exit. Quickly and quietly, they packed up and worked their way through the remaining section of cave, ears pricked for things marching up behind them. They escaped the cave and ran back down the trail to the guy's house. As they ran, they see a surreal sight as the cold air seeps pulsed, and the fog that was forming being blown like stuff was running through it. After a few minutes they made it back to the house. It's about 4am, and dead tired from the ordeal they crashed on the couch. About an hour and a half later, all three woke up to the rumble of a loud freight train. The house shook for about 10 seconds, then settled again. Earthquake, 5.2 magnitude about 60 miles away in Mt. Caramel, IL. They decided to walk up to the cave to check it out once it got brighter. They don't want to go in too far, in case of aftershocks, but check out the pool room. One of them noticed that there were piles of beads stacked up along the edge of the pool, and asked if they had been like that when they came in. No, they most definitely weren't. They left the cave shortly after and decided not to go back for a while. When they did, despite no rain, the rocks were scattered around the room again. Story over, he admitted to us this was his first time back in the cave, since his friends didn't really want to come back, and he certainly didn't want to come in alone. We turned our lights back on and filed towards the exit, ears pricked for sounds back the way we came.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 07:19
|
|
|
The previous three posts were great and I honestly had to get up and turn on the lights at the blood mirror tale. I didn't want a ghost to blowout the only candle and eat me.  What slightly irritates me about that video is there's no real good backstory. Is it a demonic haunting or just a random pigman?
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 17:28
|
|
|
Wedemeyer posted:The previous three posts were great and I honestly had to get up and turn on the lights at the blood mirror tale. I didn't want a ghost to blowout the only candle and eat me. I did some digging because I thought that video was extremely cool. Turns out it’s supposedly from a ghost hunt at an asylum that got bought and turned into something else, so the new owners stopped the guy from doing anymore research because they didn’t want people put off by rumours of it being haunted or whatever. Here’s the thread I found.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 18:57
|
|
|
Wedemeyer posted:The previous three posts were great and I honestly had to get up and turn on the lights at the blood mirror tale. I didn't want a ghost to blowout the only candle and eat me. Agreed. I made a small mistake in reading the blood mirror story in the dark at midnight.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 19:43
|
|
|
Nth Doctor posted:Agreed. I made a small mistake in reading the blood mirror story in the dark at midnight. As I was reading it waiting in my car a cardinal hit my window then sat there looking pissed for a bit before taking off, startled me pretty good.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 19:52
|
|
|
I have lots of little stories from my mom, grandmother, and myself, some I've posted before and some are new because they just happened. My ma swears that ghosts follow her because her birthday is on Halloween. When we were staying at a friend of hers place she was up late one night washing dishes. All of the kids were asleep and there weren't any pets in the house at the time I think. If so it was an old, arthritic dog who was asleep upstairs with the owner and could only get downstairs by being carried there. My ma had her rings off while she was doing dishes and she says that one of them flew off the counter like someone flicked it then it spun around on the floor, (not rolling just that neat spinning quarter trick) for a bit before falling over and lying still. At a place we lived at very briefly when I was young she told me how she had a friend over and they were hanging out around 11 or midnight and they can hear footsteps and people moving around. The friend says "your kids are up" and my ma says that we aren't. He goes to investigate and sure enough we were all asleep. He came back white as the ghosts he had just heard. The house my ma currently lives in was the same one she grew up in, and I lived there for several years too. These ghosts are really playful, I never felt uneasy because of them until I "discovered" the place was haunted. That faded quickly when I realized there wasn't any real danger there and they were really just loving with everyone. I don't know why I feel like there's multiple ones there, but I do. Maybe because they've been there so long from the stories I've heard. My gram says that she was cleaning or just putzing around the house when she heard this massive crash from the sub basement. She had huge stacks of glass bottles that she had just heard fall over and break. Swearing she goes to check it out and discovers that those bottles hadn't moved an inch. My ma and her friend have both seen stuff happen in her room while they were just sitting there. They were sitting watching tv and the ceiling fan above them just turns on high and starts going. My ma says she's seen a hand reaching out to turn off the alarm clock (ghosts want to sleep in too I guess) The stereo in the frontroom will randomly get cranked up all the way (ghosts like to rock out) I was laying in bed struggling to sleep one night laying on my back with my legs a little bit apart. My eyes are open and I suddenly feel the weight of what feels like someone kneeling on the bed with me, with one of their knees by each of my legs. That was my first interaction with the ghost(s) and it scared the poo poo out of me. I was like 12 I think. I shared that story with my gram who has had similar experiences with someone sitting on the bed with her, comforting her. One night I had a random bout of energy and decided to help my ma out and do dishes while everyone was asleep. No one was awake, no windows were open, it wasn't drafty in the house, everything was pretty still except me washing away. There's a door that leads to the sub basement that started moving. I could hear it creak as it would move. It would open a little, then shut some, shut some more, open more, shut some, open, open, shut. There was no rhyme or reason to how it was moving and it only moved a couple of inches or less at a time, but enough that the door creaked. I just froze and went to bed without looking at that loving door. One day while I was in the shower the light kept flickering. By this time I was used to them and realized they were just messing around so I said out loud "knock it off". The light flickered once more and then stopped. Smartasses... My dad's house is haunted as well but I don't like that ghost at all. I don't think she likes me, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only one there who is aware of her. I've heard my closet doors moving and adjusting when the house is completely still. One night, I'm asleep, just completely knocked out. At around 3am I'm jerked awake by my light turning on full blast suddenly. My light makes a "deee-DE" beeping noise whenever you push the button, which I would have heard if anyone had pushed the button to turn it on. Also, who the hell would do that just cause? I was in the basement one day looking for something. We have a wood burning stove down there that always has scraps of wood, leaves, newspapers, and other kindling next to it for year round use. I'm a bit of a ways down from it next to a leather recliner that was down there and I hear a plop of something jumping on/sitting in the recliner, and I think "oh one of the cats is down here with me. It's probably mini on there, she always wants my att-" as I look at the recliner to pet what I'm expecting to be a cat. What I find is a chunk of wood. Ghost bitch threw a chunk of wood across the basement at me. I was the only one down there and no one could have gotten down there without me knowing because the stairs are so creaky. I had a friend stay with us for a few days at my dads. We're sitting talking with my step mom about school/work/what the gently caress ever polite conversations and in the middle of it my friend just goes "um... is your guys house haunted?" I was taken aback by it cause I didn't know she even believed in that and my step mom started to say no and I cut her off being like "yeah it is." My friend was like "is there a window over on that wall there?" referring to a wall across the room that makes like an entryway for the front door. From where she was sitting she couldn't see the side of it but it's just a flat wall, so I tell her no it's a flat wall. She said "Well I just saw what looked like the back of a dress being kicked up going into that wall. Like someone was walking and I thought maybe it was a curtain blowing from an open window." To my knowledge that's the only "sighting" of the woman. The closest I've gotten was a shadow I saw in my brothers room one day when I was walking past. It was a human figure but it was low to the ground, like child height low to the ground, 3-4 feet? It wasn't a child though, it had adult proportions. I walked past again and didn't see it at all. That scared the poo poo out of me. Just Sunday night I was there for the night because there was a huge snow storm and he lives closer to my work than my apt is so to cut down on my commute home and in the morning to be back at 6 am I decided to play it safe and stay there. All night I heard footsteps. I heard footsteps in the morning while I was getting ready but everyone would be asleep or in the basement. This actually made me remember a few more stories that happened at my dads: I was home all alone as my dad and step mom were out of town and my brother was out. Just me and the cats. I had my door closed and was probably browsing the forums or facebook and I hear 3 whistles from right outside my bedroom door. I don't know how to describe them, but I can still remember how they sounded. Cat's don't whistle. I've also heard what sounded like my dad walking down the driveway (right outside my bedroom window) while talking on his phone, or to someone, I couldn't hear what was being said. It was definitely his voice. Except he was at work in the middle of a 12 hour shift. My current apt is haunted by what I'm guessing is a man, 55+. He likes to take stuff. He really likes to mess with my piercings. I don't know if he doesn't like them cause they're facial piercings but every time I switch them out the piece I just took out goes missing and then is found somewhere I wouldn't have left it. I keep the jewelry in a little baggy on my nightstand and when I take it out I always put it back in the baggy so it doesn't go missing and I'm careful to check it's in the bag before I put it down. But I'll go to switch it (I switch my nose piercing pretty frequently because I love it but work doesn't so I leave a clear retainer in during my work week) and whatever I'm looking for will be missing. Then I'll find it 2 days later in my bed or under my pillow. My boyfriend was going to check the mail so he went to grab the mail key which we always leave in the same spot on the desk, but he couldn't find it. He moved everything on the desk to find it, still nothing. I come over and do the same thing, check the drawers, check shoes near the desk, the shelves, nothing. He knows I believe in ghosts so I say out loud "someone took our key and they need to put it back. I'll be back in a few minutes" and I walk away. I come back 5-10 min later and the key is on the desk, exactly where it should be, just 1/2 hidden by some paper I moved no less than 4 times when I was looking for the key myself, as had the boyfriend moved that same paper. He hasn't hidden anything in a while though. I don't mind when he does it so I hope I didn't make him stop One day I'm taking a shower right around the time the boyfriend should be coming home from work, but still a little before (like it's 3 and he gets out at 3 little before.) I get out of the shower and see a shadow move really fast on the wall and it startled me because I didn't know my boyfriend was home yet and the movement was so sudden. Except he wasn't home. I was the only one there and that was not my shadow. I've also had 2 "goodbye dreams" as I like to call them. It's a dream where I'm talking to someone and I get to a point in the dream where I realize that I shouldn't be talking to them, because they're dead. Everything gets hyper realistic, I start crying and I give them a hug. I can feel their skin, hair, and clothes, I hear their voice, I can smell them. I get like an actual hug, it is a loving embrace, not a quick hug. I always wake up crying from these dreams and I never see that person again in a dream. The first one was my great grandmother, it took her a while to come give me mine but I think it was because she had a lot of people to go visit and say goodbye to. The second was a friend of mine who had committed suicide, his not too long after his funeral. I'm crying now just thinking about those dreams. I'm glad to get my final goodbye though. Every now and then I will smell my great grandmother out of nowhere. I like to think that she's coming to visit me and check up on me. CeramicPig has a new favorite as of 21:26 on Feb 5, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 21:19
|
|
|
Blood mirror gives me the willies every time I read it, best scary story I've read I think. One that I think is goon-written (I certainly first read it in one of the old threads) which has always stuck with me is The Intruder: quote:The Intruder is a silhouette and similar in shape to a Siamese cat. When sitting, it is about 7.5 feet tall. It has two overly large, slanted eyes, which glow a bright fluorescent green, and have no
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 22:05
|
|
|
eating only apples posted:Blood mirror gives me the willies every time I read it, best scary story I've read I think. Also The Intruder can cast Magic Missile, but only on a Tuesday, and also if you don't look at it, the Intruder grows to twice its size but attacks half as fast. The Intruder gains the ability to teleport if you are either wearing a blue jacket, or odd socks.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 23:16
|
|
|
eating only apples posted:Blood mirror gives me the willies every time I read it, best scary story I've read I think. Ayup, that was definitely written by a goon.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 23:28
|
|
|
Pretty sure I've told parts of this story here before, but I ended up getting involved with a ring of those astral plane/channeling/demon fighting types during my teenage years. This particular group made no use of incantations, instead relying on intense meditation, visualization and expression of willpower - Very eastern, really. Being a daydreamer and having some shaolin kempo training, I was a natural fit for anything that required a meditative state of mind. Before I joined the group, I had been warned that the development and usage of my powers would turn me into a beacon for demons and spirits. I was fine with this because I wanted to kill bad guys and do cool poo poo, as any teenager does. I stopped being fine with it when I started hearing voices. Bear in mind that 'hearing' is something of a misnomer - I heard these things with my ears, yes, but also in my mind. Like a thought just... Forcing its way into my skull from the outside. It was typical horror movie poo poo, for the most part: Whispers, screams, eerie crying baby sounds. This was understandably creepy as poo poo, but also pretty cool, so I kept on. With time, I became very, very good at visualizing the ah, 'astral plane' as it were. Having discovered that I possessed the element of fire, I began to feel considerable heat radiating through my body during my energy manipulation practice. Right around that time was when I started to feel things touching me. Sudden sensations of cold and little stabs of pain were commonplace. I felt forced to use my powers with greater and greater frequency just to maintain a bubble of personal space. The whole thing came to an end when I heard what sounded like an enormous explosion going off in my face and felt a horrendous stabbing pain in my chest, like some sort of foreign object had run me completely through - I was later told that I had encountered an 'impaler'. The sensation I felt in that moment is difficult to explain, honestly. I felt it twice, if that makes sense, like something had punched through and gored me through the soul. I was done at that point. I got out, stopped using my powers and dedicated a goodly portion of my time trying to work out the truth of what had happened to me. I eventually turned up a small amount of research on something called shamanic illness. The gist of what I read was that the brain could be utterly broken through intense, frequent meditation, thereby altering one's perception of the world. Things are seen, voices are heard, sensations are felt, so on and so forth. You essentially force your mind into a state that isn't unlike schizophrenia. I guess this makes for kind of a lovely, non-specific ghost story, but... It isn't a ghost story. Don't gently caress with the occult, kids. You'll break your brain.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 23:54
|
|
|
I don't have any personal stories, but I saved this one from an earlier thread. It's always creeped the hell out of me.quote:Mark was always one of the weirder guys I’d known. He was never content to live what he considered a “mundane” life. He was an artist, an explorer, a scientist in some sort of field never imagined by man. I’ll always wonder what he would have done with his life had he lived past twenty-four. Surprisingly, the fault of his death was not placed on his shoulders, but on the shoulders of the rather inebriated gentleman who plowed him down one day on Main Street.
|
|
#
?
Feb 5, 2015 23:56
|
|
|
100% true story: My great-grandparents lived in a house which was over 100 years old and was the original farmhouse of what used to be the only land owner in that area before it became a residential neighborhood. My mom grew up there and said a number of weird things happened there over the years - properly-anchored pictures falling off the walls with no bumps or other provocation; moaning or laughing or music coming from the basement, which was unfinished and only used for storage. But the weirdest thing of all happened when I was a kid, visiting one day, and I got to witness it. Me and my mom were over visiting and great-grandma has just sat us down in the kitchen for a snack. My great-grandpa and one of his buddies were working together painting the outside of the house, it was a hot day and she called them in to rest for a bit and eat too. So we were all sitting at the kitchen table, when all of a sudden my grandpa's buddy just freezes and stares at the stove. I noticed first and thought he was benign funny so I laughed at him, but he made no reaction. This got the attention of the adults and my grandma asked if he was ok, but he just kept looking at the stove. So we followed where he was looking. Draped over the handle of the stove was a tea towel. One end was hanging loose and the other end was very slowly raising up in the air. It went up nearly past the handle and then just as slowly went down again. It was still For a few seconds, then went up again. Then down again. There were no windows open, nobody near the stove, nobody was moving or pulling on anything. We had no idea how it was doing that and all we could do was watch it while our brains tried to parse what we were seeing. Grandpa's buddy was white as a loving sheet and looked genuinely terrified. I remember I wasn't scared, just very confused. Finally after a few times of this (3 or 4 times), it stopped moving. Grandpa's buddy got up and said he didn't feel well and had to go home. Grandpa and grandma just looked at each other, grandpa went back outside and grandma told me to finish my snack, so I did. Me and her and my mom just sat in total silence drinking our tea and eating pie. Years later I started to doubt the authenticity of my memory, so I asked my mom and grandma again if that really happened or it was just a weird Dream, and they said yes, it really happened. My grandma said that my grandpa's buddy stopped being friends after that with him and wouldn't talk to either of them anymore. The tea towel or no subsequent other tea towels ever did that again.
|
|
#
?
Feb 6, 2015 00:40
|
|
|
Glad to see this thread revived. Here is a classic, the Dionaea House => http://www.dionaea-house.com/
|
|
#
?
Feb 6, 2015 04:37
|
|
|
I don't believe in ghosts. But I've had the weirdest poo poo happen in this house. It always seems louder at night when nobody else is here, creaking floors, rattling doors... I admit I have gotten frustrated when the house was just noisy in the middle of the night and yelled 'shut up!' at nothing at all. Seemed to work. Probably my imagination... At any rate, I've only had one truly weird experience here. This place is 70s as all hell. Slate in the bathroom, wood-paneling out the wazoo, and every bedroom has those previously-fashionable, completely awful inbuilts with mirrored sliding doors. The last place I rented was pretty similar in that regard, it's something a bit off-putting but you get used to it. My landlady is a bit of a nut. She decided she wanted to put curtains in everywhere, very good, because at the time we only had these lovely cheap plastic blinds. She managed to break the blinds in my room while doing the measurements, so while I was waiting for her to come back with the curtains I had the lovely experience of sleeping in a room with no window coverings. The way my room's laid out is you got a big window on one side, then on the opposite wall you got wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the wardrobe, bed inbetween, so if you lie on your side you get a view of either window or mirrors. When I was a kid I had a nightmare that I looked out the window of my bedroom at night and there was a weird man, standing there in the middle of the yard, just staring. I don't much like looking outside windows at night anymore, especially if they've been covered. Who knows what's out there? So it was a crap week without anything on the windows. But it was pretty uneventful. It was Spring, so the weather was fine enough and it was dark enough outside not to be a hassle. The windows opened into our fully-enclosed backyard - wouldn't have slept in there otherwise, haha. But as I said, uneventful. Landlady came back, put the curtains on the windows, all normal. First night with the curtains though... well it was normal. Until I woke up in the morning. I was facing the mirror, looked up at it absentmindedly. Saw a strange man, peering in, clear as day. A short, bald, slight bloke, wearing glasses and squinting, leaning in with his hand over his eyes as if he was trying to see in. My first impression was "gently caress why is somebody at my window" but then I realised... first of all, new curtains, nice and closed. Second of all... my bed wasn't reflected inbetween me and him. If it was a reflection he would have been between me and the wardrobe. Right in front of me. Naturally I immediately pulled the covers over my head. Suddenly completely awake. Took a few moments to work up the courage to peek out again, reminding myself that what I just saw was impossible anyway... And of course, nothing was there after that. Never saw anything like it since. The waking mind can play funny tricks on you... My family doesn't believe me when I tell this story. I don't blame them, considering I spent ages telling fake stories about how my house is haunted to gently caress with my gullible brother-in-law.
|
|
#
?
Feb 6, 2015 11:46
|
|
|
You ever been to Bracken Library? It's the main library at Ball State University in Muncie, Indiana. It's a nice library, but especially late at night (it's open till 3, or at least was when I was there), it gets a bit... off. I'm not sure if it's the time of day, or the lower flow of people, or what, but it seems like especially around one in the morning, in the basement and on the higher floors, the silence settles in and solidifies around you, becomes a tangible thing. I've always been the sort for long hours in libraries, so I braved the quiet and the isolation on a regular basis. There's a basement and four floors, and usually I'd ensconce myself on the third floor because there'd be at least a bit of traffic, but that night in November I found my way up to the fourth floor. I'd only ever been up there during the day before, but there were books- their titles now long lost to memory- that I wanted, so I trudged up the stairs, quietly enjoying the minor creeps. The fourth floor was dead, completely empty of any other human beings, and it took me a few minutes to find the books I wanted, after which I plopped myself, my books, and my backpack down on a chair and desk and started reading. Perhaps half an hour passed before I realized I needed to use the restroom, and just my luck- the desk I sat at was right next to the one in the southwest corner. Leaving my books and backpack at the desk- I would only be gone a moment, after all, and nobody else was around to possibly steal them- I walked over to the bathroom door and pushed it open. Well, no, that's a lie. I gave it the same push I gave to all the bathrooms in Bracken Library, since they're all the same doors, but nothing happened. It didn't give ever so slightly and slam the deadbolt against the doorframe, it just didn't budge. I gave it a good, hard shove, thinking that the door was jammed, and the door swung open slightly- and then slammed shut, feeling for all the world as if someone was pushing on the other side of the door. While I'm a fairly skeptical sort of person, I've seen the odd bit of weirdness- stuff that I just couldn't find an explanation for, no matter how I tried- and every time I get this awful feeling in my stomach, just at the base of my abdomen. Between the sudden heaviness in my stomach (which was a fun companion to the existing pressure on my bladder) and the "oh god, oh god" feeling as my skin prickled into goosebumps, I started to panic. I was nervous, and weirded out, but it was entirely possible somebody was collapsed against the inside of the door, and though it was a tremendous effort to continue, I gave the door the hardest shove I had in me, determined that if somebody was in trouble, I wasn't about to let my natural nervousness stop them from getting help. Like I say, I gave my hardest shove, determined to overcome whoever was pushing against the door- but the door slammed open, giving no resistance where a moment ago there had seemingly been somebody holding the door shut, making a loud banging noise as it slammed into the wall. Tamping down a new wave of fear, trying as hard as I could to be brave and help somebody who might need it, I walked around the little corner to find myself in the bathroom proper. The Bracken men's bathrooms have a row of urinals opposite a row of stalls, or did then, with a couple of sinks and a mirror between them and the door. What most of them don't have is a sourceless shadow on the ground in front of one of the urinals. As I watched, it slipped along the floor down the row of urinals before vanishing under a stall door, and then a high, scratchy voice said: "mine!" Whatever composure had been holding me together was completely lost in that moment as the remnants of my nobility and self-control came flying apart. I choked out something like a scream and turned, running in a blind panic for the stairwells, taking the six-foot high flights of stairs in single jumps, scrambling to put as much distance between myself and that bathroom as I possibly could. It was two days before I could bring myself to return, and that in the company of my friend Angel. She's less naturally skeptical than I am, but even so she looked sidelong at me as I nervously slunk down the aisles. My backpack was still there, along with the books, and I refused to stay more than a moment longer than necessary to gather my things and go. I found out a couple of weeks later from a friend who had worked as a shelver at Bracken that people sometimes heard a high, scratchy singing while shelving up there at night, and that for the last couple of months they'd had trouble getting anybody to shelve up there at all. I graduated and moved on about six months later, and though I've visited Muncie, and even Ball State, since, I've never returned- nor can I imagine that I ever will return- to that corner of the fourth floor.
|
|
#
?
Feb 6, 2015 12:41
|
|
|
CeramicPig posted:I have lots of little stories from my mom, grandmother, and myself, some I've posted before and some are new because they just happened. This last part is quite sweet and kind.
|
|
#
?
Feb 8, 2015 09:13
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 16, 2024 15:16 |
|
|
One of my favourites is Wife Doppelganger. Sounds like (and probably was) a nightmare. Canis Latrans posted:Wife Doppleganger also the fanged muppets in grandma and granpa's tv was awesome. Nightmares are wicked cool. e: SlothBear posted:Glad to see this thread revived. I've seen that so many times but never taken the time to read it. God drat that's well done. cowboythreespeech has a new favorite as of 18:43 on Feb 9, 2015 |
|
#
?
Feb 9, 2015 17:19
|
|
