Summer 2016

Home Alone

Anonymous, IL, USA

I do strongly believe in the paranormal. I believe in life after death and this experience that I’ve had strengthens my belief. A few weeks ago I was home alone. My mother was gone to work and my sister was with my aunt at the time. I’d stayed home from school because I didn’t feel well that morning. A few hours after my mom left I was upstairs in my room using my computer and doing an assignment for my class.

While I was sitting in my room, I heard very loud noises from downstairs. It was like someone was downstairs moving things around or looking for something. At first, I thought it was my mom because she often comes home during her lunch break. However, when I checked the time, it wasn’t her lunch break yet. Then I thought it was my sister.

The day before this happened, my sister called and told me she would be stopping by to pick some things up and she told me that she had her house key with her so I had no reason to stay up waiting for her.

Anyway, the noises and movement continued downstairs before I heard someone come upstairs and open the door. I heard them moving some things around upstairs before they went back downstairs and closed the door behind them. After that point, the noises completely stopped.

I thought it was weird that my "sister" and come home and even come upstairs and hadn’t spoken to me, so I decided to go downstairs and check on her. When I walked downstairs, there was no one there. I checked around the basement and every room but didn’t see a person. I decided to call my sister and ask why she had come home and not said anything to me. When I called her, she said that she hadn’t been home because she was still working. I then called my mother and asked her if she had come home but she told me that she was also still working.

The only explanation I have of this is that it could be the ghost of the previous owners husband. When my family first moved in, the previous owner had told us about her husband. She told us many stories of how he always misplaced his items and could never find anything. She also told us how she came home one day and found him dead in the basement from a heart attack.






Makeshift Ouija Board

Anonymous, MI, USA

About two years ago a group of four friends and I went to a Halloween party at my sister’s new house. Like normal twenty-something young girls we spent the night drinking, telling stories, playing games and making fun of all the costumes we saw as the night went on.

After the third round of ’Cards Against Humanity’ we ran out of booze and slowly began sobering up, but we were all too drunk to be driving. Since it was Halloween night the police would be on full alert and none of would be able to get back home with having to pass a check point, so we decided to spend the night in my sister’s newly furnished living room.

We watched a few classic horror movies, laughing at the obviously aged special effects and laughing at the ridiculous plots of the film. We were too riled up to sleep so after the movie we decided to play another game.

It was my friend, let’s call her "Sarah", who suggested using a Ouija board since it would fit the spirit of Halloween night.

We all drunkenly laughed at the idea but after a few minutes the idea was too interesting to ignore, even to our alcohol tainted minds.

My sister tore a moving box apart and used the flat cardboard siding as a crude board. Taking a black Sharpie "Sarah" wrote out the twenty-six letters of the English alphabet, the numbers zero through nine near the center of the "board", the word ’Yes’ in the top left corner, ’No’ in the top right corner and finished with "Goodbye" near the bottom, below the letters and numbers.

Using an overturned shot glass as the planchette (pointer) we gathered around the "board", lit a few candles to create atmosphere and after each of us putting a finger on the shot glass started to play.

"Sarah" asked the first question which was the ever-popular ’Is anybody here?’ The glass didn’t budge and we started giggling. She asked another question, ’Does anybody want to talk to us?’ We giggled some more while the shot glass stayed firmly in place. "Sarah" decided to step it up a notch. ’Are you afraid to talk?’ Still nothing. ’Are you a coward?’ We started giggling even harder until one of the candles, the one closest to "Sarah" suddenly blew out.

We stopped laughing and stared at the candle, no one moving.

"Sarah" asked another question, trying to keep the fun going. ’Was that the wind?’

The shot glass began to slowly move beneath our fingertips, all of us exchanging accusing looks to figure out who was moving the glass but we were all innocent. The glass came to rest over the word ’No’.

My sister wisely decided to step back from the board. She felt uneasy and didn’t want to do anything she might regret.

"Sarah" continued. ’Did you blow out the candle?’

The glass again moved, this time to the word ’Yes’.

’Who are you?’ "Sarah" asked, now completely serious.

Letter by letter the glass spelled out a name. R-U-T-H. Ruth.

’Ruth, why are you here?’

The glass slid across the letters once more, spelling out the next word. T-R-A-P-P-E-D. Trapped.

"Sarah" was obviously shaken by the answer but she and I and our other friend kept our fingers on the glass, our other friend backed away too, along with my sister.

’Trapped where?’ "Sarah" asked curiously.

The glass moved again. H-E-R-E. Here.

’Here?’ "Sarah" asked.

A loud thump against the living room floor beneath the table where we placed the board made us jump and scream.

At this point I was too curious to stop playing. "Sarah" and I were the only ones still playing as our third friend ran from the board as soon as the sound happened.

This time I asked. ’Ruth, was that you?’

The glass moved to the word ’Yes’.

’Why are you trapped?’ I asked without really thinking.

The glass moved again, this time much quicker. K-I-L-L-E-D. Killed.

"Sarah" and I both froze, neither of us wanted to ask anything else. My sister tried to get us to stop playing but we were afraid to move or do anything to the board.

After a tense few minutes "Sarah" found her voice. ’Killed who, Ruth? Who was killed?’

The glass moved over the letter’s again. M-E. Me.

’Who, Ruth? Who killed you?’ "Sarah" asked almost as soon as the glass stopped moving.

The glass went to the word ’No.’

’You don’t know?’

’Yes.’

By this time I had thought of a new question. ’When did you die?’

The glass passed over the numbers. 1-9-0-3. 1903.

’How did you die?’ I asked and almost immediately regretted it.

The glass began vibrating under our fingertips and the sound of a woman sobbing could be heard coming from somewhere inside the house.

My sister was now begging us to stop but before we could let go the glass moved again. ’S-T-R-A-N-G-L-E-D’. Strangled.

I could stop myself, it’s almost like something was forcing me to ask.

’Why?’ The glass moved so quickly that "Sarah" and I almost lost our grip. ’B-A-B-Y’. Baby.

The sound of a baby crying came from somewhere outside and it was at this point "Sarah" and I let go of the glass.

We all ran outside into the backyard and frantically began trying to find some kind of explanation for what had just happened. The crying had stopped and through the window we could see the glow of the remaining candles suddenly blow out. We freaked again but my sister decided it was just the wind and dared to step back inside her house.

The four of us waited outside like cowards, unsure of what to do next. My sister walked back into the backyard with the cardboard Ouija board and her lighter.

She lit the board on fire and placed it in the small grill on the back porch. We heard the woman cry one more time before she became abruptly silent.

Needless to say that night the five us crammed together in my sister’s bedroom, none of us wanting to stay in the same room as the board.

We were exhausted but could barely sleep because we kept hearing odd knocks and the occasional shadow through the bedroom door on the staircase.

After that night none of us played with a Ouija board again and my sister says every once in a while she would see a shadow in her house.

Two years later she’s been married and pregnant now. She’s told me the shadow is seen more frequently.






Ghostly Playdate

Martin, TX, USA

At seven years old, my mother and I went through a period of bouncing from place to place, due to the divorce of my parents. We were very poor, often sleeping at friends houses, an uncle’s travel trailer in his backyard, and wherever else someone would house us.

On one particular run, we stopped by an old friend of my mother’shome. The lady, Sylvia if memory serves, was around my mother’s age.What I remembered specifically about her was that she seemed to be a really sad lady who never smiled. When we arrived, her and my mother were spending time catching up. My mother sharing our current situation. Wanting to have the chance to catch up and reflect, Sylvia tells me that I can go play in her sons room.

When I entered Michael’s room, I was immediately overcome with great joy. Michael had all of the best toys, things I had always wanted, but could not afford. In particular, Michael had the game "Mouse Trap." I remember vividly annoying Michael because all I wanted to do was build the obstacle course to catch the mice. Michael kept reminding me that the game had to be played a certain way before I could build the contraptions. I built them anyway. It was honestly one of the happiest memories of my childhood.

Several years later, we were doing much better financially and had a stable home now. When it came time for Christmas, I asked my mother for the "Mouse Trap" game. She looked at me funny, because by this time I was way too old to be playing that type of game. She bought it for me anyway.

Christmas came, and I was excited because I knew my mother had bought me the game and couldn’t wait to open the gift. Once I unwrapped the game, my mother asked me why I wanted a childish game so badly. I explained to her that it made me so happy as a child playing with Michael during such a hectic time in my life. My mother’s face suddenly became pale. She took a moment and asked if I was sure, of course I was. My mother then went on to explain that I had only met Michael once, when we were babies. He had died several months before my mother and I stopped by Sylvia’s home.

As I type this now, I can’t help but get a chill down my arms. There was nothing particularly frightening about this experience, it’s justthe fact that I can’t offer a reasonable explanation for what had happened. There was no monster, no demon trying to take me, just a little boy who wanted to play with another little boy one last time.






I Let Them In

Katherine, QLD, Australia

I was living with my partner of 12 years when we separated. I moved back home with my parents and thought it was time I got a place of my own. I was looking for granny flat to rent when I came across one that seemed perfect so I moved in a week or so later after my application was accepted.

The granny flat was basically one large room, it had a little kitchen at one end, I set up my TV and lounge chairs in the centre of the room and the only place available to put my bed was up again the wall under a mirror which belonged to the granny flat.

Everything was going well until about a month after moving in. I went to bed as usual about 10:30 pm and I suddenly woke up and found myself kneeling on the bed with my hands on either side of the mirror staring into it. I thought this was odd so I just laid back down and went back to sleep but this repeated night after night after night. Then strange things started to happen. I started having very real dreams seeing an old man and a little boy at the side of my bed, I would feel things touch me and grab me, I started waking up with scratch marks up my arms and on my neck, I would hear whispering and would always feel someone watching me - I thought I was going mad, it got to the stage where I was too scared to go to sleep.

I confided in a work colleague and he suggested googling "waking up with hands on both sides of mirror" and the results that continually came back referred me to "scrying" when one stares into a mirror in darkness for hours on end it becomes a portal to the other side.

Things got so bad that I started sleeping with the lights on, I would lay on my bed waiting for exhaustion to send me to sleep because I was too terrified to go to sleep.

I was flown to Sydney for a job interview and while I was walking around afterwards I came across a ’psychic fair’. I went in and spoke to a lady and told her about everything that had been happening, I told her I had no money and could not afford to buy anything from her but she said to me, she would help me. She wrote out a prayer for me to say each night before bed and gave me chakra oil which I needed to rub anti clockwise on each of my ’minds eyes’ (on my forehead, on the each inside of my wrist and on my neck while repeating the prayer, as well as placing certain rocks in each corner of the room.

She told me the reason this has happened is because I have a psychic ability and people are trying to contact me but that I just didn’t know how to control it. I told her I don’t want to learn how to control it, just please help me make it stop.

I ended up leaving there and when I got home I took the mirror off the wall and I smashed it and replaced it with a new one. I followed her advice and rubbed chakra oil on the places she had told me to while reading the prayers each night before I went to bed and each morning before I left for work and after a few weeks it actually worked and everything stopped but I still could feel cold eyes on me all the time.

I was successful in getting the job in Sydney so on my last night in the granny flat when I was packing the last of my belongings, I had my ipod set up to play the whole Adele album... I was sitting on the bed and stupidly said, "Well, I am leaving, you can’t hurt or scare me anymore, and you are not welcome to follow" - at that moment the Adele song that was playing stopped midway through and a song I did not even know was on my ipod started playing and as I listened to the words it said "I was walking down a dark black road I was chasing a bright white light I’m sinking in a deep blue ocean I’m flying in a clear blue sky" I instantly got the chills and knew that whatever I had let into that granny flat was still there but was not able to affect me as it had before... the day I left I never looked back.

This all happened 3 years ago. I truly hope and pray that whatever I let into the granny flat has found it’s bright white light.






Wolf Creek Cemetery

Brady, AL, USA

Last night, myself and a small group of friends decided to go on a ghost hunt. This was our second time visiting this particular cemetery, but the happenings on our first trip peaked my interest as a new ghost hunter and after some persuading, I convinced my small group to accompany me.

In our first trip, as I drove the circle driveway to get the vehicle turned around for a hasty retreat, I saw a light dash across the graveyard, then suddenly disappear as it reached the driveway. Upon exiting the vehicle, my friend B saw yet another light appear out of the woods and run behind our vehicle. Neither of us said anything about the lights we had seen, fearing it may had just been paranoia considering it was almost midnight in a dark creepy cemetery.

Upon walking up to the grave stones we heard something moving in the woods. We figured it must have been an animal such as a possum or raccoon, since this graveyard is almost a mile from any residency. We took a lot of pictures, and tried to speak out to any spirit that may be lingering, but we had been on the road for hours and gave up quickly so we could all get home to our beds. As we walked back to the truck, B hurt his ankle. We suspected he just twisted it in the dark and again thought nothing of it.

Once we got in the truck, it all started to hit me. I spoke up about the light and asked B and the other accompanying S if they saw anything. B spoke up and explained he had also saw a light, and that’s when it all made sense. The strange lights, the movement in the woods, the hurt ankle, and now to add to the list I contracted an unbearable migraine the moment I put the truck in drive.

We decided to take a few pictures from the safety of the truck before we left. The next day B looked at the photos from the night before, and saw the evidence I was personally longing for. A face, tinted green, was pressed against the back window of the truck, peering inside at us. After he sent the photo to me, he revealed that there was a bruise in the shape of a hand print on his ankle. I knew then we had to go back.

Two weeks later, last night on May 6th 2016, we went back to the same cemetery. By now we knew there was something out there. B and I wanted more proof, whether the other two wanted it or not. When we stepped out of the truck the air felt thick, and it felt like walking into an ice box. We immediately started taking pictures, and calling out to the spirits once again, however they didn’t answer. I for one could definitely feel a presence out there with us from the moment we arrived. I wasn’t leaving without another experience. This cemetery has caught my interest, and I feel drawn to it for some reason.

I felt more brave than I did before, I almost wanted whatever is out there to jump out at me. I started walking through the graveyard taking pictures in all directions. S was also taking pictures, almost as frequently as I was. I knew we had caught something on camera again when his phone suddenly froze, and switched to record. We agreed he should just record then, but sadly it yielded no results.

We walked further into the cemetery to discover an infant’s grave. It’s never a happy sight to see that, but I took a picture anyway. We said our respects, and turned to walk away. We had taken no more than 5 steps when I heard something running, almost sprinting behind, and it was catching up fast. I turned quickly to see nothing, then turned back around to ask B if he heard what I did. He replied with a simple "Yep." And continued to pick up speed. I followed behind until we were beside the part of woods where we heard the sounds of footsteps two weeks prior. We stood there for around 5 minutes taking as many pictures as we could. Nothing showed on camera but the entire group heard the footsteps, and after a while noticed a steep drop off on the woods. None of us had the guts by now to step down into the trench but you could feel a kind of weight pressing down on you as looked down into it, and even feel a chill run down your spine.

We had enough by now and decided to leave. We again kept up with tradition and took pictures out of the windows. B started to look at the pictures S had taken only minutes ago, and that one picture made everyone in the truck a believer. There wasn’t a puff of smoke in the air that night however there was a manifestation in smoke in this picture. S claimed the picture was all but blank when he took it, and it was also the last picture taken before the phone mysteriously switched to record. In the picture you can make out a skull, a second figure in smoke, and what appears to be a corpse laying in the grass. We decided we had more than enough for one night and departed from the cemetery.

As we turned onto the main road, the truck stopped moving. It was in drive but wouldn’t budge. Almost like something was holding us back. We shifted gears three times before it would move, but since we were out of the cemetery we thought it was just the transmission, but B had his doubts. We pulled up at a friend’s house to check out the pictures we had taken and listen to the video as well. Sure the pictures were creepy, and several features smoky/hazy figures, but the worst part was the hand prints on the hood and passenger side window. We also heard of a rumor after reaching our safe haven that the footsteps we heard in the woods weren’t from a possum or raccoon. They were the footsteps of a pair of FBI agents who went missing out there some time ago. Perhaps still looking for whatever they were trying to find back then. It makes me wonder those hand prints also belonged to the very same agents, maybe trying to ask us some questions, or maybe even trying to find some help.

So if you’re in the Carbon Hill area, and have truck and spare time one night, I recommend checking out this cemetery on Wolf Creek road. Just look for the green reflective sign in the middle of nowhere.






The Family on the Stairs

Anonymous, UK

I’ve been living in the one house my entire life. Every night when I am sitting at the table in ’my living room. The stairs creek. In my house, some creak, some don’t. Once I look up, I see ’what looks like a woman,who looks like my dad running up the stairs, really quickly (My dad is ’transgender). I get up to check if something is there, but nothing is. I go back to my laptop ’and continue the rest of my night.

’During the night, I hear the stairs creak again. This is around 1:25 AM at this point. I get ’up, making sure I don’t wake my sister up, go to the top of the stairs and what do I see, a ’pair of glowing eyes near the floor. Our cat is locked in the porch and can’t get in as the ’door is locked. These eyes disappear and to be safe, I go back to bed.

’Sometimes once I have gone out and come back, I go upstairs to brush through my hair. ’Just as I reach the few top stairs, A boy, about the age of my youngest brother who is 18 ’sits there and holds his head in his hands. I take one more step and he is gone quicker than ’The Flash. At this point I check the whole of upstairs. Nothing I continue my day as normal.

’Every now and then, instead of a cat, it is a girl about my age, Instead of a man, it is a ’woman. Instead of a boy, it is another boy about the of my oldest brother who is 24, or a ’girl about my sister’s age, 16. I keep checking if there was a suicide, murder, or something ’that had occurred in my house or area. Nothing.

’I really hope I found out who these people are soon.






Nan's Haunted House

Anonymous, Nova Scotia, Canada

This story is my own story that happened not too long ago. The date today is Friday April 14th, 2016, this event occurred around December 17th, 2015.

Okay, so I was spending the week before Christmas with my Grandmother. I love going to her house!! It’s amazing! I’ve moved away in September, so I don’t really get to see her. I was pretty much blessed when I went down. So, I was sitting in the kitchen on the counter with my sister Elizabeth, my friend Devin, and my cousin Alli. We were playing truth or dare, JUST THEN ( dom dom dommmmm) we all heard three knocks on the basement door. The basement is connected to the kitchen. We thought it was just my cousin Scott pranking us. So, we all got up and lined up by the basement door. I was first, Devin second, Alli third, and Elizabeth forth. I was going to open the basement door, then I pushed Devin in front of me. He locked the chain to the door and opened it, nobody was there. We unlocked the door and turned on the light, but there was no sign of anybody.

We didn’t think anything of it, we just sat back down and talked. But, we kept hearing knocks on the windows, and people laughing. We went to the living room where my grandmother was and we had told her what had happened. She laughed, but then asked how many knocks we heard. "Three" I said.

She had stopped laughing and asked me if anyone had opened the door, and I told her that we did.

"That is a way that spirits communicate with people. That was an evil spirit. You might’ve let it in." She told us.

In the living room, the chair was by the door and the couches were on the opposite side of the room, and Devin was sitting on the chair (being the one that was scared the most). He saw orbs flying around in the dinning room and by the stairs. He cried, which was kinda funny, no lie. I was on one of the couches snuggled up with Alli and Elizabeth was on the other side of Alli, while my Grandmother was just sitting on the other couch, watching TV. The TV then turned off by itself, and that’s when everybody got more scared, but my grandmother, she wasn’t scared at all.

Then... MY NAN HAD TO TELL FRICKEN GHOST STORIES THAT HAPPENED TO HER!!!!!!!!! We all got really scared (NOT MY NAN!!) And I was like "DEATHH!" And all I wanted was my uncle to come home, but he couldn’t drive past midnight and it was like two in the morning.

Then, my Grandmother started talking about this blind guy that was drunk that had died a night she wouldn’t let him leave his house (because he was drunk and blind, and she didn’t want him to get hurt) and all of sudden, right above her head, there was a huge "SMASH!" from the closest, darkest, creepiest house in the house. Nobody want to go up to check it out. Then we heard children laughing.

My nan said that at the end of the dead end dirt road, there was a house that burnt to the ground. In it lived 2 men a women and 12 children, they all burnt to death. We all got really scared (but my nan) and nobody would go upstairs. Then... My nan went upstairs, and so did Devin and I, with one of the dogs, and everything was in place. Nothing was moved. So, we went back down to the living room and told Alli and Elizabeth that it was a picture that had fallen, so they didn’t get scared even more.

Ghostly stuff kept happening, so I called my uncle. I told him what happened and he told me to go to the basement door (in the dark) open it and yell, "Fred, Mikey said to leave us alone." I surely didn’t want to do that.

He told me that Fred died in the driveway... Then he told me to just yell "BANANAS!" And I started to laugh, and everybody looked at me strangely. So I did, I yelled bananas. A few moments later, we were kinda over it. We went to sleep. Devin on one couch, Alli and I on one couch, and Elizabeth on the other. Alli slept on the floor because I pushed her off in my sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night, and I felt something. I looked over to the door way and saw a figure walk to the doorway, stand, and go up the stairs.. It didn’t come back down. I ignored it, but heard footsteps up in the room the thump happened in. It was really hard to fall asleep.

In the morning I had asked everyone if they heard or saw something walk to the door, stop, then go upstairs, and they all said yes.






Love of Another Dimension

Alice, OH, USA

In 2012 I was working as an EMT. The private ambulance company I worked for would transport patients for scheduled dialysis appointments, surgical appointments and ER calls.

We received a call from our dispatch for a transport in an area that we normally did not work in. Apparently this patient was being discharged from a hospital and they were unable to find EMS available to pick the patient up and transport them to their residents. The patient was a 37 yr. old male who had been diagnosed with type one diabetes as a teenager and had been hospitalized with complications of his disease. The patient’s medical history and other information is supplied to us by the discharging facility. He had been on dialysis for almost five years due to kidney failure from his condition. The transport was about 25 minutes.

I was in he back of the squad with the patient and my partner was driving. We stuck up a conversation on the way to our destination. He was attractive, intelligent and charming. We had a lot in common. He had been a singer in a band and I was also a singer/songwriter. When we arrived at his home he asked for my email address so we could share our music with one another. It wasn’t something I would normally do, but when it came to music it was all about networking and meeting people who I could relate to. We began emailing, sending each other tracks of our musical projects.

Once he started feeling better we met for lunch and began talking on the phone. When he had recuperated, you would never suspect he had this chronic disease if you didn’t know his medical history. We started dating and spending as much time as we could together. He had to have dialysis treatment 3 times a week, so he would come and stay at my house a couple of days and I would stay with him when I was not working. Six months into the relationship he would bring up his illness and tell me he felt it wasn’t fair to me dealing with his issue and that he felt he was holding me back from finding someone that would make me happier. I always told him that wasn’t the case and that I loved him for who he was.

The doctors had told him that his pancreas was barely functioning and they were concerned that even with the dialysis treatment he wouldn’t live much longer. He became depressed and within a few days of getting this news he quit answering his phone. I contacted his mother and she told me that someone had picked him up and he had told her he was going to a friend’s house. When she had went into his room she realized he had not taken his insulin for his insulin pump. He also had not taken a jacket or any other of his medications. She was even more worried when I had told her he wasn’t answering my phone calls. Six days later I received a call from her and when I saw her number come up on my cell phone I knew something had happened. My worst fears were confirmed. She had received a call from the coroner one state over from where he lived informing her he had been found deceased. She found out that his friend had called 911 for a diabetic emergency but he refused to be transported. I believe that he was tired of living with his disease and just wanted it to be over. I was crushed and also angry at him for not letting me be there for him.

About a month after his passing I was laying in bed attempting to take a nap. I had a hooded sweatshirt on with the hood up.I couldn’t stop thinking about him and hoping that he knew how much I loved him. I was laying on my right side looking over at the side of the bed that he would he would lay when we were in bed watching T.V. and where he slept. I remember closing my eyes and saying out loud, "I love you and I wish you were here."

As I said it I let my arm drop to his side of the bed with my hand open. We were hand holders and would hold hands in bed while watching T.V. When my hand dropped onto the the bed I still had my eyes closed. All of a sudden I felt a hand in mine. I froze in fear but I knew that I had to see with my own eyes in oder to know that it wasn’t just my imagination. As I opened my eyes I saw his torso with no shirt, his tattoos and the belt he always wore. I was afraid of what was happening but when I looked down and saw his hand in mine I felt this overwhelming feeling of love. Without any thought I did something else we would do, I pulled his hand towards my mouth to kiss it. I pulled his hand up and right before it was close enough for me to kiss it, it slowly faded away. I raised up out of bed and he was gone. I laid back down and said aloud, " Thank you."

I was so grateful for whatever force allowed me to hold his hand again. I laid back down and slept better than I had since he had passed. The more I thought about it the more I believe that it had happened because he felt my deep need to see him and touch him again.






We Went to Ghost Road

Sienna, MI, USA

One night me, my best friend, and my boyfriend went to ghost road in Paris, Michigan. We followed all the rules and instructions of the following: Drive to the third hill, turn around and park on top of the second, turn the car off, put the keys on top of the vehicle, lock the doors, and sit in silence. We sat there until it was almost completely dark. It was about half an hour but we all saw different lights at different times, until we all saw a dark shadowy man walk towards the truck. We didn’t say anything, just acknowledged it. Then we kept hearing this tapping on my floor board, mind you, all of our feet were up on the seat. We started to calm down, then we all got very hot and at the same time saw the light in a large orb form float across the road, but we could only look at it with our peripheral vision, so we headed the hell out.

We had all been here before about a year back, Carly woke up with her body look like she had gotten into a cage fight. She had unexplainable red bruises and scratches all over her stomach and back. About a week after our first time going she would wake up in the middle of the night and bang her head against the wall, and could not control herself. Her mom came in to her room and prayed, then things stopped happening.This time when we went, we were on our way back to her sisters. We parked and my boyfriend and I went back to his truck to grab something, not within a minute, Carly ran over to us and said "guys look at me" and her stomach was covered in large long, raised scratches. Then we went inside and just tried to calm down. After my boyfriend left I went to check on Carly, and I had her turn around. They were all over her back now too, but this time- her sister and I watched them form on her skin. As if Someone with very sharp nails scratched her over and over again. All over in X patterns and in strikes of 3 usually.

We woke up the next morning, which is today, and they were gone. We had to go the store, and as soon as we got in the truck she turns to me and lifts her shirt and the marks are worse than ever. I was with her that whole morning and there was not even a millisecond where she was alone and there ins no way for her to inflict those in herself. They have kept disappearing and reappearing. There is no say what will happen now, but I hope she’s okay.






The Man With All The Holes

Gauteng, South Africa

This is not my story but the story of my younger brother. When we were children we lived in an apartment building with many floors, we lived on the third floor. My brother did not have many friends so when he told me that he had made a new friend in our building I was happy for him. But when he introduced me to his friend and I could not see anyone I was a bit disappointed. But as long as he was happy I was, and he loved playing games with his imaginary friend.

Things started becoming strange . . . my brother started fearing his friend. When I asked him why he was scared he said if he told me his friend would hurt him again. He showed me his arms and neck and I was shocked to see these horrible scratches all over. So that’s when I decided to ask him how his "friend" looked and he made me even more shocked. He described his friend as a tall older man with holes all over his body. When I looked at his drawing of his friend I came to realize that these holes were stab wounds. What little boy imagines that? I told my mother and she became alarmed.

A few weeks after I had told her about my brothers friend we moved to another apartment building. I could see she was frightened and only when we were older did she tell us why we moved so quickly. It turns out that in our apartment building lived a man and his two young sons, but this man was abusive and would beat up his children. One day when he was drunk he started strangling his young son, but the other son had enough and grabbed a butchers knife. He stabbed his father more than a dozen times, eventually killing him. My brother was seeing this horrible man’s ghost and that’s why we left in such a hurry.

Since we moved my brother didn’t see his friend again and people who move into that apartment don’t last especially when they have children. Its scary.






The Pale Boy by My Pool

Grace, WV, USA

Okay, so I am not really a person who normally has or witnesses paranormal events. However, recently they have been more common.

Around July of last year, I was in the pool with my friend, who for privacy reasons, I will call Carly. So me and Carly were in the pool. My dad comes to the front door and yells at us to get out so we can come eat dinner. The pool is to the side of the house, so I couldn’t see the door from the pool. I go to the ladder to get out, and it jolts a bit. I don’t really think of it, because we’re swimming, and the current could’ve easily moved it. I step down, and start to climb again... Only to fall on the second to last step in the pool. I fall back into the water, but laugh it off again as my clumsiness. Carly looks creeped out, so I asked her what’s wrong. She asks if my brother, Riley, was outside with us. I said no. She said she though she saw him by the pool. I tell her that Riley is four, thus wouldn’t be able to see over our four foot wall. I asked her what the boy, or whatever, looked like. She said it was a pale skinned boy with black messy hair. I told her it might be the neighbors, possibly new ones moving in. We get out to find whoever it was. We find nothing.

Recently, I have been hearing whispers from the outside of my house. I thought it was my imagination, but it’s ONLY when I’m outside. I still have no clue whether or not it’s a neughbor or ghost boy. Just a week ago, someone was tapping on my window at around one A.M. I’m not scared, but just confused on what he wants...






George

Jason, MN, USA

It was never explained, but me and my mom went on a trip to my grandma’s house to spend the Christmas. As we were driving I see a lot of locations and beautiful sights.

My mom turns up the radio too her favorite song. I didn’t usually like the upturned pop songs that overloaded a beat. But my momDidn’t care about that she just cared that her favorite song was playing. She would taunt me about how I disliked what she liked.

She tells me, we have to stop for gas. I get out of the car to go get a bag of lays, and a little water for my mom. I get in the gas station to get it, but the employee yells. "Stores closed please come back tomorrow." "Ok."

My mom looks straight at me when I come out of the store with nothing. My looks are not to good as well. My mom sprites her eyebrows. I walk over to my mom with the words, "The store is closed." "Why would it be closed this early. You know that’s ridiculous."

We get back in the car and were very close to my grandmas.My moms phone goes off like a track runner on a spring. She picks up to get the following. Just breathing. My mom just hangs up immediately with no words and her face in shock.

We start driving into my grandma’s rocky road. Her rocky road was very long and that’s what I didn’t like about my grandma’s house. It started off so creepy. There was this one time where she told us that a guy named george who lived in the basement. That terrible folklore kept me up at night. She did stop tho because she would start saying the same things. Mom interdicted me to a board but I forgot what it was called. It was overall a house of horror from folklore.

We pull into my grandma’s grassy driveway. My mom starts to jitter in excitement well I sit in the back with no jitters. There was really nothing new about Christmas at grandmas. As I get out I see a bee. I completely remember there was so many bugs and I hated bugs so much.

Me and my mom go to the door to open it, we see our grandma, she jitters in excitement, "I haven’t seen you darlin in years." My grandma says. "Jimmy was real excited to see you but he couldn’t due to him being sick." My grandma walks back in and says, "don’t just stand there come in." I come in to the smell of a rat and vinegar.

The house was being redone but the downstairs wasn’t because they had finished recently. I go to our room, I find that my surroundings weren’t the same. There was no TV or phone.

A window had a crack that you can slip through which did give more of why they are redoing the house. Mom comes in with creeks on the floor. Mom says, "where did everything go. You know, all the dolls and the TV?" I say, "I do not know, when I came in everything was gone." It was a weird ocurrence, so I just jumped in bed after that long road trip.

"Wake up, wake up." "What what what." There was a voice that filled the room. My mom was still sleeping well this was happening. And then another, "wake up." I get out of the bed with a want to know where these whispers are coming from. I go to the living room. "Common just walk towards the stairs to down." Ok if there’s one thing I learned its that this is a dream but that was completely not true when I saw a man who had a child right next to him.

His face was grim with a deformed arm that was very skinny. "You have to come downstairs."

I should have responded sooner. My feet immediately start running. The deformed father walks slowly towards me. As he gets closer I get farther. Clash, I fall down the stairs. "Ahhhh. Ow."

I was in a lot of pain cause the stairs were long and had spikes that poked out. I still had to get away from that deformity. He starts walking down the stairs. His green skin starts to get into a dark yellow. "Get away from me!" He just keeps walking. I get up but then crash into the chess table. His kid starts skipping towards the TV.

"Daddy George, mommy is right there." George is the guy who was downstairs all the time. His mom did not look to good either. Then a sudden disappearance happens to them and the TV was still on.

I go up to my bed and I couldn’t sleep. There was so many questions. Was that real. It was not a fun night and it’s a night that will never go.







He Will Be With The Dead

Victoria, WA, USA

I was only four or five years old but I remember her as clearly as possible. She was beautiful. Long, dark hair with pale skin. Her skin was sickly pale, but back then I was thankful to have a friend. She had long nails and black eyes. They didn’t scare me one bit. Her name was Sarah. She also lived in my closet.

One day while sleeping I heard a cry. Not a child’s cry, this was somebody screaming bloody murder. I woke up, dazed and confused, and I stumbled out of my bed. The scream didn’t stop or even get quieter. It was coming from the closet. As I opened the door to my closet, I saw Sarah cuddled up in the closet with a shadow hovering over her. Something bald, long, long , long black nails, and white skin, like it’d been painted white. It had deep, black holes where eyes should be. I asked Sarah what it was, and she said Coco. The thing disappeared, but it reappeared shortly after and whispered, "I have her soul replaced with the devil."

Sarah acted as an imaginary friend would, but now she’d go places other than the closet and watch us. She’d watch with a smile and blood would drip from her eyes. Back then, I thought it was just a red liquid like punch and she’d spilled, but it was blood and she didn’t spill at all. Eventually, Coco turned up again. He scratched my back and left three thin puncture marks. I talked to my family about Coco and Sarah and pointed out three nails poking out of the closet wall that weren’t there before. They ignored it, and so did I until my two aunts were babysitting me.

When my mom went to work, my two aunts were in charge. We heard plates crashing but nobody was there. We saw the plates crash, but only I saw Coco standing there. I yelled, "SARAH HIDE!" And the bathroom door shut and locked. The light was on until Coco lunged towards it, and then it shut off and Coco disappeared. Sarah came through the door, thanked me, and I began to cry. A light shined on her, and she said she had to leave to a good place. I asked where’s Coco and she said,"I’ll be with the angels, he will be with the dead ones. He’s bad." I never saw Sarah again.

I’ve thought about her all the time. About seven years have passed, and I’ve devoted my life to the paranormal and finding Sarah. She was a little girl, older than me, and Coco was a demon. But since then, the paranormal has become my life. This is 100 percent true!






New House, Bad Spirit

Christine, CA, USA

I moved to Arizona in 2007 and I was not happy. I hadn’t desired to move from a green state to a brown one, so my attitude about the new home was not good. I was only 12 and I had moved all the way from Ohio where I had several friends and dozens of family members to keep me company. We had no family here in Arizona, but my parents had moved anyways. I got the largest room in the house, but it was also the only room on the bottom floor. Everyone else was upstairs, which was both exciting and terrifying at the same time. My cat, Beastie, was unhappy as well. He growled at my doorway as I carried him to the empty room. It was almost 3AM, so nobody wanted to move anything in. We simply brought in the brought cat supplies and blankets inside.

That night, my cat refused to come into my room. His food, box, water and pillow were untouched in the morning. He had gone to the bathroom in the bathroom on the tile rather than come in. I moved his food and water to the kitchen, pillow to the laundry room and his box to the bathroom. He had no accidents after that. I started getting my room situated, setting up my shelves and bed. My cat watched from the doorway, still refusing to set a paw in the room. I unpacked his favorite scratching post, hoping to entice him into the room. He was excited, pacing and letting out a rumbling meow as he waited outside the room. He didn’t come in for his tree so I put it put in the laundry room.

That night, I was getting ready for bed and I heard heavy breathing. I assumed it was my dad or brother messing with me, so I told the breathing to shut up and leave me alone. I heard an annoyed growl and the breathing stopped. I got my grandma’s nightgown that she had given me before I moved and changed into it. I heard what sounded like hangers in my closet, opening the door and pulling the chain. All of my hung clothes were on the floor, pulled from their hangers and laying in a crumpled pile. Some of the plastic hangers were snapped and ruined, so I threw them away and told my parents. My mom said they were probably weak and broke on their own.

I got my clothes folded and stacked neatly on the wire closet shelves, hoping they would stay there. I turned out the light and crawled into bed, yawning as I closed my eyes. Just as I began to fall asleep, I awoke to the light’s chain being tugged. I got up, turned the closet knob and it went out. I stood on the wire shelf and took the bulb out, placing it gently on top of my stack of shirts. I closed the closet door and got back into bed. I quickly fell to sleep, waking up in a cold sweat. I was breathing heavily as if I had been running, but most of all, I was terrified.

I started my day normally. I fed Beastie, scooped his litter box and refreshed his water. Suddenly, his stainless steel bowl of food slid across the kitchen and spilled all over the carpet. Beastie hissed and growled as if he could see what took his food from him. I collected the food and placed it back next to his water dish. I calmed him down and gave him some love, waiting to see him start eating before going upstairs to tell my mom. As I explained, we heard Beastie yowl out in terror and his water dish clattered. He ran right to us, soaked as if someone had just poured water all over his tiny dwarf body. I wrapped him in a shamwow and then a towel, waiting for him to dry before letting him free. The entire day, he stayed with me, curling up next to me and napping when I sat down.

The time for bed came and I opened my bedroom door to find all of my Native American pottery (which were gifts from a Native American man I often visited in Ohio) and my other ceramic/glass figures laying on the floor. I confronted my brother and sister about it, but they denied having any involvement. I got everything put back and headed to bed, nervous to be in my room. I fell asleep and had one of the worst nightmares even up to now. There was a blurry figure behind me, but I couldn’t move. It got closer, touching my shoulder and then my back. I caught fire and ran from the figure, but I wasn’t dying or in pain. I woke up with a sore shoulder and back, getting up to find Beastie watching me, his eyes narrowed and tail swishing in annoyance.

As I was undressing in the bathroom to take a shower, I noticed my sore shoulder was red and slightly swollen. I called for my mom, showing her the area and telling her what happened in my dream. She checked my back and found the same type of wound. She had one on her stomach and her lower thigh and had a dream similar to mine but instead she was being dragged underwater.

We moved to the house we live in currently only months after moving in. Nothing else has happened since we moved out.







Forest Hills Inheritance

Yolanda, CT, USA

Aida was a psychic who lived not far from me in New York City. She charged little for her readings, a great value considering how entertaining a reading could be. Her clients were amused and intrigued when the images she saw in the coffee grinds turned out to be true. They’d conveniently forget that just as much that she saw was also meaningless. Though I didn’t have much respect for her trade we still became good friends over the years. Apparently there was a reason for this.

It was in the early 90’s that things changed. Aida’s readings became astonishingly accurate, even when reading my friends. I recall one evening when a group of us invited Aida over for a reading after dinner. We listened as she took turns with each guest. We were lighthearted having fun, taking none of it seriously. Some pallor and then silence came over our group when one of the ladies confirmed her husband was on a business trip. The coffee grinds, mek as it was called in Aida’s Armenian language, showed her husband was engaged in a serious affair. He was deeply involved with his assistant. My guest was stunned and with some contempt doubted what Aida had said. The unpleasant revelation turned out to be true. Such insights continued to happen during her readings with others. Revelations such as this compelled me to admit that there are hidden things kept from us. That is, until an appropriate time of disclosure is determined. It is a mystery how the fates choose that appropriate time. But then philosophers have pondered this intriguing truth through the ages.

About this time my father was of very advanced age, and was doing poorly in the hospital. Anticipating his death I knew once he was gone I’d miss him terribly. I’d gone to Aida for a reading, mostly to talk to a sympathetic friend. She knew of his condition, along with the fact that my stepmother had always been highly antagonistic toward me. This was especially true of late I pointed out. She’d tried to steer my father against me during these last months of his life, this hurt me deeply and I couldn’t fathom the reason for it. I’d been an only child and adored my father. Aida asked if my stepmother might not make efforts to steer my father against me in any inheritance. There was no reason to be concerned I explained. His will had been settled some time ago. Both my stepmother and I knew where each stood. My stepmother’s recent hostility I reasoned was due mainly to a widow’s anxiety over the prospect of being left alone.

"I see a cross and suffering over your father’s house" Aida stated as she read the coffee residue. "That sign always signifies death" she pointed out. She predicted he’d be brought home, and would die within a month. I’d been pushing to bring him home wanting his last days to be in familiar surroundings. My stepmother wasn’t eager for this; but then the toll of a sick individual at home would fall on her. We decided to hire a medical student from overseas, give him a salary and room. There would be someone there to change the IV’s and take care of the drudge that comes with an invalid’s care. It was a good arrangement.

What I didn’t expect was for the remainder of my exchange with Aida to be as disturbing as it was. I was calm because I knew my father had made provision for both my stepmother and me. Aida abruptly turned my mind from a serene to deep concern with a strong, unexpected prediction.

"You’re in for a terrific shock. You’ll be deeply hurt. I see terrible trouble ahead for you" she forecast.

"What do you mean terrible trouble? If you mean financially, my father told me he’d left a life estate letting my stepmother stay in the house with enough income until she died. Thereafter, everything is to pass on to me. His lawyer is the son of a lifelong friend. He trusts the fellow completely. What trouble could you mean? Everything’s arranged."

"I don’t know exactly, but you’ll be in great distress. You were close to your father so this news will be a trauma."

What could she be talking about? I put this disturbing prediction off with disbelief, and drove home trying to shake off what she said. The denial worked. When dad’s death arrived, right on schedule as foretold, my mind was occupied with funeral arrangements. Her forecast didn’t come up again until a week later.

The day after the funeral I stopped by to visit my stepmother. I was stunned when she abruptly turned on me, creating a scene and throwing me out of the house. It was ugly and I was unbelievably hurtful. Not just hurt, but traumatized. Nothing made sense until a day or two later. My father’s lawyer stopped by my office and handed me a copy of his will. As I read it I was stunned to realize I had been written out of any inheritance totally; and this for no reason I could think of.

At first, not knowing to whom to turn, it took a few days before I found myself in the office of a female attorney. She’d just hung out her shingle in the neighborhood. Her small, modest office announced she was delighted for new business. She’d married a widower with children. This made her sensitive and well aware what the legal hazard of a stepmother can be. She was aware my salary at an insurance company would require her compensation come from any amount that could be obtained from my father’s estate. Since I was an only child she explained she was confident some portion would come my way. However like many attorneys she didn’t divulge completely how she intended to progress with the case.

Soon after our initial conversation my attorney went to the Queens Courthouse to obtain a copy of my father’s will. She was surprised it wasn’t there. It turned out to be filed in another jurisdiction, Westchester, where my father’s attorney lived. This was not customary protocol. First my father’s attorney hand delivered the will to me at my place of work, which was considered odd. Then he’d filed the document in his own jurisdiction; even odder. All her legal antennae were now on alert and pointed in a single direction. She advised me she’d requested the document be transferred to the Queens Surrogate Court immediately. This however this would take some time.

The serenity I’d been privileged to enjoy for years had been displaced by an overwhelming anxiety brought on by my new situation. I’d never felt like an outcast before. I arranged for a meeting with Aida. If nothing else at least she was a caring friend.

When she heard I’d been passed over in my father’s will she was stunned. Then she remarked she didn’t think it was possible by law to bypass a child. I was hoping for that to help me out, but I was more emotionally shaken by what had been my father’s rejection.

Once she started the reading some unexpectedly strange news was brought forward. Something neither of us expected.

"You know" she began, "there’s a man wearing a black robe. I assume it’s a judge" she said as she read my cup. "He’s got that stern look that judges have. He and another man, a blonde man with a large forehead, decide to help you out".

"Aida, I can see where there will be a judge involved in all this, but the only blonde man with a large forehead that I can think of is my stepmother’s attorney. Why would he help me?" I asked. "He seems to want control of the whole estate along with my stepmother".

Aida continued looking at the images "it’s possible neither one have a choice" she observed.

"That’s awfully odd; and hardly likely." I said. Abandoned, exhausted and disbelieving I was surprised how shock and discouragement manifest themselves on the human body. I was only fifty years old but still considered a healthy, strong person. It startled me how my father’s rejection affected me physically. I’d never doubted his love. He’d also understood that being single I depended on some inheritance to help me in my later years. Aida is now telling me that something will depend on a judge, but she can’t read clearly what that is. Whatever it turns out to be it appears to translate as some sort of help for me.

As Daphne suspected, my father’s lawyer dragged his heals. Meantime Daphne wasn’t going to waste time. She prepared to get statements from the witnesses. Most lawyers understand this process is threatening and intimidating, especially for the elderly. I had no idea how much a lawyer can depend on this very fact.

On consideration I decided I cared little how much my stepmother would be intimidated. Looking back at her cruel behavior towards me after my father’s funeral there was no doubt she’d been fully aware of my omission in any inheritance. Offensive as the thought was, it was her influence that had created this outcome. I hoped with an introduction of an aggressive lawyer into the picture my stepmother’s view might be altered. Perhaps she would come around and agree to some acceptable division of assets instead of charging up attorney hours. As things stood the will was now completely in her favor. Though a case would be easy enough to bring against the estate, as the weeks wore on it was evident my stepmother wasn’t going to yield one bit.

Attorney Daphne advised she would go forward with getting witness statements, but for the rest of it she preferred to wait a few months. I sat back and wondered what the rest of it was exactly. Dejected and upset I spent my days wondering how I’d come to alienate my father so much. I did more than take this personally. I’d been rejected as an offspring. This was the father who had risked his life to get me and my mother out from the behind the iron curtain in 1950. He’d devised an elaborate scheme to hijack a passenger aircraft and ask for political asylum in Denmark. It was days before the family knew whether they’d be allowed to remain or be returned to the Soviet Union to face the Gulag and death. If lucky I’d end up in a Soviet orphanage. Now I’d been written out of his will. Still stunned I had no choice but to wait for the process to move forward. And so it would.

Two weeks went by and my father’s will still hadn’t been received at the Queens Surrogate Court. His attorney was dragging his feet. I wasn’t sure what all this meant; in fact I wasn’t sure what anything meant and wondered if any of this would do any good. It was time again for a visit to Aida. Even if she didn’t see anything she would brace me up.

Aida’s husband would not allow her to do her readings at home, and readings could readily be done in a customer’s car. She carried her clairvoyant paraphernalia in a shopping bag; a white porcelain dish and a small container of water along with an extra white cup. The client would bring their coffee residue from home. Masking tape usually held it all together without spilling till I’d get to Aida’s appointed rendezvous spot. This was often the local diner just around the corner from where she lived. She’d swirl the mek around in the cup. Water would be added if necessary to make images on the bottom and sides. An important tradition was to turn the cup over and spill the contents onto a white porcelain dish. The images thus produced would verify the initial ones in the cup. She alone could see the images and interpret them.

"You know, there’s a cross above your father’s house showing suffering" she stated.

"Doesn’t that mean death?" I asked. "It did last time you saw it".

"Yes, it does" replied Aida.

"That must be my father’s death that you see. It’s only been six weeks since he died."

"Oh yeah, but maybe; I don’t know. It’s coming up very strong. And look; here’s something else. This I didn’t expect. It says you inherit everything."

"Aida, don’t be silly. I can’t inherit everything; there’s my stepmother to contend with. She’s my father’s widow. By law I can’t inherit everything. Besides she’d got family, two brothers overseas. You’re completely wrong."

"Maybe so, but when I turned the cup over it was verified. It clearly says you get everything". When Aida saw an image very clearly she never changed her mind about what she saw. She was unyielding.

Thinking on this over and over, it was impossible. With exasperation I retort with "all right, okay, whatever. You can’t imagine how dejected and hurt I am. Whether I inherit anything or not this was still the last thing I expected my father to do to me. You can’t imagine how hurt I am."

As I drove away, I didn’t feel reassured. What Aida predicted was impossible. She’d gotten her signals all mixed up. I was sure of that. As for the cross over the house, well that had to have been a remnant of the old reading from a few weeks ago. My stepmother was in good health and clearly ready for a fight.

A week later my father’s will arrived at the court in Queens, where it was promptly tossed out as a fallacious document. My attorney called me to advise of what had happened. The will was rejected because its staples had been clearly removed, and replaced. On close examination to anyone familiar with legal language the reason for tampering with the document was to alter the last paragraph of the second page. The entire page had been discarded and a new one had replaced it. The last paragraph of that page had been altered from its original intention. The wording of a "life estate" can be easily altered to read that all assets are to be left to a specific party. This change can be made with a simple alteration of two sentences. The use of the same font and grade of paper could easily create a new page. However insertion of a new page required removal of original staples. In any event, whatever the will said no longer applied. It had been thrown out of court. This obvious alteration and deliberate filing in another jurisdiction, where my father’s attorney had many friends, explained his reluctance to transfer the document. In virtually every court in the world, original staples, ribbon or material used to bind a document considered worthy of being presented in court cannot appear to have been tampered with. This immediately makes the document unsuitable for presentation to a judge.

Had my stepmother received this news? If so, I wondered what her reaction had been? My father’s estate was now "intrastate", this means he died without a will. I would now be part of my father’s estate settlement; though I was appalled by the way this had come about. Where I felt vindication that my father had intended to remember his child; his loving widow had chosen a criminal act to circumvent me. I was very saddened and sickened by this. My stepmother and her lawyer had been greedy. This resulted in a large additional expense in settling the estate.

Wanting to share the amazing news I visited Aida. Instead of a reading I decided on some celebration and took her for lunch the local diner. As we pulled up to the parking lot and got out of the car she looked at the back seat and said "you know, there’s an angel in the back seat". As we closed the doors we both looked again. How silly I was, I can’t see angels, but evidently Aida did. She’d never seen one before she said. This was a first. She was looking at me funny as we went in to find a booth.

To put her at east I said "well, maybe the spirits are looking out for me? Isn’t it incredible how things have turned out?" I pointed out between bites of my cheeseburger that I was delighted to share a meal with someone who’d seen me through such a difficult period.

Then I decided to ask the obvious question that I’d avoided. Maybe I shouldn’t assume what kind of an angel it was. "Aida, was the angel you saw in the back seat a good, or evil one"?

"You must remember, you’re not at the end of the story yet" she reminded me not answering the question directly. Then deliberately threw me off with "did I mention you’ll get a visitor?"

"No, I don’t recall anything about a visitor" I responded. Then I distracted myself changing the subject back to the inheritance. "How is it possible anyway for me to inherit everything? The will’s been thrown out of court. My father has died without one. If nothing else by State Law I’m now an offspring, but my stepmother still existed, and she must be taken into consideration." I retorted.

"Yolande, you will inherit everything" she reminded me. "That’s what I saw, and what I believe; but it may be more expensive than you thought." The lunch was more interesting than any reading.

"You’ll get a visitor" she continued while we ate. "That visitor will stay around for some time and will make a difference in your life".

I couldn’t think what she was talking about and with exasperation went back to enjoying the meal. I wanted to break from this topic. As far as I was concerned the split among the beneficiaries and the attorneys was what lay ahead. It was a needless waste of money since my father had prearranged everything. Greed makes everyone pay.

Six weeks after that on Valentine’s Day I recall my phone rang at work. It was three months to the day that my father had died. My sister in law was calling asking if I’d heard the news?

"What news?" I asked wondering what she was talking about. My lawyer hadn’t called me. Anything significant would be coming from her I reasoned.

"Your stepmother passed away during the night" she said.

"Really? I didn’t know. She wasn’t talking to me, you know."

"She was found dead in her room this morning by the tenant who wondered why she hadn’t come downstairs. The house was totally silent. A heart attack apparently. I wanted to let you know as soon as possible" she continued.

I thanked her for calling then let my attorney know who would have no idea what had just happened. What was the legal significance of this for me? My stepmother had two brothers overseas. This would mean a more complex situation, with more lawyers. Instead of being relieved, I cringed.

Knowing nothing of the law I didn’t know the next logical step for my attorney to take is to plead the "widow’s right to elect" in court. This New York State statue could be used to argue that my stepmother’s death had occurred before she’d had the opportunity to within three months of my father’s meant she’d claimed his estate and would not due to being dead. I didn’t know what that statue meant. The judge decided that my stepmother, being dead, had not and could not, take advantage of the "widow’s right to elect". My father’s will had never been admitted to court, in fact it had been thrown out of court altogether. Her death thus removed her from consideration in any inheritance. This left me the sole inheritor to his estate.

It took a number of months but I finally settled into my father’s house. Renovations were desperately needed and in view of these expenses I kept on a tenant who’d been in the house for years. Talking and making arrangements with contractors made me forget Aida’s prophetic words that "this inheritance would be expensive". I’d assumed she meant emotionally, and that turned out to be true. Very true.

It was the end of July, five months since my stepmother’s death. The day had been exceptionally hot. The heat wave didn’t ease up even at night time. I’d gone to bed about ten o’clock. The bedroom air conditioner made a soft droning sound. The room was comfortable, but the rest of the house was stifling. My head had been on the pillow for a while when for some reason Aida’s prophecy came back to me.

"This visitor has been sent. It will stay around and influence your life."

I wondered what that meant. Perhaps she meant another boarder? I could use the extra cash. Rooms were renting for a premium. The renovations were going to cost a fortune. In fact, downstairs was already being prepared for the noise that would seriously start when the rest of the materials were delivered. Cable, plaster, buckets and tools were already strewn about. The complete silence for tonight was interrupted only by my thoughts. That bedroom would be my one source of retreat for months. A whimsical wrought iron daybed that I'd brought from my old apartment was serving in that bedroom. The wooden floor had been freshly polished. Some cozy rugs, an old rustic dresser with mirror, a table and armchairs gave the room a country style. Fresh pastel walls and floral chintz pillows finished up the look. I lay there pondering how bizarre it was the way my inheritance had come about. Just before I drifted off I wondered to what extent life in the next world influences ours.

I woke for no reason just past midnight. Not fully awake I sluggishly realize I’d woken up and wondered why. I carefully listened for noises in the house. A few seconds later I felt a shock of frigid air make contact with my head. What was about to become a mass of frigid air initiated itself. It started to make an entrance through the outer wall sustaining movement through the wall then gradually drifting downwards along my body. I noticed immediately that it affected only my left side. With methodical precision it continued lengthwise along my body towards my feet. The accuracy of its transition was astounding. It was obviously premeditated and deliberate. The coldness of the temperature was so intense there was no doubt it was supernatural. In a mild shock I sat up and considered the event. I was not aware that intense cold is a signature of the devil. The fellow had arrived, and as required, had let me know. If I didn’t know how to interpret the signal this wasn’t his problem; he’d followed the rules. Outside the air was still over eighty degrees. Only the pious accept the supernatural willingly in their lives. Everyone else falls back on their pride, an emotion many of us interpret as reason.

Stepping out into the hallway I was surprised how sweltering it was even with the windows open at both ends of the house. Walking down the hall I expected to feel at least some cross breeze, instead the night air was completely still. What was obvious however was the missing feeling of dread. Relieved by this I retreated back to my cooler bedroom. Before closing the door behind me I inexplicably listened one more time for sounds in the house. Reason made me suspect there was something there, but I heard only the hush of a summer night. I’d always wondered what a supernatural encounter would feel like. Well, here it was. It felt like nothing had ever happened. It only left me with questions. Why would a spirit have suddenly come into this house, and why as a movement of freezing air? Just then I remembered today would have been my stepmother's birthday. That might be her. But then why was she so cold? "A liar from the beginning and a murderer." Once their presence has been demonstrated evil spirits will submit any lie to enable them to stay about while they add data to the dossier of each occupant on the premises, but especially that of the target victim. Perplexed, I knew that this incident harbored a menacing element that I didn’t want to admit to. Jumping to the conclusion that the spirit was my stepmother I decided not to query the incident further. It had been established she was greedy, but would she have meant me harm? Well, that comes later in the story.







The Uncontrollable Dreams

Leila, TX, USA

Hello, my name is Leila and I’m 27 years old.

From the age of 6 I’ve had all these dreams about me wandering out of my body and going to an evil world, I would wake up crying every night running to my fathers room, my mother left about a week after my birth so he takes care of me.Anyways every night I’d run into his room sobbing and telling him about an evil creature, the other day I decided to ask him about it and he said I’d describe it as a tall skinny black figure with dark blue bloodshot eyes, and nothing else, he said sometimes he’d hear screams, and he’d often catch me running around the house still asleep.

Now obviously this sounds absurd to me but he took pictures that blew my mind, obviously something was going on, it couldn’t have just been a dream, but they continued and at the age of 10 I decided that I needed to find out what was causing these dreadful dreams that had been constantly occurring but I could find nothing.

One day I found a website telling me about something called astral projection, I did more research on it and found out so much more about it, it was quite fascinating.

After about 3 years of learning anything I could about astral projection I decided it was time to move on to a new subject that could also be a part of my dreams, soon I found out about Sleep Paralysis, I thought maybe this could be a part of my dreams because it had to do with demonic figures and things like that but I wasn’t sure.

I continued researching sleep paralysis for about 2 years, it was the year 2001 and I was 15 years old, the dreams finally stopped I was so happy, I continued researching for about 2 years after but stopped researching these things at the age of 17 because I didn’t like thinking about those days and the dreadful dreams I had, and I had almost forgotten about them until 2010 when the movie ’Insidious’ came out and I found it amazing that I could relate so well to it, it was new for me to be able to relate to anybody because I kept that part of my past so far behind me that I didn’t even tell my boyfriends, of course my family already knew.

I’ve been researching this ever since and I just wanted to share my story with people, I of course hope nobody can relate to my awful experience because I would never wish that upon anybody, but I thought people should know about it.I know how crazy how crazy my story sounds, and once again I know not everyone will believe me, but I just wanted to share it.







The Ghost of Cat's Alley (Hydro Majestic Hotel)

Stanley, NSW, Australia

We booked our stay way in advance to secure a room at this particular hotel, an unusual place called the "Hydro Majestic". Steeped in history and intrigue, not because of its age of around 100 years or its location amongst the heritage listed "Blue Mountains" of western NSW, but for it’s sheer presence and unique decor. My history might be a little sketchy but from what I understand It was once at the forefront of technology, and was going to provide the wealthy with the most luxurious hydro therapy spa facilities in the Southern Hemisphere, if not the world. It was created and ready for business around 1902 but was destined for bad luck from day one. Mark Foy was the owner and main driver of the project but even his proven marketing and business skills couldn’t predict the unfortunate chain of events that beset the hotel.

Mark Foy made his fortune with the Foy’s chain of high end department stores, then sold them and put all the money into his new venture, "The Hydro Majestic." The first problem he faced was that the natural spring water that would be used to fuel the spas started to run dry from drought not long after the doors were open. Then there was the fire of 1905. Lives were lost and rumours of ghosts and hauntings soon began to spread but even before they had a chance to fade a second fire started in 1922. Once again lives were lost and the rumours found new strength. World War Two was next and Foy was forced to close the doors soon after so that it could be used as a recovery base to treat wounded soldiers. Many soldiers died on the premises, cementing its spooky reputation for ever.

Had I known any of this I wouldn’t have booked a room there (I’m not a believer of hauntings etc. but I’d prefer to stay away from that stuff just in case). The main reason I booked there was that we had heard that the hotel had not been redecorated since the refurbish after the second fire of 1922. Everything was kept exactly the same. Exactly as it was in 1922 so it was in essence a step back into time.

We pulled into the circular driveway after a chilled two hour drive from Sydney, Australia. The Art Deco styled structure looked impressive with its huge tiled dome and manicured gardens painted white on the outside with vines growing intentionally on its facade and large bay windows. Hidden from view are the left and right wings which stretch out and down behind the main building. Also completely hidden is the sheer drop behind the length of the whole building which reveals breathtaking views of endless valleys and mountains from every room. We walked through the front doors with our luggage and were immediately confronted with the strangest foyer of any hotel we had ever seen. Kabobbles ( my wife ) and I have stayed at numerous hotels, including many high end places and as individual as they all were, they all had one thing in common.They all blatantly utilised some sort of technology; computers, phones electronic keys etc. As you would expect, most places flaunt their modern electronic devices as they are often seamlessly woven in and around the lobby or even become part of the decor.

This place was different. Just a lonely side table and an empty chair in a large room featuring high imposing ceilings, maroon coloured drapes and red carpet. The silence was the next thing we noticed. So very quiet, and still. There are some framed paintings hanging from the walls and scattered pieces of plush furniture that look as though they could tell a thousand stories. An older gentleman greets us and takes down our details on a leather bound book while he gives us directions and instructions about how to get to our room. He hands over a large heavy metal key that looks like a prop from the "Addams Family" set. Cool!We have instructions to turn left from the foyer and continue until we come to two locked white doors. Using our key we are to continue along the same path ensuring that we lock the doors behind us. Apparently this particular hallway is known as "cats alley". It is narrow, unbelievably long and undulates as we lock another set of white doors behind us. It is lined with paintings ornaments and odd pieces of furniture. We notice in one of the displays an original wedding invitation and place card from the night of the second fire. This place was amazing, it really was like being in a time machine jumping back some ninety odd years. The never ending "cats alley" kept going and going. We had no idea this place was so big as you get no sense of its enormity from the street or driveway. We had closed and locked two sets of doors behind us as we walked and continued to take in the unusual environment when Kabobbles and I both stopped suddenly.

Almost simultaneously both of us uttered the same words, "Did you feel that?" in an almost matter of fact kind of tone.

"Did you feel it too?, What the hell was that. I wasn’t going to say anything but you felt it too?"

"I thought I was freaking out!" I quipped in a light hearted manner.

I would have almost certainly dismissed it and not mentioned it again had Kabobbles not experienced the same thing.

"No!" says Kabobbles "your not freaking out, I definitely felt something, it’s in this spot right here."

What we had just experienced, or "the feeling" that I’m referring to is that undefinable yet undeniable certainty that whatever that was,it had triggered all of our senses seemingly at once, yet none of our senses could register it or bring it into existence, unable to make it fit into the tangible, physical world.

It’s when all of your being, all of what you know tells you, screams at you, that something is present yet there is no tangible evidence whatsoever as proof. Instinct, gut feeling, sixth sense whatever you want to name it. It’s actually quite strange because it’s the type of certainty you would bet your life on, as real and with as much presence as a train screaming past you. Our experience was no different. And we both felt it.

For me and Kabobbles it was as if someone had brushed up against us as they walked hurriedly past and then turned and stopped to look back. It’s the kind of thing I would prefer to dismiss. I don’t need to be or want to be postulating about things that I cant see, hear, touch or smell especially if it feels as though they can see me. Screw that! But their was no way out of dismissing it this time as their were two of us. There was no denying that something really spooky just took place and as others might, I certainly wouldn’t describe it as a pleasant experience.

I have had one other similar experience as undeniable as this and I couldn’t help but revisit that memory, not by choice I might add as I would have rather forgotten about that time all together also. It happened a number of years ago in a house across from my parents place. In the thirty odd years that my parents have lived in their home, the house across the road has had at no less than eight separate unrelated deaths occur, all of them inside the actual house, albeit by natural causes and unrelated but still, I always thought that it was unusual and more than a little eerie. Anyway, Terry the current owner who is in his seventies had locked himself out a few years ago and asked me if I could jump the fence, go through the back window and open the front door for him. It was a sunny afternoon and within moments I was inside and walking through the main hallway of the house. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself for being able to help out and not thinking about the house or its macabre past. Not consciously anyway. I was about two metres from the front door when I had that exact same sensation experienced at the Hydro Majestic. I was literally shaking as I was trying to get that front door open as quickly as possible. It wasn’t just the overwhelming feeling of not being alone in that space but swearing blind that whatever was present was right next to and aware of me. Back at the Hydro, we finally got to the end of "cats alley" and into our room. It was literally the last room situated on the right hand side of the hallway. It was much smaller than I expected but the ninety year old decor and the tiny balcony certainly made up for that. The bed was adjacent to the entry door and took up most of the space with a lounge chair and large ceramic sink featuring also. I can recall black and white chequered ceramic tiles either on the floor or near the sink and in the bathroom. A medium sized window was perched fairly high on a wall so the view it provided was mainly of blue sky. We opened the back door which was on the other side of the bed and stepped onto the smallest balcony I’ve ever seen which provided just enough room for two people to stand on. The reason it was there was obvious though as the views into the valleys behind were breathtaking. The ground behind the building seems to drop off into infinity giving the sensation of standing on the very top of the earth.

We unpacked quickly and did what you might expect a couple would do on a weekend away. No not that! We headed for the bar.

The bar area was as cool as Fonzi, featuring a massive billiards table, deep bay windows which opened up to the expansive outdoor area and a host of luxurious appointments which reminded me of "The Great Gatsby" era. We booked dinner at the restaurant, played a few shots and sipped 1930’s styled cocktails on the outdoor terrace. After a light lunch and several more drinks it started to get cold outside so I grabbed the key from Kabobbles and raced back to our room to grab my jacket. I was certainly enjoying my stay so far as I scampered confidently and happily past the spot that freaked us out earlier, without incident. In fact I had completely forgotten about it at that point. I got to our room and was in there for just a moment, as I started to put my jacket on when suddenly the strangest sensation came over me. Strong emotions of fear excitement and adrenaline all rolled into one, were telling me something. I don’t know what exactly, but my translation was get the hell out of there. I didn’t bother putting the jacket on so I just grabbed it and hightailed it back to the bar. I told Kabobbles what happened but I downplayed it a little and continued to enjoy the afternoon. We spent the rest of the day in and around the hotel grounds meeting a few other guests and eventually headed for our dinner reservation. Dinner was excellent as we took our time eating, drinking and making the most of our weekend away. I should point out at this juncture that Kabobbles is of Croatian descent and true to her Eastern European heritage is able to drink me under the table. In fact she could probably drink anyone under the table if she wanted to. Me on the other hand, well lets put it this way, one of my own self styled nick names is, "Two can Stan". I (we) don’t normally indulge in excessive drinking and would like to think that we are responsible adults but we were away for the weekend and Kabobbles was in party mode. I was getting close to my limit of three or four drinks while Kabobbles ordered more cocktails, jokingly boasting about her "genetic tolerance", to alcohol.

I’m guessing it was around midnight when we started to make a move back to our room. We walked back along the dimly lit Cats alley, arriving at our room without incident. Our front door comprised of an old lock and key system with an additional ball and chain at eye level. Kabobbles who is a stickler for security insisted that I double check the door and ensure all available locks are utilised while she tended to her nightly bedtime ritual. By the time I was ready for bed Kabobbles was out for the count, her genetic advantage being no match for the bevy of cocktails she had consumed. This rarely happens to her but when it does I can be almost certain that I won’t hear from my Kabobbles until morning. I pulled the covers over her and turned out all the lights except for my bed light. I was somewhat tired but not sleepy so I stayed up walking out onto the tiny balcony watching the stars for a while until the cold air was to much for me. It was freezing out there. I locked the balcony door and jumped under the warm covers to read until almost three AM. I checked on Kabobbles before turning off the bed light who by the way hadn’t moved an inch in all that time, and rolled onto my right side, my head facing the front door. It was dark and silent in our room, with just a whisper of starlight coming in from the high window on my left. I also noticed the dim yellow light that was spilling in under the door from the hallway outside. I was actually focused on that very gap under the door as it was my only real light source, not to mention it being less than an arms length away from me. I could have easily reached down to slide my fingers under the gap given the height of the bed and the position I was laying in.

Then it started.

The first thing that grabbed my attention was a distant, indistinct sound that I could hear coming from under the door. Almost inaudible at first, rattling sounds with intermittent squeaking I thought although I couldn’t be sure because it sounded so far away. I figured it was hotel staff, perhaps at the other end of Cats Alley either restocking or cleaning for the day ahead. I locked onto the sound and as I began to make it out two things became clearer. The first was that it was gradually becoming louder and the next was that it had a distinct pattern or order to it. I strained to listen as it was still quite faint but as it became more audible I realised what it was. Someone was pushing a trolley or pram, perhaps a housekeeping cart. I reasoned that a guest was having room service delivered and so closed my eyes as I tried to get to sleep although I couldn’t ignore it completely as it seemed to continue up the long hallway, ever closer to our room.

I waited for it to stop or at least change pace as I suddenly came to the unsettling realisation that there were no further rooms in this section of Cats Alley and furthermore the large hallway doors hadn’t been opened and shut to let anyone through. As I mentioned earlier our room was the absolute last one on this wing and there is no more hallway after us. I wasn’t even thinking or relating any of this to the events of yesterday accepting that this was all quite reasonable. It continued ever so slowly creaking and rattling, as the sound of rusty wheels continued in the exact same unchanged tempo, my eyes fixed on the gap at the door as I lay motionless.

I started to feel my body responding as fight or flight hormones involuntarily kick in putting me on high alert. I could absolutely feel my hearing and sight become sharper and hone into the situation. Now the sound is becoming so loud that it seems to be only meters away as I lay there silently staring at the gap. Within seconds it’s here and I watch with trepidation in my readied, amped up state as the light coming in from the door gap casts shadows of whatever is there. The squeaking has stopped and something is blocking the light coming in to our room.

The next moment feels like an eternity as the undeniable truth has no place to hide. I have no way of explaining this away. I know that something is a few feet away from me with just two inches of door separating us. I can feel it’s presence so clearly that it’s impossible for me to move or even speak. I am unable to make any sound at all and even if I could I wouldn’t dare. If this was a person in the true sense I wouldn’t have hesitated to call out or open the door to see what was going on. This was something different though and I can’t help the way my body is responding.I try my hardest to will it away as I try to dismiss the images in my head of what it could be or look like. I don’t want to know.

I try with complete stealth to nudge Kabobbles while fear hijacks all other functions. Nudging, prodding with my left hand while the rest of my being is fixed on those shadows cast under the door. I prod harder, please wake up Kabobbles wake up I plea silently as I try to somehow will her to respond. Nothing. Then as I manage to move my body slightly to get more leverage I notice something in my peripheral.

I look up and to my left in the vicinity of the high window and AHHHHHHH! What I see releases me from whatever hold I was bound by with a scream at the top of my voice. "KABOBBLES! KABOBBLES! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!", as I shake her out of her deep slumber. I switch on the bed light as she turns towards me, eyes still shut.

"Wha, what , what’s wrong, what are you doing", and then she’s out again fast asleep. I sensed at that very moment that it was now over and whatever presence had manifested itself was clearly gone. I got up and turned on almost every light in the room. I then proceeded to unchain the front door and opened it in an aggressive forceful manner. Nothing. I looked to my left all the way down the long hallway to the double doors and again nothing. Completely still completely empty, not a soul in sight. I locked the door again as my focus was now on the window and what I had just seen there that caused me to scream out just moments earlier. I walked out onto the balcony and leaned right out to see if I could get an idea of where the window sat relative to the building. I estimated around five or six metres from ground level ensuring that no one could have gotten up there without the use of a ladder.

Eventually I got to sleep and woke up relatively fresh that morning. Kabobbles was a little hung over but also ok as we both got ready for breakfast and checkout. "Did you wake me last night?", she enquired innocently as she packed. I wasn’t sure when or even if I was going to tell her partly because I didn’t want to think or deal with it and also because I wasn’t sure about what actually happened. It all seemed so surreal in the light of day.

As we were driving home a couple of hours later I began with, "Man you were well and truly out for the count last night, you didn’t hear me call out at all did you?"

"I thought I heard something, did something happen, is everything alright?"

"Yea it’s all fine I’ll tell you later, it’s nothing."

We got home, unpacked some stuff and relaxed in my parents backyard when I started to tell her the whole story. As you already have most of what occurred I’ll pick up from where I was describing the "window and the scream", part to her.

"As I tried to prod and nudge to wake you up I look up at the window and I see what I can only describe as the bust of a man that seemed to be floating, looking through the window. I thought it looked like a man dressed in period clothes from the nineteenth century, like some sort of admiral or captain. He looked as though he was wearing a wig like the ones barristers and judges sometimes wear today in Australia."

"It scared the crap out of me and I screamed".

"I don’t know how you didn’t hear me, you kinda stirred for a bit and then fell asleep again but it was enough to cause everything to stop".

"I don’t know what the hell happened back there but it scared the hell out of me and I’d rather just forget about it, besides it could have just been a nightmare or lucid dreaming or something", I added attempting to downplay the whole thing mainly for my own benefit. I knew deep down that I wasn’t dreaming or imagining things but as I said earlier I’d rather let sleeping dogs lie than have that replaying in my head for the rest of my life.

I nervously joked about it and mentioned it to various people over the next year or so and tried for the most part not to think about my experience but it wasn’t until a couple of years ago when the Hydro Majestic announced its new makeover, which made the nightly news and featured in all the newspapers on numerous occasions that got my attention. Reports on the progress of the renovation and the like were presented by various media outlets but what I wasn’t prepared for was that almost every story was framed around hauntings, ghosts and the hotels spooky past. Why the hell didn’t somebody tell me that before we stayed there!That’s when I decided I would write about my experience and it was where i uncovered a load of "stuff that I didn’t want to know about".

One reoccurring story is of a young girl who died in the hotel when she was only six years old and is considered by many to be one of the hotels most prevalent resident ghosts. For some strange reason I can picture her in my mind even though I’ve never seen a photo of her. I see her pushing a dolls pram and wanting to play.

By the way, it’s a sunny Sunday Sydney morning and I’m on my balcony at the moment writing these few final paragraphs and that’s the only time I would bring that thought to paper. There’s no way in hell that I would have written this paragraph or articulated that thought on my own or at night!

Two disturbing thoughts go through my head whenever I revisit that weekend. Did whatever was at my door that night single me out, and does it have the capacity to think about the experience in the same way I do. In other words does it keep me as a memory. Man I hope not!







The Light Goes On, The Light Goes Off

Anonymous, USA

I grew up in a small farm town called Burglengenfeld a few miles outside of Nuremberg Germany. We lived in an old house, that first was a school, then a barn and then the last owners turned it into a house.

My mother said that when they first bought the house they discovered really old school desks and chalk boards and kids clothes etc. in the storage hall in the attic. The house consisted of four levels, the basement, main floor, the middle and the attic. My room was on the middle floor until I was a bit older. I always wanted the attic room because I thought it was cool and also because my parents were always fighting at night and I didn’t want to hear it.

Once my parents let me take the attic it had to be cleaned up a bit first. It wasn’t too dirty because the prior owners used it as a bedroom before. I spent most of my time in the attic, as I was a hermit and didn’t like to socialize.

A few nights after I moved in, I felt someone was watching me. Sometimes I’d be doing something with my back faced away from my bedroom doorway and all of a sudden I’d get the feeling as if someone just walked in and was walking around my room or even towards me.After the first month or so that I had been staying in the attic, the scariest things happened to me that, to this day, when I talk about them or even think about them, they send a chill up my spine.

The first account, it was late at night and I had gotten out of bed because I wanted to play with my toys. I knew my parents would be asleep so they couldn’t catch me out of bed. I had only been playing for maybe a few minutes when I heard some footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart stopped and I raced back to my bed, leaving the light on and just covering myself completely under my blanket. I thought it was my mom at first but it sounded like heavy boots so then I thought it was my father.

The way my room was set up, my bed was right next to the doorway of the attic stairs. There was no door, it was just open. The footsteps came up the stairs and I heard them plain as day take the last step into my room. But then they stopped, I didn’t hear them anymore. In fact I didn’t hear anything. If it was my father he would’ve whipped my behind right then and there. The other bone chilling thing was that my blanket was knitted, so there were tiny holes I could see through if I focused right. I looked through them, I didn’t see anyone or anything. I just remember being so confused.

Still contemplating if it was my father, I somehow made myself believe that it was in fact him and that he had somehow left quietly and that was his idea to scare me. I lay in bed trying to make sense of it all. About to take the blanket off of my sweaty head to breathe some fresh air, and then it happened. My bedroom light started flipping on and off. I literally was staring at the light switch, which was right next to my bedroom doorway, watching it flip up and down without a hand of flesh to do so. Through the holes in my blanket, there was no one there. My father was not standing at the top of the stairs, nor was my mother.

That night, I stayed under my blanket, quiet and still, sweating, heart pounding in my chest, my bedroom light blinking on and off non stop. I remember sweat trickling down my face and going into my eye and burning my eye...but yet, I was frozen. I woke up the next morning. I had fallen asleep to my light switching on and off all night. My hair was stuck to my head from all the sweat. I was certain at that point that it was NOT my parents. However, I knew that if I told them about it, then I’d also have to explain why I was out of bed in the first place. So I kept my mouth shut.