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My friend and I were going to a party a few hours out of town, so we decided to stay at her family’s holiday house about an hour south of the party (now three hours from home). We arrived around mid afternoon, and it was winter in a holiday town, so the area was completely empty – no other cars on the street.
When we left for the party I spent a moment deciding whether to pull the gate all the way closed. I’d had some trouble opening it earlier when we arrived, and if we were getting home late at night I didn’t want to be stuck outside. I decided to shut it for security.
Party was great, we got back to the house around 12:30, and the gate was open. I immediately felt on edge because not only did I know I’d locked it, but I knee it couldn’t just blow open in the wind, but I didn’t want to make a big deal so I was vague when my friend asked if I’d shut it. We went inside, and decided to make a snack. I was wandering through the house when suddenly my friend raced from the kitchen into the hallway and virtually tackled me to the ground; she was convinced she’d heard someone walking around outside. We tried to calm ourselves down, but we had no cell reception and there was no one else around. Over the next half hour or so, as we sat in the hallway paralysed with fear, we heard footsteps outside, and the back door being jimmied.
We decided we had to leave, so we gathered everything up and got ready to make a break for the car. Just as we were at the front door ready to leave, there was a huge bang in the back yard, and suddenly what sounded like hundreds of birds started screaming. We legged it to the car, ended up starting it with all our stuff still on our laps, we hadn’t bothered to even put it in the backseat. As we reversed out the driveway we saw somebody running up the side of the house towards us.
Sped the entire way home and even once we got back to my place, didn’t sleep at all that night.
My favorite answer from a previous thread:
Credit where credit is due.
It was near Halloween time when my friends and I were telling ghost stories. My friend said she was going to tell a story about her parents’ first date. She said she didn’t like telling the story, since it was actually true, but we prodded her on.
To cut to the chase, the parents had spent a nice, if awkward first date, and around the time that they would have said “good night,” the male in the situation–my friend’s dad–suggested that they go for a midnight hike up Provo Canyon. He apparently knew the place, since he had done a fair amount of rock climbing in the area. So the two drove up the mouth of the canyon, got out of their cars and started hiking under just the light of the stars, since it was a new moon.
At some point, the male starts getting a “bad feeling,” since the pathway ahead, which would pass under some trees, would be dark, and because it was getting to be quite late. He ignores the feeling and presses on. In later rehearsings of the story, the female would say that she had felt the same feeling at what was probably the same time, though she didn’t know the trail like he did. A minute later, the feeling came back to the male. He ignored it again, and started walking a bit of the way into the trees when his foot hit something “soft” in the middle of the path. Under the trees, it was too dark to see just what this soft thing was, and the feeling came back stronger than ever. Instead of finding out what his foot had bumped into, he and the female both agreed to hightail it out of there…
Years later, after being married for some time, they were watching an interview with the serial killer, Ted Bundy. In response to a question asking him to describe the time that he felt the closest to being caught, he explained about the night that he lured a girl into Provo Canyon, and had just killed her when he heard some people coming up the trail. He explained how he hid in the trees just in time, only to watch some guy walk right into the body, and for some reason, just turn around and walk away.
TL;DR. Friend’s parents stumbled onto a fresh corpse left by Ted Bundy on their first date.
Posted this before in a different thread but still a pretty creepy story….Before my family and I moved to another state, my father went and visited the area to check on the progress of our new house which was being built. My father was there for a few days and was staying at some crappy Motel 6 in a shady area of town. His room was the last room at the end of the hallway on the top floor. In the middle of the night on the last night he was in town he is woken by the phone ringing in his room. He groggily answers. It was the front desk and they say something along the lines “Sorry to wake you, but we’ve been receiving a couple of reports about rooms being broken into and some stuff being stolen. We are calling to make sure you lock your door and are safe.” My father replies that he is fine and hangs up. He decides to go double check that he locked the door. As he sits up in bed he notices that the door to his room is ajar. Being spooked, he cautiously checks the room and finds that nothing is missing and no one else is in the room. He creeps to the door and peaks out. Sitting right outside his room on the window sill of the hallway window is his shaving kit. Creeped out of his mind, he quickly grabs it and locks the door. After he calms down a bit he calls down to the front desk and says “Hey, you just called me about the break ins around the hotel, and I just want to report that my room was broken into when I was sleeping, nothing stolen and I am fine. Figured you would like to know” The front desk replies, “You must be mistaken, we never called your room and we haven’t received any reports of breaks ins”
When I was younger, I had an imaginary friend who lived in this massive antique dresser. We’d chill out and I vividly remember him telling me stories, although I have absolutely no recollection of what they actually were.
I remember one day talking to my parents about it (Dad traveled quite a bit so he wasn’t up to date with what I was into) and when I started telling him about my dresser buddy, he wanted to know his name. It was something innocent like Peter or Patrick but I can still see him going white in the face.
I drew Peter/Patrick out for him and the very next day him and my uncle took out that dresser and burned it. It wasn’t until a few years later when I found out my Dad’s little brother (my uncle) also had the same friend with the same name who lived in the same antique dresser. After a few months of the typical imaginary friend shit, my uncle started having night terrors and couldn’t sleep because of Peter/Patrick. It got so bad that they had to move him out of his room before he managed to get back to normal.
A few weeks ago my girlfriend and I were sleeping together, when I woke up to her saying “What are you doing?” She sometimes talks in her sleep, but this sounded so coherent and urgent that it jolted me awake and I asked what she was talking about. She then woke up and said she thought she saw someone at the end of the bed. Thinking it was just a dream, or semi-awake hallucination, we thought nothing of it and went back to sleep. About an hour later, I woke up and saw someone standing on the bed, with the sheets wrapped up and twisted to their neck. I didn’t know what do but the first thing that came out of my mouth was “What are you doing?” My girlfriend then woke me up. I had been dreaming the exact same thing that she did, and said the exact same thing.
I know it’s the power of suggestion or whatever, but fuck that.
About a couple weeks after I was born my dad’s best friend, Jim, died. They were really close, and one of the last things he wanted was to hold little me before he passed. His wish was filled, and some short time after that he was gone.
Fast forward 7 years. I’m now a happy 7-year-old with a 5-year-old brother and recently born sister. One day the phone rings, and with my mom out and dad in the washroom I thought it was going to be ignored as we kids were still too young to answer the phone (no call display, we didn’t know if there would be a stranger). But my brother broke the rules and answered. “Hello?”
At this point my dad is out of the washroom and is asking my brother to hand him the phone. He ignores him and keeps listening to whoever is speaking. Before my dad could ask a second time my brother hangs up, looks at him and says, “Jim says hi, and he misses SkywingNova,” then goes back to playing. The look of shock my dad had is what I remember most about this.
When I was a child we would frequently get calls for a woman named Tanya. Didn’t seem like a big deal, she had the same last name as us, although it’s quite a common one around here.
When we moved across the city and phone books stopped being the go-to for finding somebody’s number, the calls for Tanya gradually stopped. Those days seemed to have ended and we carried on, forgetting about the mysterious Tanya.
It was about 4 years ago that she popped up in our lives again.
I was driving home from work one afternoon and was greeted by a pretty grisly car wreck at the turn to my house – two cars had collided and one had wrapped itself around the signage pole that had house numbers and directions on it, one of which was my house number.
Several days later we get a call from the police. They asked if Tanya was at this residence. Her car was found wrapped around a pole – down the street from my house – and she was nowhere to be found at the accident site.
Haven’t heard anything about her since.
From this thread about weird shit kids say:
I was visiting family for winter break in Los Angeles, this was about five years ago. I was heading to the bathroom on the second floor of my aunt’s house when I saw my cousin, April, on the stairs. April was four and very animated. She was busy making funny faces while sitting on the stairs. I asked her what she was doing. She said, “I’m copying the lady with the braid.” I looked around, there was no one else but us. I asked, “where is the lady, April?” She pointed to a beam running parallel to the stairwell. I asked April, “what is the lady doing?” She said, “makin’ funny faces.” I smiled and started walking up the stairs again when April said something that stopped me in my tracks. April, “her braids is around her neck.” I turned back and asked April to repeat herself. April pointed,”the lady is hanging by her braid… She’s making funny faces.” Then April started making a face which I then realize was it someone gasping for air.
Creepy as balls.
My wife’s mother passed away in 2003 from cancer. After the funeral, family and friends gathered at her house for a final celebration of her life. The gathering went late into the evening. My son, 3 at the time, needed to go to bed at that point.
I walked with him up the stairs to where he would sleep. The room that my mother-in-law passed away in was upstairs, and straight down the hallway as you reached the top of the landing. My son and I walked upstairs together, with me holding his hand. As we nearly reached the top of the stairs, my son stopped and wouldn’t move…at the point which he could just see down the hallway. He was staring straight down the hall. I looked at him, then down the hall to an open doorway to a completely dark bedroom. He just stared, and would not move any further. I asked him “Buddy, are you OK?” His response was…”Daddy. The light. The light scares me.” I looked again down the hallway where he was staring into darkness. “Buddy, you see a light?” “Yes daddy. It scares me.”
I promptly picked him up and went back downstairs. To this day, the hairs still stand on the back of my neck when I think of it.
When I was in eighth grade I went on a school trip that was called the Louisiana Tour. It was mostly going around to significant sights in south Louisiana. One of the places we went was Myrtles Plantation, which is considered to be one of the most haunted places in the country.
There are all kinds of stories about the place, but at one point we were standing in a room as a part of a larger group and the tour guide was talking about something, I don’t remember what. As I’m standing there I start to hear what sounds like someone hitting a piano key. After I heard it a couple of times I started to look around for the source of the noise. I didn’t see a piano, but I kept hearing it. So I asked my friends who were standing near me if they heard it, they said no. When I heard it again I said there is it again and that they must have heard it. They thought I was crazy.
So I went back to looking around the room. Everyone’s eyes were on the tour guide except for one woman. She caught my eye and pointed at me and then at her ear with a questioning look. I realized she was asking if I heard it too and I nodded.
At this point the tour guide starts telling a story about a soldier who had died there and that he played the piano and multiple guests had reported hearing him playing in the night.
I honestly didn’t know what to think, I guess I still don’t. I talked to the woman as we were all leaving the room and she had heard the exact same thing as me, but her husband and son had not heard it.
One of my brothers worked security in one of New York City’s most upscale hotels. The security desk received a frantic call during one of his night shifts. A guy was calling, all freaked out that his wife was in the bath and was not breathing. My brother and another security guard rushed upstairs to the room. Sure enough, they found a woman in the tub, and she was unresponsive. My brother and the other guard got her out of the tub and attempted CPR. In the interim, during resuscitation attempts, the NYPD arrived. They told my brother to stop CPR because the lady was obviously dead and in their opinion, had been for a couple of hours. The husband was questioned extensively. He told law enforcement that he and his wife had a fight earlier in the evening. He went out on his own and when he came back, his wife was in the bath. He says he went to bed at that point but later became concerned when his wife didn’t come to bed. Privately, among all those present, the general consensus was that the husband had something to do with it but it could not be proven. A couple of weeks later, the room was again made available to guests, and of course the incident was not mentioned. A woman who frequently stayed at the hotel, made a reservation for a week and was assigned to that room. She was the first person to stay in the room since the incident. She came to the front desk first thing in the morning, very upset, and with all of her luggage in tow. She said that she was canceling the rest of her reservation and that she would NEVER be staying in the hotel again. She said that she did not sleep the entire night and that the room was haunted. No one at the hotel had mentioned to her what had previously transpired in the room. While my brother worked there, every guest who stayed in the room, called about strange goings on and many asked to be switched to another room.
When I was younger my family was extremely poor and lived in a very old mobile home on some land my grandpa owned. This piece of land was in a very small town out in the middle of nowhere Texas and was covered in woods. The town itself was your typical small country town where football was king and there was nothing to do but get drunk or high on the weekend. It was also the type of town, along with it being early 90s, where one didn’t typically have to worry too much about locking their doors or setting an alarm.
Now, our trailer was a two bedroom and my parents, always putting us kids ahead of themselves, slept in the living room on a fold out couch. My room was directly connected to it and my sisters room was down a hallway past the kitchen and bathroom at the other end of the trailer.
One night, after everyone had gone to bed, my dad is woken up by a feeling that there is someone in the room. He looks around a bit and sees a large male figure sitting in the easy chair just feet from the bed. My dad quickly flipped on the light switch next to his bed and saw it was a neighbor from down the road named Carter. Carter was known to be a frequent drug user and was often in trouble with the law because of thise.
My dad asked him what the fuck he was doing here and told him to get out and he responded. “I can’t get out. The demons are chasing me and your house is the only safe one.” My dad, who I should is fairly large and terrifying person, responded that if he didn’t get out and get out quickly that the house would be a lot less safe for him. “If I leave they’ll get me! They’ve been chasing me all night. If they catch me I’m dead.” My dad’s response was that there was no demons but that if he didn’t get the fuck out of his house that he’d be dead. From what I’ve been told, since I was asleep for this part, my mom also hurled a few threats and, while she may not be big, she was equally as terrifying. I believe it was her anger that finally scared him off.
My dad got up and locked the door and watched through the blinds as Carter decided, since he couldn’t outrun the demons he’d steal our old beater Suburban that my dad always left the keys in. He drove around for about an hour. We called the police and it took them about that long to get out to us since the closest police station was about 20 or 30 minutes away. He finally brought it back and was arrested and taken to jail. He was deemed crazy and ended up locked in a mental institution.
The scarier part is that for years after this we’d get phone calls where all we’d here is music that would have lyrics like “I’m going to fucking kill you!” These calls lasted for years and followed us from house to house even though we always had different numbers and would even be in different states. We always thought it was him sending us a message.
The calls stopped when I was about 12. I later found out that it was around that time that Carter thought the best thing he could do for himself was soak himself in gasoline and set himself on fire.
I was at a friend’s house around 12 years ago, we were in the basement watching tv, when his mom’s boyfriend comes down the stairs and tells us to keep it down. We looked at each other, confused because we were literally just watching tv and it wasn’t on high volume at all. We said we weren’t being loud, and he said ‘You aren’t yelling?’ and we shook our heads. He just sort of does the ‘huh..’ look and tells us he and my friend’s mom had heard someone screaming coming up from the furnace vents, so he though it was coming from the basement where the furnace is. We didn’t hear anything and were like 15 feet away from the furnace.
Sadly I can’t verify the next story because I wasn’t there, but my friend (from the basement) and another friend say they were upstairs in the kitchen one night hanging out, and they heard a scream, clear as day, coming out of one of the furnace vents. Freaked them out, naturally, but I never did get to hear it.
Probably just metal creaking, but it was weird that we were so close to it and didn’t hear anything that could be interpreted as a scream.
I’m late to the party but I’ll share anyways. When I was a teenager I was big into skateboarding and building ramps and shit. There was a neighborhood being built behind mine and I’d go over there on the weekends and get scrap wood and bring it back to my house. You had to go through a little bit of woods and cross a creek to get there. I went one day be my self and when I crossed the creek and started walking through the woods to the construction site I could here a man talking. I stood still to try to hear what he was saying. It was getting louder as if he was coming through the woods towards me and I finally heard what he was saying and he made a little jingle singing “I’m gonna get you”. I couldn’t hear any leaves crunching and I never saw anyone. I ran like hell and was slipping while I was trying to climb up the muddy bank in the creek. I don’t believe in ghosts or anything but that’s one thing that’s stuck with me that I can’t explain.
Throwaway because I’ve told people this story before and it’s pretty recognizable.
My school’s library is open until around 2 in the morning for the idiots like me who don’t do their essays until the last minute, it’s a pretty small building and most of the books are in the basement area called the “Stacks”. Just to give you a quick layout, there’s the big main stairs that go down to the Stacks, a vending machine room, and the long hallway with four entrances into the Stacks. The Stacks are two really big rooms on opposite sides of the hallway with a huge amount of bookshelves and study desks lining the walls.
I was there around 11pm last year, it was a pretty research intensive essay so I was down in the Stacks working in one of the study desks so I didn’t have to keep going upstairs and downstairs again. I had been there for maybe two hours and everyone except for a boy working a few desks down from me had left already. I was pretty zoned out by this point, it was an 8am class so I didn’t have much time until it was due and I was sort of panicking, so it really pissed me off when I heard someone flipping through book pages really fast to make them do that loud whir noise at the other end of the room. I sort of ignored it for a while thinking they’d go away eventually, but they just kept doing it.
After about five minutes, I got sick of it and started to walk over to tell them to be knock it off. I get about three steps across the room and it just stopped. I sat back down and it was quiet again for like ten more minutes before the flipping pages noise started again, only loads louder, like they’d grabbed a huge book that time.
The boy started to get pissed off too and he stood up and started walking through the bookshelves trying to find them. It keeps going so I got up too and started looking around with him. It got really loud and it was pretty obvious where it was coming from by that point, so we started walking towards it, he was on one side of the shelves and I was on the other.
We walked all the way down the shelves. No one there. We hadn’t seen anyone come in the stacks and we were on the side of the room with the entrances, no way could anyone have come in without us seeing them. The noise stopped again and we both just sort of slowly walked back to our seats, I assumed it was just a fan or something in the other room and I really needed to get my essay done.
We sat down and immediately the noise started again, it sounded like it was coming from right next to the guy’s chair. He shoved his stuff in his bag, looked at me, said, “Fuck this” and took off. I was out of there maybe five seconds behind him. I still won’t go back in the Stacks at night, even when there’s other people down there. No essay’s worth getting murdered by a weird book ghost.