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(Fark)   Can we get this year's Halloween / spooky story thread going? I need my fix, I've been jonesing all month   (fark.com) divider line
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4219 clicks; posted to Main » on 31 Oct 2012 at 9:57 AM (8 years ago)   |   Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook



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2012-11-01 2:04:39 AM  

echo5juliet: urbanexotic: That's a fantastic story, but absolutely fake. There have been different versions of it floating around Reddit, 4Chan, etc. for years.

Absolutely 100% true.


Like I said earlier, other websites have been reposting stories from here, INCLUDING urbanexotic This evening I've found several of mine. Some of them didn't credit me as the author.

Some of you copyright experts want to step in on this?
 
2012-11-01 2:52:32 AM  
Sleeping.....no longer occurring tonight.
Man, great thread.
 
2012-11-01 2:53:32 AM  
I got a lot of those dreams where I scream in it and my girlfriend has to wake me up. They're usually pretty unnerving but so long as she's there I don't worry too much and they usually they fade away pretty quickly. Most of the time it has to be a dire situation in the dream, such as the time I was captured by satanic priests and they tried to bury me on top of an altar. Often I just manage to wake myself up.

My favorite however was one where somehow we were visiting my mom and she insisted on tucking me in. And every time I'd begin to drift off (within the dream) I'd feel something grab my throat from behind. This happened a few times and my girlfriend was getting annoyed. By the third time I waited for whatever it was to grab me, leapt out of bed and felt it fall to the floor and reached over to smash it with a floor lamp. And that's when I what it was: a wind up toy duck. I just stared at it in disbelief for a minute and then it looked up at me and I heard Donald say "what?"

That was when I learned something interesting. When I'm stuck asleep and my girlfriend has to wake me up for real, she can't tell the difference between screams of distress, and howls of laughter.
 
2012-11-01 4:30:44 AM  
No idea if this thread is still alive, but I found the other story I posted here in 2005. Posted again with minor edits since we've moved and the area where this happened has changed between then and now...

I used to live in a tree-filled neighborhood between the city's two big hospitals and Oak Ridge Cemetery, where Abraham Lincoln is buried. Sometimes odd things would go on (there was a week one November where driving past Oak Ridge freaked me the hell out for no apparent reason), but one of the weirdest happened all the way across town, probably in 2003 or 2004. My brother wanted to show me around this odd little park forest that used to be situated between a cornfield, a residential area, and a commercial zone. (All of it was knocked down when they extended the southbound road toward the interstate.) He'd told me that people see/hear stuff in there, and he had just recovered from a really long streak of bad luck after trying to talk to whatever might be lurking in the woods. So he wanted me along the next time so we could see if anything happens.

We parked the car in the lot belonging to this little teenage hangout called the Asylum - which is gone now - and started walking along the road that lead to the forest. About halfway there this bald guy on a bike rides past us heading toward the forest, and the little mutt that was running behind him slows down and comes over to investigate us. We like dogs, so we gave him some petting, then kept going. He stayed with us, past the 'markers' under a defunct rail bridge that supposedly delineated the boundary of the haunted area, then stayed with us as we entered the woods themselves and started walking around. Several times he would stop me or him from going certain directions by blocking our paths and pressing against our legs. After a bit we stopped in a little clearing and looked at the sky...a couple of orange lights appeared, stayed utterly still for several moments, then faded. Dunno if they were stars behind thin clouds or what. The dog stuck with us when we emerged into the cornfield and watched a train on the other side, and stuck with us again when we went back into the forest to find the road and head back to the car.

And on the way out, again he stops us from taking certain routes, then tags along as we get to the road and walk to the rail bridge. I thanked him out loud, because at that point it seemed like he was along to guard us, but he continues to stick with us. By now we're worried that he'll follow us all the way back to the car. We're almost relieved when a couple of other people passed by us with a chow-chow and our little mutt went to greet him, but then the dog comes back just before we reach the markers. We keep walking, and halfway back to the car from the markers...what looks like the same bald guy rides past, again, heading toward the forest, again, and the dog ditches us to run after him. My brother insists this has never happened before to him, and has never heard of it happening to anyone else that's been in that forest.

I tend to apply skepticism to stuff that happens even to me, but this was just...strange. I honestly think the dog may really have been guarding us. Couldn't guess what from, but it's probably just as well that I'll never really know, now that the whole area is paved.
 
2012-11-01 5:58:23 AM  
I just stayed up fo seven hours reading all these. I had to stop in the middle and wake my aunt because it sounded like there was someone outside (living on the edge of Detroit, that is nothing to play with). But aside from that fun little interruption, this has been a wonderful thread!

Here's one of my stories.

When I lived in TN last year, close to Stones River Battlefield, I was taking my terrier out for her to do her business. I turned and looked and saw a man standing about 15 yards away in a Confederate soldier's uniform. Being the pansy I am, I promptly shrieked and nearly strangled the poor dog running so fast to get back inside. Of course my father quickly grabed his five million candle power spotlight to see if he's still there. And he wasn't. There was nobody outside at all. Not even any of the neighbors. I only ever saw that soldier once. Though driving past the official fenced in part of the battlefield I once saw a man with a rifle running at night. He was wearing a white billowy-ish shirt and dark blue or black pants. Probably another soldier running during the Battle of Murfreesboro.
 
2012-11-01 5:58:53 AM  
Late to the party, but...

One of the places I do theatre at is over 100 years old. It's been a movie theatre, a vaudeville theatre, and a bordello. It was originally two buildings that they covered the alleyway over and now it's all one. Supposedly there was a murder in the alleyway and that's one of the many ghosts that haunt this place.

My first encounter I was rehearsing a song where I had to point to the balcony. During the song I see the lights on the front of the balcony steps go out in succession like someone was running up them. So afterwards I go to the people in the tech booth and ask them not to run up the stairs during that part if they can help it, to which they told me that no one came or went from the booth during my song.

Years later I did an investigation with a friend after rehearsal one nite and we caught a lot of activity. There was knocking in answer to our questions, a chair creaked as if someone sat down, and another chair shifted. Our photos were full of orbs, as well as our video camera. There's a pic where I was taking a pic of myself with an old set sign and in the very next pic is an orb right where I stood. We also captured a shadow person but perhaps the most telling were the EVP's (we captured over 30 of them).

*We were on the stage and thanked who ever for talking to us and got "Ha, ha, ha, thank YOU!"
*We had a conversation with a little boy in the balcony (unbeknownest to us) who laughed when he cursed (he threw in a damn) and when asked "Do you like seeing the shows here?" replied "I like it very much."
*We captured humming and someone saying *something* in a smaller black box theatre, when I told a friend who had also investigated the theatre she had gotten the same thing in the same spot.
*While we were in the balcony there was a loud scream of "Get Out!" which we didn't hear. As we're finishing up we were walking down the alleyway where the murder supposedly happened and we both got the severe creeps (this is after an hour and and half at the theatre with very little truly freaking us out) and both said "We have to get out of here, now," at that point on the recorder we captured another angry "GET OUT!"

There have been a lot of stories about the theatre, anyone who spends a lot of time there, especially alone-ish have had experiances. I've heard of -
*People being on the end of a line in curtain call and their empty hand being grabbed during the bows.
*Paint cans being hit in the shop
*Footsteps and object falling in empty rooms.
*(and my favorite) Lockers in the "murder" hallway shaking with force (that one's happened more than once, they finally removed the lockers).

Below is a pic from a production that my husband directed and I music directed 6 months ago. The orb above the blonde with the teddy bear was not there in the previous shot that was taken 10 seconds before hand and does not appear in any other pic taken throughout the entire 2 hour show and cast pics.This was actually the last pic taken of the nite.

i1112.photobucket.comView Full Size
 
+10 points if you know what show this is,
 
2012-11-01 8:03:35 AM  
Bunny Deville I grew up in Clanton, but visited the Florence area many times....just no ghostly encounters there.
 
2012-11-01 8:20:34 AM  

MezzoPips: Late to the party, but...

One of the places I do theatre at is over 100 years old. It's been a movie theatre, a vaudeville theatre, and a bordello. It was originally two buildings that they covered the alleyway over and now it's all one. Supposedly there was a murder in the alleyway and that's one of the many ghosts that haunt this place.

My first encounter I was rehearsing a song where I had to point to the balcony. During the song I see the lights on the front of the balcony steps go out in succession like someone was running up them. So afterwards I go to the people in the tech booth and ask them not to run up the stairs during that part if they can help it, to which they told me that no one came or went from the booth during my song.

Years later I did an investigation with a friend after rehearsal one nite and we caught a lot of activity. There was knocking in answer to our questions, a chair creaked as if someone sat down, and another chair shifted. Our photos were full of orbs, as well as our video camera. There's a pic where I was taking a pic of myself with an old set sign and in the very next pic is an orb right where I stood. We also captured a shadow person but perhaps the most telling were the EVP's (we captured over 30 of them).

*We were on the stage and thanked who ever for talking to us and got "Ha, ha, ha, thank YOU!"
*We had a conversation with a little boy in the balcony (unbeknownest to us) who laughed when he cursed (he threw in a damn) and when asked "Do you like seeing the shows here?" replied "I like it very much."
*We captured humming and someone saying *something* in a smaller black box theatre, when I told a friend who had also investigated the theatre she had gotten the same thing in the same spot.
*While we were in the balcony there was a loud scream of "Get Out!" which we didn't hear. As we're finishing up we were walking down the alleyway where the murder supposedly happened and we both got the severe creeps (this is after an hour a ...


Bet its Urinetown.
 
2012-11-01 9:44:30 AM  
Killed the equivalent of a day and a half reading this, count me among the ones who wait all year for it. Thanks!!!
 
2012-11-01 9:47:23 AM  
Coelacanth

You sir, are the winner. That was truly riveting! Thanks for sharing.
 
2012-11-01 10:41:24 AM  
+10 super cool awesome points to you Pag1107!

My cast was super amazing and gave me chills every nite.

I'd like to think that the orb popping up in the last pic is one of the ghosts saying "Good job."
 
2012-11-01 10:58:20 AM  

Clockwork Kumquat: And there was the one morning, some time when I was in high school... I was just waking up, and I moved my head a little, and could feel something underneath my pillow. Still more or less half-asleep, I slid my hand up under the pillow and found something that to my groggy mind felt kind of like a flashlight, or something about that size and shape. I grabbed ahold of it and pulled out a cold, dead human hand and forearm. I snapped awake of course, and let out a GAAHAAAHH JEEEHEEZZ, and had a bit of a personal freakout during the few horrible seconds it took me to realize that it was my own arm, which I'd slept on in such a way that it had gone to sleep. I freaked a little more for a minute or so after that while I frantically rubbed and shook and flopped my unresponsive appendage, because while this sort of thing had happened before on occasion, it has never resulted in such complete cold, numb paralysis before, and I wasn't sure my arm hadn't actually died. The devoured-by-ants sensation as my arm finally came back to life was not pleasant, but was more welcome than anything I could imagine.

So, the closet monster, and finding a dead human arm under my pillow.


I've awakened several by being hit in the face by someone's hand, only to find out after a few seconds that it was my own. Straight-out numb, and I'd rolled over and flung my own arm into my face. It's creepy.
 
2012-11-01 12:13:27 PM  

Tharkin: Note--this is longer than I meant it to be. Sometimes I'm a little long-winded. I think it's worth a read though--it's all true and, in my opinion, pretty frigging creepy.

Here's something recent. Yesterday, actually. I can't say anything paranormal was involved, but I encountered several very strange situations in a short period of time in an unlikely area. Were they related? I don't know. Probably not. But suffice to say some bizzare shiat was happening in the woods behind my house last night.

Some context:

I live on a big hill in rural(ish) Maine. I'm a hunter, and deer season just started. I've been excited for this season because late last season I started hunting behind my house instead of another area that had gotten too crowded. I got a small buck up there at the end of last season, and this year I've seen a big one a few times and some sign that indicate it spends a fair amount of time on the hill behind me. The wife was working from home so I had a rare chance to get out during the week (I'm a stay-at-home-dad.)

Yesterday wasn't great weather--Sandy was not a big deal this far north but we did get some effects from the very outer edge of it--it was pretty windy and alternating from light rain to pounding rain off and on. I had it in my head that even though the deer likely were not moving much, *I* could move and the weather would cover my noise and scent pretty effectively. Also I thought it would be cool to say I went hunting in a hurricane. I'm kind of a dork sometimes. In short, damn if the weather was going to keep me from going out.

Anyway:

I set off at a bit after 3pm. There's an extensive network of snowmobile/ATV trails on the hill and I had only covered a small percentage of it. My plan was to walk along those trails and at least scout some new ground even if I didn't see a deer (I didn't.)

After maybe 45 minutes of walking I was well into an area I had not been before. I started walking a sort of grid pattern through a br ...


I remember reading an article a few years back that some state parks are having problems with drug addicts and bums moving into caves or building shacks in the middle of no-where. They were stealing camper's food and breaking into cabins.

I remember on another forum that someone mentioned on a camping trip being hassled by a guy that claimed he was a forest ranger, but wasn't dressed like a forest ranger. He claimed that they were camping illegally or something and they got him to go away by giving him beer and some food, they left right after because they got creepy vibes. They think it was a bum who was hungry.

If there's a park ranger office or something you should report it.
 
2012-11-01 12:41:10 PM  

Coelacanth: echo5juliet: urbanexotic: That's a fantastic story, but absolutely fake. There have been different versions of it floating around Reddit, 4Chan, etc. for years.

Absolutely 100% true.

Like I said earlier, other websites have been reposting stories from here, INCLUDING urbanexotic This evening I've found several of mine. Some of them didn't credit me as the author.

Some of you copyright experts want to step in on this?


I am not a lawyer, but I suspect that "anonymous Internet handle telling vaguely verfiable tales in a public forum' will not be a strong case.
 
2012-11-01 12:57:44 PM  
This is a bookmark 


/A haunted book mark
 
2012-11-01 1:32:39 PM  

Third_Uncle_Eno: Lord Dimwit [TotalFark]

I'm going to post all my ghost stories that happened to me personally, and then two more that I heard from close friends:

2. Also in the Luxembourg apartment - my television would turn itself on randomly. I would go to the bathroom or the kitchen or something and come back and the TV would be on. One time I was just sitting there reading and the TV turned itself on right in front of me. The remote was across the room.

some more expensive older tvs from the 70's had old school remotes (before the infra red) with a "chime" type thing in them, where you hit the "power" button on the remote and it resonates something in the tv at a certain frequency and turns it on. not sure on the exact science of it. any one back me up on this?


It wasn't that old of a TV (definitely of late 90s vintage), and I'm pretty sure the remote was infrared. That being said, I'm not *positive* the remote was infrared, so yeah, it was probably just a neighbor's remote or something. Or a power surge.

The knocking at the window was probably the radiator (although it did always seem to stop when I said something or right when I got to the window), but yeah. Probably the radiator.

I really don't have an explanation for the radio's being on in the formal living room. My father may have turned it on, but I remember not hearing it and then suddenly hearing it, and I was the only one home; my father had been gone for hours. Plus, as I said, we never went into that room. I don't even know if we knew that stereo worked.
 
2012-11-01 3:53:45 PM  
WhiskeyBender

I just have to point out that Shawn Harmless is my cousin. I don't see that side of the family much at all, but I recognized the name immediately. That really made my day when I saw it yesterday!
 
2012-11-01 4:12:11 PM  

pkellmey: On weekends during the high school years in the 1980s, my brother and his friends would go for very long drives on every country road or dirt track he could find in southern Illinois and Missouri to listen to road music and kill time. One afternoon, they were more than a half hour away from the nearest small town, driving down a single lane dirt road owned by the county, with tall corn stalks on either side of the road. A man in a dark black suit and dark sunglasses suddenly stepped out of the corn on the side of the road about 100 yards in front of them and just stood into the middle of the road, facing them. As they got closer, they saw that he held a shotgun in front of him pointing at the sky. Freaked out, but curious teens, they quickly slowed to a stop in front of him. The man looked closely at the car, then walked around to the open driver side window. He looked toward the back of the car and the teens looked in the rearview mirror to see two similarly dressed and armed men step out from corn fields on either side of the road just behind the car and just stood there behind the car. The man at the window leaned over and looked in the car and asked in a casual tone, "Do you kids know where you are?" The teen driver quickly said, "No, sir." The man instructed, "Then why don't you just turn around and drive away. Pretend you never saw us here." The man nodded to the other men, who then stepped back on either side of the road and the car backed up and turned around. The driver floored it and went back the way they came. In the rearview mirror they watched as the men stepped back onto the road until the car was nearly out of sight and then they stepped back into the cornfields. Over the next few weeks, the teens asked around about the area from the locals, but everyone else who had driven the road had no idea what they were talking about. To this day they have no idea what was going on.


Could have been a grow-op and you might have stumbled upon them harvesting.

Corn and MJ grow at the same rate, so some farmers will plant corn around the outside of their fields and then plant a bunch of MJ in the middle. The plants grow together and the corn blocks anyone from seeing the MJ. Rumor has it that the Amish in Lancaster, PA are notorious for this.

I heard a story involving a friend of a friend (as it always is) claiming that they went hiking in the woods and stumbled upon a huge field of MJ plants. Seeing no one around and being dumb potheads they dug one up and took it home with them.

Next day they hear a knock on their door, answer it.

Standing there are 2 huge dudes, one calmly says "I believe you have something that belongs to us." They hand over the plant and the guys drive away.

/most MJ is actually grown on federal parkland that is way out in the middle of nowhere, so it isn't implausible for someone to stumble upon a field if they go off-trail, the random showing up the next day I doubt.
//Yes you could see it from the air, but this happens in rural areas so good luck with finding a helicopter
 
2012-11-01 4:53:34 PM  

shortymac: Could have been a grow-op and you might have stumbled upon them harvesting.

Corn and MJ grow at the same rate, so some farmers will plant corn around the outside of their fields and then plant a bunch of MJ in the middle. The plants grow together and the corn blocks anyone from seeing the MJ. Rumor has it that the Amish in Lancaster, PA are notorious for this.

I heard a story involving a friend of a friend (as it always is) claiming that they went hiking in the woods and stumbled upon a huge field of MJ plants. Seeing no one around and being dumb potheads they dug one up and took it home with them.

Next day they hear a knock on their door, answer it.

Standing there are 2 huge dudes, one calmly says "I believe you have something that belongs to us." They hand over the plant and the guys drive away.

/most MJ is actually grown on federal parkland that is way out in the middle of nowhere, so it isn't implausible for someone to stumble upon a field if they go off-trail, the random showing up the next day I doubt.
//Yes you could see it from the air, but this happens in rural areas so good luck with finding a helicopter


Fun MJ-in-the-cornfield fact from dairy country: Often people will plant a few MJ plants in the middle of cornfields without the permission of the farmer. The trick is to know when the corn will be chopped, so you can sneak out and harvest your plants first. If you aren't successful, the farmer will just chop it up with the corn, and feed it to the cows.

Not all happy cows are from California.
 
2012-11-01 5:02:57 PM  

namegoeshere: shortymac: Could have been a grow-op and you might have stumbled upon them harvesting.

Corn and MJ grow at the same rate, so some farmers will plant corn around the outside of their fields and then plant a bunch of MJ in the middle. The plants grow together and the corn blocks anyone from seeing the MJ. Rumor has it that the Amish in Lancaster, PA are notorious for this.

I heard a story involving a friend of a friend (as it always is) claiming that they went hiking in the woods and stumbled upon a huge field of MJ plants. Seeing no one around and being dumb potheads they dug one up and took it home with them.

Next day they hear a knock on their door, answer it.

Standing there are 2 huge dudes, one calmly says "I believe you have something that belongs to us." They hand over the plant and the guys drive away.

/most MJ is actually grown on federal parkland that is way out in the middle of nowhere, so it isn't implausible for someone to stumble upon a field if they go off-trail, the random showing up the next day I doubt.
//Yes you could see it from the air, but this happens in rural areas so good luck with finding a helicopter

Fun MJ-in-the-cornfield fact from dairy country: Often people will plant a few MJ plants in the middle of cornfields without the permission of the farmer. The trick is to know when the corn will be chopped, so you can sneak out and harvest your plants first. If you aren't successful, the farmer will just chop it up with the corn, and feed it to the cows.

Not all happy cows are from California.


Oh wow, I didn't know that. I always thought the farmers were in on the take.
 
2012-11-01 5:07:38 PM  

shortymac: namegoeshere: shortymac: Could have been a grow-op and you might have stumbled upon them harvesting.

Corn and MJ grow at the same rate, so some farmers will plant corn around the outside of their fields and then plant a bunch of MJ in the middle. The plants grow together and the corn blocks anyone from seeing the MJ. Rumor has it that the Amish in Lancaster, PA are notorious for this.

I heard a story involving a friend of a friend (as it always is) claiming that they went hiking in the woods and stumbled upon a huge field of MJ plants. Seeing no one around and being dumb potheads they dug one up and took it home with them.

Next day they hear a knock on their door, answer it.

Standing there are 2 huge dudes, one calmly says "I believe you have something that belongs to us." They hand over the plant and the guys drive away.

/most MJ is actually grown on federal parkland that is way out in the middle of nowhere, so it isn't implausible for someone to stumble upon a field if they go off-trail, the random showing up the next day I doubt.
//Yes you could see it from the air, but this happens in rural areas so good luck with finding a helicopter

Fun MJ-in-the-cornfield fact from dairy country: Often people will plant a few MJ plants in the middle of cornfields without the permission of the farmer. The trick is to know when the corn will be chopped, so you can sneak out and harvest your plants first. If you aren't successful, the farmer will just chop it up with the corn, and feed it to the cows.

Not all happy cows are from California.

Oh wow, I didn't know that. I always thought the farmers were in on the take.


Nah, not always. It pisses them off, actually.
 
2012-11-01 5:20:36 PM  

thecpt: Aside from my usual sleeping paralysis which I cannot convey how terrifying it is even though I know what is happening time and time again, my mom told me this story of me when I was 5:

She walked by my bedroom around 10:00 (was asleep for an hour) and heard me crying. She said I had a normal day so she peaked in just to ask me what was wrong. I was sitting up balling my eyes out and when she sat down at my side and asked "what's wrong" I exclaimed "IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN AGAIN."

'What is?"

"I'm going to grow up, I'm going to marry someone. I'm going to have kids and grow old. THEN I'M GOING TO LOSE IT ALL, AGAIN. EVERYONE. I'm going to lose everyone I love and not see them ever again. I'm going to lose you, dad, (brother's name), (pet's name), granny, EVERYONE. WHY? It's so unfair."

"Everything is going to be fine"

"NO IT WON'T BE"


I didn't say anything else after that and kept crying until I went asleep silently. Next day I was good as new, and I can only remember the incident faintly. I just remember crying uncontrollably one night, which crying as a whole was rare for me because I was a really happy kid who played with lego until I fell asleep. The only reason she brought it up was because there was an episode of Oprah or Dr. Phil were they interviewed people who experienced something like this with their young children.

I didn't pluck this one off the internet and I'm not making it up. There is no value in creepy stories to me unless they come from a sincere teller who speaks of an experience. I think previous lives is a cool concept, but all that being said I'm not sure I believe it. Still, I wouldn't have just said all of that stuff. The only things that scared me or provoked my imagination when I was a kid were aliens and spiders.


This reminds me of something that my Mother told me that my son had told her on one of his weekend visits. He had gone to bed around 9 and Mom and Dad were downstairs watching some late night show later and Simon came downstairs and climbed up onto the couch next to Pat (Mom). He proceeded to tell her about his wife and their farm in Russia (we are from and live in Ohio), their garden and animals, and their children. He told her about the soldiers staying outside of their town. He was 4 years old at the time.

She still brings that up every now and again.

And no, he had not seen Dr. Zhivago at that point.

Love the annual Halloween thread! Last year's really creeped me out.

Fishy and some of the other stories are a spooky pleasure to read year in and year out. Thanks to Lawrence for posting links to the past Halloween threads.

=]
 
2012-11-01 5:44:18 PM  
Thanks to everyone for providing an excuse to get absolutely nothing done yesterday. Because of power outages we won't have Trick or Treat until Sunday, so you guize gave me some welcome shivers on Halloween Night! :) Oh yeah, did I mention that when I went to the grocery store my total was 66.66? I may have...dunno...too much wine yesterday! (Can I blame you guize?) K thanks!
 
2012-11-01 6:00:11 PM  
This is kinda lame compared to some of the other stories here, but I'll share anyway...also, sorry for being late to this party!

I'm not big on scary movies. Mostly because I think 99% of them are ignorant, cheesy, stupid, and just plain not scary. Anyhow, back when The Ring first came out I had a friend tell me about it and the premise alone sounded completely ridiculous to me. A video that kills people? Give me a farkin break!! Fast forward a couple months, and I am going to spend then evening with my then girlfriend. We had the house all to ourselves, she made dinner and had rented some movies. When I saw she got the Ring, I was annoyed but i watched it with her anyway figuring I'd parlay the "scary" movie into a good make out session.

Well, I got into the movie. And truth be told....it really creeped me out. After the movie, we went downstairs to grab some drinks and snacks. her folks had this old tv in thier kitchen that "had not worked in years" and as far as everyone in the family knew, the tv was even unplugged. So there's a bunch of shiat stached on and around this old television that didn't work. As I am going down stairs I see the blue/white light coming from the kitchen and realize the tv is on and static. I was COMPLETELY TERRIFIED. I reluctantly walked up to it and just shut it off and that was that....but I cannot express how scared I was that the old non working tv was on!!
 
2012-11-01 6:01:48 PM  
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This is the house I grew up in. My parents bought the house in 1992 and my siblings and I sold it in 2010 shortly after we inherited it. My room was in the basement behind the windows to the lower right. My sister's room was right above mine, my brother's was directly across the hall. My parent's room was to the right of my brother's (from this perspective, anyway). For most of the time, our lives there were as ordinary as anyone could ask for. For most of the time. Shortly after we moved in, I saw something I cannot explain. I was standing in the hallway between the upstairs bedrooms looking towards the foyer. My sister was standing next to the stairs leading down to the basement, and standing next to her was something. Something that wasn't my brother or either of my parents. I only caught a glimpse of it as I was looking away and when I looked back it was gone. I told my sister about it years later and she had no memory of seeing anything out of the ordinary like I had described.

The only other unusual thing to happen to me occurred in the basement, in my room. I was sitting on my bed with my back to the headboard doing homework or building a LEGO set. All I can clearly remember is that I was sitting indian style and looking downward. The weather outside was of the sort that hinted of an approaching storm, but none had yet arrived. It was windy and cloudy but not raining or thundering yet. As if to announce the storms arrival, a single bolt of light shot across my room from the window to the opposite wall. The bolt was feet from my head and scared the hell out of me. I didn't stick around long enough to check for damage to the wall (or window) and hauled ass upstairs to the kitchen where there were other people. Upon arrival back to my room later that evening I saw no visible damage to either wall or window. I knew I had seen something though, something startling enough to scare me out of there.

Neither of these stories can hold a candle to what my brother and mom experienced after my sister and I had moved on to college. When a house like that only has two residents (my parents by this time had divorced) imaginations can run wild. But can two imaginations create the same illusions? After my father, sister and I moved away, my brother and mom started to hear things. Most could probably be attributed to the cat(s) but one night they both distinctly heard a baby crying. There was no baby. The neighbors did not have young children or grandchildren to cause such a noise, which had sounded as if it were inside the house. It was heard numerous times.

Then my brother moved to college. By this time I was already married and living in Atlanta and my sister was living in NYC. My mom was then the only resident of the house. We spoke as often as we could and when the conversation led to how things were at home she would say something as innocent as "fine". Most of the time. I got a call from her one day, and during the conversation "fine" was not used to describe how things were at home. She had awoken in the middle of the night to a man standing over her bed.

I miss that house.
 
2012-11-01 6:28:06 PM  
This is by no means a book mark,,.. But is it?
 
2012-11-01 9:38:25 PM  

namegoeshere: Was he very tall and thin? Because Slenderman. Who, yes, is a recent made-up urban legend whose origins are modern and traceable. Except tulpa.


I wouldn't say he was particularly tall or thin. Not beyond the normal range of people anyhow. Just normal-sized.

I don't know anything about Slenderman. I had never heard of Tulpa either, but I read part of the article you linked. Are you implying that I had somehow created a Tulpa or thoughtform?

I don't think that the man I saw was any sort of apparition or anything like that. I'm pretty sure it was a flesh-and-blood person. I just cannot for the life of me imagine why he was there, what he was doing, or why he'd have chosen that time to do it. It really is a very out-of-the-way area, and while it's not exactly difficult to get to, it's not someplace you're going to just casually wind up in if you're out for a stroll. Plus the weather. He certainly would have had to expend some concious effort and go through some difficulty to be in that place at that time. There has to be some reason for it, but I can't help but think the reason was as bizzare as the circumstances.
 
2012-11-01 10:15:44 PM  
Nothing all that scary, but I have a simple story. A ghost in the hallway outside the bedroom has been getting more and more active, with no real sense of malice from it. On Tuesday, I had an important Midterm, but I haven't been sleeping well (chronic insomnia issues are my joy. They get worse under stress.) so I had a nap in the morning. I was supposed to get up at 11:30, but kept resetting my alarm, etc, not coming out of sleep enough to get the willpower to get up, just enough to turn the alarm off.

This continued until 12:30, when I heard what sounded like a dumpster full of pots and pans going down the stairs, startling me awake. It was ridiculously loud- I was in a full on deep sleep, and I'm a heavy sleeper (I used to sleep through howitzer fire, literally), but I was up like a shot.

A happy feeling in the hallway, almost like laughter, hit me as I walked out to get ready, so I said "Thanks for waking me up!" And carried on. The presence has been much friendlier than usual since.
 
2012-11-01 10:28:13 PM  

Tharkin: namegoeshere: Was he very tall and thin? Because Slenderman. Who, yes, is a recent made-up urban legend whose origins are modern and traceable. Except tulpa.

I don't know anything about Slenderman. I had never heard of Tulpa either, but I read part of the article you linked. Are you implying that I had somehow created a Tulpa or thoughtform?


It takes a heck of a lot of energy and time for a single person to create a tulpa. But with the collective power of the internet and all the people believing in Slendy and not realizing he was created in a SomethingAwful thread, there is more than enough energy to create something nasty.Plus with the collective energy of many people used to create it, no one person is in control. That makes for something very dangerous.
 
2012-11-01 10:50:18 PM  

echo5juliet: I'm catching up on questions now that I'm out of work. Damn lab is a black hole.

StaceyNC:
Were you driving on Kelbaker Road or the National Trails Highway?

It happened on Kelbaker Rd part way between Nat Trails and I-40. When you get up in the highest elevation part of Kelbaker Rd before dropping down to meet I-40. One reason why I want to go back (with a bazooka) is to find the exact spot. Didn't have GPS back then. Didn't have a cellphone either.



Google has mapped the entire stretch of Kelbaker road...so if you have time, you could just follow it from your computer. The pics are from 2009 and the whole stretch looks like scrub desert, The road also has a wide shoulder except in a few places. Must have been much different in 1989.

Still it was a wise move to boogie out of there. From what you say there were more thugs than bullets in your 9mm and some of them might have been carrying.
 
2012-11-01 10:51:23 PM  

Tharkin: namegoeshere: Was he very tall and thin? Because Slenderman. Who, yes, is a recent made-up urban legend whose origins are modern and traceable. Except tulpa.

I wouldn't say he was particularly tall or thin. Not beyond the normal range of people anyhow. Just normal-sized.

I don't know anything about Slenderman. I had never heard of Tulpa either, but I read part of the article you linked. Are you implying that I had somehow created a Tulpa or thoughtform?

I don't think that the man I saw was any sort of apparition or anything like that. I'm pretty sure it was a flesh-and-blood person. I just cannot for the life of me imagine why he was there, what he was doing, or why he'd have chosen that time to do it. It really is a very out-of-the-way area, and while it's not exactly difficult to get to, it's not someplace you're going to just casually wind up in if you're out for a stroll. Plus the weather. He certainly would have had to expend some concious effort and go through some difficulty to be in that place at that time. There has to be some reason for it, but I can't help but think the reason was as bizzare as the circumstances.


Probably a hobo then! Please talk to a park ranger or local authority about a strange man in the woods. Don't know if it's a meth lab out there
 
2012-11-01 11:10:01 PM  
I know I said earlier I only had one story, but there is actually one more weird but true story that happened to me about 25 years ago:

When I first got married, my wife and I lived in a 2 story farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere in northeastern Missouri. We lived in an upstairs "apartment" of sorts, and my parents lived downstairs.My nephew, who was around 9, was also staying with us for awhile. If you've ever spent much time in the rural areas of northeastern Missouri, you know there's absolutely NOTHING to do. Where we lived, there was only one TV channel. Boring as hell. The only thing there was to do was to take walks. Our house had two old dirt paths you could walk down from our yard. One was toward an abandoned country schoolhouse, and the other was to an unmaintained pioneer graveyard that hadn't seen a burial since the middle 20th century, and most of the graves were real boot-hill numbers from the 1800s. Supposedly, the graveyard began when a wagon train was moving through and two little girls died of tuberculosis. The family just buried them there and moved on. Pretty soon, others began burying their dead there as well, and a cemetery was born. Another interesting thing about this graveyard was that you didn't know you were in it, until you were right in the middle of it. This is because it was on top of this plateau that stuck out of a steep hillside. You walked down the path, down a very steep hill, and back up another very steep hill, and when you got to the end of the path, you popped up right in the middle of the graveyard. It was a creepy place, even in the daytime, but pretty interesting. I never felt like going up there at night, though.

So one summer day, my wife, my nephew and I decided to hike to the cemetery because we had nothing better to do. We'd been up there countless times before and knew every inch of it like the backs of our hands, but we went anyway. Once we got there, we were walking around, checking out the old grave markers through the tall weeds, and near this old derelict shed, I noticed something I hadn't seen before, sticking up out of the ground. I went over to check it out, and tapped it with my foot to see if it would move. It was very old rotted wood, and the top of it was splintered upwards, as if something had knocked a hole through it from the underside. I'm standing there looking at this thing for a bit and then I make out the angled sides and I realize what I'm looking at. It's an old plain wood coffin, sticking up maybe 18 inches out of the ground at about a 30 degree angle. I said "holy shiat... this is a coffin", or something to that effect. My wife and nephew were right next to me, and both were looking right at it. It kind of gave us the jubblies and we decided to boogie on home.

Once I got back home, I told my dad what we'd seen, and my wife & nephew corroborated it. He was skeptical, so I said "let's go take a look. I'll show you right now". So dad & I went up to the cemetery right after I had just been there. I went over to the same exact spot where I'd seen it, and there wasn't even the slightest trace anything had ever been sticking out of the ground. No disturbed dirt, no wood fragments, nothing. We even walked around that entire area in case I might've missed it, which really wouldn't have been possible. There was just no trace. I continued to go up there from time to time, but I never spotted it again. But it was either really there for a brief time when all three of us were looking at it, or we were all having the same hallucination.
 
2012-11-02 1:00:54 AM  
Day late, but this is one of my favorite stories from another site. The site has true and made up tales mixed together, but doesn't say which is which. Long but good.


There was an old farmhouse that, until it was torn down a few years ago, stood in the middle of a three-acre plot of land in Afton, Wyoming. At the time, the land belonged to my wife's grandparents, who had purchased the otherwise barren expanse in the spring of 1982 with the intent of building a home on the northwest edge of the property closest to the main road. The home was built, the perimeter fenced, and the rest of the land kept for the horses they owned. After toying with the idea of renovating the sixty- year-old farmhouse and turning it into a guest cottage, they decided against it and now only used it for additional storage space.

In the summer of 1997, my wife and I received an invitation from her grandparents to spend a few days at their home, and so we packed our overnight bags and made the three-hour drive from our home in Utah, looking forward to a weekend spent taking in the rustic scenery and relaxing.

For the record, I have always had a fascination with the paranormal, but my interests have been rooted in its more mundane aspects: horror movies, scary novels, and the occasional worthwhile TV documentary. My wife Jane, on the other hand, has always been a more willing participant in the pursuit of such topics and, as a result of her forays into the world of "ghost hunting", boasts a collection of self-taken spirit photographs to complement her library archives of EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomenon) audio recordings. The phenomena of ghost photography--a pursuit that's been around since the invention of the camera itself- -is something that, to my practical and reasoning mind, can often be dismissed as nothing more than double-exposure, the reflection of light, or water spots on a camera lens. What really captured my imagination, however, were the audio recordings. Some of the anomalies that I have heard on these tapes could easily be written off using more earthbound than otherworldly explanations, yet there are some that even a rational mind must admit are beyond the scope of common experience and understanding. In any case, beyond having heard or read about such occurrences, I had never had a personal experience with the paranormal. Not until the weekend that we spent at my wife's grandparents' home, in July of 1997.

We arrived in Afton late on a Friday evening, and after a few cups of coffee and conversation with the grandparents, we decided to turn in. Laying awake in bed talking, not quite able to sleep just yet, our conversation turned to the old farmhouse that stood about fifty yards off the south side of the house. This was my first visit here, and I was as much enticed by the farmhouse's seemingly ancient, decrepit beauty as I was impressed by its subtle yet unmistakable air of foreboding. I mentioned to Jane how creepy it had looked to me under the light of the full moon as we approached the house, and how perfect a setting it seemed for the types of hauntings I was ever so fond of reading about on dark wintry nights. I asked her what it was like inside. She responded by telling me she didn't know, she had never been inside. I found this strange, what with my wife's seemingly voracious appetite for all things frightening, not to mention the inner fortitude she'd always displayed in braving cemeteries at night armed only with flashlight, tape recorder, and loaded Nikon. Her answer was simple: "Grandpa's never let me inside. He's afraid the roof might cave in on me." With that, my curiosity was assuaged. But at breakfast the next morning, the germ of a notion that I'd planted in her head was alive and kicking and she broached the subject with her grandfather.

"It's a dangerous place, there's bats in the attic and I don't want you poking around in there," was all he would say when asked about it, attempting to turn the conversation from the subject at hand by asking if we wanted to ride the horses after breakfast. You have to know my wife the way I know her to understand that this would not satiate her curiosity, and you also have to know how persistent she can be to understand my mild shock when she simply let the subject lie.

An hour after breakfast, strolling out toward the horse stable for a midmorning ride, she turned to me with a mischievous gleam and informed me that we would be "investigating the old farmhouse" just as soon as Grandpa headed into town for groceries. I took this about as well as someone who's been informed of impending oral surgery, but I also knew better than to resist her will or let her go alone. The last thing I wanted on this quiet weekend was an upset wife or--far less--an injured one, so I acquiesced.

The sun was straight overhead and beating down hot as we approached the doorway of the old farmhouse with nothing but our wits in tow. I hesitated at the entrance, casting a glance over my shoulder to ensure no lectures about venturing into unsound structures would be delivered over dinner that night, but Jane walked straight in like a woman with a mission. I followed her inside, nearly tripping over a horse saddle that had been left just inside the doorway. The doorless entryway opened up to a fairly large room crowded with old cardboard boxes, and a large worktable stacked with bridles and old horse saddles. To the right, there was yet another doorway that led into a much smaller room (a bedroom, I supposed). The way into this room was made impenetrable by more stacks of boxes and crates. Off to the left, I saw an even smaller doorway that exposed a rickety flight of stairs leading, presumably, to the attic above.

The interior was fairly well-lit by the large cracked picture window that had at some point (and for reasons I never discovered) been painted over but was now badly peeling. The first thing I noticed was how the previous occupants had apparently plastered draft-holes in the walls with what appeared to be old newspaper. Closer inspection proved my initial assumption to be true, and I discovered the dates on the newspapers went as far back as the early 1930s.

Jane, now also having discovered the aged newspaper that crammed the draft-holes in the walls, was attempting to flatten out a large torn portion of a strip of newspaper that announced the destruction of the Hindenburg in Lakehurst in 1937. She called me over and we stood there marveling at it. I was mid-sentence, decrying the use of such a historical headline as hole-fodder, when we heard the thump overhead. In retrospect I wish we'd had a video- camera to record my reaction to this sound, because I nearly jumped out of my skin and my motions, although betrayed by my desire to remain cool in the situation, displayed a willingness to race headlong out the entryway of that place. But my legs and feet, loyal to my inner workings, took only a single step before falling into compliance.

Heads now turned upward to the blackened wood overhead, I started to mutter "Did you hear that" when Jane cut me off with a swatting of her arm and a sharp "Shhhhh!" Dead silence ensued for the next thirty seconds as we stood there, frozen, until I finally spoke again in a whisper. "Could be the bats your grandfather warned us about, let's go." But she would not be moved, her will would not be shaken. I was about to fire off some crack about the woes of having a ghostbuster for a wife when it came again, this time more distinct, not directly overhead but further toward the back of the structure, as of something in the far corner of the attic above our heads. Bats fly, I thought to myself, they don't walk and they certainly don't lay heavy footfalls in their wake. Immediately our heads turned toward the doorway to our left, the doorway leading to the short flight of steps into the attic. I asked her if she thought it could be a cat, or a bat finally given up the ghost of hanging upside down from a rafter in 100 degree temperature, but the silence of her response only served to shake me up all the more when it came a third time, actually loosening dirt from the rafters and punctuated by what I can only describe as a dragging shuffle on the floorboards overhead.

That was enough for me. I took hold of Jane's arm and gave a firm tug. "Let's go." But I know my wife, and I ought to have known better than that. Eyes still fixed on the first three steps leading up to the attic, head cocked sideways in an almost comical manner straining to hear, she whispered: "It sounds like there's someone up there." Now, I don't know about most people, but I don't do well with declarations such as those, under circumstances such as these. Anything bearing an even remote similarity to the typical fright-fest dialogue of "They're coming to get you" or (heaven forbid) "They're here" and I'm a running fool with feet flying out ahead of me like a leaper over hot coals. But I suppose that I would willingly trade bearing sole witness to any of those proclamations in exchange for what we heard next, which is something that my rational mind still grapples with, something that if I live to be 100 I will never, ever forget. The voice was soft, and low, muffled by the rafters and the overhead floorboards that separated us from the attic, and it called the words: "David, is that you?"

One moment we were in that dark, stuffy farmhouse, the next we were out in the bright sunlight with the breeze blowing in our faces as we stepped lively through the tall grass back toward the main house. It was that quick, that synchronous. At a moment when I must have realized that whatever courage I had would hold up no further and decided it was better to run than stand, Jane had also reached her threshold of tolerance and we both got the hell out of there. One very important fact--and I state this for the record--my name is not David, nor is her grandfather named David, nor do either of us know anyone by that name; strange as it may seem, the name being such a common one. What's even stranger is that you might think, once away from whatever danger we may have been in or imagined we were in, within the safety of sunlight and the dependabilities of the concrete world, we would have felt a rush of exhilaration or adrenaline--but it was quite the opposite. You'd think that we would have found ourselves a safe space somewhere and sat talking about what we had heard, or what we thought we had heard, but we didn't. We simply turned heels quickly, left, and not another mention of the experience was had that day until we found ourselves in bed again late that night, unable to sleep and unable to forget.

She brought up the topic gently, almost as if expecting me to stammer out a request to close the subject and leave it that way, but I found that once removed from the situation I was able to confront it with a little more ease. I told her what I thought I'd heard, and danced around a million different possible explanations for what it could have been- -everything from fillings in our teeth picking up a nearby radio station, to an old phonograph player that could have been stored up there and could have fallen over after fifty years and scratched out a snippet of song whose lyrics we mistakenly took to be some ghostly voice from beyond. I figured it was much easier to believe either of those scenarios than to consider any otherworldly possibility, but the explanation that occurred to Jane as we lay there in bed, sleepless, was a bit more frightening than any. "Maybe there's someone living up there that my grandparents don't know about," she said, and a look of startled concern came over her face.

The idea sent shivers up and down my spine, offering up images of escaped mental patients creeping onto unsuspecting people's properties in the dead of night clad in flowing hospital gowns, and it alarmed me to the point where I actually got out of bed, stood at the window looking out onto the property offering a clear view of the moonwashed farmhouse, and actually considered either going out there with a baseball bat in hand or calling the local police to check it out. But we could have been mistaken in what we heard, there could have been a rational explanation, and the last thing I wanted to do (apart from admitting to her grandfather that we had betrayed his wishes to keep out) was call the police to investigate the overactive imaginings of a young married couple. They'd probably ask us to provide urine samples for our troubles, and that was one place I didn't want to go.

So we determined that at daybreak, we would go out to investigate yet again. This time as we approached the farmhouse--not having mentioned our concerns to her grandparents for fear of causing probable undue worry--I was armed with a short-handled shovel I'd found lying on the grass and Jane, not entirely convinced the sounds had come from any earthly emanations, with a long-handled flashlight and the mini-cassette recorder she rarely left home without.

Our second entrance in as many days through the doorway of the farmhouse proved to be a lot more ordinary than my imagination had fancied it might be, and the notion that someone may have actually taken up residence in that ramshackle pile of sticks was quickly put to rest on second look at the conditions of the old house, and the likeliness that anyone attempting to climb up the flight of stairs leading to the attic would most likely crash through the rotted wood and break a leg, or worse. We stood listening in silence for what seemed like an eternity but what was most likely a few minutes. Nothing, no sounds except for the occasional crack of the old blackened wood settling. We decided that since we had come this far, we were damned if we were going to leave without a good and thorough search and so we set about the task of figuring out a way to ascend the steps leading to the attic.

I'd spotted a fairly fresh plank of wood about six feet long, two feet wide, and three inches thick, lying in the yard of the farmhouse as we approached, so I came up with the idea that perhaps we could lay the plank lengthwise across the top of the steps and crawl our way up. Jane's first attempt at laying any weight on the board caused a groan of the old woodwork underneath so severe that I insisted on attempting to reinforce it from below with several odd-length two-by-fours I'd also spotted in the yard outside. (We worked quietly in the light of early dawn, aware that to be caught rooting around like children in the old farmhouse against her grandfather's wishes would earn us a severe talking-to.)

Finally, after about half an hour, we had constructed our ascension ramp and, after another five minutes quietly arguing over who should be the first to go, I was shuffling up the length of the plank on my hands and knees, shovel at the ready. Jane's insistence that she should be the first to go was quietly overruled by my proclamations that if there actually were some crazy person living in the attic, the person with a weapon of defense ought to be the first to check it out. She finally consented--grudgingly so, for I have married a woman with the courage of two men--and with only a fleeting hesitation I was up and on my way. By this time the sun had emerged and the sunlight cast through the holes in the roof was good enough so that I could see everything before me. As I stood on the floorboards of the attic, determining if they were in well enough shape to sustain my body weight, I scanned the large area before me, shovel at the ready, probably looking like some deranged baseball player or a character in an old Sam Raimi flick. Strange how the fear which had gripped me the day before had now been swept away, and in its place something much stronger, borne most likely from the instinct to fight rather than flee, or the inexplicable instinct of territoriality over a place I'd never even been before.

When I look back on it I honestly don't know what I was expecting to see up there in the attic--but whatever it may have been, whether flesh and bone or otherwise, there was nothing to be found. Only the time-ravaged, weather-worn leftovers of the previous tenants' storage, which amounted to nothing more than a severely rusted bedspring, an equally old mattress leaning askew against the near wall, a scattering of empty crates, and a decrepit rocking chair that sat in the farthest corner of the attic facing the wall.

I stood there staring at the back of that chair until Jane's voice, directly behind me, startled me out of my daze. "So much for your phonograph theory." I turned around to find that as I'd stood there taking an inventory of the space before me, she had made her way up the plank and into the attic with me. She was aiming the beam of her flashlight and scanning every inch of the attic space before us. I followed its movements and acknowledged the absence of any overturned phonograph player I dreamt may have been responsible for what we'd heard. "So much for our stranger in the attic theory," I added, motioning to the inch-thick layer of dust that covered every visible square foot of the floorboards. If anyone had been in the attic, it was a long, long time before we had ever arrived. I'm not sure how long we stood there, but it was long enough for the two of us to determine that our notions (my notions) of homeless squatters or escaped mental patients seeking shelter--or bats, for that matter-- were completely unfounded.

As we turned to begin our descent back down our makeshift ramp, Jane stopped and fished a blank cassette out of her pocket and inserted it into the recorder. I said something like "Hey, don't bother, we're leaving" but she informed me that she was going to leave the micro-cassette behind in RECORD mode. She set it down on one of the floorboards just inside the attic entryway. "Just to satisfy my curiosity," she said. And we left.

We never did fess up to what we had been up to that day, or the day previous, when having dinner with Jane's grandparents later that evening. Nor did we tell them about the sounds we'd heard, or the voice we thought we had heard. We were set to head back home early the following morning and we both agreed it was far better to exchange pleasantries on the final evening of our visit rather than to choke the air with questions about previous tenants, the history of the land, or the possibility of spirits that linger after death. According to Jane, things like that didn't go over too well with her grandfather, who was, she said--in his youth as well as in all the time that she had known him--more practical-minded and rational than I ever was. Coming from Jane, I took this as a compliment.

We realized that in order to retrieve the cassette recorder Jane had left behind, we would not only have to brave the rickety ramp of our invention once again, but we'd also have to make it out there early enough so that her grandparents wouldn't see us. We also decided that it would be best to take apart the makeshift ramp, lest proof of our actions be discovered. So we resolved to wake up half an hour before dawn and sneak out to the old farmhouse one last time.

When we got there, this time stepping our way through the dark with the aid of Jane's flashlight, everything was just as we'd left it. No signs of any ghostly disturbance, no violently overturned boxes, no footprints in the dust other than those we'd created ourselves. I cautiously but hurriedly crawled my way up the wooden plank, reached a hand into the darkness, and retrieved the cassette recorder which was in the exact place Jane had left it the day before. We quietly removed the reinforcement two-by-fours and set them on the wooden floor in a neat pile, followed by the six-foot plank itself, which came easily enough and which we leaned against the inside wall.

I was just setting about the task of patting the dust and dirt from my pants legs when it came again. The same sudden, sharp thump that we had heard two days prior. My first thought was that Jane must have heard something moving up there before the thump sounded, because when I looked at her, her head was already turned upwards and her eyes were fixed on the attic entrance directly above us. My eyes followed her stare and I looked up, but there was nothing discernible in the darkness beyond the threshold. This time it was Jane's turn to speak first, and she began to ask me if I'd heard it too but her words broke off when another thud, this time more jarring than the first, almost violent in its force, sent a fistful of dust shooting from the rafters. The horrible, sickening shuffling sound came next, and the image that entered my mind then was that of someone, or something, dragging itself across the floor almost directly over our heads, approaching the attic entry. This time there was no resistance, no arguments to be put up against turning tail and leaving that place behind us for good. In an instant the two of us were stumbling through the dark toward the front entrance and within five seconds we were back out into the cool predawn air. But in the cage of memory, instants can sometimes stretch the length of an eternity, and impressions can sometimes last a lifetime--for as we passed through the doorway of the old farmhouse for the last time, we heard the voice again, this time much closer, coming from atop the attic stairs where we had stood only seconds ago, this time much clearer-- raspy, nearly gravelly, calling after us. And the words it said were "David... I saw you!"

In the time it took to clear half the distance between the old farmhouse and the grandparents' home--a mere fifty yards--I had managed to regain most of my composure and had slowed my trot to a brisk walk, though still casting furtive glances over my shoulder, ensuring my rational self that all was good, all was well in the world, and that nothing had taken up chase. Crazy thought, I know, but it was one that occurred to me and I wouldn't be surprised if it had occurred to Jane as well, despite her outward calm demeanor.

Jane had stopped about ten feet short of her grandparents' back porch and was studying the micro-cassette recorder closely. "It was turned off," she said, "halfway through the tape. As if someone shut it off on purpose." I tried to reason that maybe the batteries had run out, but she quickly dispelled that notion when she pressed the REWIND button and it kicked immediately into life. It only took a few seconds for the tape to reach the start of the spool, and just as she was about to press the PLAY button, the back door of her grandparents' home swung open and Grandma Perkins was standing there in her morning robe. "What are you two doing up so early?" she asked. "Just saying goodbye to the horses," Jane replied in a calm fashion, and within seconds we were back inside the house where the smell of brewing coffee awaited us.

It wasn't until we had packed our bags, said our farewells, and hit the road once again--all the while eyeing the old farmhouse as we made our way down the long gravel driveway headed for the main road--that we were finally alone and able to listen to what it was that may have been recorded. I wasn't certain that anything would have come through on the tape, but I wanted to be able to listen without having to strain to hear over sound of the engine so as soon as we'd gone about a mile, I pulled the car off to the side of the road under the shade of a tree and shut the engine off. The first sound head on the tape were Jane's own words ("Just to satisfy my curiosity"), then the creaking and groaning of the floorboards and the racket of our footfalls as we made our way down the plank and exited the farmhouse. Five minutes of silence ensued, only the occasional sound of the old structure settling in on itself, then another five or six minutes, the rumble of a truck driving by in the distance, then more silence. Just as the tape was about to reach the point where it had mysteriously stopped on itself, I heard something.

On first impression it sounded like someone breathing in short, shallow breaths. I was opening my mouth to tell Jane to stop the tape, rewind it, I may have heard something, when I realized the sound was only getting louder. I could tell by the expression on Jane's face that I was not, in fact, hearing things. She was hearing it too. What came next, though, sent shivers down my spine and made the sounds we'd heard in the farmhouse--frightening and inexplicable though they were--seem like nothing more than a precursor. The breaths seemed to be getting louder, and although no sound of movement could be heard, I got the distinct impression that something was drawing nearer to the microphone. It frightened me to the core to think that the very cassette recorder Jane now held in trembling hands could have come so close to, or may even have been touched by, whatever it was that was causing that horrible sound. The breathing faded, almost abruptly, followed by approximately ten seconds of absolute silence (not even the sound of the wood settling or a car driving by in the distance). Then the singing began. It was quite unmistakably, and most distinctly, the voice of an old woman--perhaps in her eighties, perhaps older--and although I could not make out the words, she was singing something. A lullabye, perhaps? To this day I am not sure, even though we've listened to the tape hundreds of times since and have tried amplifying the sound through various means. It is certainly not a melody I, or Jane, or anyone else we've shared the recording with, are familiar with, but by the very nature of its ambiguity, it has become an oft- controversial conversation piece among friends with similar interests.

But it isn't that horrible breathing or the faint yet undeniable strain of song delivered by that mysterious voice that still, to this day, years after the experience, years after the old farmhouse was finally torn down, years after the grandparents sold the property and moved away, haunts my mind in the quiet dark before sleep overtakes me. Rather, it is the final two seconds of that recording that will always stay with me, and will always serve as proof to my mind that despite our best efforts to argue to the contrary, there are things that happen in this life that are beyond the bounds of rational explanation.

The singing voice stopped abruptly, as though perhaps startled by itself, and was replaced by a dry, hoarse giggle--a hideous, insane laughter--that erupted into a cackle just as an invisible finger reached out, brushed against the microphone, and pressed STOP.
 
2012-11-02 1:23:46 AM  
Hmm, now I guess I've remembered another one, this time from one Christmas, when I was in high school, I think...

It was Christmas time, and a bunch of family and friends were over, and we were all sitting around in the living room talking and whatnot. My brother-in-law (sister's husband) had a dachshund named Max, and had brought him along, and Max was hanging out in the living room with the rest of us. The tree was all lit up by the front window, and some of the boxes from our presents were still piled up off to one side of it. I was sitting on an ottoman toward the other end of the room, eating something - probably cake - from a plate on my lap. I looked up, and way out of the very edge of my peripheral vision I saw one of those little dark dodgy figures that I think are called "shadow people," that you see in the corner of your eye ducking behind things before you can turn to look at them. This one appeared to have popped down behind the boxes by the tree. I had experienced this sort of thing a couple of times before; I had always believed that these things were hallucinations, and I still do, though my belief was shaken just a bit right then, because at that instant Max jumped up barking and ran over to that very spot, and went darting from one side of the boxes to the other, growling and snarling at something that he apparently thought was hiding there. After a moment or two he gave it up, and then - the really odd bit - he came over to where I was and stood right in front of me, right at my feet, and stared fixedly up at me as if trying to tell me something. I would have given anything for some way to communicate with that dog, to find out what was up. All I could do was pet his head and tell him, "It's ok, Max, I saw it too." Nobody else in the room paid any attention to any of this; it was just Max doing some goofy thing again. What I probably should have done was get up, go back over to the boxes with Max, and go through them with him. But I didn't, and after a moment whatever was on Max's mind must have faded, and he went back to sniffing around the chairs for crumbs. I liked Max. He was a good little dog.
 
2012-11-02 9:32:36 AM  

Zaladreyn: Tharkin: namegoeshere: Was he very tall and thin? Because Slenderman. Who, yes, is a recent made-up urban legend whose origins are modern and traceable. Except tulpa.

I don't know anything about Slenderman. I had never heard of Tulpa either, but I read part of the article you linked. Are you implying that I had somehow created a Tulpa or thoughtform?

It takes a heck of a lot of energy and time for a single person to create a tulpa. But with the collective power of the internet and all the people believing in Slendy and not realizing he was created in a SomethingAwful thread, there is more than enough energy to create something nasty.Plus with the collective energy of many people used to create it, no one person is in control. That makes for something very dangerous.


Interesting. What are the chances something like that would be hanging out in the Maine woods though, far away from the masses that had created it? I can more or less guarantee that very few people if any in this area have heard of Slenderman or Tulpas.

Also, if one were to see something like that, would it be obvious that it was something supernatural, or could it be mistaken for a real person?
 
2012-11-02 9:40:32 AM  

shortymac: Tharkin: namegoeshere: Was he very tall and thin? Because Slenderman. Who, yes, is a recent made-up urban legend whose origins are modern and traceable. Except tulpa.

I wouldn't say he was particularly tall or thin. Not beyond the normal range of people anyhow. Just normal-sized.

I don't know anything about Slenderman. I had never heard of Tulpa either, but I read part of the article you linked. Are you implying that I had somehow created a Tulpa or thoughtform?

I don't think that the man I saw was any sort of apparition or anything like that. I'm pretty sure it was a flesh-and-blood person. I just cannot for the life of me imagine why he was there, what he was doing, or why he'd have chosen that time to do it. It really is a very out-of-the-way area, and while it's not exactly difficult to get to, it's not someplace you're going to just casually wind up in if you're out for a stroll. Plus the weather. He certainly would have had to expend some concious effort and go through some difficulty to be in that place at that time. There has to be some reason for it, but I can't help but think the reason was as bizzare as the circumstances.

Probably a hobo then! Please talk to a park ranger or local authority about a strange man in the woods. Don't know if it's a meth lab out there


We don't have any local authorites, heh. But your post and a couple of others convinced me to call the state's Game Warden office. I rather doubt it's anything like a meth lab, but just in case. I'll be heading back out tomorrow morning and will keep my eyes out for anything unusual.
 
2012-11-02 10:49:09 AM  

Wolf892: FTDA: Wolf892: potato_chip_eating_geek: Wolf892: I was 15 years old and it was the first summer where my parents decided to take a weeklong vacation to visit my grandmother. This was great for me for two reasons, the first, I was allowed to stay home alone for the week, and the second, my mother had left me a 4 gallon tub of bubblegum ice-cream that she had told me to go wild on.
I stayed awake every night late, watching Japanese anime, drinking root-beer and eating the heck out of that bubble gum ice cream. I was in 15 year old boy Heaven.
On the second to last night of the week everything was going the same. It was three o clock in the morning when I finally finished the last episode of "bubblegum crisis" (which I'd loved watching while eating bubblegum ice-cream) and decided it was time to go downstairs to bed.
So I did.
I'm not sure what time it was when I woke up, my room was dark, I was laying in bed facing my wall and I could tell that if I didn't get out of bed my bladder was going to burst.
As I started to turn over in my bed so that I could climb out, something happened that to this day (34 years old now) I'll never forget.
From right beside my head, almost like a breath away from my ear I heard as clear as day a voice. The voice was strange though because it was devoid of all inflection, all tone, all emotion. It only spoke three words to me...
"Don't turn around"
That was it, nothing more, nothing less. But I didn't question that voice. It was so clear, so close to my head and so flat and inhuman in its substance that held my bladder and did not turn around to get out of bed until I could see the second rays of sunlight peaking through my curtain the next morning.
Just... "Don't turn around."

did you hear anybody move afterwards? like soneone leaving?

Nope, nothing at all. I stayed awake too, but nothing but those three words, clear as a bell. Like a speak and spell but with no inflection, like a robot or machine maybe...

Just in case you weren't arou ...


Close, it was Dont Turn Around by Der Kommisar from the 1980's.
 
2012-11-02 2:25:00 PM  
Thought of another one...

When my best friend (Heather)'s daughter (Michal) was 3, she was over at her grandfather's house and looked across the street at a vacant lot and said "Oooh, Firebaby is scary. I don't like the Firebaby." Heather said "What are you talking about?" She said "I don't like that Firebaby" and went on in the house. A few hours later, Heather's husband came home and Heather told Michal to tell her dad about the Firebaby. (Throwing in here, Heather is not from this area, her husband has lived here all his life). Michal said "Daddy, I don't like the Firebaby over there" and pointed across the street.

Apparently about five years before, there was indeed a house in that vacant lot that burned down and killed a two-year old. Heather knew nothing about that, and I very seriously doubt that anyone would have told Michal about that either. Michal had several other "Sixth Sense" moments. She would have conversations that sounded perfectly normal but there was no one else around her. She told her mom that her grandmother (Michal's great-grandmother) was sitting on the couch next to her (the lady had died about 12 years before) and to tell Heather that everything was going to be okay, her problems would be worked out.

Michal is now 15, she's not "seen" things for years now, but she remembers the Firebaby, and acts like it was nothing out of the ordinary that she saw it.
 
2012-11-02 4:16:11 PM  
Man, I love these threads! Now that I've wasted something like 3 days reading this, I have to say thanks to all the posters. Good chills, good fun!!!
 
2012-11-02 7:28:24 PM  
My Name is Fishy:

You farker! I am reading this in bed, alone and on my phone. I scrolled down abd THAT popped up. I actually screamed " it's fishy!" And dropped my phone. Well played.
 
2012-11-02 8:05:30 PM  

Zaladreyn: But with the collective power of the internet and all the people believing in Slendy and not realizing he was created in a SomethingAwful thread, there is more than enough energy to create something nasty.Plus with the collective energy of many people used to create it, no one person is in control. That makes for something very dangerous.


Hold me.... I'm scared!
 
2012-11-02 9:45:16 PM  

Tharkin:

Interesting. What are the chances something like that would be hanging out in the Maine woods though, far away from the masses that had created it? I can more or less guarantee that very few people if any in this area have heard of Slenderman or Tulpas.

Also, if one were to see something like that, would it be obvious that it was something supernatural, or could it be mistaken for a real person?


It could be anywhere, honestly. You might not notice anything abnormal about it, because you aren't thinking in a paranormal sense. You might just see a tall guy walking along. A tall, slender man.
 
2012-11-02 11:49:36 PM  

Zaladreyn: Tharkin:

Interesting. What are the chances something like that would be hanging out in the Maine woods though, far away from the masses that had created it? I can more or less guarantee that very few people if any in this area have heard of Slenderman or Tulpas.

Also, if one were to see something like that, would it be obvious that it was something supernatural, or could it be mistaken for a real person?

It could be anywhere, honestly. You might not notice anything abnormal about it, because you aren't thinking in a paranormal sense. You might just see a tall guy walking along. A tall, slender man.


If Slenderman is tall and slender enough to draw immediate notice to those characteristics, then I'm pretty sure this wasn't him (it?). I didn't get any impression of size at all, which makes me think it was just a normal-sized dude. I suppose it's possible he was farther away than I think he was and therefore larger also. Is there a particular reason that people are thinking Slenderman is a possibility? Does he act in a similar manner or something? Or is it just the general oddness of the encounter?
 
2012-11-02 11:56:17 PM  
Also, for anyone interested: I contacted the Game Warden office today and told them about the situation. They said they'd send someone to check the area and get back to me tomorrow (quicker response time than I expected!) I'll be heading back into the area tomorrow morning also. First priority is to shoot a deer, but I expect I'll also have a chance to cover the area pretty well and look for anything unusual. I'm pretty good in the woods--if there's anything interesting I will likely find it.
 
2012-11-03 12:03:43 AM  
Apparently I can't edit a post (or just haven't figured out how to do it) so here's an addendum to the previous one:

1) Yes, I'll be careful.

2) Several of you clearly know more about the (potential) supernatural aspect of this than I do. Is there anything in particular I should be looking for? I'm definitely going to check back in on the feathers in that one thicket. I'll likely check out a few other thickets in the area to see if it's just the one or several.

3) Between the responses here and some emails I've gotten, you folks have gotten me thinking a lot more about this than I was originally. I was thinking 'just a weird dude doing weird things at a weird time' but now I'm hesitant to dismiss it so easily. Thank you for the information and in some cases concern. If I do find anything interesting I'll relate it back here.
 
2012-11-03 12:04:20 AM  

Tharkin: Also, for anyone interested: I contacted the Game Warden office today and told them about the situation. They said they'd send someone to check the area and get back to me tomorrow (quicker response time than I expected!) I'll be heading back into the area tomorrow morning also. First priority is to shoot a deer, but I expect I'll also have a chance to cover the area pretty well and look for anything unusual. I'm pretty good in the woods--if there's anything interesting I will likely find it.


Can't wait to hear about it!
 
2012-11-03 12:12:13 AM  

Lollipop165: Tharkin: Also, for anyone interested: I contacted the Game Warden office today and told them about the situation. They said they'd send someone to check the area and get back to me tomorrow (quicker response time than I expected!) I'll be heading back into the area tomorrow morning also. First priority is to shoot a deer, but I expect I'll also have a chance to cover the area pretty well and look for anything unusual. I'm pretty good in the woods--if there's anything interesting I will likely find it.

Can't wait to hear about it!


Thanks Lollipop165. It's gratifying to me that people have been so interested in this situation. I pretty much expected it to just be a throwaway story in a long thread with many other interesting stories. Not that I was looking for attention per se, but it's nice to know that others think this is all as weird as I did.
 
2012-11-03 1:30:51 AM  

Tharkin: Also, for anyone interested: I contacted the Game Warden office today and told them about the situation. They said they'd send someone to check the area and get back to me tomorrow (quicker response time than I expected!) I'll be heading back into the area tomorrow morning also. First priority is to shoot a deer, but I expect I'll also have a chance to cover the area pretty well and look for anything unusual. I'm pretty good in the woods--if there's anything interesting I will likely find it.


Hug! Yay! I'm very happy both you and the game warden are taking this seriously. As soon you said your wife and kids live nearby all I could think of is a bum breaking in and/or hassling you.

I doubt there's anything supernatural going on, the turkey feathers could have been left by creepy dude.
 
2012-11-03 1:33:14 AM  

Tharkin: Zaladreyn: Tharkin:

Interesting. What are the chances something like that would be hanging out in the Maine woods though, far away from the masses that had created it? I can more or less guarantee that very few people if any in this area have heard of Slenderman or Tulpas.

Also, if one were to see something like that, would it be obvious that it was something supernatural, or could it be mistaken for a real person?

It could be anywhere, honestly. You might not notice anything abnormal about it, because you aren't thinking in a paranormal sense. You might just see a tall guy walking along. A tall, slender man.

If Slenderman is tall and slender enough to draw immediate notice to those characteristics, then I'm pretty sure this wasn't him (it?). I didn't get any impression of size at all, which makes me think it was just a normal-sized dude. I suppose it's possible he was farther away than I think he was and therefore larger also. Is there a particular reason that people are thinking Slenderman is a possibility? Does he act in a similar manner or something? Or is it just the general oddness of the encounter?


Probably because slenderman in the new video game doesn't attack you directly just pops up outta nowhere and stares are you. Kinda creepily similar to your "guy staring at random shiat".
 
2012-11-03 1:53:59 AM  

shortymac: Tharkin: Also, for anyone interested: I contacted the Game Warden office today and told them about the situation. They said they'd send someone to check the area and get back to me tomorrow (quicker response time than I expected!) I'll be heading back into the area tomorrow morning also. First priority is to shoot a deer, but I expect I'll also have a chance to cover the area pretty well and look for anything unusual. I'm pretty good in the woods--if there's anything interesting I will likely find it.

Hug! Yay! I'm very happy both you and the game warden are taking this seriously. As soon you said your wife and kids live nearby all I could think of is a bum breaking in and/or hassling you.

I doubt there's anything supernatural going on, the turkey feathers could have been left by creepy dude.


I should clarify that this area is several miles from my house. I cover a lot of ground when I'm hunting. But yes, the warden I spoke with was certainly taking it seriously. I think he probably had a drug bust in mind ;) And anyone who breaks into my house will be sorry he did. My gun lives about 3 feet over my bed, and I would not hesitate to use it if someone who didn't belong was in my home and threatening my family. I'm an easy-going dude, but you do not fark with my family, bottom line.
 
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