Favorite Ghost Stories

Subject: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Áine
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 03:57 PM

We've still got a few days until Halloween -- Does anyone have a favorite ghost story they'd like to share?

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: kendall
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 04:11 PM

This is not a ghost story. it is true. it happened to me. Afriend of mine owns an old house that was a stop on the underground railway before the civil war. I was visiting him, he was showing me an empty room that he was making into a bathroom. The door was shut, there were two people in that room, and I was looking right at him. I heard an odd sound behind me, looked down, and, a penny came rolling across the floor OUT OF A BLANK WALL!! I picked it up and asked, "Where did that come from?" he said, I dont know, it happens often. I have a big jar of them. To make matters even more spooky, it was an Indian Head penny. This is only one incident that took place there, but, it is the only one that I saw with my own eyes. He finally told me that a murder had been committed in the cellar.Absolutely true story.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ely
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 04:40 PM

This isn't actually a ghost story, but it's still pretty weird. The date in question occurred (obviously) before my time, probably around 1974.

My parents were out on a date and started talking about strange things that had happened to them. My father told my mother about a hike he had been on while backpacking in Nepal. He stopped for a rest and immediately became aware of a "force" in front of, and a little above, him. He wasn't sure how to describe it--he couldn't see anything and he couldn't actually touch it, but he knew that there was something there. He said he got the impression of a big ball of energy. My mother told about the death of her mother, which happened when Mom was 22 (in 1970). She said she had sensed Grandma's spirit leave her body, and felt the body "settle". As each talked more about their experiences, they came to the realization that they had happened at just about the same time (meaning that Dad felt the "force" at the same time Grandma's spirit left her body). My parents had not yet met each other at the time these things occurred.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Áine
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 05:17 PM

Great job so far guys!! Here's my contribution -- and of course, it's all TRUE . . .

Here's one that my father used to tell every Halloween – It's not really a ghost story; but it scared the beejeesus out of me and my sister for years! Of course, he swore up and down that it was all true . . .

During World War II, my dad was in the Army, stationed at Los Alamos, New Mexico. That's right, the place where they put together the Bomb. Anyway, since he had been a policeman in Waco before he was drafted, he was assigned to 'dog', as he called it, one of the 'fellas' working at the facility. Now, this wasn't really a covert activity, since the 'fella' knew that my dad was following him any time he went off the base. In fact, my dad said that the two of them got to be downright friendly and even shared a few drinks at the local watering hole. My dad even knew this guy's lady friend to say hello to.

One night, my dad said this fella started drinking pretty heavy and early, which wasn't like him at all. It was as if there was something terrible on his mind – he sat at the bar, knocking back the whiskies, and muttering to himself about 'having to be there soon.' My dad was getting pretty nervous, because of course, he was going to have report this behavior to his superiors, and he didn't really want to get this guy into any more trouble than he seemed to be in already.

Suddenly, this guy jumped off the bar stool and lurches out the door. Dad followed him and sees him drive off down the road. So of course, Dad follows him. The fella was weaving all over the place and then suddenly drove off the main road into the desert. My dad was right behind him, thinking he was going to be bringing a dead drunk back to the base if this guy didn't calm down. The guy's car slammed on its brakes and so did Dad. Dad saw a woman come out of nowhere, open the car door and get in. The guy took off again into the desert, with my dad right behind him. After about ten minutes, the guy slammed on his brakes again and stopped. Dad stopped too, but something told him to stay in his jeep.

Nothing happened. This fella and this woman just sat there, not even talking. After a few minutes more, my dad figured it was time to go talk to them and get this guy back to the base. As my dad started to climb out of the jeep, he saw the two heads in the car in front of him slowly turn around and stare at him.

He never would say what he saw in that car that night. But he did say that he spent a few weeks peeling potatoes and picking up cigarette butts out of the sand, because he refused to 'dog' that fella ever again.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 07:03 PM

Aine, about time he TOLD you!!! I wanna know!**BG**

We had an earlier thread, I think in the early part of this month, with some ghost stories in it. I had one living in my house in CT; quite benign, kind of sad. Always unlatched the attic door and let the cats up there to play. Also, one night it took the birdcage covers off, unlocked the front door and turned on all of the lights. Onenight it came down the front stairs and said my soon-to-be-son-in-law's name. He ran up the backstairs, he was so startled.

In another house in Northampton, MA, a lady in Victorian clothing came in to our bedroom one night and sat in my rocking chair. I had a hard time convincing her to leave as I knew Rog would be coming in from his bath, in the nude, soon, and that she would be shocked. As the hoouse was very old and had been a schoolhouse, I've always wondered if she was an oldtime school teacher.

Anybody ever read any M. R. James ghost stories? The absolute scariest, BEST ever written! Whistle and I'll Come For You, My Lad; The 13th Floor; Canon Albric's Scrapbook....priceless, everyone of them.

katlaughing

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Áine
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 07:41 PM

Dear kat,

Unfortunately, Daddy died at the grand old age of 81 last year without ever revealing the 'secret of Los Alamos.' I'll tell you this though; he was a stubborn, red headed Irish ex-cop and ex-fighter, who couldn't tell a lie. He could exagerate (of course), but he always had a little grin on his face when he did. He NEVER had that grin on when he told this story . . .

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Banjer
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 07:50 PM

True experience...I was about 16 years old at the time...Myself and two friends, Jimmy and Grant, were riding in Grant's pickup truck. We were on our way to check on some scrap metal that we had been told about. Grant was the oldest and was driving. Jimmy sat in the middle and I was next to the window. The skies had started to cloud up and bring a storm as was common at that time of the summer. A light mist was starting. On both sides of the road were woods, if you can call the collection of palms, pines, scrub oaks and other foilage we have in Florida woods. All of a sudden out of the corner of my eye I detected a movement. It seemed to be a man on horseback, reining up sharp upon spotting us. A closer look revealed what seemed to be a Civil War soldier, a Confederate officer, on horseback. Just as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished. I just stared straight ahead for a while. I wasn't going to say "Guess what I just saw!" and be laughed at for the next week. No way, not these two, they wouldn't let me live it down. It occured to me that no one had said anything for a while. I looked over at the other two and both their faces were white a a sheet! "What the hell is wrong with you two?" I asked. And then it dawned on me, I wasn't the only one that had seen what I thought I saw! They had seen it too! After comparing notes we all three agreed we had seen basically the same thing. It has been 34 years since that day, Grant has since passed away, and Jimmy and I lost contact some twenty years ago, but it is as clear in my mind as it was just yesterday.

Several theories were offered when we finaly got up nerve to tell others about it. Theories ranging from some sort of time warp occuring just as the soldier was himself passing over to we had been smoking something that made us think it. But all three of us were stone cold sober that day.

Further investigation revealed that some sort of a skirmish or raid had taken place in that area during the waning days of the Recent Unpleasantness. I don't know to this day what to believe, but I KNOW what I saw!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Mbo
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 09:10 PM

Great stories, guys! Kat, what was that other thread of ghost stories you mentioned?

--Mbo

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 09:21 PM

Aine, I am sorry to hear that. A redhead and Irish, you say?! Hmmm, MY dad always teased my mom about the Irish redheaded gentleman down the hall when I was conceived!**BG** What he didn't go on to say was the red on the head came from his own Scottish mother.

I love a mystery, so I guess I'll have to live with that one. But, I would love to know what YOU think he saw. Am I being really obstinate and thickheaded here? Sorry.

Banjer, here's an old family story which will be published in a family book that I am working on. It akes place during the Civil War or War of the Rebellion, depending on where you live. (Never heard it called that until I moved to YankeeLand.*BG*

The Ghost At the Crossing of the Stream
© Hudson Family Trust/ all rights reserved

My ancestor, Capt. Forsyth, was a Confederate spy, who got caught out one time, across enemy lines and was running for his life, horse full out with Union soldiers hot on his trail. He came to a fairly good sized stream which he had to ford, but noticed an eerie looking object of white across the stream, moaning and kind of moving around. Being a somewhat superstitious sort, he hesitated to go across. There had been talk about that particular place being haunted by a woman whose carriage had overturned, drowning her.

He looked before him and he looked behind him. The Union was getting closer by the minute and he knew he had to either take his chances with the *ghost*, still moaning and slowly swaying in the misty early evening light or fight and die facing the soldiers.

Urging his horse on, which was also reluctant about meeting the spectre, he crossed the stream, just ahead of the bullets, to find an old white cow, swaying back and forth, moaning while she chewed her cud! Thanks to his *bravery*, my greatgrandma came into being, then my granddad, dad and then me. We still have the Colt 45 cap and ball pistol he used, which he took off of a dead Union officer; some Confederate money, and a pass for his wife to safely go through enemy lines, which has her identifying features printed in the proper boxes. Thankfully, we know she didn't have a moustache because there was no description of it in the appropriate place!

I've another funny one from the Old South. I will post when I have time. kat

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Mbo
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 09:47 PM

Well, here's my contribution... My grandfather used to tell this true story to my mother when she was little, and she in turn told it to my sisters and I. Here it is: when my grandfather was young (circa early 1920's) he used to hang out with the neighbor kids (my grandfather's name was Velivelo Loro, the child of Italian immigrants, but his buds called him "Willy Jones.") As he and his friends were walking home one day, they happened to pass by an very old house (there are many in Philadelphia) which was vacant. One of his friends said that no one lived in the house because it was haunted, and that they should run till the scary house was far behind them. My grandfather said "Aw, that house isn't haunted, you're crazy!" But his friends insisted that it was. To relieve their fears, he said "There's no ghosts in their, and I'll prove it to you. I'm going to spend the night in there--this very night! And if you'll come around at about 9:00pm, I'll stand in front of the windows and wave to you, to show that there are no ghosts to get me." His friends thought he was insane, but agreed to come at 9 to see if he was all right. When grandpop got home, he got his sleeping things together and made ready for his night in the haunted house. At 9, his friends came, waiting for "Willy" to wave from the upstairs window, and show he was OK. As they looked at the window expectantly, there appeared a ghostly white form, undulating silently before their eyes. His friends screamed "A ghost!!! It must have got him!! Let's get out of here!!" meanwhile my grandfather stood in front of the window, laughing, and removed a white sheet from over his head. They said there was a ghost, so he gave them a ghost! But his merry mood was cut short when he got home, and his mother punished him for cutting 2 holes in one of her best sheets with scissors!

Buona Sera -- Mbo

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 10:26 PM

This is an interesting true story.

About three years ago, a local radio station in Denver called KOA was inviting people to come on air with any strange or supernatural experiences. A man who was a Navy veteran of World War 2 told this story:

I was one of the many GIs who were sent across the Atlantic in 1943 to England, preparatory to the D-Day Invasion. We were quite frightened during this crossing. The ocean was very rough, but not rough enough to keep the U-Boat wolfpacks from picking off several troopships from our convoy. There was not much to do during the day but stand at the rail, smoking cigarettes and looking out to sea, trying to spot the conning towers of the German submarines among the long string of ships in the convoy.

At night, the lurching action of the boat made it difficult for us to sleep in our hammocks. We spent most of the night talking and playing cards. My hammock was slung by the bulkhead, and next to me was a Polish guy from Chicago named Stampowski. He was always seasick, spending most of the days outside by the rail, and his nights with a bucket close by under his bunk. On one particularly raw day we were all by the rail, braving the wind and waves that were hammering the ship, and keeping a respectful distance from Stampowski who was violently ill. He was leaning far across the rail when a 30 foot wave slammed the stern of the ship into a sharp sideways lunge. I was one of many who saw Stampowski drop into the sea, but our cries of "Man Overboard!" went unheeded, for ships in Convoy would not turn around for one man.

As I swung in my hammock that night, I'm sure I cast a glance at the empty hammock swinging next to me before drifting into sleep. It was near midnight when something awakened me, and looking over at Stampowski's hammock, I was sure that a dark shape was stretched out in it. As I squinted at the shape, I could make out a steady drip of water from somewhere near it. I lit a match and held it high, and was shocked to see Stampowski lying in his hammock, soaked with seawater. I was overjoyed at his escape, and jumped out of my hammock calling his name. As my feet hit the deck, I was shocked to find myself standing in a pool of seawater perhaps 2 inches deep, that ebbed and surged across the deck with the ship's motion. When I looked up again, the hammock was empty.

This was the Soldier's story, but the capper came about an hour afterwards when another fellow called the radio station with this tale:

I heard with interest the story of Private Stampowski, and was immediately struck by the name . I too was in that convoy, near the end of that long string of ships, on that night in 1943. It was near midnight when a sharp explosion in the darkness indicated one of our ships had been attacked and perhaps sunk ahead of us. We had nearly given up looking for any survivors, supposing that the ship had either gone down with all hands or had suffered only minor damage, when the searchlights revealed a man floating in the sea. He was taken aboard about midnight. His name was Edward Stampowski.

LEJ

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Les B
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 10:56 PM

When I was in my late teens we lived in an eighty year old ranch house in southern Montana. According to a younger cousin (who used to stay with my folks alot), and my wife, there was a ghost that inhabited the upstairs bedrooms of that house. The first time I brought my wife (then my girlfriend) home to meet my folks it was late and they had already gone to bed. My wife was put in one of those bedrooms, while I went to sleep on the porch (prim & proper 1960's!). During the night, my wife heard footsteps and felt a presence hovering near her bed. She thought it was my mother trying to get a look at the first girl I'd ever brought home, so my wife-to-be lay there with eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Several years later, after my wife knew my mother well enough to joke with her, this was brought up, and my mother said, no she hadn't been upstairs, it was probably the "ghost". My wife thought my mother was pulling her leg, but my cousin who was also present, then told my wife that on several occasions he had felt(had actually been punched) and even seen "something" (pretty evil looking) in those bedrooms. My wife was quite nonplused to think that she might have seen a ghost had she opened her eyes, but also wonders if she's not better off for not seeing "it"! I, however, slept for two years in one of those bedrooms and never saw a thing. But here is a connection to that story that really makes me ponder the supernatural. A few years ago at a family reunion, about six months after my dad passed away, the same cousin, now a grown man, told me this story. One of the times he saw the "ghost" he came downstairs looking pretty distraught. My dad -- a no nonsense cowboy who I never heard discuss religion or ghosts -- asked my cousin what was wrong. When my cousin told Dad he'd seen a ghost, my dad said, "Yeah, I saw one too, when I was a kid," and then went on to tell how, in 1915, when he was eight, he'd been asleep with his sister who was nine. He awoke and saw something standing at the foot of their bed. He whispered to his sister, "what's that ?" and she said "It's my friend who comes to visit." His sister died of a childhood disease just a few months later. In all his 81 years, my dad never told me, or my mother, this story about what he'd seen !

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: kendall
Date: 25 Oct 99 - 11:00 PM

You all must have read Robert Frost's THE NIGHT THE BONES CAME UP THE CELLAR STAIRS.. scary

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 26 Oct 99 - 12:49 AM

MBo(o)*G*, I think that it was actually two threads in late Sept, or early Oct, which had a few stories. A Tavern thread and a Campfire thread. I will try to fing them sometime tomorrow.

Great stories you guys! I've got a few more, but am tired so have to go sleep, that is, if I can after reading all of THESE!

katlaughing

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Charlie Baum
Date: 26 Oct 99 - 04:05 AM

Every Halloween, I sit on the front porch, waiting for trick-or-treaters, and reread Robert Frost's "The Witch of Coös," one of the truly great ghost stories.

It was about 10 years ago, on Halloween night, I was asleep in my bed, when I felt a presence come into the room and sit at the foot of my bed (the left side, near the door). It just sat there a while, and I was too groggy to wake up or open my eyes; I just felt the pressure weighing down and depressing the mattress to the left of my legs. It was a few days later that I received the phone call informing me that my friend Greg had died instantly in a car crash in St. Petersburg that night. It was probably his spirit travelling around saying goodbye to friends.

It was a few days before Halloween just last year that my brother-in-law Dick died suddenly of a heart attack, while in Quebec, Canada. It it difficult to bring a dead body back into the United States, so he was cremated in Canada, and his ashes were shipped back to New York state. They arrived home on October 31--Halloween evening. Now, Dick lived in an old, deconsecrated Catholic church, so we just put the ashes in their container up front on the altar. (He was an artist who used that space to paint). I was to sleep in his bed--in what had the choir loft or balcony at the back of the church. But before bedtime, we all sat around in a circle about the ashes, with a guitar, and sang for an hour or two, all of Dick's favorite songs. It felt like he was there, enjoying the singing. I have never gone to sleep so confident of expecting a visitation of a ghost (given the intersection of unburied remains present in the room, returning home in a deconsecrated church on Halloween evening), but apparently our song circle had made him feel welcome at home, and he let us sleep peacefully.

--Charlie Baum

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Charlie Baum
Date: 26 Oct 99 - 04:54 AM

Try to type the "Witch of Coos" with an umlaut over the second o, and forget to use the html codes, and weirdness happens!

--Charlie Baum

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Bert
Date: 01 Nov 99 - 01:55 PM

When Lou was dying of lymphoma I used to lie next to her in bed and I'd be awake half the night listening to hear if she was still breathing.

After she'd gone, I awoke with a start at about two O'Clock one morning. I could hear her breathing next to me. When I turned over, of course she wasn't there.

Bert.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 06:58 PM

some good stories in here

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 09:10 PM

In the mid-80's, I was doing home care for a man who'd had a stroke. He'd been widowed 12 years- a Mormon woman who'd converted him, he said. After his stroke, his family had remodeled the attached garage into his bedroom to accommodate his wheelchair.

I slept in his old bedroom upstairs. One night, I was reading in bed when I became aware that there was a female form at the far upper left of the king-size bed. While I watched, it/she moved around the corner of the bed and stood at the foot of the bed looking at me. Knowing she and Wayne had had a happy marriage, I smiled at her and turned off my light and went to sleep. Mind you, I didn't see her with my physical eyes- it was more like a force field.

A couple of months later, Wayne's girlfriend moved in (And his Mormon conscience smote him mightily.)along with her 16-year-old son, and I switched to coming in daily just to do range of motion exercises and to help him walk. The son took 'my' bedroom, the one that had belonged to Wayne and his wife.

One weekend Wayne and his girlfriend went to the coast for the weekend and I was to come to his home on Monday. On Monday morning, I rang the bell and thumped on the door but no one was home. Somewhat miffed, I went home.

Later that day I got a call from the girlfriend. She said her son had been sleeping in his VW bug and hadn't heard me thumping at the door.

Turned out that he had quite a story. He told his mother that a tall, slender woman had come to the foot of his bed in the middle of the night and looked at him. He was so freaked out that he grabbed his clothes and fled outdoors to his cramped little car where he slept the rest of the night.

While granting that his wife had been tall and slender, Wayne didn't 'believe for a minute' that it was she; he said that as a good Mormon she wouldn't/couldn't return.

You tell me.

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: SINSULL
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 10:18 PM

Sad story:
I rented an apartment that had been previously rented by a young Asian couple. He worked at a restaurant in Manhattan. She was pregnant for the first time. One night, he was shot to death as he left the restaurant.
I moved in a few months later. The upstairs bedroom had an outside wall - no pipes, no doors. But every night about 3AM there would be a tremendous bang that would wake me. I could never figure it out. One night, the bang woke me and I saw that the shade on a lamp across the room was vibrating, actually ringing. I got up and grabbed it. The sound stopped and the lamp next to my bed took over. I grabbed it and the first lamp started vibrating again. I shouted "Stop it!". And that was the end. His baby was born that night. I never heard the bang or anything odd again.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Mbo
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 10:23 PM

Sins, you have stamina of steel. I think I would have taken a heart attack.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Hotspur
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 10:37 PM

A couple of years ago I went to a Renaissance Faire in NY State, and stayed over night with my cousins. They lived in an apartment in part of an old house near Ithaca. Since it was an apartment, I got to sleep on the sofa in the living room. I should mention that I'm rather sensitive to atmosphere, but even though I'd been in that room several times, I'd never felt anything odd there before. Well, I fell asleep all right, but in the middle of the night I woke up with a start. I heard a sort of rustling, like someone flipping through the pages of a book, right underneath the window. I remember thinking, "What is that cat doing?" It was quite loud and repeated once, the stopped completely. I was half-asleep (but not fully asleep!) at the time, so I just turned over and went back to sleep. It wasn't till I woke up in the morning that I remembered my cousins don't have any pets. When I mentioned it to my cousin, she just nodded and said they thought that one of the previous occupants hadn't quite left.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 11:25 PM

The Picnic

I used to be a traveling salesman and Montana was part of my sales territory. My route took me through a section of the Blackfeet Reservation, and I always noticed the white metal crosses on stakes that are placed along the sides of the road. The reservation authorities place these crosses in spots where traffic fatalities have occurred, as memorials but also to keep travelers mindful of the dangers of this winding two-lane road. Unfortunately alcoholism is a major problem on the reservation, and fatalities are all too common.

In the summer of 1989, I was driving this route when I realized my gas gauge was nearly empty. I continued on for nearly 30 miles with the needle pegged on "E", when I saw a sign for a small town 4 miles off of the main road. I made the turn and headed toward this small town, hoping for a gas station.It was late afternoon, and very hot. I rounded a curve in this very narrow road when I saw a group of about 8 people sitting in the grass on a low hill near the road. At this point the road crossed a small creek, and I was shocked to see a blue flat-bed truck on it's side, the left front quarter of the cab crushed against the concrete bridge abutment. I pulled over behind the truck, my heart pounding because I knew that some of these people must be badly injured. But as I looked up at them, they seemed completely calm, sitting with coolers and picnic baskets and blankets spread out. In fact, they didn't even notice me.

I called out through the passenger window "Do you need help? Is everyone ok?" A tall Indian dressed in dusty jeans, a red plaid shirt and ball cap stood up slowly and turned toward me. He was about 20 feet from me, but I could see his face quite clearly. His eyes were glazed and his mouth hung open, and he seemed to not really be looking at me. I said to myself "he's drunk", but I felt a cold chill run up my neck and grab my scalp. He said nothing."Is there a gas station around here?" I asked.His right hand rose slowly and pointed down the road."About a mile and a half," he said."I can ride along and show you."

I was certain that I didn't want this guy in my car."That's ok. I'll find it." And I drove off. Watching in my rear view mirror, I saw him sit down slowly. Before long I came to a small grocery with a gas pump in front. Before pumping my gas, I went in and told the Indian attendant that there was a blue truck wrecked at the bridge and there might be injuries. He looked up sharply and stared at me for a few seconds."There's nothing you can do about that blue truck," he said. Puzzled, I went out and pumped my gas. I went in and paid."Maybe we should call the police to be on the safe side," I said. He looked at me for another long spell."He ask you for a ride?" said the attendant. I was too stunned to answer."That'd be a bad idea, givin him a ride."

My throat was quite dry as I neared the bridge, going back to the highway. I had just turned on my headlights when I saw the glint of the reflectors on the abutment. But there was no wreck. And there were no picnickers on the grassy knoll by the creek. There was nothing there but eight white metal crosses, on rusting stakes shoved in the ground.

LEJ

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 12:49 AM

I got this from the telling of my storytelling teacher, Alan Irvine, about 4 years ago.


The young couple met in college, during his junior and her sophomore year. Over the next year they dated, fell in love, and got engaged. It was decided that they would wait until she graduated and sure enough, shortly after graduation they tied the knot. Well it was a long ceremony and reception, both having come from large families., By the time they had spent the obligitory visit with all the guests and were free to leave for their honeymoon, it was quite late. They had planned romantic weekend at a quaint little lodge, way back in the mountains. Well it was late, the road was dark, and they were paying more attention to each other anyway, so sure, enough they wound up halfway off the road in a ditch. The young man tried to push the car out but to no avail, and as if the night wasn't going poorly enough, it started to snow. They looked up ahead and thought they could see a light off in the distance. The young man said that there was no sense in both of them roaming in the woods, if she wanted to curl up in the car and stay warm he'd go up and get help, and she could get some well-needed rest. They pulled the wedding quilt her grandmother had made them out of the trunk and the young woman curled up in the back seat and tried to sleep. The young man slipped the keys in his pocket and headed towards the light which he assumed was a cottage to see if he could call a tow truck. The woman pulled the quilt up over her head and tried to put the sounds of a snowstorm in the forest out of her head. The wind howled, and the branches creaked and the the sound of the snow falling out of the branches on the car made the hair on the back of neck stand on end, but at last she drifted off into an uneasy sleep. She awoke with a start although she could not tell why. She was sure it had been a long time since her husband had left, too long. The storm had slowed down but still the wind blowing through the trees made them creak and the snow from the branches fell around the car with a soft pat-pat-pat.....but THAT was no snow falling on the hood! She listened to the sounds outside. A thump(snow), a howl(the wind...)a laugh(...in the branches), a faint tinkling sound(maybe icicles falling from the trees). But maybe not. Was someone out there? She could stand it no longer. She peeked out from under the quilt, and looke out the left window. There was nothing there. Out the right, nothing. out he back nothing, still. At last, she looked over the back seat and through the wind shield she saw a withered old woman, sitting on the hood, laughing. In one hand she held a cleaver with blood still dripping form it. Cradled in her lap was the newlywed groom's head and jingling away in her other hand were the keys to the car.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 01:32 AM

OOOOooo, that is a wicked story, Rich! That'd be good around campfire!

LeeJ, chills up and down my spine. Thanks for sharing that. Sure glad you didn't give him a ride. We have white wooden crosses along the two lanes up here. I will always thing of "The Picnic" when I see them, now.

kat

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: WyoWoman
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 05:52 PM

OOh. These are good. We should do a compilation book as a fundraiser for the 'Cat.

I'll edit.

ww

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Harold W
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 11:29 PM

I can't top most of your stories, but here is a strange incident...

About 30 or so years ago, when we were still living in Colorado, my wife and I and a couple of our children were sitting in the living room when there was a crash from the kitchen. We went out to the kitchen to see a stack of unbroken plates in the middle of the floor. The cabinet door was open, but the plates weren't near it.

Nobody else had occupied the house as we build it ourselves on a parcel of land that had no building on it before and it was at least 1,000 feet from any other homes.

My father had died of a heart attack while working on the house, but it seemed a strange way for him to contact us. There was never another incident since.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Mbo
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 11:45 PM

I have one, sorta, and I know everyone's gonna laugh, but it's God's honest truth!!

We were still in Okinawa, at our little house at 22nd Marines Drive, on Camp Courtney. This was 1995.

We had decided to go get pizza for dinner at the PX down the road. My dad was in the hallway putting his shoes on, and I was standing in the doorway adjoining the hallway with the dining room. My mom & sisters we in the kitchen, which was like 3 feet away. My mom opened a new stack of paper plates, and as I turned to go into the hallway, I saw my sister put the stack on the table (it was a long table) and slide them toward the center.

When me and my Dad got back with the pizza, we put them on the table. But something was missing. "Hey" I said "where is the new stack of paper plates you put out?" "On the table." was the reply. But only they WEREN'T anymore. In fact, we could not find them ANYWHERE. And we never did. During those 15 minutes we were gone, my mom & sisters were in the living room watching TV. No one had gone been in the kitchen since we had left. The plastic wrapped we had taken off them was still in the trash can...there WAS a stack of paper plates, but they just disappeared off the face of the earth. It really rattled us. Sometimes I think when I least expect it, a stack of paper plates is going to appear infront of me. But then again, that wasn't the only strange occurance in that house...

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 01:19 AM

Ha! You better watch out for that stack of plates, Mbo! That's a good one. 'Spose someone was offended that you weren't using the *good* china?

My brother had a glass rose bowl on a table in his room when he lived with us. One day, we found it sitting on the floor in the hallway around the corner from his room, just sitting there. None of us had been home; none of the animals was that dexterous. We've no explanation; some ideas, but no solid explanation.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lyrical Lady
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 02:20 AM

Just last week, I was lent over the kitchen counter having a good cry, when I felt the comforting hands of my father on my back and a soft breeze blowing away my tears. I quickly composed myself when I heard my daughter calling from the stairs, "Mom" she cried "Papa is upstairs watching TV"! The next day I phoned my mother to tell her that Dad had stopped by for a visit. My mother, always the voice of reason, calmly replied "Yes, he came by last night to ask if you were ok". My Dad died 7 years ago! And that is a true story about my favorite ghost!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: rabbitrunning
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 10:50 AM

This ghost story is one I tell each year to the kids who come to the library. It actually happened to my older sister, but I tell it in first person because that works a lot better.

The Lady of Realta

When I was a kid in Colorado, we used to go to summer camp, and one of the camps was a church camp, a place called Rainbow Trail, which is down in the southwest corner of the state. Just about a mile away from the camp was a lake called Rainbow Lake, and about a mile past that was a ghost town called Realta. Now a ghost town isn't a town full of ghosts, it's a town where all the people have gone and left. We used to go up to Realta on hikes and look for stuff like old spoons, or sun glass - which is glass that's been in the sun so long it's turned purple, or other stuff that people had left behind.

Now one rainy day, when we were stuck in the lodge and couldn't go out to play, one of the counselors, a guy named Bill, told us the story I'm about to tell you. Seems that back about a hundred years ago, Realta was a thriving community. An up and coming town. They had a silver mine, and a gold mine, and big timber mill. And in fact, the town fathers were talking about putting in street lamps, and they had sent to Marble and built a big fountain out of marble right smack dab in the middle of the main street. Seems like the town was luck was never going to change. But then one night, just at the turn of the century, something happened.

The stagecoach came up from Durango, and it got to town just before midnight, and a woman got off of it. She was a tall woman with long blonde hair, and she was wearing a pale pink dress. And as she was crossing the road, just as she was coming alongside the marble fountain, two drunken miners came out of one of the saloons. And one of them pulled out his gun. Nobody's sure now if he was just shooting to celebrate midnight, or if he was trying to shoot at his friend or what, but the bullet hit the lady, and she fell over the marble fountain and bled to death.

Well, of course the first thing they tried to do was find out who she was. But nobody in Realta knew her. And no one in Durango knew her. And no one in Silverton, up at the other end of the stage line, knew her either. So they buried her in an unmarked grave by the lake. Then they tried to get the bloodstains off the marble fountain. They tried lye soap, and boraxo, and scrubbed and scrubbed, but they couldn't get the bloodstains off the fountain, so they left them there.

Shortly after that, the town's luck went bad. There was a flood in the gold mine, and a fire in the silver mine, and then a big forest fire that burned a lot of the trees that the timber mill depended on. And with no place to work, people started to leave Realta. They left even faster than usual, because there were stories going around. Stories about a bad luck ghost - a tall woman with long blonde hair wearing a pale pink dress. The stories said that if you saw her, something bad would happen to you. Pretty soon, there was nobody left in Realta.

'Long about the nineteen twenties, a boy and his father were fishing at Rainbow lake. Now the father knew the stories, but the boy didn't. And one evening, the boy was down by the shore fishing, when he looked up and saw a woman standing at the edge of the water. A tall woman with long blond hair, wearing an old fashioned pink dress. But he was a friendly sort, so he called out, "Hello there. Would you like to have supper with us?" The woman turned and looked at him, and then vanished.

Now I've been to Rainbow Lake and I can tell you that there's nothing to hide behind if you're right next to the water. It's all just little rocks and mud. So the boy, he went to his father and told him what he'd seen, and the father wasn't sure to believe him or not. So they went ahead to make supper. But that night, while the boy was chopping wood for the fire, his ax slipped and he cut his foot just about half off.

'Long about twenty years after that, there was a trucker going up the Million Dollar Highway. Now the Million Dollar Highway is the road that runs from Durango to Silverton, and it's a real mountain road. The mountain comes down and then there's a little bitty ledge for the road and then the mountain goes on down again real steep, and the road full of curves and such. Now the trucker he picked up a hitchhiker. We know he did, because when he didn't show up in Silverton they went lookin' for him. They found the truck where it had come off the road, down at the bottom of the mountain, and the trucker he was dead. But the hitchhiker, he lived long enough to tell them that the reason the trucker went off the road was because there'd been a woman standing in the middle of it. A tall woman, he said, with long blond hair, wearing a long pink dress.

A few years after that there was a family of flatlanders used to come up. Tourists, you know, from Nebraska, and they would go hiking through Realta, and one time they took some pieces of marble from the old fountain as souvenirs. Now, one of the pieces of marble had a funny brown stain on it, and they tried to scrub it off with Ajax and steel wool. But it wouldn't come off, so they figured it was just part of the rock, and put it up on the mantelpiece with the rest of the rocks. But that New Year's eve, just at midnight, that funny brown stain started to glow a bright fresh blood red, and it stayed that way for the whole twelve strokes of midnight before it went back to being a funny brown stain.

Now Bill was telling that story, and we were all looking at him kind of big-eyed, but when he finished up we said, "Aw, there's no such thing as ghosts; you're just tryin' to scare us. It's working, but you're just tryin' to scare us." And then somebody noticed that it had stopped raining, so we all went out to play.

And that should've been the end of it. But that night Bill's cabin, which was all boys, kidnapped my cabin, which was all girls. Now they didn't really kidnap us. It was a kind of a game, and usually what you did was you all went down to the barn and jumped around in the hay and got hay in your pajamas and then everybody would go up to the lodge for hot chocolate and graham crackers. Just for fun, you know? But the boys told us to put on our coats and shoes and come along to go up to Realta and catch the ghost.

So we put our coats on over our pajamas and our sneakers on our bare feet and we all went trooping up the trail to go catch the ghost, all giggling and having fun.

But you know, even in the summertime, it gets cold in the mountains at night. Especially if all you've got on under your coat is your pajamas, and by the time we'd gone a while, we were getting chilly and cranky and saying "Aw, come on, there isn't any ghost. Let's go back and get our hot chocolate and graham crackers." And by the time we got up near the lake, we were just grumbling.

And then, all of a sudden, one of the girls, a girl named Robin, screamed as loud as she could. We all turned to see and grabbed for each other and shouted and looked and I can't tell you what anybody else saw for sure, but I thought I saw something tall and pale kinda flickering between the trees.

Well it took a little for us to calm down enough to tell each other what we'd seen, and some people, they hadn't seen nothing. Some people were like me, they thought they'd seen something, but they didn't know what it was. But Robin, the girl who screamed, she was sure. She'd seen a tall woman with long blonde hair wearing a pale pink dress, she said, and nothing we could say would shake her story.

Well, after that we all decided to go on back to camp. But it was a ways to walk, so on the way, we started to thinking. And some of us said, "Hey, wait a minute. The camp nurse is tall. She's got long blonde hair. She could've put on a pale pink dress and come out here to scare us to death." So when we got back to camp, most of us went on up to the lodge for hot chocolate and graham crackers, but some of us went to see if we could catch the camp nurse at her cabin. But when we got there we found out that she'd been up all night with a boy who had poison ivy, and he told us that she'd never left, so it couldn't have been her.

Well, somehow or other, we all got to sleep that night. But the next day Robin, the girl who screamed, she fell off her horse and the horse stepped on her foot and broke three bones.

And that really happened.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 01:25 PM

The first time I was in a local historic hotel and bar I had an unusual experience. I went in with an acquaintance who used to work there as a hotel maid. We sat at the bar drinking coffee and talking with the bartender. At a certain point I excused myself and went to the restroom. When I came back, I remarked to 'Suzy' that that was a remarkable painting. She said, Yes, sometimes the owner dressed the waitresses in red and black for that reason. Well, that didn't make sense to me but I let it pass.

Three weeks later I took another acquaintance into the bar with me and we sat at a table and had a glass of wine. When she excused herself to the restroom, I told her to take a look at the painting. When she came back she said there was no painting. I said, Well, there is but when I come back from the restroom I'll tell you where it is.

There was no painting- not even any room for it. And the entrance to the restroom was different. Earlier the restroom was at the end of a long wall- now there were two arches cut in the long wall. Earlier the painting had been opposite the wall on an easel or a low table.

To make a long story short, I checked with both the earlier acquaintance and with the bartender and they knew of no such painting.

In frustration I went home and with color pencils I sketched the picture and took it back to the earlier acquaintance. There, I said, This is what I saw.

I drew two women behind a square table that had a 'pot' of roses on it. The one woman had short, dark and precisely 'finger-waved' hair and she was dressed in a cloak or coat that had a standup scalloped neckline closed with a clasp. She had on a cocked dark hat with either a red feather or a red ribbon drooping over her face. Speaking of her face, she had a small scar in the corner of one lip.

The other woman was dressed for indoors and was wearing a yellow gown with lots of skin showing. She was bright blond, with her hair upswept and piled on her head. She had a long, rather dour face. The blonde woman was much taller than the dark one but the dark one was much cuter.

My acquaintance looked at my picture briefly then said uncomfortably, I think you should put it away now. I said, Why? She said, I can't tell you how often I have heard that blonde described.

On the third floor it has been repeatedly reported that a blonde woman appears down the hall and when she is followed she disappears into a wall or at least doesn't make the corner. When the viewer gets to the corner there is nothing to be seen.

There is a tale that accompanies this that may 'explain' this occurrence but that's another story, involving a bride left alone too long and a jealous husband.

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 01:28 PM

Good story,rabbit!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 03:24 PM

Nice stories thus far, let's see if we can keep them going till Halloween. I'll rack my brain and try to come up with more.
Rich

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ely
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 03:52 PM

A friend of mine worked one summer as a counselor at a boy scout camp in the southwest. I'm not sure exactly what the premise of the camp was, but I know they spent their time trying to live as 19th cenury miners. He doesn't exactly believe in ghosts, but he admitted that a lot of stuff happened that he could not explain.

He remembered hiking in the woods and hearing someone walking behind him, but finding no-one there. He said he thought it was his own footsteps echoing until he realized that the other footsteps were not uniformly out of synch with his (echoes would have lagged behind his, but these changed speed, stumbled when he did not, and did not stumble when he did). He also heard footsteps and voices when he was exploring the reconstruced mines, at times when he knew there was nobody else in the mine and when there was no possible source of echoes.

He also told of footsteps at night in the cabins, things moving mysteriously, and loud noises when nothing had been dropped or broken. I don't think anyone ever saw anything but he admitted that it really gave them the creeps for most of the summer

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ely
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 05:43 PM

By the way, good stuff, everybody. I've had to stop reading this thread after dark. I LOVE ghost stories but don't want any more of those weird dreams . . .

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 06:38 PM

rabbit! We used to tramp around in those mtns around Silverton, Durango and Ouray, as well as Marble. I have a 150lb piece of marble from the Marble River. That was a wonderful story! brought back a lot of memories. My mom and dad used to drive the Million Dollar Highway when it was a dirt road, in their circa 1930's Harley with a side car.

Ebbie, great one. I'd love to hear the rest of it about the bride.

these are wonderful!!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 07:31 PM

The story goes, kat/laughing, that a newly-married man in pursuit of gold brought his gently-bred bride to Juneau and telling her he'd "be back in three weeks, sure" ensconsced her in this hotel and headed north to check out some diggin's.

Well, he didn't come back, her money ran out and she did a lot of crying, and avoiding hotel management. She became acquainted with a lady of the night who convinced her that there was a way for her to make a living.

Three months later, her husband finally came back. When he discovered what she had resorted to, he strangled her in their room on the third floor. End of story.

The interesting thing is that, as with so many other public buildings in Juneau, there was a lively bordello upstairs in this hotel. Perhaps he didn't know that?
br>Incidentally, in addition to the sighting of the blonde in the hall, the sound of sobbing frequently emanates from the vicinity of Room 321.

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: rabbitrunning
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 10:53 PM

I'm glad you liked it, LEJ and Kat. Of all the ghost stories I tell here in Boston, that's the one that I hear back about from high school kids that remember me telling it when they were younger.

I tell a lot of the classic ghost stories too. But since I learned most of my favorites out of Maria Leach's "The Thing at the Foot of the Bed" and then didn't see it for years after I started telling the stories, my versions tend to be a little different. In my "Golden Arm," for example, the person with the golden arm is an ex-swordfighter...

I love the ghost stories on this thread, though. I'm trying to figure out whether or not to ask people by PM if I can tell them or if just asking in the thread is enough.

[grin]

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 01 Oct 00 - 11:10 PM

Rabbit, The "I've got your keys" story I posted is as far as I can tell, public domain. What's more, I'm sure that Alan, changed enough of it while working it up that his story is far enough from the original to be OK and I've worked it up enough over the years that my rendering of it is fairly my own. I would consider it fair game if you want. It's a bigger concern for you when taking material from other tellers in your own area, although if you work up your own spin on the story it's usually pretty much accepted. Personal and family stories are a little different. Some people might object to that.
br>Rich

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: JamesJim
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 12:39 AM

This one actually happened to me. I was about 5 or 6 years old and as any young boy would do, I often got into trouble for not minding my parents. My next door neighbor, James, was a year younger than I and his grandmother would often babysit him so his parents could go out. Because we were close in age (and probably because it kept James occupied), she would sometimes allow me to visit when she was there.

To keep us close, in one room, she made sure all the lights in the house were out, with the exception of one light in the one room we were in. When we'd get a little rowdy, she would knock on the side of her wooden rocking chair and say, "the BaldBellear will come and get both of you if you don't be good." Needless to say, although we had no idea what a "Baldbeller" was, we'd be frighten half to death. We'd quieten down and stay close to her the rest of the night.

I became very leery of visiting when she was there, because of the "BaldBeller." One night I became very brave and told her I didn't believe in such a thing. She said, "well you should! He is shaped like a big brown spoon and he gets very angry at bad kids. He screams at the top of his lungs and will take you away to a bad place." I thought to myself, "what harm can a big spoon do, anyway?" Nevertheless, I thought about what this thing might look like and when she threatened us with it, I would always quieten down.

I know young kids are impressionable, but what happened to me one day after I learned of the "Baldbeller" was more than unnerving. I remember distictly sitting in our living room on the couch. It was summer and the sun was shining brightly outside. My mother was in the kitchen washing dishes and I could see and hear her from the sofa. There was no one else in our small two bedroom house, because I had just walked through every room (you could walk in a circle, first in the living room, then left into the front bedroom, through the front bathroom door, then out the back bathroom door into the back bedroom, right into the kitchen, then back to the living room). I could see into our front bedroom from the sofa and had a clear view of the bathroom door right off that bedroom.

I don't recall exactly what Mom asked me to do, but I know I responded angerly and told her I wouldn't do it. She said that if I didn't, she'd "switch my little behind" and make me cut the switch. I remember that I was unimpressed and must have said some pretty bad things to her. Next thing I know, I am looking right at the "Baldbeller." He had slowly opened the bathroom door off the front bedroom and was looking straight at me with the most evil face I had ever seen. It was the most terrible experience I had ever had in my life and I quickly ran to my mother, screaming and crying. I told her what I had seen and she told me it was nonsense and Grandmother Pitts shouldn't have scared us kids that way. I would not calm down, so she slowly took me through the house to show me there was no one or no thing there. I told her how sorry I was to have backtalked her and from that day on, I minded when she told me to do something.

This seems trivial and silly today, but I still wonder about it. Has anyone else ever heard of the Baldbeller? I can't find one friend that was ever told of such a creature. Strangely enough, I have seen pictures of this thing --- it looks like pictures of aliens drawn by those who claim to have been abducted. A little chill just went up my spine as I sat here and recalled this story. Happy Halloween and don't let the Baldbeller get you!

Jim

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 12:50 AM

I think I got a little of that chill too,Jim.Whether there really is such a thing,or if your mind created it,I believe it was there.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ely
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 01:25 AM

This is NOT TRUE, but it's always been one of my favorites. Sorry it's so long. **********************************************************

Daisy and Robin lived with their mother and younger brother in a house by the woods. They often liked to go walking and looking for wildflowers when they had finished their chores. One day, they came upon a clearing where a wagon had parked. A girl about their age sat near the wagon, beating on a small drum.

Daisy and Robin approached her and listened for a little while. As they watched, a pair of tiny dolls came out of the drum and began to dance. They had never seen such a wonderful toy and begged the strange girl to give it to them.

The girl said they would have to do something to earn it. They said they would do anything for such a beautiful drum and dancing dolls. The girl thought a minute and said, "When you go home tonight, I want you to be bad. If you are bad enough, I will give you the drum."

Daisy and Robin ran home. That night they threw food, refused to wash the dishes, and would not go to bed when their mother told them. Finally, exasperated, she told them, "If you don't behave, I'm going to take your brother and leave, and find you a new mother with a long tail and eyes like a cat's."

Daisy and Robin didn't like the sound of that but they wouldn't have to misbehave again. But, when they told the strange girl what they had done, she shook her head, "No, you have to be worse than that. I can't give you the drum just for spilling your food."

So the two went home and drew on the walls with crayons. They spanked their little brother. They threw paint on the dog and tracked mud on the floor. Their mother began to yell, "I don't know what's come over you but if you don't behave, I swear I'll leave, and you'll have a new mother with a long tail and cat's eyes."

Daisy and Robin apologized. But when they told the girl of their crimes, she again refused, "You get one more chance."

Daisy and Robin were worried, because they didn't want their mother to leave, but it was only one more time. They let the pigs out and chased them away. They tore their clothes. They broke all the dishes. They dumped all the food in the pantry onto the kitchen floor.

When their mother saw it, she was furious. She screamed, she yelled, "Stop it! I can't stand it! I meant what I said!"

They promised they would never misbehave again. But when they went back to find the girl, the wagon was gone, and so were she and the wonderful drum. Sadly, and frightened, the two girls went home.

When they got there, the house was dark and there was no sign of their mother or brother. "They've gone to town," said Daisy, "Let's go for a walk, and they'll be home when we get back."

They walked for a long time in the woods, thinking about the terrible things they had done and the girl's betrayal and the loss of the wonderful drum. Finally, it began to get dark and the girls were cold and hungry. They started home.

When they got there, there was a light on in the kitchen, but when they looked in the window, it was not their mother. It was their new mother, her cat's eyes sparkling and her long tail thumping on the floor.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Metchosin
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 02:37 AM

My Grandfather told the following story one evening when I was small, as we were sitting in the warm glow of a fireplace after an evening of song and banjo playing.

He had been working on a road gang in the southern interior of British Columbia sometime in the early 1900's. At the week's end, the men in the camp received their pay and most decided to head to town for the night, to celebrate, spend some money and sleep in a clean bed. My Grandfather remained in camp.

He was sitting later in the evening by the fire, when he noticed one of his fellow workers, who had gone with the group to town, sitting across the fire from him, staring into the flames. My Grandfather, a bit surprised at his return, tried to strike up a conversationwith him, but his friend remained silent. Respecting his desire not to socialize and because it was getting late, my grandfather retired for the night.

The following morning word came from town that the local hotel had burned to the ground during the night, along with some of the workers from the camp who had decided to stay there, including my grandfather's silent friend.

It was the only tall tale he ever told and we were inclined to believe him.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: GUEST,Fibula Mattock
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 08:20 AM

Brrrrr, I'm getting shivers down my spine and it's lunchtime on a sunny day...blooming air conditioning in this place!

Now, I am a sceptic, a cynic, and atheist and generally pretty honest. But I can't explain this. When I moved into my first house (extremely crap rented accommodation in my first year at university. 1994 - oh-so-long-ago) I was moving in with 4 other girls and 2 fellas. It was a semi-detached house just off the Lisburn Road in Belfast. On the first day I went up with my mammy and daddy and wee sis (two years younger than me) to drop off my belongings. I went into the house for the first time, and heard someone walk across the bedroom upstairs. I called out thinking there was someone else there - my sister vouched that she heard it too - but no one replied. I checked all thye rooms but no one was home. I put it down to the people in the house next door being really, really loud.
I remarked on it later on when the others had moved in. One of the guys, Rory, gave me a funny look. Now he was a big, strong bloke and though quite fond of smoking dope and thus prone to being in a semi-stoned state every evening, a fairly credible guy. He said that the only person next door was an old woman whose carer/health visitor brought her downstairs every morning and then up again at night as she couldn't move about much on her own. Sure enough, we saw her later. It was later on I found out about the other weird things... In the fella's bedroom, Rory says he woke one night to have his arm being held firmly out, being pushed down. He says the room was pitch black (normally a streetlight gave it a bit of a glow). He thought it was his room mate mucking about, but he says that when it stopped after a bit, he turned on the light and the room was empty.
Strange arrangements of objects started appearing - a shoe with an apple and a coin balanced on top; jars set upside down balancing in the middle of the floor,etc. We would all be sitting in the living room some nights and we would hear all the dishes in the kitchen moving across the worktops. People heard footsteps. Rory swore that chairs were pushed up against doors when he tried to open them. One night, sitting with one of the girls and her boyfriend in her room beside the bathroom, they both looked at each other and he said "did you hear the toilet flush" (unusual in itself - you had to fill the cistern with a hose from the bath - bleeding student accommodation!). She was plae and said "yeah". I heard nothing. Then one of the fellas brought his wee 3-year-old brother over to the house one day. The child started talking to someone in the bathroom. We asked who he was talking to and he replied something along the lines of "Mr Kinsale. He lives here."
Strangely, I stayed in the house on my own some nights, and it wasn't too bad (but now I'm more of a coward). Only once did I wake up with fright. I'd been dreaming that someone was in my room. I was crawling to the end of the bed to get away from them. When I woke up, sure enough I was at the end of my bed, soaked in sweat, and I couldn't shake the feeling.
I've always wanteed to go back and ask the next occupants if they had any trouble (we moved into a much nicer house after a year). A few of us fell out and we don't keep in touch, but I met Rory a few years ago and jokingly asked him were they not all messing about, and was it just a big joke. He looked straight back at me and said "no, it happened".

As I said, I don't know what to think. I'm highly suss about things like that, but I do think that we don't know all there is to know about how the universe works, and we don't know all there is to know about how the human mind works, so if the strange things didn't happen by human hand, then I'm chalking it up to something that we can't yet explain. It was enough to convince me however that people are subject to these types of experiences, and whatever we attribute them to, many people will swear that they do actually happen.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: rabbitrunning
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 11:37 AM

Yah, Rich, that's sort of what I figured. I have heard versions of "The Keys" before (and told 'em) but I like what you've done with it.

Incidentally, anyone who wants to tell Lady of Realta is free to do so for all of me. After all, I snitched it from my sister and she doesn't mind.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Bert
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 12:10 PM

I told this one years ago, it's Not a ghost story but it's gory enough for halloween.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 12:46 PM

Reading Fibula M's account makes me visualize something. Scenario: You have recently died and either you don't know it or you are resisting the information and you don't want to leave life on earth. You try your best to tell people you are still here, you get in their faces and yell at them: I am here! Look at me! and they don't, they are totally oblivious of you.

Eventually you learn how to affect physical matter, feeling sure that people will notice inappropriate actions and events. You rattle doors, thump on floors, stack things in impossible manner... As people come running in response to each event, you station yourself in front of them and say, See? I'm here!

Time (?) goes on but nothing changes, in fact time has no meaning to you. You don't sleep or eat or need exercise. People in 'your' house come and go and no one responds to you. Until perhaps one day, someone comes to the house who knows you are there, they can feel your presence and maybe one day someone actually sees you...

Next time, folks, when a dog howls in the next room or there is a rap on the wall or you wake startled in the night, look carefully- there may be someone there.*BG*

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Áine
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 03:10 PM

Don't have a story to mind at the moment; but, I'd just like to thank Lonesome EJ for bringing this thread back from the grave, as it were (hahahaha). And thanks to all of you who've contributed these new great stories -- this place just continues to amaze me!

-- Áine

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 06:37 PM

I've been racking my brain, I figure I owe this thread at least one more, and I'm having a hard time thinking of another that translates well to the printed page. I'll get it though.

More to come.
Rich

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Mbo
Date: 02 Oct 00 - 06:39 PM

Here's one of my favorites.

A young woman had just moved to New York City, and was beginning to settle comfortably into her new apartment.

One day the phone rang. She picked it up. A low, breathy, male voice said on the other end "This is the viper...". The woman, annoyed, hung up and thought no more of it.

The next day the phone rang again. She picked it. On the other end was the same voice, but this time with more urgency, said "This is the viper...". Angry, she slammed the phone down.

The next day, the phone rang yet again. She picked it up. Again there was the same voice on the other line, breathing desperately "This is the viper...". Scared & angry, she slammed down the phone and pulled the cord from the wall.

The next day of course, there were no calls. She felt relieved and tried to forget the whole thing.

The day after, there was a knock on her apartment door...at the same relative time the calls had come in. She looked through the peephole.

There was no one there.

She unlocked the door, to see if there was anyone going down the hall way. As she opened the door, she was startled to see a very short man with wiry hair standing in the door way.

"I am the viper." he said, with the same low, breathy voice she had heard on the phone. He spoke again.

"I am the viper. I vish to vash and vipe your vindows."

--Matt

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 03 Oct 00 - 02:24 PM

It has occurred to me often that we say 'ghost' as a catchall term. I believe there are many forms of 'ghosts' (no pun intended!). I think there are imprinted events and shadows (Hey! Is there where 'shades' comes from?) which are not aware of live persons, that there are 'ghostly' beings that are not only aware of humans but try to make themselves known, that there are beings that continue their 'lives' much as they had before they died and to whom live persons are a nuisance or a distraction. There are probably many other kinds. My favorite kind are those beings who interact with us.

I'll tell you of one I "saw" once:

An English actor visiting Juneau was hoping for an extension of his visa and began a 10-week Acting Workshop to influence the powers that be. He held the workshops at my home and about 10 people came here once a week. For the final evening he required each of us to perform solo something original that we wanted to get across to the others.

We did everything from a monologue to a skit to a stream of consciousness thing... (I wrote and 'performed' something I called Crazy Jersey. Crazy Jersey being what an herbalist with strange powers was called in her community. Very impressed with myself, I was!)Actually we all did a creditable job and I think we were all impressed with each other.

The one that blew us all away though was a woman who stood there under the arch separating the dining room from the sitting room and told us of a little girl. She spoke haltingly and we sat mesmermized, willing her strength to go on. She told of a little girl to whom bad things happened and she said that the only way the little girl survived was to close doors in her mind so that as time went on there was less and less she could think of. Now, she said, the little girl is a woman and she's having a very hard time opening those long-closed doors one by one, as she gets the strength to do it. As she spoke, she almost broke into tears frequently, her voice roughened with emotion and she often stopped momentarily but she continued to the end.

About one fourth of the way through her monologue, I 'saw' a male form pause in the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen then cross the floor swiftly to the woman's side and put his right arm around her shoulders. There he stayed until she finished.

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: MAG (inactive)
Date: 03 Oct 00 - 06:00 PM

On my tell list for Halloween:

Weeping Lass at the Dancing Place (in a Sorche nic Leodhas book)

How coyote made Hell's Canyon (in Ella Clark's *Indian Legends ofthe Pacific Northwest*)

Lil Orphant Annie

Topingi (Wolkstein's *Magic Orange Tree*)

one from Joseph Jacobs I may have to drop, because, it now seems clear it is an Italian ethnic slur (it's Mr. Miacca -- any thoughts?)

all the stretches posted elsewhere

I'll look forward to seeing what else is posted when I get back from Tennesee -- haven't been to the National Fest in over a decade, and can't wait!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Night Owl
Date: 03 Oct 00 - 11:22 PM

"Cremation of Sam McGee" (in the DT) was my favorite ghost story, until reading some of the stories in this thread!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 04 Oct 00 - 01:47 PM

Lyrical Lady, I can't let this thread die (become a ghost?) before telling you the warmth your story evoked. Bless you.

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: rabbitrunning
Date: 04 Oct 00 - 09:41 PM

About Mr. Miacca. If it's a good enough story, change the names and tell it anyway. Did you see Julius Lester's book, "Sam and the Tigers"?

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 05 Oct 00 - 09:01 PM

Above a good ways, I mentioned some kinds of 'ghosts' that I think there eiist. I forgot to mention one that frequently makes itself evident. That's the one that seems to interact in a guardian capacity.

In my experience, these tend to be small acts- although I have no doubt that when the occasion requires it, they can be huge, indeed.

To give you an idea of the kind of thing I most frequently come upon: At this house museum where I live year 'round, in the summertime I usually have a volunteer assistant. One day, the volunteer, call her 'Betty' since that is not her name, was going to do her laundry and was looking for an elusive particular pink pair of socks. After looking high and low in her bedroom she called me in to help find it. We finally gave up and she went down to the basement with the rest of her laundry.

An hour or so later Betty came back upstairs and went into her bedroom. I heard her call, Oh, you found them! There on the white chenille bedspread was her dirty pair of pink socks. I swear to you- they hadn't been there...

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 06 Oct 00 - 01:31 PM

What's 'eiist'? No idea.

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Dharmabum
Date: 07 Oct 00 - 12:24 PM

Twenty years ago I was living in what was once an old schoolhouse. It had very tall ceilings,hardwood floors,& a massive living room wich was at one time the classroom. The most defining aspect of the house were the two giant chalkboards that pulled down from the ceiling & also acted as a room divider. Being the curious type,when I first moved into the house I went to the attic to inspect the conglomeration of cables,weights,and pulleys that were holding the chalkboards in place. The attic was basicly empty except for a little dust and the two boards. Shortly after I'd settled in, I noticed the occasional odd sounds that the house made. While sitting in the living room I could hear hard soled shoes walking across the hardwood floor. I often heard the sound of a drawer being slowly pulled out & then being pushed back in. Shortly thereafter I noticed other small but strange events. I would set a cup on the counter,leave the room for a moment,upon my return find the cup on the other side of the counter.There were many times while in the shower I would hear voices coming from the dining room, only to discover no one there. I had been living there about six months, when one very cold February night about 2 am I was awakened by the sound of a chair being dragged across the dining room floor. I jumped out of bed & ran to the dining room to find one of the chairs about three feet from the table,and the light turned on.But the most prominent memory I have of that event is the feeling of the room. It had a climate like a foggy July morning,Damp & warm. My roomate was gone for the weekend & I was alone in the house. I pushed the chair back under the table & turned off the light & went back to bed.I layed there wide awake for about twenty minutes when I heard a crash from the dining room. This time, with bat in hand, I ran out to find the chair on it's back & the lights back on. The rest of the night was quiet & when my roomate returned I was telling her about the events that had taken place while she was gone. Although she had never expierienced any physical movement of objects she had always heard noises & had just written them off as "old house" noises. For some reason I felt an undeniable pull to the attic that evening & having strength in numbers we decided to check it out. Now bear in mind that this is in the middle of February & it's about 17 degrees outside & this attic is not insulated. As we walked up the attic stairs I could feel it on my face. It felt like a foggy July morning, Warm & Damp. But there was one thing that was different. One thing that stood out in that barren,dusty attic. There on the chalkboard,directly in the middle,was a handprint.A small but mature handprint with clearly defined age lines,placed ever so neatly there on that board,in white chalk dust.There was no other chalk dust to be found.None in the chalk tray ,none on the floor. Only in that handprint.

Ron.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Áine
Date: 09 Oct 00 - 05:59 AM

refresh.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 10 Oct 00 - 12:21 AM

Well, OK, this is NOT a ghost story but it starts out that way. It's a true story that actually happened to me.



Think back to your own childhood. With that creak in the closet at night. And the branches that cast the shadow like witches' fingers on the curtain. And speaking of fingers, remember that hand under the bed just witing to grab the ankle of any small child foolish enough to get out of bed at night.
Now with all that in mind, let me tell you that I lived next to a cemetary as a child. And one of my bedroom windows overlooked that cemetary. And my bed was next to the window that overlooked the cemetary. And I survived this purely as a result of a blanket and a promise. Not just any blanket, but a Lone Ranger Blanket. I pulled that blanket over my head and I tucked it underneath every inch of me and pulled it tight. Now this would have made it painfully obvious to even a monster that lived in the closet that there was a little boy under there, but this was no ordinary blanket. It was a Lone Ranger Blanket!
Now it was not just any promise either.It was a promise from my mom that as scary as that cemetary may look in the autumn, come spring it would be alive and covered with her favoritest flower in the whole world. The blackeyed susan! Well Time passed as you usually hope it will and Spring came as you always hoped back in those winters. As is often the case with mothers of small children, my mom turned out to be right! The hill going down from the street to the cemetary and indeed all around the cemetary itself were huge patches of blackeyed susans. Now something else remarkable happened over the course of that previous fall. I turned THIS MANY (5)!!!
Now five is a magical age in which many things start to happen. You can go outside and even leave the yard and go up and own the street! Sometimes if you look both ways you can even cross the street! And soon enough I found I could go down and play in that up-till-now-scary-cemetary! Well if you ever were a kid, you know it was my sworn duty to pick my mom some of her favorite flowers. This is where the plot begins to thicken. If you've ever encountered blackeyed susans in the wild, you know they have hard, woody, green, resilient stems. And they grow in patches with there roots all tangled together. Well a grownup would even have a hard time picking flowers such as these and for a little kid it was a real chore! Nonetheless, I pulled and yanked and twisted until I was rewarded with three little crushed up stems about an inch long apiece with a mangled cluster of petals on each. Well, I was about to take them home when a couple of friends came walking through the cemetary and asked me to play Cowboys and Indians. I figured that I could give the flowers to my mom when I went home to get my gun but one of the magical things about being five is you can always find a stick with a branch poking to one side in just the gunhandled manner to be a perfect toy gun. Well, I was still gonna have to go home and give my mom the flowers. Except....another magic thing about being five is that's when your jeans start to have pockets!!!! I stuck those flowers into my pocket, and I picked up that stick and we were on our way! We played for a while and decided that we deserved a treat. When you're five, you have a special way of thinking I like ti call Little Kid Logic. Little Kid Logic works in wondrous ways as long as no grownups are around. We decided the thing to do would be to collect bottles. This was back in the the days when some but not all bottles were worth money at the store. We collected the good ones and we broke the bad ones and we soon figured that we'd be rich if we took them to the store.
Well this involved not only crossing the street, but going to a different street altogether. This would have been beyond our limits even being five years old, but since there were no grownups around, we figured out that if we were each five we added up to fifteen (on our fingers) and fifteen was plenty old to go to a different street. Well, we walked to the store and we turned in all the soda bottles and collected our loot and went...to...the...penny...candy...counter. We got penny fish that were actually a penny. We got those sort of styrofoamy flying saucers with the candy beads inside. We got 7 ounce Cokes. But most importantly, we got ICE CUBES!!!!! Remember Ice Cubes, The chocolatest chocolate in the whole wide world! You put it on your tongue and it melted all the way through you. It was happiness in blue and silver foil. We had a feast to remember. We went to my friend,R.J.'s house and watched TV and divied up the rest of the candy. I made sure to get my share of the Ice Cubes and stuck'em in my pocket. We decided it was time to play kickball. (This was back when two peny fish and a Coke would give you e3nough energy to run all night.) We played three games till we realized the street lights had been on for quite some time. Now everyone knows you have to be home when the street lights are on. Well we had a conference and decided that either you were "Late" or you were "Not late". And since we were already late and there were no grownups to spoil this Logic, how could we be "more late." We might as well have fun. We played for a good while longer and then we got tired and went to our respective homes. Now, with grownups on the horizon, the logic of the day began to crumble. By the time I got home I realized that I was "More Late"! It was then I remebered my ace in the hole. I got home and my mother threw the door open and screamed "And Just where have you been?!?!? I've been looking all over!!" And I reached in my pocket for my wondrous gift of blackeyed susans, and what I found was three twigs glued together in a mass of wilted petals blue-silver-foil and chocolate fondue. Not the saving grace I'd hoped for, but my mother cleaned them off and put them in a bowl of water on the table for the customary three days, and I got out of a lot of trouble. I never tried it again, but I learned that for just once, you CAN be "More Late", but you can be less late with flowers.



Rich Rayburg

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 10 Oct 00 - 11:58 PM

Refresh. In another week or so we'll all be hearing loads of new ghost stories and it would be shame if this were to die before then.

Rich

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 11 Oct 00 - 02:10 AM

So, Rich, you got a ghost story?

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 11 Oct 00 - 06:34 PM

Too much pressure! Give me time. It's funny how the stories, that work so well in a dark room in a slow, low murmur, don't always work out so well in black and white. I promise at least one more before Samhain, er I mean Halloween.

Rich

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: celticblues5
Date: 11 Oct 00 - 07:59 PM

MAG -
I've been wanting to tell Orphant Annie (LOVE it!), but was a little concerned about perceptions of racism. I've had people tell me that it was racist because of the dialect, but it seems to me that it could be any southern speaker, and not necessarily any particular race. Have you ever had a problem with this?

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: The Walrus at work
Date: 12 Oct 00 - 01:40 PM

I'm not sure if this qualifies for this thread, I believe that I may BE someboy's ghost story. Many years ago, I used to be involved with English Civil War re-enactment and I frequently had periods of "dead-car-syndrome" so I would travel to local shows by public transport. One winter's (off season) weekend, my unit managed to get use of Tilbury Fort in Essex. To get there (and back) there is a short walk between Tower Hill tube station and Fenchurch Street railway station and on the Sunday evening, after dark, I was walking back to Tower Hill in full kit (it was easier to wear it than carry it) when a woman turned the corner into the road I was in, stopped, shrieked and ran, of course, I turned to see what had scared her, then I realised:
a)I was in full 17th kit (bad enough in itself)
b)It was getting slightly misty and
c)I was walking away from St Olaf's churchyard (a cemetary dating from the 17th Century )
So perhaps I'm someone's private ghost story?

Walrus

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 12 Oct 00 - 04:02 PM

Thread Creep Alert!

Love the story, Walrus! I imagine that happens quite a lot.

This is why I think the 'paranormal' is such a fun subject. A question of perception or not, it broadens one's outlook. And that creates a much better world, IMO, than a sterile one that is easily explainable.

Which gathering would you prefer to attend: one where the 'scientific' explanation - backed up by other speakers who duly confirm it- is given for love/sex, genetics, weather, home, the political process, the hynotic effect of ocean waves, the peaceful properties on human angst of a breeze blowing through the forest, or of snow drifting slowly down as you sit at a window in a cozy house with loved ones gathered 'round the fire... or a gathering of people packed into a space, sharing laughter and tears as they discover each other's experiences? I know where I'd be.

I think we need both approaches and I think that someday we'll discover how well they go together.

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Kim C
Date: 12 Oct 00 - 05:48 PM

Well, nothing really ghostly has ever happened to me, really, and I've been to a lot of haunted places. I guess the spirits don't have anything to prove to me. I do tend to feel energy, so to speak, but it doesn't happen to me everywhere.

Mister thinks our house is haunted. Maybe so, and whatever it is is friendly so I'm not concerned. We live in a 70-80 year old house that was my landlady's family home, and she did tell us that family members had died in the house, including her Confederate veteran grandfather.

The dogs sometimes bark at things that aren't there. The cat acts like he's playing with someone we can't see. Once in awhile we hear a noise, like a thud or a crash, and investigation does not reveal anything broken or out of place. And a couple of times, I have found things in odd places where I KNOW I didn't put them.

My father died about six weeks ago. The day of the funeral, my husband got up early and was in the kitchen with my stepmother drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I lay in bed for awhile, and noticed the smell of eggs frying. I figured they were having breakfast. A little later I got up, and noticed there were no dishes in the sink. Didn't you guys eat already? No, they said, we just made coffee. But I smelled eggs frying.

No, they said, we haven't cooked anything.

I never did resolve that - but I'm sure all of you know that frying eggs do NOT smell at all like coffee or cigarettes.

I don't expect to see my father. He was ready to go. :)

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: mousethief
Date: 12 Oct 00 - 06:14 PM

Dogs habitually bark at things that aren't there, and cats frequently act like they're playing with someone you can't see; it's not just your house.

I'm of the opinion that perhaps cats can see or perceive a level of reality that humans cannot, which gives rise to behaviors which seem to have a referent invisible to human observers. Either that or they're just f***ing nuts.

Alex
O..O
=o=

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ely
Date: 12 Oct 00 - 08:39 PM

Love the reenacting story. I've been to so many reenactments (of various wars/time periods) if I saw a ghost in period clothing it would probably never occur to me that it was a ghost.

My aunt and uncle, who was a career Navy man until he retired, lived for awhile in an 18th-century farmhouse in . . . I think it might have been New York (northeastern United States, at any rate). They often had things moved and their kids, who slept on the second floor, heard someone in boots walking around the attic all night on their first night in the house (they were home from college at the time). Their mother had told them the house was odd and they kidded her the next morning about the amount of energy she had put into playing that joke on them. Problem was, she hadn't been in the attic that night. There were no footprints on the dusty floor. They lived in the house and heard weird things until my uncle was transferred again but it didn't seem to bother them--they named "it" Amos. Later, they talked to the previous owners of the house and learned that they had called "it" Abigail, and had experienced the same sorts of things.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 12 Oct 00 - 09:43 PM

When I first moved into this 100-year-old house (now a museum) in 1989, on my way downstairs past the library I frequently "saw" a male form seated at the Judge's old desk. I assumed 'it' was the Judge (who had died in 1939) so I'd smile, mentally say Good morning and continue downstairs.

Late in that year the Judge's niece who had inherited this house died. (She had had a brief marriage back in the late 40's-50's before her husband died of cancer. Her husband died here in 1954.)

After she died, I never again have seen that form. I don't believe it was the Judge that I saw but her husband waiting for her. Ah, love...

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: GUEST,Sledge
Date: 13 Oct 00 - 02:40 AM

During my Fathers Army national service he had to, like many others, stand guard duty while in Germany. While standing guard one night with a couple of others at a very large and old barracks they heard singing which he described as being in German and of a milatary nature. They tried to find the source with no success, but the only place they feel it could of come from were a couple of empty barrack blocks which they later learned were SS barracks.

I served in the Navy for 11 years and a regular topic of conversation was the scale of hauntings at the main Naval hospital called RNH Haslarin Gosport Hampshire. This place is over 200 years old and has seen more then its fair share of suffering. We would talk about time slips, suicide ghosts, death by accident ghost (lift shafts), ghosts who did not seem to realise that the floor level had been raised or who would give cups of tea to patients late at night, we had cold spots including one on the opthalmic ward on which I worked. One night I thought I saw a figure in the cold spot opthalmic cabin and so reported it expecting to be ridiculed. When I returned to duty that night I was told by the day staff that the RC priest had visited the cabin during the day and sprayed a bit of holy water around along with a few prayers.We also had the occassional screamer. The only screamer I heard was during renovations in the early 80's when some graves were disturbed. As it lasted several nights, guards were posted to catch any hoaxer that might have been responsible, no one was caught and the screams eventualy faded. It is a fabulous building but damned spooky at night even when the is nothing special see or hear.

Cheers

Sledge

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Kim C
Date: 13 Oct 00 - 10:47 AM

My dogs don't just bark at noises I can't hear. One time Zenith, my older dog, stood at the hallway door, barking down the hallway to beat the band, with her hair up. We thought the cat was in the hallway. Nope. Nothing there.

They like to bark and run into the front parlor as if someone were at the door. They have done this several times. The front parlor was where my landlady's Uncle Shipley lived the last days of his life confined to a wheelchair, with what sounded to me like Lou Gehrig's disease. She said his mind was all there but he couldn't move, so he watched television. This is also a room around which we hear a lot of knocks and pings but of course that could be attributed to the settling of an old house.

Just recently both dogs did that barking down the hallway thing, and even several minutes after they dispersed, the cat would not go into the hallway. He'd stand there in the door, looking down the hall, twitching his tail.

I think I told this before, and it's not a ghost story, but it weirded me out. First of all you have to know that while I am not given to seasickness (except for the time I took the hovercraft across the English channel in Extremely Choppy Water), I am not a beach person. I am a landlubber from the word Go. Typical earth sign Virgo. Feet on the solid ground. Never had any desire to own a boat except for that canoe I've been wanting. Anyway a few years ago I got totally utterly captivated by sea music. I just loved it. I didn't know why. It just sounded good. And of course I got interested in finding out where those songs came from, etc., etc., etc.

About this time my landlady's daughter had a 40th anniversary party for her parents. She had old pictures of her mom & dad, grandparents, and so on. On her front mantle was a very old picture of a sailor. I asked the landlady, who's the sailor on the mantle?

Oh, she said, that's my daddy. He was in the Navy in World War I. Daddy just loved the sea.

Did I mention that I live in what was Daddy's house?

Coinkydink, probably. But it gave me the creeps.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 02:54 AM

INSURANCE HOLE

I was recently telling an uncle about some stuff that was happening to me and telling him about this website and he told me that he had a story to tell that "would put hair on your back" (his quote, by the way). My uncle is a deacon at our church and an old mountain man whose life motto is "speak when you're spoken to" so for him to volunteer a story, especially a "ghost" story was truly an honor for me and I have no reason to believe that what he told me was anything but the absolute truth.I will try to tell it in his exact words because it scared the "you know what" out of me.

First, I must describe where he is talking about.

Where he lives, in the mountains of Tennessee, is far, far away from town and the hustle and bustle of the city. I know for a fact that it takes an hour to drive up the long and winding mountain roads to get to his little farmhouse. The mountains are cold year round and seem to stay dark. Why he stays there is beyond me. Anyway, on to the story. It was told to me like this:

"One mornin' I had to get up early and make that long haul into town. I started out about 5 a.m., and it was darker than hot fudge and a little foggy but I had made that drive so many times that I didn't even sniff at the idea of driving down that mountain. I rounded first one curve and then another, when all of a sudden, this white "thing" ran out in front of my truck. I slammed on the brakes, just about made everything in the back come up in the front, and looked out the window. Didn't see nothing! Got out and looked, didn't see nothing. I got back in my truck and just sort of let it roll a little. I got out and looked under the truck, just in case. Nothing. So, I drove on. Before I could get to the next curve, I looked in my windshield mirror (rear view mirror) to see if I could see it now. Well, I didn't see that "thing" but I saw something else. There was a lady, looked like she was running, following my truck. She had on blue jeans and a T-shirt that had the middle cut out, ya know, like the teenagers do these days. And she wasn't wearing any shoes. Well, I put the old truck into rewind (reverse) and got up next to her. I thought maybe her and her boyfriend and drove up to the top and something went wrong and she was "hot footin it" (running) to her house.

When I got up next to her, I asked her "did she need me to take her somewhere?" She kept on walking. I asked her again,"did she have car trouble or an accident?" Again, nothing! I was looking at this girl, thinking to myself that she had to be cold and her feet must be nearly numb, and I was thinking that it looked like this girl hadn't taken a bath in a month of Sundays. Her hair was long and dirty and what I could see of her face that wasn't covered by her hair was covered in dirt. So, I asked her again if she wanted a ride and if she didn't take kindly to strangers, she could just hop in the back of the truck. I told her that I wouldn't bring no harm to her. She just kept on going. Well, I thought to myself, that's what happens when you try to be nice to these kids. So I told her if that's the way it was then I'd be on my way. It was right at that time she turned her head to look at me. Now I've looked at some scary eyes, lying eyes, and ugly eyes but I ain't never looked at "dead eyes". That was what this girl had. Her eyes were not real. They looked like they were flashlights coming out of her head.They were real sunk in, too. Real bright! And this girls face. It looked like she had been swimming in the river too long. It was all blue and wrinkled up. She stopped running long enough for me to really look at her and then I knew I wasn't looking at a real person like you and me. This girl was dead! I think she tried to grin at me. It wasn't a nice friendly smile either, it was mean, the devil's smile. She just kept staring at me with those eyes. Now, I have to tell you I was scared. I put that truck into gear and took off like a whipped puppy. When I looked behind me, she was sitting on the tailgate of my truck! Still smiling!! I cursed for the first time in my life. I rounded those corners on two wheels.

When I got into town, I was real nervous so I sat down for a minute or two. An old friend of mine came up to say hello. He told me to be expecting company. When I asked him why, he told me that the police had found another car off "Insurance Hole"". This is the place in the mountain that people dump their cars to report them stolen to collect insurance on them...I know, hilarious. My uncle lives around the corner form Insurance Hole so the police are always asking him if he's seen anyone up there recently. Back to the story.

"So sure enough, the police come up there to talk to me and I tell them that I didn't see nobody. Then they asked me if I heard anything, which was unusual because they don't normally ask that. When I said no and asked why they told me something that just about stopped my old heart. They told me that a man had dumped his car off the mountain while his girlfriend was tied up in the trunk, shot in the head. That car was practically in a million pieces from the long drop. When they found her she wasn't even in the trunk anymore. Well, I almost lost my breath, cause looking back to that morning, I realized that where I had run into that girl was right over insurance hole. Now, you can put together what you want to believe, but I believe, that dark, foggy morning, I saw a dead girl walking down that mountain. Now I ain't seen her since but that might be cause I ain't lookin' for her".

I hope you enjoyed this story. Better yet, I hope that you understood this story.

Submitted From: Tennessee, USA

copied from a "True Ghost Stories" Site

LEJ

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 04:27 PM

To read several stories of my very favourite ghost story author, the Englishman, M. R, James, please go to this site.

Here's a little bit about him, from that site:

Montague Rhodes James (1862-1936) is known as one of the originators of the modern ghost story. In reviewing James' work, H. P. Lovecraft wrote

"...gifted with an almost diabolic power of calling horror by gentle steps from the midst of prosaic daily life, is the scholarly Montague Rhode James, Provost of Eton College, antiquary of note, and recognized authority on medieval manuscripts and cathedral history. Dr. James, long fond of telling spectral tales at Christmastide, has become by slow degrees a literary weird fictionist of the very first rank; and has developed a distinctive style and method likely to serve as models for an enduring line of disciples.

"The art of Dr. James is by no means haphazard, and in the preface to one of his collections he has formulated three very sound rules for macabre composition. A ghost story, he believes, should have a familiar setting in the modern period, in order to approach closely the reader's sphere of experience. Its spectral phenomena, moreover, should be malevolent rather than beneficent; since fear is the emotion primarily to be excited. And finally, the technical patois of 'occultism' or pseudo-science ought carefully to be avoided; lest the charm of casual verisimilitude be smothered in unconvincing pedantry."

NOW, go read some!!! They will raise the hairs on your head. They are all my favourites, BUT if I had to pick out one or two fro sure-reads, I'd go for Number 13, Canon Alberic's Scrapbook, and The Ash Tree.

kat

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Merripan
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 04:39 PM

I have four of them, also all true, and rather odd...

My parents purchased an old Victorian house on the side of Queen Ann Hill in Seattle (if you've ever been there, it had been red with white trim, visible from 15th Avenue). The first winter they had the house, a blizzard came through Seattle, and mom decided to take a picture of the house after the snow had finished falling. When the picture came back, there was someone standing in the upper bedroom window, though no one was in the house. If it had been a person, they would have had to be over 7 feet tall, as the shoulders were over the cross-bar of the windows. The next summer, my father was working in the front hallway, tearing out and laying in new carpet. They had to take the hinges off the front door to do so, as it was almost flush with the floor. He put the hinge-pins in his pants pocket, and they went to work tearing up everything. After they were finished tearing up the carpet and padding, they sat down to lunch. Afterwards, he put his hand in his pocket to find the hingepins missing. Everyone else emptied their pockets as well, but no one had it. Father refused to get up from the table until they were returned to them, and just after he made that announcement, he heard 3 distinct metal clanks on the floor. Looking down at his feet, the hinge-pins had dropped in front of his feet. A year later, my mother was pregnant and couldn't sleep due to the heat in the summer. She had been finding one of the bedroom doors open and the lights on each night. They had been keeping the door locked as there were sharp tools and my sister and brother were young enough to have possibly hurt themselves. She had woken my father up several times to let him know that leaving the door open and the light on was not ok. The fourth night in a row, my father told her he had made sure the door was locked, thank you very much. He walked down the hall to the doorway, told the air to keep the door closed and why, and they never had the problem again. Later that same month, my mother was wandering to the bathroom in the middle of the night, when she encountered a young man standing in the upper hallway. He reached out and touched her belly with the saddest eyes she'd ever seen, and then disappeared. A month later, she had my brother, who ended up being a stillborn.

The house was commissioned and built using the funds from a young heiress, and has only been purchased and owned by women. It was built in 1902, in an area that was originally covered by water, but was later pumped out to make room for new housing. My parents believe the young man in the hallway was a drowned sailor.

~Merripan

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: zonahobo
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 05:09 PM

When it comes to the subject of ghosts I had always been a skeptic. When my children asked if I believed in ghosts I had told them "no, but perhaps its just that ghosts don't believe in me."

Our two girls shared a room at the "old" house we lived in. Separated by 9 years, Rebekah was just about 13 and Deborah was a talkative and imaginative 4-year-old. Rebekah liked to tell scary stories to her little sister which, I'm certain, usually wound up giving Rebekah bad dreams. It was not uncommon for the girls to wake me out of a late night's sleep with "Dad, there's someone outside our window". I would dutifully go into their room, look out of their window into the quiet darkness and declare it was just their imagination. However, to further reassure them I would go to the front door and open it as if I was going outside. After closing the door loudly enough to reassure them that I had checked around the house, I would return to bed telling them it was nothing and to go back to sleep.

One cool fall night their worried calling seemed especially plaintive. I stumbled to their door through the darkness and as I stepped in to their room the girls gasped and shrieked. "Dad, it's trying to get in!" Peering through the dark I clearly discerned a ghostly white hand clutching and clawing it's way down their bedroom window. I gulped and skipped my usual admonishment groping the wall for the elusive light switch. Of course when the light was turned on the hand vanished, but the scrapping on the screen continued and the adrenaline began to waken my mind as I tried to decide what to do next. The girls whimpered in complete terror and my heart began to race. If I turned out the light would the hand reappear?

At this moment this terrifying apparition added a new and somewhat more familiar sound to the bedroom din of terror. Meowwwww. When I turned off the light, we all laughed in huge relief as our white cat continued it's clawing descent of the window screen.

This became one of my daughter's favorite stories and for a moment, I was almost a believer!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Merripan
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 05:09 PM

Here's part one of a famous haunting from Adams, Tennessee, The Bell Witch:

In the early 1800s, John Bell moved his family from North Carolina to the Red River bottomland in Robertson County, Tennessee, settling in a community that later became known as Adams. Bell purchased some land and a large, log house for his family to live in. The Bells quickly made many friends and gained prominence in the community. Over the course of several years, Bell acquired additional land and cleared a number of fields.

One day in 1817, John Bell was walking in his corn field when he encountered a strange-looking animal sitting in the middle of a corn row. Shocked by the appearance of this animal which possessed the body of a dog and the head of a rabbit, Bell shot several times but to no avail. The animal vanished, and Bell thought nothing more about it. That evening, the Bells began to hear what sounded like "beating" on the outside walls of their house.

These beating sounds continued for several nights, and the force and frequency seemed to increase each night. Bell and his sons would often hurry outside with hopes of finding the culprit, but always returned empty-handed. These nightly noises continued, and were followed by more problems when the Bell children began waking up in the middle of the night frightened and complaining of noises that sounded like rats gnawing at the bottoms of their bedposts. The children also complained of having their bed covers pulled, and that their pillows were tossed onto the floor.

As time went on, the Bells began to hear faint, whispering voices when encounters with this mysterious "spirit" took place. The voices were too weak to understand, but sometimes sounded as if they were a feeble, old woman crying or singing hymns. The encounters escalated in frequency and intensity, and the Bells' daughter, Betsey, experienced a series of brutal encounters with the "spirit." The "spirit" pulled her hair and slapped her face repeatedly, leaving handprints on her face and body for days at a time. The experiences escalated to the point that the Bells had all they could take. It was time to share this "family trouble," as they called it, with people outside the family.

The Bells decided to tell their neighbor, James Johnston, about the encounters and seek his guidance. Johnson and his wife spent the night at the Bell home, where they were subjected to terrifying noises, their bed covers being pulled, and several episodes of being physically beaten and slapped. Johnston finally sprang out of bed and exclaimed, "I ask you in the name of the Lord God, who are you and what do you want?" The "spirit" did not respond, and the remainder of the night was peaceful.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Merripan
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 05:10 PM

Here's part two of a famous haunting from Adams, Tennessee, The Bell Witch:

As word of the encounters spread throughout the community, so did the "spirit's" antics. Over time, the "spirit's" voice strengthened to the point that it was loud and understandable. The "spirit" was known to have sung hymns, quoted scripture, carried on intelligent conversations, and once even quoted word-for-word two ministers' sermons that took place at exactly the same time but some thirteen miles apart.

In the 1815 Battle of New Orleans, both John Bell, Jr. and Jesse Bell fought under then General Andrew Jackson, and had developed a good rapport with him. In 1819, Jackson got word of the disturbances at the Bell home and decided to pay a personal visit. Jackson and his entourage, consisting of several men and a large wagon, traveled from Nashville to the Bell home. As Jackson's entourage approached the Bell property, the wagon suddenly stopped. The horses tried to pull as hard as they could, but the wagon still would not move.

After several minutes of cursing and trying to get the wagon to move, Jackson exclaimed that it must have been the "witch." As soon as Jackson uttered these words, an unidentified female voice spoke, telling Jackson and his men that they could proceed, and that "she" would see them again later that evening. The men were finally allowed to continue.

Jackson and John Bell had a long discussion about the Indians and other topics while Jackson's men patiently waited to see if the "spirit" was going to manifest itself. One of the men in Jackson's entourage claimed to be a "witch tamer." After several uneventful hours, this man decided to "call" the "spirit." He pulled out a shiny pistol and made his intent to kill the "spirit" known to all that were present. Almost immediately, the man began screaming and moving his body in many different directions. He said he was being stuck with pins and being severely beaten. The man quickly ran out the door, and the "spirit" announced that there was yet one more "fraud" in Jackson's party, and that he would be identified on the following evening.

Terrified, Jackson's men begged to leave the Bell farm. However, Jackson insisted on staying so that he could find out who the other "fraud" was. Jackson and his men eventually went out to the field to sleep in their tents, and the men continued to beg and plead with Jackson to leave.

Jackson maintained the position that he wanted to know whom the other "fraud" in his party was. However, by mid-day the next day, Jackson and his men had already left the Bell farm and were seen going through Springfield.

Jackson, a hero in the Battle of New Orleans four years earlier, was quoted as having said later, "I'd rather fight the entire British Army than to deal with the Bell Witch." Jackson went on to later become the President of the United States.

Over a period of time, Betsy Bell became interested in Joshua Gardner, a young man who lived not far from her. With the blessings of their parents, they agreed to engagement. Nevertheless, despite their evident happiness, the "spirit" repeatedly told Betsy not to marry Joshua Gardner. It is interesting to note that their schoolteacher, Richard Powell, was noticeably interested in Betsy and wanted to marry her when she became older. Powell was believed to have been a student of the occult, and had been secretly married to a woman in nearby Nashville for some time. Betsy and Joshua could not go to the river, the field, or the cave to play, without the "spirit" following along and persistently taunting them. Betsy and Joshua's patience finally reached critical mass, and on Easter Monday of 1821, Betsy met Joshua at the river and broke off their engagement.

The encounters decreased after that heartbreaking Easter Monday, although the "spirit" continued to express its dislike for "ol Jack Bell," and relentlessly vowed to kill him. As Bell's health grew worse, the "spirit" would torture him more severely, sometimes removing his shoes from his feet and relentlessly slapping his face while he was experiencing seizures.

On the cold morning of December 20, 1820, after a long battle with a crippling nervous system disorder, John Bell breathed his last breath. Immediately after Bell's death, the family found a small vial of unidentified liquid that Bell had partaken of the evening before his death. John Bell, Jr. gave some of the liquid to the family's cat, and the cat died almost instantly. The "spirit" suddenly spoke up exclaiming, "I gave Ol' Jack a big dose of that last night, and that fixed him." John, Jr. quickly threw the vial into the fireplace, where it shot up the chimney in the form of a bright, blue flame. As family and friends began to leave John Bell's burial site, the "spirit" laughed loudly and sang a cheerful song about a bottle of brandy

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Merripan
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 05:11 PM

Here's part three of a famous haunting from Adams, Tennessee, The Bell Witch:

In April of 1821, the "spirit" visited Lucy Bell and told her that "it" would return in seven years for a visit. Seven years later, in 1828, the "spirit" returned as promised. Most of this visit centered on John Bell, Jr. The "spirit" discussed with him such things as the origin of life, Christianity, the need for a mass spiritual reawakening, and other in-depth topics. Of particular significance were the "spirit's" predictions of the Civil War, World War I, the Great Depression, and World War II. John Bell, Jr., noted these conversations in meticulous detail in his manuscript, which the author of this article has had the privilege of reading.

After three weeks, the "spirit" bade farewell, promising to visit John Bell's most direct descendant in 107 years. The year would have been 1935, and the closest direct living descendant of John Bell was Charles Bailey Bell, a physician in Nashville. Charles Bailey Bell himself wrote a book about the "Bell Witch," but it had been published prior 1935. No follow-up was published, and Bell died a few years later.

Today, the "spirit" which haunted the Bell family nearly 200 years ago is believed by many to be the source of numerous manifestations in the area where the story took place. Some believe that when the "spirit" returned in 1935, it took residence in a cave on the old Bell property where John Bell's children once played, and which was the site of many encounters with the "spirit." Sometimes, the faint sounds of people talking and children playing can be heard near the back of the cave. A picture recently taken of a sinkhole near the cave revealed rising ectoplasm in the shape of a face exhibiting pain.

Several years ago, one of John Bell's descendants was rabbit hunting and shot a rabbit, which wandered into some dense brush. While searching, he felt a large rock underneath the brush where the rabbit had entered. The rock turned out to be a part of Joel Egbert Bell's tombstone, and the rabbit was never found. In the mid 1990's, a picture was taken of a girl sitting on a rock outside the cave's entrance. When the picture was developed, there appeared to be a man standing behind her. Upon expert examination, it was determined that the man-like image was not a double-exposure, but an entirely separate entity. It has been said that if you visit the fields of the old Bell farm on dark, cold and rainy nights, you can sometimes see small lights gliding over the fields and dancing in the dell.

The cause of the Bells' torments nearly 200 years ago, and the periodic manifestations at present, has remained a mystery for generations. Numerous versions of the story, along with theories that purportedly explain the evil root cause of the manifestations, abound everywhere and vary from person to person. The only constant is that there was something "wrong" on the Bell farm in the early 1800s, and there is still something wrong at the old Bell farm today, nearly 200 years later.

For more info, go to http://www.bellwitch.org/thebell.htm

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 06:01 PM

I don't know many ghost 'stories' and I find I prefer anecdotal ones. So many odd things happen to each of us- and those are the things I like to hear about. I'm not really into fear for the sake of fear. Not that I have anything against cleverness!

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 06:45 PM

A woman I know showed me a picture her father had brought home years before- a framed, glass-fronted picture of a cabin alongside a stream where a fisherman was fishing from a canoe. On the other side of the river was a 3-point buck, head raised high. And always, her father said that when he 'went', that's where he was going. This picture hung then and now in their dining room, on a huge nail in the stud.

Her father was not a religious man. On the night he died and the coroner had taken away the body, his family gathered in the living room, talking and weeping. At one point, one of the 'kids' (all grown) said, But what happens after the last breath- where is he now?

There was a crash from the other room. They ran into the dining room and there was the picture on the floor leaning against the wall, unbroken. The nail still jutted upward.

They decided that wherever he was, their father was all right.

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 29 Oct 00 - 10:19 PM

It was near midnight when I was awakened by a scream.It came from nearby,and as I staggered down the darkened hallway,groggy with sleep,I instinctively knocked at my sister's door."Mary! You alright?" In a few seconds she had thrown open the lock and was standing before me,silhouetted against the remarkable french windows behind her that led to the stone balcony."Oh God," she said,shivering,her arms folded about her,"Jack...there was something in my room!" The lights came on,and I heard someone rush up behind me. I turned to take in the anxious countenance of Mrs Pleasance,our hostess."Is something wrong?Did you see something Miss?" she said rather breathlessly."I'm fine now,Mrs Pleasance.It was only a nightmare.But I would like to sleep the rest of the night in your room,Jack,if it's alright?" The landlady suggested she would arrange a cot in my quarters,and I took Mary's arm as we walked to my room.She was quite pale in the muted light of the hallway.I made a clumbsy attempt to jostle her from her mood,saying "what manner of red-eyed bogie-man could have coaxed that horrible shriek from you,Mare?" She fixed me with a strange look and said "it was not I that screamed,Jack."

At breakfast next morning,Mary was very subdued as I excitedly put forward my plan for the day.Mrs Pleasance packed a lunch box for us,and we spent the morning hiking the rustic trails that bounded the eastern shores of the Derwent Water.As the day went on,Mary shed much of her gloomy aspect and began to join in the spirit of the brilliant sunshine that set the autumn foliage ablaze and sparkled in the surface of the lake.As we sat at our picnic,I at last asked her to tell me what sort of nightmare she had had last night."It was no nightmare," she began."When I had put on my gown,and just before turning out the lamp,I thought I had seen something white moving on the balcony just outside the french doors.I caught my breath and walked to the windows,but nothing was there.I went to bed and fell asleep,but awoke as the mantle clock chimed two.It was very dark in the room,but I had the sense that someone was standing at the foot of my bed.The figure gradually became more substantial,and began to move toward the french doors,and I could then make out its features in the dim light.It was a female figure,flowing black hair,and a long white gown much like my own.As she moved,she seemed to wring her hands,and to moan in a very disturbing manner.She took no real notice of me,but approached the windows and laid her hands upon the latch,which she rattled vigorously.(I noticed this morning that the latch is useless,the doors having been nailed in to the frame).She struggled for some time,then stopped,transfixed by something outside.It was then she turned to me and held out her hands as if imploring my assistance."I noticed Mary begin to tremble and pale in the recitation of the experience,assuming the shocked demeanor of the previous night."Then she suddenly turned,put both hands to her head in horror,and screamed. That was what you heard,Jack.I had put on the lamp just as I heard your knock at the door." I held Mary's hands in mine,smiled and said " so Mary,it seems that Mrs Pleasance has offered us a haunted house as a holiday retreat." Mary looked sharply at me and pulled her hands away."You think I dreamed it," she said."Not at all,Mare," I said,"in fact,I shall change rooms with you tonight,and eprhaps we shall get to the bottom of this after all."

That evening at supper,I expressed my wish to take Mary's room to Mrs Pleasance,who answered "not at all sir!It was foolish of me to let your sister sleep there in the first place.You shall have a room on the bottom floor." I smiled and replied "nothing doing,madam. I insist on it.There is no view in the entire house like the one to be seen from that balcony.I like a third story room,myself.And I find my sleep is remarkably free of nightmares." Mrs Pleasance put down her tea pot and sat down,saying " many years ago,this house was owned by a wealthy merchant and his wife.Although he was a highly respected man,she was said to be touched by an hereditary madness.In time,she gave birth to a son.For long,she seemed to have recovered her sanity through love of this child,and the family was quite happy,they say.But one night,in a fit of insanity and anger at her husband,she hurled the child from that balcony.Her husband found the poor baby dead at the foot of the wall,saw his wife standing upon the balcony in her night-dress,and watched as she threw herself over the edge.He sold the house and moved to London,and since then there have been many residents.All have reported the ghost of the madwoman who haunts that room.Some have seen specters on the balcony.That is why the doors are nailed shut."

"Jack" my sister whispered."You mustn't stay in that room." I finished my glass of port and laughed."Nonsense.You have received payment for the room,madam,and I intend to use it.Have you a hammer?" She was puzzled by my remark. I continued "I mean to remove those nails,and to take breakfast upon the balcony with my sister."

The work of freeing the doors took only a few minutes.As the sun set over the beautiful Derwent Water,I stood upon the balcony admiring the tranquil scene.My eyes then dropped to take in the abrupt drop from the parapet into the rocky outcrop below,and I confess that I felt a chill creep up my spine.I blamed it on the coming chill of night and,latching the doors,stepped into the room.I donned my night-shirt and read in my bed as darkness engulfed the house.I was in the act of turning a page,when I thought I heard a tap at the glass,and turning,I seemed to glimpse a fleeting white shape moving on the balcony.I rose and went to the doors.Nothing stirred there except the faint shine of the quarter moon upon the lake.I returned to the bed and soon fell into a sleep.

I was awakened by the sharp rattle of the latch on the french doors,and rose upon my elbow to see a woman frantically attempting to open the lock.In amazement,I reached for the lamp but in doing so knocked my book off of the nightstand.At the sound of the book striking the floor,the specter turned in my direction and held me with eyes that were so filled with sorrow and despair that I all fear was instantly replaced with sympathy.She held her hands out to me in supplication,and I knew that all she wanted was to be free of this room.I found myself rising to my feet and walking across the room until I was close enough to touch her,if such thing was possible.Tears welled in her eyes as I turned,found the catch on the door,and slowly opened it.She swept past me onto the balcony,and again I saw a faint figure there by the railing,a figure which she rushed forward to take by the arms just as it threatened to pitch forward over the edge.And for just a moment they stood there,mother and child,pale figures against the stone balustrade,and as the child lifted his arms for his mother,she turned her eyes to me,and a smile touched her mouth,and they were gone.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 30 Oct 00 - 06:34 PM

Come on,guys.Still time for a couple more before Halloween night!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Ebbie
Date: 30 Oct 00 - 08:57 PM

Good story, Lonesome EJ!

I have read that when a 'ghost' wishes to communicate, he or she or it draws heat (energy) from the surroundings, which makes the air go damp and clammy. Only once have I had that experience.

In a long story I won't go into here, my boyfriend "Ralph" and I had broken up in a bitterly heated finale that involved both families. Years later, at 6 o'clock in the morning I was a-waiting my ride to work and leafing idly through the magazine, Life.

Suddenly, there was an onrush of cold air that enveloped me and a 'voice' that sounded like Ralph hissed a petulant message. I froze (no pun intended).

A few minutes later my sister in law picked me up. I told her, "I think Ralph is dead" and told her of the event. She was and is a matter of fact person without much time for the unexplained and pooh-poohed the whole thing.

That evening, Ralph's cousin came over to my brother's house and told us that Ralph's invalid father had died very early that morning.

I've never been happy that Ralph's dad felt it necessary to give me one last message!

Ebbie

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Áine
Date: 26 Feb 01 - 01:20 PM

Ah -- another great place to ask all you spooky storytellers to send in your tales that go bump in the night to The Mudcat Storytellers' Page. It doesn't matter that it's not the 'season' for them -- just think of the collection we should have by next Halloween!

-- Áine

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Rich(bodhránai gan ciall)
Date: 26 Feb 01 - 07:15 PM

Still not as scary as the BUSHWHACKED threads! :-)

Rich

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: GUEST,petr
Date: 27 Feb 01 - 08:29 PM

well I have had the odd experience that was hard to explain. When I lived with my folks my dad would often leave early in the morning and wake me up to lock the door behind him. Id go back to bed for another hour or so. One time when I was lying facedown on the bed I felt someone lift up the blanket off me and I thought it was my dad getting me to wake up, and then I quickly realized that dad had already left for work and there was noone in the house. Anyway I couldnt move and thought to myself that I will think this is a dream. (I have since heard that its very common in deep sleep or being on the edge of sleep to hallucinate, to feel as if one is floating or feel a weight on ones body as if someone is sitting on their chest.)

and yet,, I do have a story that was told to me by a very good friend. I lived in Japan for a year in 1990 and befriended a woman that lived in the same gaijin house. One day when Yumiko and I were talking about unusual experiences (she had just finished talking about her mother who had died and they were very close) and we got on to the subject of ghosts. She told me her story, when she was an art student at university she hung out with a group of friend who were into motorcycles and would often go on weekend road trips. (this made sense in Japan as its takes forever to leave Tokyo by car on weekend and is much faster by motorcycle) Anyway this group of people was a mix of guys and girls and gradually they paired up in couples except for one fellow who was still on his own. He was a little sad that they didnt go out as a group that much anymore, and they got together for one more trip. They rode out along the coast and had a grand time and stopped at various places to take pictures. Well a week later the one single fellow was riding his motorbike along that same coastal road when he was hit by a freak wave and washed out to sea.

All his friends were quite saddened by the loss, and Yumiko remembered that they had taken pictures the previous week and decided to have them developed and give them to his parents.

She took the film to the film lab at the art school and when she got the prints back she noticed the one picture of this fellow was missing. So she went to the lab to find out what happened with the film. They told her that sometimes pictures dont turn out very well so they usually dont bother developing them and his picture was like that.

Yumiko insisted on seeing the picture that they had discarded and they finally relented. When she looked at the picture of her friend she was so terrified she couldnt move. Here is what she saw.

In the picture he was standing beside his motorcycle with the sea behind him. And behind him, were, hundreds of human arms reaching out for him from the sea.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 07 Oct 01 - 03:22 AM

Thought I'd resurrect this one again since we're getting on to Halloween time. Sleep well! mwaaa-haaaa-haaa!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Tig
Date: 07 Oct 01 - 07:12 PM

Wow, some good stories to browse through. Here's another true one which stopped the Yorkshire Mudcats dead.

We moved house when I was 10 because we had outgrown the one we already had, but we soon found we were not alone in it.

There was one corner of my sister's bedroom where we just could not store things. We tried boxes, books and even the sheaf of corn we used for making corndollies but by the next morning they were out in the middle of the room again. A smell of bacon and eggs used to pervade the house in the early hours of the morning and Mum would ask "Which of you got hungry then?" and we regularly passed him (we were certain from the start it was a him) on the stairs, so often we nicknamed him George.

But George had one bad habit. He used to come into my bedroom late at night and disturb my sleep. One night he did so and I stirred and looked straight at him. I didn't think anything strange in being able to see him.

He was a reasonably good looking lad in his early 20's dressed in tidy but unremarkable clothes. His hair was dark and combed back in a modern style and he smiled at me in a friendly sort of way.

"Look" I told him "This has gone on quite long enough. This is MY bedroom and you aren't supposed to be here. Go away!"

At that he turned and walked down the landing and I never saw him again.

The next morning I told my Mum what had happened and described the young man to her. She told me not to worry, these things sometimes happen.

Later that day she was talking to Joan, the next door neighbour and mentioned I'd been seeing ghosts. She then told Joan what I had said and as she described the lad the neighbour's face went whiter and whiter.

At last she said to Mum "Do you know who that was?"
"How can I, we've only lived here a few months" came the reply.
"That is the son of the people who lived here before you. He was killed in a motorbike accident in South America about three years ago and never came home"

But you know differently now, don't you?

I've one or two more 'real' stories as I've met quite a few ghosts in my time, and sent several on their journeys.

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: John Routledge
Date: 07 Oct 01 - 07:32 PM

Thanks Tig - I remember you telling this story at The Jug!! John

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 08 Oct 01 - 01:36 AM

Found this on another site. It has the ring of truth

The Thinking Ball

I am an admissions counselor at a Southern California Catholic university. Ours is the oldest institution of higher learning in Southern California and I recently had a very frightening experience.

You see, the Admissions Office is housed in a very old building that used to be the old priest's residence. This building was constructed in the late twenties, and it's this old stone edifice that's quite gothic and foreboding from the outside. Inside it is no different, so when I was hired and given an office there I was quite apprehensive about staying in the building after dark. However, at the time I arrived, one of the other counselors was a kindly old priest named Father Skip Perry. Now Fr. Perry had been there since who knows when and he went to great lengths to make me feel at home as a staff member of the university.

Our offices were right next door to one another, and over the next few weeks I noticed that I would periodically hear a rhythmic thumping against Fr. Perry's side of our shared office wall. One day I became curious and went into Fr. Perry's office to find him bouncing a racquetball against the wall. With a warm smile, Fr. Perry apologized and explained that he does this from time to time when absorbed in thought. Thus, over the course of the next few weeks, I nicknamed that ball the "thinking ball."

Over time Fr. Perry and I grew quite close, and whenever I heard the thinking ball bouncing against the wall I would go into his office and chat with him about whatever problem was occupying his thoughts at the moment.

Sometimes it was a tough decision about whether or not to accept a certain student. Sometimes it was nothing more than a personal dilemma.

One day Fr. Perry even admitted that he would occassionally bounce the ball against the wall just to get me to come and talk to him.

After I had been there about a year and a half, Fr. Perry took ill. I visited him several times in the hospital but he eventually passed away. A momentous funeral was held at the university for this departed friend and then things returned to normal around the campus.

One night, though, I was working late in my office. I went out at about nine p.m. to grab some dinner and when I came back the building looked even darker and more foreboding than usual. Two windows glowed with light and from outside they looked like lambent eyes sunk into the face of the building. As soon as I saw them, however, I knew the windows were my own office and that of Fr. Perry.

I went upstairs and found the place deserted and just assumed that the custodian had left the light on when she left. I turned it off and went back to my office, but several minutes later I heard the rhythmic thumping against the wall. It sounded just like Fr. Perry's thinking ball. This really unnerved me. The building was eerie enough without having to deal with creepy sounds.

I tried to ignore it, thinking my imagination must have run away with me and that I must be subconsciously missing my old friend more than I thought, but the thumping of the ball persisted for several minutes so finally I got up the nerve to go into the office. It was empty and there was no sign of Fr. Perry or his thinking ball. Even his things had been moved out to make way for a new employee.

I went back to my office and as soon as I did the thumping started again. I finally returned to Fr. Perry's office and sat in the darkness. In the past he had used the thinking ball to get me to come talk to him, so perhaps he just wanted another visit now. I sat in that room for a long time with the feeling that I wasn't alone. The fright slowly wore off and soon I just began to fancy that my friend was there with me in the room. Eventually I locked up and went home for the night with the sense that I had gotten one last visit with my friend. I have not heard from the thinking ball since.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Submitted From: CA, USA

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: GUEST,Firecat
Date: 08 Oct 01 - 04:57 AM

Mum's not the only one in the family to have experienced ghosts! I did too!

It was when I was about eight, and I was staying at a cottage in Wales called Gelliwaen. There was me, Mum, Dad and another family, James(who's about my age), Ellie (his younger sister) and their Mum and Dad.

Anyway, one night, I woke up and went to get a drink, as you do. I was in the kitchen drinking it when I heard a voice calling my name. I thought it was James messing about so I told him to shut up. The voice carried on so in the end I went through to James's room, but he was asleep and I could tell he wasn't faking it.

Naturally, I was a bit puzzled, but I went back to the kitchen, washed the glass up and put it away.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun round really fast to see who it was but nobody was there! I freaked and hid under the covers for the rest of the night!

Next morning, I told Mum about it, and she was just like "Oh, yeah, that'll be the ghost!"

Turns out the place was haunted by the previous owner!

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Nemesis
Date: 08 Oct 01 - 05:01 PM

My (Step)Grandfather was in the Black Watch for 33 years, from a drummer boy at the age of 12, at the Dublin uprising (I think it was), through the Battle of the Somme, Dunkirk and then 3 years in a Japanese concentration camp when Singapore fell.

Thing is apart from those bare details I know nothing of what he went through, as he'd never talk about it: I'd hear him screaming in his sleep at night though with nightmares of what happened in the Japanese camp.

He married my Grandmother when he was over 60. Her sister Vi was quite a well known and naturally gifted psychic in the Nationalist Spiritualist Church. As a Church sort of elder, one thing she'd do every Christmas was to have party for spirit children. Balloons, cakes, crisps, etc. She'd set the table and then turn the lights out and leave the room. Eventually when she turned the lights back on the room would be wrecked, food thrown about, the sort of typical mess that kids make at parties.

Anyway, this particular evening she was being especially "fey" and Grandpa stomped off as he'd had enough of this. He got to the bottom of the stairs (in their tiny house) when Aunty Vi said "I've got Tom Mackintosh here and he's laughing all over his face". Grandpa's jaw dropped and he came back into the room to explain. Tom Mackintosh was a sergeant during the Battle of the Somme. A grenade had landed in their dugout and he'd clapped his hat over and shouted "Run lads" Every one made it, except Tom.

Well, there wasn't much to say after that so Grandpa stomped off upstairs. Being an old soldier he laid his clothes out carefully, folded exactly along the seams over the back the chair and got into bed. Leaving the light on, he sat in bed for a while and then as he looked over at the chair -"someone" got hold off all his clothes (and old people wear a lot of clothes) and threw the whole off and over the back of the chair.

Tom - still laughing, 60 or so years later?

Well,

Subject: RE: BS: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Walking Eagle
Date: 08 Oct 01 - 05:19 PM

I have several great Cherokee stories and a few from my home state of WV. They are too long to post now, so send me a PM if you are interested.

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: ScottyG
Date: 09 Oct 01 - 10:50 AM

I was always a bit skeptical about ghosts and the paranormal, until I had a first-hand experience back in 1978. The base where I was stationed in Angus, Scotland was about four miles from Edzell village, where stand the ruins of Edzell Castle. A couple of weeks after reporting for duty, I toured the castle and its splendid gardens. At that time, tours of the castle were unguided, and I was on my own. I knew nothing about the castle's history, except that Mary Queen of Scots had stayed there on at least one occasion.

Ancient things fascinate me, and I was totally engrossed when, in a dark, wide passageway on an upper floor of a yet intact part of the castle, I had the strangest sensation. It felt distinctly like the gentle caress of a woman's fingers running through the hair on the back of my head. It was only momentary, and then it ceased as abruptly as it had begun. I also noted that the passageway had become considerably cooler, yet there was no draft or movement in the air. Twilight was approaching and I was just a wee bit spooked, so I decided it was time to leave. When I exited through the gate in the wall that bordered the gardens, I stumbled as if I had been tripped. I actually fell forward and had to break my fall with my hands. But when I looked back to see what had tripped me up, there was nothing there, only the fine, hard-packed gravel covering the path. Now, I'm not some clumsy clod, so I knew I didn't trip over my own feet. Odd.

The next day, I was chatting with the base Public Relations Advisor, Mrs. Betty Morton. Betty was a kindly older lady who had lived in the area all her life. I mentioned the strange things that happened to me at the castle. I was "gob-smacked" at what she told me. With a knowing twinkle in her eye, she said, quite matter-of-factly, "You've met up wi' the ghosties o' the castle." Betty proceeded to tell me the legend. For centuries, the castle was the family seat of the Lindsays, who were Episcopalian. Somewhere in its history, there lived a delicate young Lindsay girl who fell desperately in love with a Presbyterian lad. As I understand it, Episcopalians were in defiance of the Presbyterian effort to impose their views at the time. Thus, the girl's father naturally forbade her having anything to do with the young suitor. Just as naturally, she would slip out in the gloaming and rendezvous with her lover in the gardens, and they would sneak up to her quarters in the castle. The old man found out about these secret meetings. Enraged, he hid just outside the gate one night, waiting for the young man's departure. As the lad passed through the gate, old man Lindsay tripped him, fell upon him and slew him on the spot. So heartbroken was the poor lass, she pined away, became frail and died soon after.

According to Betty, from time to time over the years, young male visitors to the castle have experienced what I had. Supposedly, the ghostly fingers I felt running through my hair were those of the lovelorn young lady, and the unseen obstacle that had caused me to stumble going through the gate was the ghost of the old man. I've never been able to verify or substantiate Betty's story. All I know is that my experiences were damn strange, and very real.

Scott

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Max Tone
Date: 09 Oct 01 - 06:36 PM

There's some good stories Here The green boxes are the footnotes to the paragraphs near them. Let's hope my html works.........
Rob

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: open mike
Date: 22 Sep 06 - 01:17 AM

i want to re-vive this thread
and bring it back form the dead

i am hoping to find a spooky
story that might be a good
addition to my october radio
show. I plan to include songs
and stories about the supernatural,
Samhain, ghosts, hauntings, etc.

some of the stories in this thread
are great! Some of the links are
no longer working.

I saw that Walking Eagle had mentioned
that she had some good cherokee stories.
Did anyone get any of them from her?
She is no longer with us, but perhaps
the stories are!

I am also lookng for a story about the
Samhain that Capri Uni wrote...what is
happeinig with her lately? does anyone
know? Last I heard her dad was ailing..
fell off a ladder, perhaps?

ok so bring on the stories....I am all ears!

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: open mike
Date: 22 Sep 06 - 01:34 AM

i remember asking incessantly as a small child
for a story...teeny tiney woman..

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: open mike
Date: 22 Sep 06 - 01:57 AM

100

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Cats
Date: 22 Sep 06 - 07:50 AM

I have done the ghost stories at Sidmouth for the last two years. This year I did another Cornish haunting story. Afterwards someone said they had not been scared by the stories and I pointed out that if you wanted to be scared you should be looking at horror stories as some ghost stories are very gentle and, of course, you always come safely home at the end of them.. The following day I was accosted in the street and called all the names under the sun as this person had woken up in the night and heard the same noise that I had mentioned in my story and she didn't know if to pull back the duvet and look or not! That's what ghost stories do, they leave a seed for later!

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 01 Nov 06 - 01:04 AM

Refresh.

Happy Halloween!

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Anne Lister
Date: 01 Nov 06 - 06:21 AM

I've had quite a few inexplicable experiences in my life so far, which you might call ghost experiences, but the most recent one ties in with the re-enactor tale on this thread.

My husband is a historic interpreter and in his day job works in a living history museum where it is always 1645 (Llancaiach Fawr, if you come to South Wales). He also works with a company which stages events in historic properties. A couple of years ago they were putting on a weekend of events at Bolsover Castle in Derbyshire, to commemorate the visit of Charles II and Henrietta Maria to the Earl of Newcastle - who had spent massive amounts of money refurbishing the castle for the King's visit. I had little to do, so spent some time wandering around the tower containing the wood panelling installed by the Earl, and was puzzled by the heavy smell of pipe tobacco when it was clearly a non-smoking place.

Later that day we were packing up for the evening when the fire alarm sounded and fire engines and fire fighters arrived en masse. They all rushed into the tower, but found no fire and no-one responsible for the fire alarm having been triggered.

On the second day I walked around the official exhibition in another part of the castle, detailing the history of the place. And there was a reference to the ghost of the Earl of Newcastle, who they said made himself known by the strong smell of pipe tobacco ... they didn't mention his penchant for setting off fire alarms!

Anne

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: GUEST,JJ Hoffman
Date: 10 Nov 06 - 08:29 PM

My husband and I were house sitting for a friend. She lived with her new husband in a beautiful 1930 Spanish style home in the Hollywood Hills. One of the previous owners was a wheelchair bound older woman so she had an elevator installed. The unfortunate older woman had been killed in the home by a robber. By the time we started house sitting for my friend the elevator had been broken and dormant for years. We had house-sat for this woman dozens of times with no problems. However, this time was different.

The couple had just given birth to their first son and set out in December to visit New York and show all of their relatives the bouncing baby boy.

Right away upon entering the home we noticed a whirring sound. It came from the elevator. I also noticed that a light came on at the elevator seeming to indicate that it was now in working order. I guessed that the owner had got it working to lighten her load what with the pregnancy and the baby etc.

Then we started hearing muffled screams and thumps late at night. This is unusual as there are no neighbors near enough to hear their comings and goings. Also, the screams and thumps happened at around the same time every night. Then one night, my husband and I woke up at the same time inexplicably and full of fear. We instantly clutched one another and looked around. There was nothing there but it was ice cold in the room. that same night, after we fell back asleep I dreamed that a very old lady in her underwear and with a grey hue from top to bottom was floating over us and looking at us with such a sad face it would break your heart if it didn't scare you to death.

The next morning I baked christmas goodies and listened to Christmas Carols. I called the owner to ask about the elevator. She informed me that she never had the elevator fixed!!

The baking seemed to help. we had no more screams, no more thumps. The elevator noise continued however.

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Muttley
Date: 11 Nov 06 - 12:22 PM

I know Halloween's come and gone but I thought folks might enjoy this one.

Las year (2005) My family went on an overseas trip: Germany because the boys do German at school; Italy because I always wanted to see Rome and Pompeii (as did my wife); France so my wife could go visit her family and the UK so I could visit mine in Scotland.

While in Edinburgh my eldest boy, Hamish, and I went on a 'Ghost Walk' which ended up in Greyfriars Kirk and the 'Black Mausoleum' in an adjacent wing of the kirkyard which once housed The Covenanters Prison.

The Covenanters were Protestants of the 17th Century who opposed certain measures and while accepted for a while found themselves 'politically at odds' with the king and were persecuted and hunted down. The final resistance ended up with 1200 Covenanters imprisoned behind Greyfriars Kirk. The man in charge was named Murray, I believe and he was sadid=stic. The Covenanters were forced to lie down all day, outside and virtually naked - unsurprising that most died. The 400 or so survivors were packed off to the 'Colonies' (America) as convicts but never reached it as their ship sank en route.

However, it is not the Covenanters, surprisingly, who are 'restless' - it is Murray. Apparently in the late 1990's, his mausoleum (just around the corner of the wall from the old Covenanters Prison) was distubed by a homeless man seeking riches in the vault - supposedly buried with him.

Anyway - to our experience. Standing in the Black Mausoleum and listening to our tour guide I began to experience a 'scratching' and 'grabbing' at my lower legs. Having been a 'sensitive' in my younger days I knew the "mantra's" to allay such attacks and they slowed down and stopped. About a minute later, Hamish said "Something's touching me!" As I had my arms about his shoulders from behind I joked. "Yeah, It's me" - He said, "No, my legs. I wanna get out!" He became more and more agitated and panicky and eventually, we tried to make our way forward (we were at the back) when the tour ended. However, as I began to move, I felt something grab sharply at my shoulder and neck and halt me. I looked around and came face to face with the stones of the back wall - no-one there.

The next morning I woke up and was walking around our room when Hamish looked at me with his eyes bugging out and said "Have you checked the mirror today?" Answering in the negative I responded to his suggestion I do so.

There on the right hand side of my neck, angling up from where it joins the shoulder was a four inch scratch and red mark as though by a fingernail - it took a day or two to fade. It was right where I felt the grabbing in the black Mausoleum where there was no-one to do the grabbing.

The sequel came the next night. I went out to take some photo's of Edinburgh Castle at night and so walked right around it in the streets. As I walked up the Grassmarket below the rock upon which the castle stands (the top end of which being where they hanged miscreants up to about 100 years ago) I began to get jittery - I was near the street that led up to Greyfriars Kirk and I had resolved to get a photo of the Covenanters Prison which I had failed to do in the daytime. Generally I am not afraid of anything, but I began to get really jumpy and sweaty but resolved not to be stupid and go and get a photo. To my relief, another tour was just ending and I asked the guide to go up to the Prison Yard with me 'I was NOT going over there alone'!

We went up and I took two photo's in quick succession without moving between them (digital camera) and as we stepped away, I reviewed them. With the guide looking over my shoulder the second photo was a fairly unrewarding shot of the yard with only a couple of trees clearly in sight and the mausoleums indistinct in the background. However, when the first shot I took came up, there, beside a tree was a bright blue, haze - an almost neon glow. On magnifying the shot, the glow clearly resolved into the torso of a person leaning against the tree. The neckline and sleeves and lower edge of the doublet / jerkin, the belt with dirk and folded arms are quite clear (the arms less so) to be seen as is the cloak which swirls to the ground.

We BOTH looked back into the prison-yard as the guide said "Where the hell did the light come from?" There was none in the yard, no bright windows & no reflective surfaces even if there WAS a bright background light. We looked at each other and walked out of there VERY quickly.

The account is now, I believe posted on the website for that tour.

Absolutely True

Muttley

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: GUEST,Obie
Date: 11 Nov 06 - 01:57 PM

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: GUEST,Obie
Date: 11 Nov 06 - 01:59 PM

The Caledonia Spook Farm.

http://www.geocities.com/sharlie230/caledoniamills.html

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Alice
Date: 31 Oct 08 - 05:12 PM

I've been reading a book called "Haunted Montana" a ghost hunter's guide to haunted places you can visit.

While working over in Butte, I stay in a hotel out in the country at a hot springs, between the historic mining towns of Anaconda and Butte.
Last weekend, the hotel hosted a Mystery Weekend, with an original murder mystery play that was staged with the acts played out from Friday to Sunday.

As I was chatting with the clerks in checking out this morning, we were talking about how all the props were still up in the lobby and it was kind of spooky. I told them about the haunted places in Montana book I am reading. The clerks said, "Oh, are we in there?"
What?? They have a ghost?
I've stayed in this hotel for many weeks at a time each year.
"Yes, we have one up on the 3rd floor. We call him Toby. Doors open and close on their own and things move around."

creepy! I must say, the third floor has always been the part of the building where I prefer not to stay.

Subject: RE: Favorite Ghost Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 25 Oct 10 - 08:10 PM

Happy Halloween, and here are some good ghost stories in this old thread.