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Hazo
Dec 30, 2004

SCIENCE





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:

2005
Tales of a Ghost Hunter

2003
Ghost stories!
Scary Stories & hosed-up Dreams Combo-Thread

2002
Ghost Story Time Again!
You want a ghost story, I'll give you a ghost story.[LONG]

Archived:

2014
The 2014 Ghost Story Thread

2012
2012 Ghost Story Thread

2011
Spring/Summer Ghost Story Thread

2010
Winter Ghost Story Thread
Summer Ghost Story/Paranormal Thread!

2009
Ghost Story Thread - Spring Edition!
Summer Ghost Story Thread!
Winter Ghost Story/Weird Thread

2008
Creepiest, Inexplicable Things That Have Happened in You Life
Ghost Story Thread - Fall Edition
Ghost Story Thread - Summer Edition
Ghost caught on tape, sets off motion detector
Inaugural Rolling Paranormal/Cryptozoological Catch-All Thread
Ghost Story Thread - Winter Edition

2007
Ghost Story Thread - Fall 2007
Catchall Urban Legend/Weird History/Ghost Story/Legend Tripping Thread
Spring ghost story thread of 07
Summer 07 Ghost Story Thread
Think ghosts are scary? You haven't heard of skin-walkers then. [Super pro-click right here]
Isn't it about time for another ghost thread?

2006
Share your Ghost Stories
Share your ghost stories - The Holiday Special Edition
Summer '06 Ghost Story Thread
Springtime Ghost Story thread - Fresh Weather, Fresh Stories
Time for another ghost story thread...
I may have walked in on a ghost playing the piano...

2005
The Fall/Winter '05 Ghost Story Thread
The Christmas Ghost Story Thread 2005
Ooh, do have I a NEW Ghost story for you... +Bonus Material...

2004
The Ghost Story Thread of Summer '04
The Ghost Story Thread of Fall '04
Not Another Ghost Story Thread

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 18:22 on Apr 23, 2015

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Hazo
Dec 30, 2004

SCIENCE


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!

We arrive at Lindsey’s house, where her roommates were all running about, organizing the contents of 11 empty grocery bags; meat here, condiments there, booze here, etc…

I’d noted to Lindsey that I liked her new home, it’s much bigger, roomier, and safer than her previous one, to which she looked a little puzzled.

“You… you must be referring to the house on ‘Nashville St,’ because you never saw…”
“…the other one,” Lindsey’s roommate Emily finished.

“So… you don’t know the story of the place in between the place you knew us to live in and this one, right?” Lindsey asked.

I just stood there, curious of all of the wide-eyed, uneasy looks, making myself wordlessly obvious that I’d not a clue. They called in the third roommate, Brianne, followed by J.

They took turns adding in their ‘two-cents,’ confirming little details, adding others, to which they all agreed upon as the story progressed. Rather than make this a back-and-forth story of four people interjecting, I’ll tell it to you third-person.

On Carrollton Avenue in New Orleans, Lindsey had parted with her previous roommate, and got together with two girls from school she didn’t know so well, Brianne and Emily, and got a decent place. The place in question was rather roomy, in a good location, and, above all, a hell of a bargain. This house, like most in the neighborhood, is nearly one hundred years old.

When Emily and Lindsey arrived to move their belongings in, they saw a note on the door of the furthest room from the front door, there was a note by Brianne, saying that she’d already claimed it, which annoyed the other two girls.

A blessing in disguise.

Within the first week or two, Brianne and the girls were all in the house together, Lindsey and Emily supposedly asleep, and Brianne up all night, determined to finish the book she was reading. At somewhere between 2-4am, she reached the last page of her text, closing the book, and settling into bed to see if she was tired enough to sleep, just yet. Note that the book was NOT a mystery/horror book, and that she had an elated feeling about what she’d just read.

She was replacing the book back on the shelf, and general before-bed tidying up, when the light above her started flickering, then went out. Brianne then turned off all of the lamps around the room, leaving the one near her desk on.

She soon found out she couldn’t sleep, so she sat up again, and turned on the television, putting in a cartoon DVD, in the hope it’d tire her out before the sun came up.

She heard a rapping on the wall, and stood, not knowing if it came from her door or her wall. Brianne lowered the volume on the TV, fearing it woke up a roommate, and approached the corner of the room where the noise was coming from. It wasn’t the door, it wasn’t the wall, it was coming from the closet.

What Brianne didn’t know at the time was that her deep closet shared a wall with Emily’s equally deep closet, not Emily’s wall.

Brianne assumed it was Emily who was knocking, and crept back to bed, in silence. Again, the rapping coursed through the room, so Brianne got up, exited the room, only to find Emily fast asleep in her own room, her body splayed nowhere near the wall in question. She checked on Lindsey, who was also fully asunder, her room too far for her to have knocked on the wall, to do so loud enough to gain Brianne’s attention would have woken up the whole house!

Confused, and a little weirded-out, Brianne returned to her room, closed the door, and turned off the TV and remaining lamps, and reached for the desk lamp, which turned off before she could hit the switch. She retreated her hand in surprise, and the light flickered on; she then reached forward again, and she successfully managed to turn it off, the desk lamp having given up on a life of its own.

Suddenly, light flooded the room, the overhead light blasted into life; perhaps it wasn’t the bulb that broke, but simply a loose socket?

Brianne, in the few seconds it took for her to turn around, and head towards the light switch, became uneasy. Sure, it was scary, and the visual impact of the overhead light flickering like crazy was intimidating enough, but it wasn’t without the realm of reason that this old house had loose bulbs, sockets, even wiring, to which she’d have a chat with the landlord about investigating before a inner-wall fire could occur.

Brianne consoled herself with such thoughts, as she approached the light switch in the strobed room, to finally turn it off, and put an end to this ordeal for the night. However, she began to believe the strobing effect of the light flickering on and off maniacally was making her see things… or not, for once she got to the light switch…

The light switch was been frantically flipping up and down on its own.

She jumped back in panic, as the strobing continued for a full few seconds, then suddenly stopped. Following a few moments later, in the darkness, was the knocking making a re-appearance, but much, much louder than before.

Brianne grabbed what she could, and got the gently caress out of there around 5am, not only not looking back, but too scared to even inform the other girls of what went on.

It took a long time for Brianne to be coaxed back into the house, since no strange events had occurred since, yet Brianne wasn’t going anywhere NEAR that room, so, she slept elsewhere in the house. It was suggested that Brianne sleep on the second floor, since the weather was good, and the only reason it wasn’t used was that the landlord had yet to repair the AC/Heating units up there. Brianne refused. As tall-tale hauntings go, Brianne reasoned, she was going to stay away from an attic as far as possible, despite the fact that all of the happenings occurred in the back bedroom that she once claimed.

Weeks passed, and Emily had some visitors come over on one occasion, and Lindsey had some of her own on another; neither group of visitors slept more than one night in that house, citing that they had ‘strange dreams’ that they refused to discuss, and they had an unnatural apprehension from going down the hall past Emily’s room.

Lindsey decided to investigate a bit, and entered Brianne’s room during the day, finding nothing out of order. However, upon inspecting the closet where Brianne heard pounding noises, she discovered that not only did the back of the closet share a wall with the back of Emily’s closet, there was a sizable hole cut out of it, enough for a child to pass back and forth. Upon even closer inspection, the wall was shared, yes, but was hollowed, there was three feet or more difference between the two panels in the back of the two closets. Lindsey shined a light on the little space, and found a large spool of ‘industrial’ wire. She turned the light upward, toward the ceiling, and discovered this little ‘hollow’ went straight through the second floor, and into the attic, she could see a large beam stretching across, far above.

Lindsey kept this discovery to herself for a few days.

A night or two later, Emily was looking rather haggard, and explained that it was due to lack of sleep, since recurring nightmares kept jolting her out of slumber. The other two girls pressed on the contents of the dreams, the reslut of which much to their shock.

All three girls (and one overnight guest) had the same dream, as did the two previous guests, when contacted and insisted upon the details:

A very old, bald man was suspended above them, from wires somehow attached to his back, reaching up into the blackness; his arms were slung down, locked at the elbow, as to reach as far down as he possibly could; his arms began as skin, muscle, and sinew, but gradually terminated into a cluster of wires. The Wireman dangled above the dreamer, waving/scissoring his arms back and forth at locked length, as if trying to wipe past the faces of the startled dreamer. Finally, the man would buckle, as if a few inches of slack was granted from above, and the Wireman would immediately and eagerly grasp the sleeper’s throats with its wire-hands, and choke them vigrously. They could hear him smiling. The dreamer would suffer and die in the dreams, before awaking.

The vast majority of these factors were shared with the dreamers, without deviance.

The profusely apologetic Landlord didn’t question the girls’ fright (obviously there’s something he knew they didn’t,) and offered to send in an exorcist. Apparently, Exorcists are few and far between, so the girls popped down to some of the (very few) reputable psychics that were marvelously expensive; she got three to come on half-pay, half-favor. Remember, this is New Orleans, even I know of 1000 ‘Psychics,’ but I only believe 3 or 4 of them.

It should be noted that Lindsey was smart about this, she didn’t mention anything about the room, dreams, or actual location of the house, and should the psychics wish to investigate before they come to the site. Lindsey convinced them to accept the job with as very little info as possible, and all of the girls were there when the Psychics showed up, offering them nothing, but listening to everything.

The Psychics entered the house and all of its rooms, feeling nothing, until they got to the last room of the hall, where all three of them looked at each other in discomfort. One began crying. They backed out of the room. Lindsey took them into Emily’s room, and showed them the ‘little room’ between the closets (obviously from the ‘safe’ side,) and directed their attention upward. Soon after, the band of explorers would find themselves in the dreaded attic, and had found the crossbeam in question.

It had a deeply-etched groove of wear from a once-taut wire, and was indeed centered directly above that little hole.

The Psychics soon joined the girls in the living room, and discussed what they felt.

Apparently, a long time ago, a woman had run off from her husband, and little boy. The husband refused to let the child go outside, thinking that he’d run off, and the only way the mother would return was if the child was there, she’d surely not come back if it were just the father.

One day, tired of the wait, the father locked his son in his bedroom, and hung himself (with wire, we’re not 100% certain, in the little room? Not 100% certain) until, of course, he died, assuming that the mother would soon come for the son. She didn’t. The little boy died of dehydration in his room.

While this didn’t explain a good half of what went on, the Psychic went on to say…

“Well, there was some sort of torture… perhaps self-torture, but I don’t know if the preceded the man and his boy, or if it involved the man and his boy… we threw down many tarot cards, and, despite the meaning of ‘The Hanged Man’ that we all accept, it came up every drat hand… we use 108 cards, it came up EVERY three cards after a thorough re-shuffle. I think it’s demanding a new meaning, perhaps an obvious one? We don’t know, we don’t normally do this, but certain impressions are undeniable.”

The Landlord offered a second property, bigger, better, and cheaper, to which the girls took, and presently live.

The girls, when they think of it, did a little investigating, and here’s what they came up with:

(1) Neighbors had seen six sets of tennants come and go in the last two years alone.

(2) Their pal, Brian, who had several nervous breakdowns (including crying in class, and walking around bug-eyed,) in the year previous turned out having lived in that very house, in that very room for six months. Brian was mortified when the girls admitted they stayed there. He even recalled the ‘Wireman’ dream with eerie clarity and description. Apparently his state has improved in the time he’s been out of that house.

(3) The house is currently unoccupied.

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.

Knowledge of the physical environment is essential to an LEO in Patrol. It is one reason why seniority counts for a great deal in this line of work-the longer you work a given juridiction, the better you know it. And locals who become police officers quickly learn that growing up in an area does not mean you truely know it.

Part of it, is that an LEO, unlike most people, has no perception of private or personal space. We can go anywhere, given correct circumstances. And because of that, a great deal of ‘idle time’ or ‘routine patrol’ is spent exploring. Can you get a patrol car through the gap in this fence? Where does that track lead? Is there a way to get from this parking lot to another? If you walk this easement or power-line access, what will you see?

This is essential, because at some point this knowledge can mean shaving thirty seconds off a response time, or catching a fleeing subject.

In every police jurisdiction of any size, in my experience, there is always at least one strange place. Not the spots you take rookies and play Find the Mud Hole, or the crime scenes you use to scare Explorers, but the real thing. The places that nobody talks about much. The places you don’t find out about until you have to go there. The places you go to only if you have to.

We have a place that is sometimes called the Patch. Its about thirty-five acres of very broken ground covered in scrub oak on the edge of town, completely isolated from everywhere else, out beyond an old brick plant that now makes clay pots. Nothing, as far as I can tell, have ever been built there, nor is it really good for anything. Its at the base of the tall ridge that currently marks the west boundry of our burg, cut by numerous gullies, and whose red-clay soil is about useless from growng anything.

The City seized it for taxes back in 1932 from a land company; it was listed as ‘waste land’ (no commercial use) back then.

Its really a strange place. I’ve been on search teams across it six times in eleven years, and every time I’ve been on it, it creeps me out. It gave me the willies when I first explored it shortly after being cut loose on my own; you can’t get a car very deep into it, and frankly, a short walk on foot into it gave me such a bad feeling I never went back without a reason. It wasn’t until about eighteen months later that I learned that I was not alone in my reaction to the place.

One factual thing that bothers me about the place, is that I get lost in it. I have, since I was old enough to think about such things, an unerring instinct about the direction north. I can always find it. Night time, snowstorms, forest, whatever; give me a few seconds to concentrate, and I know which direction north is. Even the desert, which screws many people up, never bothered me. And the Army taught me land nav to a fine degree; I’ve run compass courses with multiple dog-legs and hit my target location every time, even on featureless terrtain such at Fort Hood, where one bit of scrub is identical to every other bit.

But every time I’ve been in the Patch, I’ve gotten turned around. In broad daylight, with a ridgeline a quarter-mile away that is only a couple degrees off a true north-south axis. After the first search, I started taking a compass with me.

Near the center of the Patch is a structure we call the Playhouse. Its a building made out of sheets of old galvanized tin nailed to thick posts and four-by fours, with a dirt floor. We call it the Playhouse because there is absolutely no rationale for its positioning or design; firstly, you can’t get a vehicle larger than an ATV or dirt bike to it due to washouts and gullies; maybe a jacked-up 4x4 if it was dry and you really did not care about your paint job.

Secondly, because the place is big (about 3000 square feet, as near as we can tell), but has no purpose. There’s no animal pens near it, nothing; just a wood framework with tin nailed to it, no tar on the roof-seams, no doors (but several door-way sized openings), no windows at all. Inside its split into at least a dozen ‘rooms’ by either more tin sheets, or partitions made out of old packing crates from the railroad. Some of the rooms are completely isolated from the exterior walls.

There is no logic or reason to how the rooms are laid out; several have openings that are barely 3’ high. It reminds you of how kids put together a fort or treehouse.

Except that this one has cut-down telephone poles for roof supports set several feet into the ground. Whatever else you can say about it, someone built it to last.

There no junk or litter about the PH, and no grafftti; while its not very obvious, its been there since before the City seized the place, and with all the generations of kids, you would expect some beer-drinking, ghost-hunting, or general spray-can antics.

Nor is there any sign of animals taking advantage of the shelter, nor have I seen any bird’s nests, although hornet’s nests and mud daubers are present.

And it smells odd. That’s all I can say about it: it smells different than what I think it should. This has been commented on by others, as well. No specific odor. Just odd.

And flashlights fail in it. Yes, flashlights fail everywhere, but flashlights seem to fail a lot more in it than anywhere else. $70 Streamlight Stingers that are City-issue and have reliable rechargeable batteries go abruptly dead in there. And not in the usual fashion, the light going yellow for twenty minutes, getting dimmer and dimmer until they just fade away; rather, going from hard white light to dead in a minute’s span. When you carry the same light every day for years, you know its battery in detail. Yet many of us have been caught by an unexpected dead battery in the Playhouse.

Some time in the past, we were searching for a missing girl. It was likely that she had been carried off by a recent high water after massive cloud burst (10” in ten hours), but foul play was also a possibility, for reasons best unrelated. A search was mounted. I was tasked with taking two officers and checking the area around the old brick plant and the Patch.

I had two veteran officers, both entry team members and well-known to me; call them MD and Flash. They readily accepted my suggestion that we change into tactical gear in order to protect our uniforms from the brush; to be frank, I was less concerned with the brush, than for having an excuse to bring my MP-5 along. I wasn’t alone in that, as unbidden, both Flash & MD got their shotguns out of the arms room. Flash had a 14” pump, and MD a Benneli semi-auto.

We searched the Patch first; and although all three of us were carefully keeping track of where we were in a place we had all been in before, we managed to get well and truely turned around twice in the space of ninety minutes.

It took us a lot longer than it should have to search the area, because frankly, we weren’t splitting up. At all. Anywhere else, we would have been twenty to thirty feet apart walking on line. Here, we stuck together. We had been on other search teams which had gotten got hopelessly jumbled and separated in the Patch before.

It was late afternoon when we went to the Playhouse. The sky was completely overcast, the color of lead. The ground was muddy, everything was wet, and there was a cold breeze out of the north. To say it was a miserable day was an understatement.

We circled the Playhouse, looking for footprints, and found nothing. However, drainage was such that it was possible that they could have been washed away, so a search was nessessary.

Inside, there were no gaps in the ceiling to speak of, and very few in the walls; the gray daylight hardly made its presence known through what gaps there were, although the dull light through nail holes made you think (unpleasently) of animal eyes in the night.

I led the way in. Twenty feet in a portable metal detector (a wand type used to check for weapons) that Flash was carrying suddenly started beeping, and did not stop until he pulled the battery pack; he swore it had been turned off the whole time he had been out. Later, at the PD, it worked perfectly.

We were clearing the place like a hostile building, rather than a seach; we had not talked about it, but all three of us were on edge. Very much so. The place smelled very wrong; not a smell of anything in particular, just not the way such a place should smell. I can’t explain it any way better than that.

I was on one knee checking out a closet sized-‘room’ when abruptly the light on my MP-5 died, going from white & bright to dead in a couple seconds. Flash took point and MD center while I tagged along and switched batteries (I had a couple full-charged spares on me, as well as two more flashlights and some cylumes).

A minute or so later Flash’s light died the same way, and he dropped to the rear to change out, while MD and I moved up a place. We stopped at that point, and we heard something. Flash muttered ‘What was that?’ and we all listened carefully.

It was coming from ahead and to our right; we did not speak at the time, of course, but later, we never agreed on what it sounded like. To me, it had sounded like a sick cat might sound as it whimpers.

We moved forward towards the noise, and came to a largeish room which had the exterior wall on one side. MD made entry, and at that exact moment his flashlight died. He immedately side-stepped and dropped to one knee; I moved in and past him along the wall as Flash slid along the wall on the opposite side of the ‘doorway’.

Flash was to the left of the ‘doorway’, MD was right, kneeling, and I was about two feet to MD’s right . The room was about twenty by eleven, with us at the narrow side.

And something moved in the far right corner. Flash hit it with his light a second before I did; I remember MD yelling, and then both fired.

To this day, I swear I saw a big dark dog, I mean large, 150+lbs, bull mastiff-sized, in Flash’s light, moving fast.

I fired, three-round burst, and then kept firing as MD and Flash pounded away. Both went empty and yelled that they were withdrawing (team procedure), and I fired to cover them as I backed out last.

After the first burst, I couldn’t see much for the muzzle flash, so I just ripped up the corner with three-round bursts. I fired off the full thirty-round mag.

In retrospect, I can not explain why I fired thirty rounds at a dog. There was no valid reason to simply hose it down; nor for Flash and MD to blaze away like we had. Nerves, is the only explanation I can offer. All I can say is that that encounter was quite simply the most stressful incident I have ever had, bar none.

In the second room, we reloaded, and MD switched out batteries. Then we re-entered the long room.

There was no dog. No body. No blood. Zip.

None of us decribed what we saw the same way. Flash was extremely reluctant to describe what he saw at all.

But there are a couple facts: all three saw a target ‘in motion’. Despite the fact that we all perceived it as being in motion, we all saw it in a corner, and never shifted our point of aim, despite the fact that we all trained regularly on moving targets, MD & Flash were hunters (I shoot lots of moving varmits), I served in military actions, and both Flash and I had been in fatal police shootings.

And we had twelve 12 gauge 3” magnum hulls and 30 expended 9mm brass. Thirty bullets and 108 000 pellets were fired at a specific area, in this case an area consisting of a dirt floor and tin walls. All three of us were classified as expert shots.

No matter how closely we, nor the two investigators who came out later, looked, we could find no hits on the floor, and only 23 projectile penetrations in the tin walls. Out of 138 projectiles fired (000 pellets are 0.36” in diameter steel balls; 9mm bullets are roughly 0.38), 105 remain unaccounted for. The 23 holes we found were concentrated in the target corner; 9 to the left, 14 to the right of the corner, with the two groups 22” apart at the closest.

As if something solid between the two groups had soaked up the missing rounds.

The dept wrote the incident off as an ‘accidental discharge’.

The girl was eventually found elsewhere.

Flash, MD, and I never realy talked about the indicent except indirectly. All three admitted having felt more stress than before or since.

None of the three of us have been to the Patch since. Both MD and Flash have moved on to other agencies for unrelated reasons.

One of the creepier things from later on: when we tried to explain the whole matter (and a firefight is not a joking matter to the police, no matter that no one got hurt), the administration members we were dealing with, who have been LEOs here for 40+ and 30+ years respectively, nodded, asked few questions, and let the matter drop.

Thats all there is to it.

Rapman the Cook
Aug 24, 2013

by Ralp


I dont think any of these stories are true.

TheSmilingJackal
Apr 30, 2007

Don't worry, it's a very heavy feather.


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.

Missing Name
Jan 5, 2013

Here you go. Juicy Fruit. Happy?


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.)

Hazo
Dec 30, 2004

SCIENCE


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.)
Was that the episode where a worker claimed they once saw a torso peeking around the stacks, so they set up a full-spectrum camera in the same place, then didn't catch anything except in one specific mode (infrared maybe?) where a body very clearly and deliberately leans around the edge, stares at the camera, then leans back? I can't stand most of those I HEARD A NOISE ghost shows, but that was seriously one of the most chilling things I've ever seen.

edit: S8E05 "Due Date With Death." I had it backwards-- the regular motion-highlighting camera caught it, but nothing showed up on thermal.

Pharnakes
Aug 14, 2009


OK, so somebody poked a sack round the corner on a stick then?

Hazo
Dec 30, 2004

SCIENCE


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.

Gyro Zeppeli
Jul 18, 2012

sure hope no-one throws me off a bridge


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.

MockingQuantum
Jan 20, 2012




Gun Saliva

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.

Hazo
Dec 30, 2004

SCIENCE


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.
Specifically, in that scene they say, "Nobody was anywhere around and everybody was accounted for." But like I said they could just be blatantly lying and none of the crewmembers faking footage on these shows have fessed up.

Khazar-khum
Oct 22, 2008

Cat Army
2nd Battalion


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.

fearlessflyingfish
Dec 24, 2014

Did you seriously pack drugs and candy for dinner?

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.

Venusian Weasel
Nov 18, 2011



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.

vaguely
Apr 29, 2013

hot_squirting_honey.gif



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

Hazo
Dec 30, 2004

SCIENCE


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
It crashes my browser every time I try to open the page but I added it.

ASMR Yodeling
Nov 16, 2008

So tingly!

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

HanzoSchmanzo
Apr 11, 2011



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.c...-van-meter.html

atomic bassoon.
Apr 3, 2009


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.

vandelay industries
Apr 6, 2007

what delay industries?

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.

MockingQuantum
Jan 20, 2012




Gun Saliva

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.

Hazo
Dec 30, 2004

SCIENCE


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/sh...60&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 04:25 on Feb 5, 2015

Say Nothing
Mar 4, 2013

by FactsAreUseless


I don't have a story, have a video instead.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X72xDpv898Y

Venusian Weasel
Nov 18, 2011



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.

value-brand cereal
May 2, 2008

Does it feel like your love life has gotten a bit stale? Do you suspect that your partner is no longer attracted to you? Why not do what the ancient assyrians did and smear crushed Lobsta Fahts on their cock before applying a thin layer of Iron Dust on your Junk. They won’t be able to resist you.


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?

Crackerman
Jun 23, 2005



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.

What slightly irritates me about that video is there's no real good backstory. Is it a demonic haunting or just a random pigman?

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.

Nth Doctor
Sep 7, 2010

Darkrai used Dream Eater!
It's super effective!




Lipstick Apathy

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.

What slightly irritates me about that video is there's no real good backstory. Is it a demonic haunting or just a random pigman?

Agreed. I made a small mistake in reading the blood mirror story in the dark at midnight.

PSWII60
Jan 7, 2007

All the best octopodes shoot fire and ice.

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.

CeramicPig
Oct 9, 2012


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 20:26 on Feb 5, 2015

eating only apples
Dec 12, 2009

Shall we dance?



Lipstick Apathy

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
pupils. It blinks these eyes occasionally. Other than the eyes, it has no other discernible facial or body features.

Whenever you enter your home after dark, The Intruder is always watching. It sits about 10 feet away from you in plain view. It remains immobile and does not even try to conceal its presence. While outside,
it can only be seen by one person at a time. If it were to be within the sight range of two people then the first person who sees The Intruder would remain being able to see it while it would remain completely invisible to others.

It emits no noises of its own. The only time it can be heard is when it is stretching its claws on a tree or your house siding. If you approach it then it will run away very quickly and violently, kicking up dirt and rocks. The sounds of the wind from The Intruder’s movements and flying debris from under The Intruder’s feet can be heard. If you were to throw an object toward it or discharge a firearm at it you would get the same effect. Once you turn back to the door to insert your key you will find that The Intruder has noiselessly returned to its previous position where it continues to watch you.

Some say that The Intruder listens to your key hit the lock. They say that The Intruder can eventually ascertain the shape of your key simply by hearing the pins of your lock moving. It is unknown how many times The Intruder must hear you unlock your door before it can determine the exact shape of your key.

You see, The Intruder wants to kill you, that is, if this creature is even capable of wanting anything. Perhaps it is better to say that it intends to kill you. However, The Intruder can only kill you inside your house, and may not force its way in. Furthermore, it cannot enter an empty house. You must already be at home in order for it to enter. If you were to run outside of your house once The Intruder enters, The Intruder will pursue you, drag you back inside, and then kill you.


If you ever hear a key hitting your door in the dead of night then it may be The Intruder trying out its key that it has made. The Intruder only tries to use its keys when it is close to perfecting them, so if you do hear it trying to unlock your door then you can be certain that it will have a proper working key within a few nights. If you enter your house through another means, for example a garage or screen door, then you may suddenly find it them inoperable from the outside, through both remote or attempted physical operation of the door. If you attempt to leave your door unlocked in order to prevent The Intruder from hearing the shape of your key, then you may be disappointed to find that the door has been locked by the time you arrive at home.

If you hear a key hit your lock it is advised that you turn off all of your lights and attempt to push on the door to try and prevent The Intruder from entering, although it likely outweighs you. Once The Intruder enters your house all light sources above that of a candle become blinding to all inhabitants other than The Intruder. If you have time to light a candle then it is suggested, as this will allow you to see the silhouette without becoming blinded. A very small advantage that you may have is that, once inside a home, all inhabitants are able to see The Intruder simultaneously.

The Intruder will kill every human inside of the house. It will only attack pets if the animal chooses to engage The Intruder. Most animals choose not to engage. The only time that the Intruder will make any
noise of its own is during a killing strike. The Intruder will make a quick hissing sound during this strike, and will not make this noise again until it claims its next victim. The Intruder has never been known to kill anyone without hissing at the killing blow. It will usually try to completely disable its prey to the point where it cannot move before such an action is taken. It is thought that The Intruder prefers to disable its prey before a kill strike because the act of hissing may be the only time that it is vulnerable to damage. This is purely speculation however.

Mr. Gibbycrumbles
Aug 30, 2004

Do you think your paladin sword can defeat me?

En garde, I'll let you try my Wu-Tang style


eating only apples posted:

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:

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.

Pharnakes
Aug 14, 2009


eating only apples posted:

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:

Ayup, that was definitely written by a goon.

Hobo Siege
Apr 24, 2008

by Cowcaster


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.

Kyyrewyyoae
Jul 20, 2007

Vae debilibus!

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.

The funeral was the largest I’d ever been to. People who had only heard of him in vague descriptions and anecdotes were there, crying, laughing, talking about his life and how unfairly it had been ended. I had known Mark well and was not handling the situation in what one would think to be a levelheaded manner. I almost didn’t even show up. Closed-casket. He wouldn’t have wanted this.

It’s funny. I always assumed I’d never see his face again, saving old photographs and home videos.

I was driving on a long stretch of road that ran between our town and a larger, neighboring one. One side was covered in forest, the other pure farmland. I’ve always been uncomfortable driving on roads like that. They’re a little too isolated for my liking, and while I wouldn’t call this particular road’s condition “bad”, the possibility of wrecking in such a place was absolutely nerve-wracking to someone as already anxious about driving as me. It also didn’t help that it was nighttime.

The radio was fading in and out, which, despite sounding spooky to more of you urban types, is actually pretty common out in the countryside. Still, I’d prefer something to listen to, and the car I was using at the time didn’t have a CD player. I eventually turned the radio off, quickly regretting the action and growing uncomfortable in the silence that followed. It was then that I spotted the pedestrian walking about twenty, maybe thirty feet, up ahead.

Wondering why anyone would be walking such a lonely and creepy road at night, I merely glimpsed in his direction. We managed to make eye contact for a brief moment, and I almost drove off the road. It was Mark. Same hair (facial included), same strange little smirk, some posture. Mark had always been a fairly harmless guy, but I must’ve went double the speed limit for about the next mile.

Eventually I convinced myself it was just some random pedestrian who happened to look like Mark. Still, every now and then when I was out in the more rural areas of town, I’d catch glimpses of what looked like the same guy. He was always just walking with a Mark-esque smirk on his face. One very memorable occasion happened to me while working on my uncle’s farm to earn some extra cash during the summer. Now, there was quite a bit of distance between us, but I watched the Mark Doppelganger (or at least, that’s who it looked like) walk the road by my uncle’s farm. He only looked at me once, and though I was too far away to tell, I just knew he had that horrible smirk on his face.

I became very paranoid and avoided that part of town as much as possible. Sometimes, while in that area where you’re not quite awake and not quite asleep, I could’ve sworn I heard Mark calling my name. I was on the verge of a breakdown. Things were only worsened when I had to take part in an activity that required me to drive down the same road I had first seen Mark Doppelganger. I came up with every excuse possible to get out of it, but there was no hearing it. If I had had a full bladder, I probably would’ve pissed myself at the very mention of having to go back there.

By this time I finally had a CD player in my car and was listening to some Doobie Brothers. I remember the song that was playing when my car broke down - “Jesus is Just Alright”. Oh, yeah, my car broke down. I actually whimpered when it made that last shudder as I pulled over to the side of the road. I was still somewhat young and stupid, and this was my first breakdown, so my first decision was to call my mom. Fortunately, she was intelligent enough to call people who could actually help me.

I laid in the car for a few minutes, and my eyes got that feeling where it seems like they weigh at least twenty pounds each. I actually fell asleep. I awoke maybe three minutes later and noticed a figure walking out in front of my car. It was Mark Doppelganger. I had been completely vulnerable, yet he had done nothing to me. I finally gathered up all the nerve in me and got all of the car.

“Mark?!”

The figure stopped in its tracks. Turning around, it slowly walked back towards me. We were soon only about fifteen feet apart. As my eyes squinted to get a good look at his face, it took on what some call the “Uncanny Valley” effect. It was Mark’s face alright, but there were a few things I hadn’t noticed from the brief glances I’d gotten of it prior. First off, the face sagged grotesquely in the front. Not wrinkles or anything like that; it was more like a poorly-fitting mask. Behind the “eyeholes” was only pure darkness. What I had thought was a smirk was actually the mouth frozen in a way almost reminiscent of a stroke victim. This was all horrible enough, so just imagine when the thing, lips moving slowly and just a bit out of sync, began to speak.

“You idiot, Mark’s dead.”

I grew dizzy, and I guess I must‘ve fainted. I was woken by a strange guy named Ed who smelled of corn chips. I tried to explain what had happened to me, but he seemed a little too spaced out to care. Not long after our “conversation”, I decided it’d be best not to tell anyone. I was just too worried about what people would think of my mental health. I have never gone back down that road again, and on the few occasions I‘ve been through the countryside, I haven‘t spotted him again. I still have no clue what the hell that thing was, but I can tell you this: it sure as hell wasn’t Mark.

Part of Everything
Feb 1, 2005

He clenched his teeh and walked out of the study

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.

SlothBear
Jan 25, 2009



Glad to see this thread revived.

Here is a classic, the Dionaea House => http://www.dionaea-house.com/

Miss
Dec 16, 2006

Ooo I'm a great fan! Whenever I watch TV I'm always saying 'That's political correctness gone mad!'

Why thankyew!



Pillbug

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.

Pope Guilty
Nov 6, 2006

The human animal is a beautiful and terrible creature, capable of limitless compassion and unfathomable cruelty.

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.

Khazar-khum
Oct 22, 2008

Cat Army
2nd Battalion


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.

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.

This last part is quite sweet and kind.

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cowboythreespeech
Dec 28, 2008



One of my favourites is Wife Doppelganger. Sounds like (and probably was) a nightmare.

Canis Latrans posted:

Wife Doppleganger
Let me see if I cant dig up something interesting. These threads combined with a bit of Humper Monkey really
drew me to this site to begin with so I might as well contribute right?
Weird poo poo happens to me frequently enough as to seem pretty mundane and boring, only very rarely does
something happen that really gets me, and the most recent something of that caliber happened just a few
months ago.
Little bit of background for ya, my wife Ash and I have been married for four or five years and live in a little two
story town house. Pretty normal place, living room downstairs with the kitchen and two bedrooms upstairs. We
have recently got rid of a troublesome roommate so having the place all to ourselves has been really nice. She
works at a bakery while I'm prepping for school and things are goin' pretty drat fine for us.
The day it happened was completely routine. She gets up and goes to work, I putter about doing bored guy stuff.
She comes home, I make dinner, see to it I make her laugh (My sworn duty as a husband) and talk about the
regular bullshit married people talk about. We go to bed and as I'm dozing off she plays her gameboy until she
zonks.
I pop awake at like three in the morning for some reason. It was one of those nice fresh "Bam your awake now
motherfucker!" awakenings with zero sleep fallout, I love those. I had to take a leak and figured that what woke
me up. Go to the upstairs bathroom and do my thing, and figure since I'm awake I might as well brew some
coffee or get some breakfast ready for Ash. So I head downstairs, and immediatly notice a few things that are
off.
The living room is lit and the TV is on to some ridiculous infomercial, might have been the "Is Colon Cleansing
Hype?" one. I think it was because I distinctly remember the guy talking being so strange looking, fake tan and I
swear he was wearing make up. I digress, but that guy really is weird looking. Anyways, TV is on and I notice Ash
sitting on the sofa across from it. I stop at the bottom of the stairs and look at her. She's sitting upright, hands on
her lap, just watching the commercial. "Hey, I didn't know you were up, good morning." I sez. She's still watching
the commercial, has her everpresent smile on and says back, "Yes." I start to head to the kitchen when she turns
her eyes to me without moving her head and asks, "Would you please hand me the remote?" I stop, turn and
look at the coffee table thats between her and the couch, and the remote is sitting right there. "Dude, its right
there." I say pointing, its seriously within reaching distance of where she is sitting. She's looking right at me, still
not moving her head and she has some of the clearest blue eyes of anyone I've ever met. "Yes" she sez.
I didn't think any more of it really, yeah she could have obviously reached out and took the remote off the table,
but maybe she was meditating or practicing ninja stillness skills or whatever. We are irregular people on
occasion.
So I walk over to pick up the remote and hand it to her and about three steps in I get this feeling. I'm almost
within arms reach of both her and the remote and every hair on my body just goes apeshit. Goosebumps from
my cheeks down my back. My heart rate goes from calm and normal to "Sonic the Hedghog is Drowning Music"
without any warning. It hit me so hard I felt faint. My fingertips are quivering, if I hadn't taken a piss moments
before I would have right then. Some of you have described this feeling better than I can, and you'll know it well
enough. My body is saying, NO. It's like a biological prey reaction, its how I imagine deer feel right before they
bolt. I'm not exactly paralyzed but near enough to it. She still hasn't moved, just watching me with those calm,
clear and safe eyes.
The guy on the TV is still talking about how science proves flushing your rear end with water makes you a happier
person, gets rid of the toxins.
I'm getting tunnel vision, and little sparkles at the edge of my vision, the kind you get when you stand at
attention with your knees locked like a recruit. I'm going to pass out, I am completely familiar with this
progression of sensations. The twinkling, the sparkly chills and then bonk. I manage to break eye contact with
her and stare at the remote and back away slowly. It's weird how I keep bringing up the anal hygienist on the
commercial, but his weirdly androgynous voice was I think actually giving me something to focus on other than
what was happening, as absurd as it may sound.
I manage to back up to the stairs and put a foot on the first step, the oh poo poo feeling is still there, but the
twinklings are gone so I don't feel like I'm going to pass out anymore, but I feel...argh, like if I take my eyes off
that remote I am hosed. The second I look away, when she isn't in my peripherial vision anymore its done. I
can't blink, I don't dare shut my eyes, and even though I'm breathing steadily enough my heart is just going
nucking futz. I can hear it, I'm loving positive so can she.
Felt like I was on that first step for hours. Couldn't have been too long in hindsight, but right then it was forever.
Finally though, I took a dose of gently caress it and as calmly as I could turned and went up the stairs. I turned my eyes
away and focused up at the top of the steps. I refused to look to my sides, I refused to look into the living room. I
head up the stairs, and I can just feel slow movement behind me. I know if I book it I'm hosed, like that would
be uncorking the bottle of very bad poo poo under pressure thats behind me, so I don't, but oh lord do I want to.
I make it to the top of the stairs and turn to go into my bedroom, I notice the lights are off downstairs, so is the
tv. I can feel her at the foot of the stairs looking up at me but oh man I do not have the balls to look back. I step
into my room, shut the door behind me and make my way back to my bed in the dark. I'm feeling around, my
heart is still fit to burst. I feel a sleeping cat, Sam my erstwhile buddy and the only cat I havn't ever wanted to
strangle despite him being a complete rear end in a top hat at all times. I feel around Sam, find the edges of the blankets and
then I feel my wife's foot. She's warm and sleeping like a pile of rocks. She isn't making any noise but I can feel
her rythmic breathing. I slip into bed, shut my eyes and throw the blankets over my head like a loving six year
old.
I still don't know if I actually managed to go to sleep after that, I think I just stayed up until she woke up to the
alarm at six in the morning. I do know that at sometime around noon that next day I passed out so hard, it was
like I hadn't slept in days

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.

Here is a classic, the Dionaea House => http://www.dionaea-house.com/

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 17:43 on Feb 9, 2015

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