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Favorite Ghost Stories

Lonesome EJ 25 Oct 10 - 08:10 PM
Alice 31 Oct 08 - 05:12 PM
GUEST,Obie 11 Nov 06 - 01:59 PM
GUEST,Obie 11 Nov 06 - 01:57 PM
Muttley 11 Nov 06 - 12:22 PM
GUEST,JJ Hoffman 10 Nov 06 - 08:29 PM
Anne Lister 01 Nov 06 - 06:21 AM
Lonesome EJ 01 Nov 06 - 01:04 AM
Cats 22 Sep 06 - 07:50 AM
open mike 22 Sep 06 - 01:57 AM
open mike 22 Sep 06 - 01:34 AM
open mike 22 Sep 06 - 01:17 AM
Max Tone 09 Oct 01 - 06:36 PM
ScottyG 09 Oct 01 - 10:50 AM
Walking Eagle 08 Oct 01 - 05:19 PM
Nemesis 08 Oct 01 - 05:01 PM
GUEST,Firecat 08 Oct 01 - 04:57 AM
Lonesome EJ 08 Oct 01 - 01:36 AM
John Routledge 07 Oct 01 - 07:32 PM
Tig 07 Oct 01 - 07:12 PM
Lonesome EJ 07 Oct 01 - 03:22 AM
GUEST,petr 27 Feb 01 - 08:29 PM
Rich(bodhránai gan ciall) 26 Feb 01 - 07:15 PM
Áine 26 Feb 01 - 01:20 PM
Ebbie 30 Oct 00 - 08:57 PM
Lonesome EJ 30 Oct 00 - 06:34 PM
Lonesome EJ 29 Oct 00 - 10:19 PM
Ebbie 29 Oct 00 - 06:45 PM
Ebbie 29 Oct 00 - 06:01 PM
Merripan 29 Oct 00 - 05:11 PM
Merripan 29 Oct 00 - 05:10 PM
Merripan 29 Oct 00 - 05:09 PM
zonahobo 29 Oct 00 - 05:09 PM
Merripan 29 Oct 00 - 04:39 PM
katlaughing 29 Oct 00 - 04:27 PM
Lonesome EJ 29 Oct 00 - 02:54 AM
Kim C 13 Oct 00 - 10:47 AM
GUEST,Sledge 13 Oct 00 - 02:40 AM
Ebbie 12 Oct 00 - 09:43 PM
Ely 12 Oct 00 - 08:39 PM
mousethief 12 Oct 00 - 06:14 PM
Kim C 12 Oct 00 - 05:48 PM
Ebbie 12 Oct 00 - 04:02 PM
The Walrus at work 12 Oct 00 - 01:40 PM
celticblues5 11 Oct 00 - 07:59 PM
Rich(bodhránai gan ciall) 11 Oct 00 - 06:34 PM
Ebbie 11 Oct 00 - 02:10 AM
Rich(bodhránai gan ciall) 10 Oct 00 - 11:58 PM
Rich(bodhránai gan ciall) 10 Oct 00 - 12:21 AM
Áine 09 Oct 00 - 05:59 AM
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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.


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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.


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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


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


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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


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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.


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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


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

Refresh.

Happy Halloween!


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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!


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

100


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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..


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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!


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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


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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


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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.


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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,


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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!


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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


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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


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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.


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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!


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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.


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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


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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


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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


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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!


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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.


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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


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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


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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


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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


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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.


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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!


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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


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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


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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


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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.


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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


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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


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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.


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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=


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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. :)


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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


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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


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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?


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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


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

So, Rich, you got a ghost story?


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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


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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


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

refresh.


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