Don't Read This Thread in the Dark

FroZen wrote:I'd seen alot of those videos of ghosts before but the scene with the door opening, the table and chairs moving and the video camera's was kind wild. Damn Youtube player keeps freezing so I'm having a hard time watching the whole thing.

alucardbarnivous wrote:

Since I was in third grade I was best friends with a guy named Kris. He lived with his mother and his grandparents in the old family home, this three story farmhouse. The house had a strange rule. No one was allowed on the second story. Ever. The reason for this: It was haunted. The bedrooms were on the third floor so every time we would go up there to play we would stop on the landing for the second floor and see who could hang there the longest without being freaked out. Hang out on the second floor landing long enough and the doors began to rattle on their frames. What you could see from the landing was a long hallway, three doors on the right and a bank of windows with the blinds drawn. This was a source of entertainment for years and he would always tell us ghost stories about living on the third floor and hearing noises from those locked rooms on the floor below us. Scratching on the ceiling, banging, voices.

One summer, we repeatedly ran down the second floor hall to see who could get to the end, turn the last doorknob and get back without being grabbed by ghosts. The doors were all locked and none of them were supposed to open. We stopped doing this the one night I slept over, yanked open one of the doors (to find a dark, empty room) and heard this cacophony of horrible sounds. Scratching and babbling and whanot. I also swear that I saw something moving in the shadows. We both freaked out and ran downstairs. His grandfather was extremely pissed that he had to go up and close the door. He came down from the second floor, pale as a dying man and wound up walking slowly outside and tossing the room key, this gnarly old skeleton key, into the woods.

However, the second floor lost its allure in sixth grade when his grandfather was found dead on the second floor, half in and half out of one of the rooms that was supposed to be locked forever. From that day on, we stopped loving around there and his mother and grandmother nailed the doors shut. After that, things got weirder. He would tell us that one of the voices he heard from the rooms below was his grandfather asking him to open the door and let him out.

By the time we got into high school, he started to unravel and we didn't hang much. He was extremely depressed and so was his mother and grandmother. His grandmother's health was failing, too. They all looked horrible, like they weren't taking very good care of themselves anymore. When I did see him he would tell me harrowing stories about being kept up all night by the voices in the rooms below and that they banged on the floor all night and wouldn't let him sleep. His grandfather was angry, he always told me. In the spring of our sophomore year he stopped coming to school. I was trying to check up on him but his mother wouldn't let me talk to him. I went by his house one day and she told me through a crack in the door that he couldn't be my friend anymore and that I should stay away. I went by a couple of days later and knocked again but no one answered. I saw the curtains move a little, like someone was looking at me through the window but that was it. A few days later I went by again and found that no one lived there any more. The blinds and curtains were pulled and the place was empty.

I never found out what happened to him or his family.

After being away for quite a while on business, I visited my pal, J. He’s legendarily late, so, instead of meeting him somewhere on my then birthday night, I showed up on his doorstep, which meant he needed to get ‘on the loving ball,’ so we could go eat before the night officially began.

I entered his house, and while he hastily grabbed some clothes and headed down the hall to take a shower, I went into his room, and grabbed an old Maxim with Beyonce on the cover that I’d once owned. I began to read an article on mercenaries, one that I had forgotten how well it was written.

I heard voices, which didn’t come from the house, and none of the TVs were on… obviously it came from outside, a neighbor’s perhaps, but it was rather uncanny how amplified such reasonable-in-volume conversation could carry into this room, windows closed.

Upon exiting the shower, I brought this point up to him.

"What?" he said, "I never told you?"

Soon, after answering ten re-worded promises of 'I won’t think you’re crazy,' he begins the tale.

Explainable Voices;

A few months ago, he began awaking in the early hours of the morning by conversations that carried into his room. His room is across an alley-way to the next house, so the best he could do was make sure his windows were shut before he went to sleep. However, the conversations continued night after night, until he noticed something strange: the voices were hushed, like whispers… by how could they be that loud?

Well, J being a lot like myself, when you get woken up so early, your sleep’s shot. He began putting up thick curtains to block out the light, because if you get startled out of sleep at 3 am, by the time you start getting sleepy again, it’s sunrise.

On one day, he woke up near dawn, and heard two older women harshly whispering back and forth. He wearily decided to get dressed, and have a few words with them; before he could react, he made out a sentence:

"We wasted our time. He’s put up those drat curtains."

This freaked him out a bit, and happened upon a picture frame on the opposite wall, where he could see a reflection through a crack in the curtains of two figures, presumably two large women, craning their necks to look in his room. He concentrated, and noticed the exact angle of reflection: they were on top of the next door neighbor’s roof?

He abruptly sat up to address this absurdity, and heard the voices panic, and the figures in the reflection ran off.

Impossible.

He quickly dressed and went outside. The neighborhood was asleep. This was a neighborhood he was familiar with, having grown up here all of his life. There were no two people of this description in his neighborhood.

As freaked out as he was, he assumed it was some post-slumber confusion, a dream that didn’t quite snap out with his awakening.

It’s entirely possible that’s exactly what it was.

Children that should be seen, and not heard;

The occurrence of the 'two women’ didn’t come back, which calmed the irrational discomfort since the event.

Then, new voices arrived.

In the wee hours of the morning, yet the time of night that preceded his going to bed, he began to hear rustling in the bushes on his lawn. He wrote this off as stray cats or something similarly dismissive. Soon, he began hearing, specifically, children’s voices and giggling outside.

What kind of children are allowed outside at this hour?

J approached the window, and pulled the curtains aside. He could see no children, but the bushes about his lawn were a little disturbed. This wouldn’t have been so annoying if it didn’t begin happening every drat night. And, as soon as he’d throw open the curtains, there were no children, and there was some evidence of someone playing in his yard.

loving kids.

He didn’t know whose children they were, and, since he didn’t get to catch them, he did something entirely practical. He set up a webcam to catch them, and to find out who in the hell these kids tearing about his yard were.

Eyes without a Face;

After a brief period without disturbances, he decided to take down the webcam sometime later that week, until, one night, the voices had suddenly came back.

He left the webcam in place, which was slightly hidden, and he pretended to sleep.

"What’s he doing in my room?" a child’s voice said, to which other children’s voices replied, though indecipherable.

Now, J was beginning to freak out.

"Shh! He might hear you!"

"He can’t hear us, he can’t even see us… who is that guy? What is he doing in my room?"

"I don’t know, we should go."

"No, we’re staying."

J peered down his bed, and watched the monitor displaying the event (but not recording, which is something he’d later regret,) and began to try to make out what was on the monitor. He saw about three children, but the lighting left a lot to be desired. He could make out about three children’s foreheads and eyes, with one of them in particular, peering aggressively into the room, the two others were tiptoeing to get a better view.

"All right, that’s enough for tonight."

As soon as J heard this, he ran up to the window, and pulled apart the curtains. Clearly, someone had been standing in his garden/shrubbery, but somehow, the kids got away.

Christmas Interference;

Over the course of the next few weeks, he could hear the kids outside, but it ceased as he sat up, as creeped-out as he was, he assumed it was his fears getting the best of him in his half-sleep; however, he was still clueless as to the two significant events listed here.

One day, however, he noticed something odd about what his monitor was receiving from his webcam… in the image, it was a washed-out tree of sorts. He double-checked where the cam was pointing; it was simply pointing to his lawn. This curiosity, however, didn’t go away.

He brought his father into the room, needing a witness to this.

"What do you see?"

"What, on the monitor?"

"Yeah, what do you see?"

"lovely quality, but… I see a Christmas tree."

"Why do you think it’s a Christmas tree?"

"There’s… a garland of lights of sorts… a few boxes underneath… and what looks like a teddy bear? Perhaps a doll? What is this a picture of?"

J waved his hand in front of the camera that was pointing to his lawn, the picture on the monitor blacked out with his hand’s movements, proving the feed was live.

"J, what in the hell is that?"

"I’ve no idea."

"You know, there used to be a tree out there, before we moved in."

"How long ago?"

"Long before you were born… we’ve had this house, what, forty years? More?"

"You sure?"

"J, this is creeping me out, how are you doing this?"

"I’m not."

J proceeded to tell his father an edited version of this story, as to not appear insane. His father believed him, but was a little afraid of letting it sink in.

"You need to record this, J, perhaps someone’s playing a prank on you."

"Well, Dad, it is a possibility, I’ll look into it."

J decided to investigate a little further. He went all around his neighborhood, asking if anyone had any video, radio, or broadcasting equipment, saying it was interfering with some of his electronics, picking up odd signals. He didn’t even come across a satellite dish. Still, this interference was a rational enough possibility.

A week later, the Christmas Tree went away.

The Children Return;

Another week or two went by, then the children came back… in force.

The webcam stayed on as a matter of habit, and once more he awoke to voices.

This time, he watched the screen again, and there weren’t just three faces, there were about five, or more. Again, not full faces, just shadows with a bit of light shining on their forehead and eyes.

"I want to see, I want to see!" several of the voices said.

"WHAT IS HE DOING IN MY ROOM?" the lead child said, angrier than before.

"What is he doing, what is he doing?"

"I don’t know, but I’m going to…"

"…what?"

"Something’s wrong."

"What?"

"He’s got a camera."

"Oh, we’d better go."

"No, that’s unnecessary."

"Well, we could block it…"

"No."

"But he’ll see us."

"No he won’t, IT’S MY GODDAMN ROOM."

"Well… aren’t you going to do anything?"

"I am," the lead voiced said, annoyed.

J slowly sat up a little, riveted to the screen, watching the main set of eyes stare directly into the camera, and six or more others scrambling to wedge their way in, to get a peek.

Suddenly, the screen washed orange, then blue, it cycled colors like when you put a magnet close to a CRT monitor… except that it covered the whole screen, and successfully blocked out any other images.

J stood up, in mal-humorous resignation.

"All right, kids, you got me, I don’t know how in the gently caress you’re doing all of this, but you’re good. Come on out."

Nothing happened.

"Kids, c’mon, you win, I’m spooked as gently caress, how in the hell are you doing all of this?"

Again, nothing but silence; J stood still for a few moments, hoping to hear them speak again, or their rustling in the bushes.

"Well, are you going to block the camera?" one of the voices said, not acknowledging J’s voice.

"I am," the main voice said.

"How?"

"With my mind."

J began to get a pit in his stomach.

"Is he gone?" one of the other children asked.

"I don’t know, but I still don’t know what he was doing in my room," the main child spat.

"You can’t see him?"

"No, I can’t."

"Think he heard us?"

"Of course not, he can’t hear us."

Having enough of this, J ran over to the curtains, and threw them open, and, for once, he saw a small child blazing across the lawn. J ran around out of his room, and through the main one, to exit his house in pursuit. However, as soon as he got to his front door, he saw nothing. Nothing in the distance, nothing in the bushes, all was quiet.

He finally gave up and went back into his room, where he closed the door, and sat down on the bed. The screen was still awash with strange colors, but, it began to lose its opacity. Upon closer inspection, he could see the Christmas Tree again, but heard nothing for a full minute.

"Do you think he saw us?" he heard, as if the children had never left.

"No. He only saw what we wanted him to see."

~~~~~

These events ceased in February 2005, and nothing has happened since. His father is still freaked out about it (but is getting better,) J himself is equally disturbed. He’d decided to take the curtains down, since anyone peering in or such might not be as brave.

Since he did so, the webcam was soon taken down due to lack of events, no voices (other than obviously neighbors) have been heard. Research into the house prior to his family owning it came up with nothing special. No other electronics are or were ever affected by 'interference’ of any reasonable sort. The bushes are no longer disturbed every night, and he’s been getting better rest as a result.

For once, in someone's recounting of a scary/ghost story, I saw a lot of uncommon, interesting criteria : he could only see the images through a live monitor, they couldn't hear him, but he heard them, sometimes they didn't see him at all when he was standing right there, and the only 'real' thing he saw didn't make any sense. He had a witness to part of it, and he honestly self-doubted every step of the way, moments before it got much scarier. This, I find, makes this a very disturbing story, the eerie events ceasing as quick as they'd started.

My pal J doesn't have an explanation to this day, but a lot of 'rational' excuses. He's just glad that it's over.

I approached J recently, asking if anything had happened recently, and he said that it did, and we went on his porch to have a cigarette.

Apparently, there were a couple of mistakes in the original post.

It wasn't a webcam, it was a kind-of security cam, and he didn't record it because he didn't have a functioning VCR, it simply was attached to his TV-monitor. I asked him if anything had happened on it since, and he told me his father 'confiscated' the camera. Why? Apparently his dad was so freaked out by what he'd witnessed (in addition to J's experiences, on which J's dad will not elaborate,) he took the camera in hopes that 'the whole mess will just go away.'

The Drain Lady

My father was a military man. Retired back in ‘95 from the Navy after 20 years of proud service to our country. But before that, we moved often… every 3-4 years or thereabouts we’d pack up and get shipped somewhere new. Early 1989, a wonderful opportunity arose and dad took it. A 16 hour flight later, and we were stationed at N.A.S Sigonella, Sicily. I guess I was about, ohhh 10 or 11 at the time. Those years were blurred save those pinpricks of memory that still haunt me. That still plague my dreams from time to time.

Our first home there was an apartment in a complex called “Bellavista” far from the Naval base. There was a waiting list to move into Base Housing that generally ran for about a year and a half’s wait. Until your time to move, you had to live amongst the locals wherever you could. Bellavista was a beautiful place… we lived on the upper floor of the complex and had a wonderful view of the countryside off our back balcony. At night, one could look up at the night sky and see a thin trail of fiery red lava slowly ebbing from still active Mt. Etna. And in the morning, everything left out in the open was often found to be blanketed ever so slightly in volcanic ash, almost like a light dusting of snow.

But naturally, as perfectly nice as Bellavista was, it wasn’t meant for us for long. The lnadlord’s daughter was pregnant, engaged… and homeless. Guess who got the boot? So we moved, with the landlord’s assistance, into another home. Motta S. Anastasia, a little cobblestone-streeted town near Catania, and much closer to the Navy base. The day we drove up to the new place, I felt ill. Of course, nothing was thought of this at the time, but I’d swear in retrospect I was being told something. The place was a 3 story house with an apartment on each floor. I really don’t remember the neighbors, but both were similarly Navy families. And I can imagine I pissed them off a lot with the screaming.

Dad unlocked the door and proceeded into the small entryway. The cobblestone street gave way to a marbled floor entrance and a matching set of marble stairs up to the second floor, which was our new home. The place was stunningly beautiful. Marble floors… glass french doors into the living room area… balconies attached to nearly every room, save the one that was to be mine. Claw foot bathtub…bidet… all the modern conveniences expected of a home in Europe.


I walked into the room that was going to be mine. Small, simple, square and quite cold. To the left, at the end of the wall was a door covered with a “persiana.” Basically, a form of window blinds made from heavy horizontal flaps that was operated via a cloth strap attached to the wall. I pulled it up to see that the door was mostly glass and beyond it was a very small “room” lined with brick along the floor and walls. I opened the door and stepped into the room and looked up to discover the room extended all the way up through the third floor and up to a hole in the roof. There was no covering on the hole either… it went straight into open air. The shaft allowed a fair amount of light to shine into the only room in the house without a window in it, which I thought was pretty damn cool initially.

The chill seemed to come from the room, despite the glaring sun nearly directly overhead. It was then I heard the first whispers. Like… if you were to take a wire brush and softly rub the stiff bristles against your jeans. At the time, I attributed it to echoes off the brick… but I couldn’t help but feel weird about it. It wasn’t coming from any discernable direction or source… but it surrounded me like a blanket, as if sound could be tangible and touchable. It pressed in gently on my ears like pressure on an aircraft ascending or descending. I turned to leave and I noticed a glinting drain in the middle of the floor. It was obviously for rainwater to drain away but my nausea increased when I saw it. My stomach gnawed at itself as I ran out of there and I swear I saw the drain cover jiggle a bit on my way out. I lowered the persiana quickly and rejoined the family in the living room, shaking and sick as a dog.

Now granted… a little brick room was far from the norm for paranormal ghosty stuff. But try telling that to whatever was in there. Christ. For weeks and weeks, I’d get up the nerve to open the persiana in broad daylight and risk a peek… only to stumble back from the door sick as all hell to my stomach and trembling. I tried telling my parents of course… but an 11 year old’s ramblings about a scary brick room generally get chalked up to too many “Freddy” and “Jason” movies. The whisperings rarely stopped at night. They were persistent from the time I laid down until I finally forced myself into slumber. Often, I’d wake up in the middle of the night to silence, and then the whisperings would start up again, as if it was waiting to make sure I was awake.

There was never any real words to the whispering… just a hollow “ksssh sshhhaww hissssshhhhh haaahhh ooooshhhh aaashhhhh” that seemed to repeat, but never in the same cadence. There was no emotion behind it either that I can remember. It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t sad nor happy. Just there. Always fucking there.

One night, after about 2 months of this, I was awoken by a particularly horrifying dream. I seemed to start having those dreams after we moved in… I had never had constant nightmares prior. But I awoke from the dream with the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Immediately my eyes darted to the door… and saw that the persiana was up. Now, European goons with experience, back me up… Persianas are about the noisiest damn things to have in a house. They’re generally metal slats hooked in with metal hooks that grind and squeak loudly in protest as they’re pulled open. There was no way in hell that the persiana, which was always closed, could have been opened without waking up everyone in the house. But sure enough, it was open about 3/4 of the way up the damned door. A bit of moonlight reflected off the bricks in the shaft and into my room with a dull bluish tone. I lay there for hours, paralyzed in my bed, but unable to look away from the door, lest there be something there when I looked back. Eventually, I just conked out…

The next morning crept up finally and I was freed from my paralysis. I ran to the door amidst a wave of nausea and pulled the persiana shut as fast as I could. There was a light dusting of volcanic ash on the brick floor and I’d swear I could make out footprints or scuffing in it. Mom, still asleep at the time, yelled at me from across the hall after hearing the noise, but I couldn’t care less.

Over the course of the next 3 months, it was the same routine. The whisperings never faltered. The persiana would be found at least 2 to 3 times a week opened, and the blackness of the room would stare out at me in my bed. Then one night, it was different. I still have nightmares of this incident and it makes me cringe and want to curl up in a ball still whenever I conjure it up. I had awoken again in the midst of a terrible nightmare. And sure enough, the persiana was up, but this time it was all the way up. The moonlight was barely filtering in that night, but I’d swear I could make out something there in the room. It felt like I was at just the right angle for me to see whatever it was, and if I were to move the slightest bit, I’d lose sight of it. It was a small sphere that shimmered like a soap bubble does. But it was so faint I could barely make it out. I watched as it hovered there for the longest time. It began to shrink like some TVs used to do when you turned them off… shrink into a tiny dot of light.

But before it winked out, it flashed and expanded. It did so at an alarmingly fast rate and solidified into the form of a woman. She looked to be in her early to mid thirties, dark curly hair… definitely a local Sicilian. When she became “whole” and a solid image, she began shrieking and pounding on the glass doors with both fists. Her head swiveled wrong on her neck, shaking back and forth like if you put a teakettle on a stick and shook the stick around. Her eyes were completely black and full of anger and hatred… The skin around her mouth flapped loosely, giving me glimpses of her teeth and tongue and her hair was tossing around violently. Some sort of liquid oozed in small spurts from the corners of her mouth and flecks of whatever it was flew as she shrieked. Her screaming was horrific and nonsensical, and all I could do was scream back. My dad charged into the room to my bed, thinking I was having a nightmare. She shrank back from the door and… ugh. She slithered down the drain somehow. She twisted and distorted and I’d swear I could hear her bones splintering and cracking as she wound herself down into it. It was awful and to this day, dad says he’s never heard anyone scream so inhumanly before. I often ask him jokingly if he meant from me or her.

The Berkeley Square Horror

The house was built sometime in the early 19th century. Even before the “Horror” began the house at Number 50 had already seen tragedy and strangeness. One the first families to live in the house had a young daughter who jumped to her death from an upstairs window (which would later become the “haunted room”).
The next owner to live in the house used that same upper room to imprison his insane brother, who was apparently so violent the room was sealed and he was fed meals through a slot in the bottom of the door. Eventually this man died, and the owner moved out.

The house stood vacant for a time. But neighbors would hear strange sounds coming from the empty house, like heavy furniture grating along the floor.

An older gentlemen named Myers took over the house in the late 1850’s in preparation for his wedding. He spent a small fortune furnishing the house to please his younger bride-to-be, who stood him up at the last moment. This rejection snapped his mind, and he became a shut-in, wandering the house at night with a lighted candle.

After Myers died, the Horror began in earnest.

When the next owners moved into the house, one of their maids was cleaning that upper room, when the folks downstairs suddenly heard her screaming. They rushed upstairs to see what was the matter, and found the maid in convulsions at the foot of the bed, her eyes wide with terror. All she could say was, “Don’t let it touch me!” She died in a sanitarium some time later, never revealing what had happened.

The strange sounds from the upper room grew more intense; soon the house was resold again. The new owner forbade anyone to sleep in the upper room. On a bet, a gentleman named Robert Warboys dared to sleep in the room. His friends insisted that he take a pistol with him, and pull a rope next the bed which would ring a bell on the first floor in case anything happened. The bet settled, everyone turned in for the night.

Warboys had been in the room for less than an hour when the bell on the first floor began jangling wildly. The men rushed upstairs; as they reached the door to the room they heard a shot. Kicking the door open, they found Warboys slumped on the floor next to the bed. He was dead – his heart had given out. His face was frozen in a rictus of terror. And there was a bullet hole in the wall across from the bed.

In 1872, following another period of vacancy, another gentleman named Lord Lyttleton took up the same bet Warboys had with the new landlord. Lyttleton also slept with a pistol at his bedside, and promised to pull the “panic-bell” if anything happened.

The scene played out almost the same as before: in the middle of the night, the bell began ringing, and the men on the first floor rushed upstairs, there was another gunshot –

Lyttleton was sitting on the bed, quite upset. He claimed that something had grabbed him in the darkness. He fired his gun and heard it fall, but he could not or would not describe what had attacked him.

The story gets even weirder from here. Around the turn of the century, the house was occupied by an elderly couple who kept to themselves. Once every six months, a mysterious stranger would arrive at the house, lock the elderly couple in the basement, then lock himself inside the haunted room upstairs. He would stay in there for hours, doing God knows what. Then he would emerge, unlock the folks from the basement, and disappear for another six months.

Nothing else happened in the house until WWII, when two British sailors found themselves in Berkeley Square after an evening of drinking. With no more money and no place to sleep, they broke into the vacant house at No. 50, not familiar with its reputation. The only furnished room in the house was the upper bedroom – no one had dared remove anything from it. Not thinking anything of it, they turned in for the night.

They were awakened by the sound of something sliding along the floor, coming down the hall towards the door. Their candle went out just as something entered the room. It cornered one of the sailors near the window, the other made a break for the door. It is from this sailor that we get our only vague description of what the Horror looked like:
“Large, dark and shapeless,” making “soft, hissing noises.”

Bounding down the steps and rushing out into the rain, the sailor met a policeman and made a plea for help. The policeman, who knew the house, cried, “You haven’t been in there!”

They ran back to the house, but they were too late. At the foot of the stairs they found the other sailor’s body. He had fallen and broken his neck, in an apparent attempt to escape from something. He still had a look of panic on his face.

This is the last known death associated with the house. Today, No. 50 is home to Maggs Brothers antiquarian book dealers. The haunted upper room is now the accountant’s office. A staff member, speaking on a program for The Learning Channel, reported once seeing a “column of brown mist” drift across the room one night, but aside from that, no one has encountered the Horror in quite a long time.

When I was little, my sisters and I went to daycare at this old lady’s house. The house had two stories. The main floor was where Betty lived and spent almost all of her time. The second floor had two spare rooms and an apartment where her son, Rick lived. Since this was a small daycare in a small town, we pretty much had the run of the place. My friend, Michele and I would spend most of our day either playing outside or just poking around the house. Betty, being old, crabby, and not particularly good at watching kids, had no problems with this arrangement, save one very important rule.

We were not to set foot in the blue bedroom.

Betty never gave us any reason for this rule beyond saying, “I don’t want you kids messing around in there!” in her typically cantankerous way. The door to both bedrooms could be seen by someone standing at the base of the stairs, and she always seemed to know when someone was about to try that knob (and be waiting at the bottom of the steps to dole out a spanking…really sweet woman). Eventually, Michele and I learned to stop trying to get in there: it wasn’t worth it, and the brown bedroom had plenty of toys in it anyway. We were satisfied with the mystery of the blue room staying a mystery, until Jenny came for a visit.

Jenny was Rick’s daughter, who lived with her mother in Kentucky, but came to visit her dad and Grandma about once a year. She was maybe 6 or 7 years older than us, making her one of the cool kids and an authority on everything in our 8 year old eyes. Every year, we’d follow her around and just generally bug her for the entire week, but this year was different. This year Michele thought to ask Jenny about the blue bedroom.

“I hate that room. You couldn't pay me to go into that room.” Jenny replied with a shudder. This wasn’t like Jenny at all; usually all she did was scoff at our little-kid ideas and say how bored she was cooped up in this house. Our interests peaked as we begged her to tell us more.

“Okay, I’ll tell you the story, but y’all better not go repeating this to my Grandma. So, my Grandma has lived in this house since she was a little girl. Growing up, it was her, her mom and dad, her younger sister, and their little brother, Alex. Alex was always trying to tag along with Grandma and her sister, or spy on them when they tried to keep him away. They’d sit upstairs in their bedroom (the brown room) whispering to themselves and sooner or later the door handle would begin to jiggle. They’d unlock the door and, sure enough, there’d be Alex, trying to get in. One day, to get rid of him, the sisters told Alex that they’d play hide and seek with him. Well, he runs off to hid and the girls abandon the game and go off to their room to do whatever. Eventually, Alex figured this out, and went up to the room, and heard them laughing about how they’d tricked him. Alex must have wanted to get back at them by hiding really good…at least that’s what everybody guessed after the fact. He decided to hide in the blue bedroom…which was kept locked because it was used for storage, and there were a lot of valuable things in there.

Anyway, Alex took the key from wherever it was hidden, snuck into the room, and waited. Eventually, the girls started looking for him, and when they couldn’t find him, they got scared and went to their parents. Nobody thought to look in the blue room, because it had been locked the whole time and no one knew that Alex had found the key. It was a couple of days before anyone decided to check in there. When they went in they found Alex, crushed to death under some boxes. No one is sure what happened, but they think that he was trying to hide better and accidentally knocked the boxes off balance. Ever since then, nobody has used that room for anything. The few times Grandma went in there after that, she said she was overwhelmed by feelings of being watched, watched by something angry. She won’t go in there, because she’s sure that Alex is still in that room, and that he is very angry at her and her sister for what they did to him. Sometimes at night I can hear the door to this room jiggling when I’m trying to sleep in my dad’s apartment. Sometimes we hear scratching in our kitchen...it shares a wall with that room. Anyway, that’s why I don’t like to visit very often, and that’s why Grandma doesn’t want you guys in that room. Let’s go downstairs…I don’t want to be up here anymore.”

Michele and I had gotten a great scare out of that story, but neither one of us wanted to admit that it scared is enough to avoid the upstairs. A couple days later, we decided to go up there and hold a séance, to prove how un-scared we were. Being dumb little kids, our séance consisted of us turning off the lights, closing the curtains, and trying to “awaken the spirit” of Alex by pretending to be Betty and her sister. We even batted around the idea of bringing a little mirror up there so we could chant “Bloooody Maaaary!” Yeah, it was pretty legit.

Michele and I sneak up the stairs, and go into the brown bedroom. It’s important to mention that, when we got up there, the doors to both rooms were shut, as they always were. Anyway we go into the room, lock the door shut off the lights, close the curtains and sit down on the floor, ready to wake up some ghosts. At this point, I was starting to get a little scared. It was really dark in that room, darker than I felt it ought to be, but no way was I going to let Michele see how freaked out I really was. So hell-bent was I to look brave, that I actually was the first one to attempt to contact him. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: “Alex…it’s your sisters.”
Michele: “We’re in here trying to ditch you, Alex. We don’t want you bugging us all the time!”
Me (giggling nervously): “Alex, we know you’re angry! We know you’re listening!”
Michele: “Yeah, let us know you’re here, Alex!”

At this point we stopped and listened. At first, we didn’t hear anything, but then it started. Softly, at the other end of the room, came the sound of a door knob being lightly jostled. We were, of course, freaked the hell out by this, but still wanted to save face. Michele said that it was probably just sound echoing from Rick’s apartment…despite the fact that Rick was at work and Jenny was downstairs. I said that it was probably just the wind or the house settling (words my parents used to explain away the things that went bump in the night). Neither one of us was quite ready to run downstairs with our tails between our legs, so we kept taunting him.

Michele: “Oh come on Alex? Are we really supposed to believe that?
Me: “…yeah! You’re just stupid. We’re glad you died!”

Looking back, I have no idea what possessed me to say that. I must have been caught up in the moment, desperate to best Michele and prove that I was no coward. I honestly can’t think of anything else I’ve ever done that I’ve regretted more than saying those words. No sooner had they left my mouth than the handling started jiggling with more force than any wind or echo could produce. In one fluid motion I jumped up and flipped on the lights…saving face be damned, only to wish that I hadn’t. In the newly lit room, we could actually see the door handle moving, like someone was trying to open it. The force of the jiggling got stronger and stronger, until the whole door was shaking, like someone was trying to force their way in by any means necessary. As quickly as the jiggling had started, it stopped. Michele and I sat there, too scared to move or talk. After about thirty seconds, I had relaxed enough to breathe again.

Me: “That wasn’t really him…do you think?”
Michele: “…No way. Hey! I bet you anything that it was Jenny, trying to scare us!”
Me (wanting really badly to believe this): “You’re right! She probably made that story up to scare us. I bet there never was an Alex.”

As soon as I said the word “Alex” the jiggling started again. By this time I’d had enough of blue rooms and brown rooms and ghosts. Michele and I jumped up and made quickly for the door, angry at Jenny for scaring us, angry at ourselves for being scared, and anxious to get out of there before we let ourselves realize that we hadn’t heard anyone coming up or down the creaky wooden stairs. We quietly unlocked the door and flung it open, ready to catch Jenny in the act.

Only Jenny wasn’t there. No one was there. Only the empty landing facing the door to the blue room, which was wide open. Michele and I immediately tore down the stairs, screaming bloody murder. I felt such a primal fear looking into that room. A fear that something in it was evil, that something in that room wanted very badly to hurt us. Of course our fear was amplified, because that evil something had a face, had shown itself to us as we gaped in horror at that blue room. Standing parallel to the door of the room had been a small, flickering boy.

I never went back to that daycare after that day. Betty had been charging way too much, and neglecting us, so my begging and pleading to not go back became the push my mom needed to finally look into taking us somewhere else. Eventually, Betty died, Rick moved, her house fell into disrepair and collapsed during a particularly bad storm. Every time I drive by that house, I hold my breath and try convince myself that the destruction of the house destroyed Alex along with it. I try not to think about how the house being destroyed could have let Alex out. I try not to think about how the door of my dorm room jiggles at night

The Secret Room

Okay I haven't posted this story because even though things worked out okay I was terrified and thinking about how she looked and how I felt makes me feel the same way when I remember it.

I lived in the second oldest house in my area near Waco, Texas, from when I was about 11 til I was 18. I don't know the significance of this really but I feel it’s the only possible explanation for any supernatural presence. I'm not sure when the house was originally built but the rest of the houses around mine were built in the 40s and 50s so I supposed it’s older than that.
The house seemed normal when we first moved in. Only two families had lived there over the years so it wasn't like there was a high turnover rate. In fact no one really noticed or mentioned anything supernatural with the house.

However, there was a "secret room." This room was actually a selling point for my parents to help us deal with moving. Even though my dad was in the military we had lived at our past house for quote awhile and didn't want to move. So of course when my parents said there was a secret passage connecting one of the possible bedrooms with a secret room we became excited about the new house. My sister and I fought for it but I won because the other bedroom already had flower wallpaper up. When I first saw my room I went straight to the closet to see the "Secret door."

The secret door wasn't really secret, it was right in the back of the closet and plain to see. However it was a lot smaller than any normal door. Even when I was only 11 or 12 I had to squat down to get in. It looked like it was made for a child to use.
Another interesting thing was that the door handle was not really built into the door, it was just a handle added as an afterthought. This made me think it was originally just some sort of attic or crawl space door and not meant for a room. The door was lockable by key from my side of the door, the other side had no handle or keyhole. When you open the door there’s a very small hallway which is the same height as the door and not really fit for an adult, but it’s just a few feet long and then you get into the room.

The room was just an empty room added above the garage of the house. There was no way out except for the "secret passageway" to my closet. There were no windows, one light with a string used to turn it on hanging from the ceiling, and the room was completely white with seemingly new wallpaper. There was no furniture or anything left in the room from the previous owners, in fact I don't think the previous owners used it at all. I believe it was sealed before or soon after they moved in and wasn't touched since then, since it was pretty dusty, but who knows. The lock did seem very old and had a hard time moving as if it was rusted or the wood was warped or something.

Now my parents thought the room could be me and my sister's own little toy room or whatever when they first saw it, but after moving in they had second thoughts. I'm not sure what it was but they said it was because they wouldn't be able to hear us if we got hurt in that room since it was so detached from the rest of the house. Of course since we wanted our own secret room so badly they gave in, but said that we had to tell them when we were playing in there and we had to keep the door to my room, my closet, and the secret room open at all times when we were there. So we went on and like I said earlier nothing much really supernatural happened in the rest of the house, and not even too much in the "secret room," at least not to me.

My sister began having an imaginary friend. Whenever I wasn't in there I could hear her talking and whispering to someone. I noticed that although at first she used to have fun in there that as time went on she kind of seemed sadder when she was in there. However up til now this could all be coincidence so I didn't give it much thought.

The only weird things that happened with me was at night I thought I could hear some sort of scratching on the walls behind my room, except it wasn't really with fingernails it was softer sounding. It wasn't on the door, but coming from inside the room.
Now I believe that I only heard this at night because it was quiet at night, and the scratching rubbing sound was so soft that you normally couldn't hear it. I really had no idea what it was, I told my dad once and he looked around for some animal but couldn't find any so we just forgot about it and I lived with it. Like I said it was so soft it never really bothered me. It could be some far off tree rubbing against the house for all I knew. This rubbing happened consistently but like I said I never paid it much mind, at least until my sister went into the room one night.

She knew about the rubbing too and never really said anything about it. One night though, probably about a year or so after moving into the house, the rubbing was going on as usual. I was in that limbo before falling to sleep when I thought that someone was in my room and unlocking the closet door. I thought it might have been a dream but I looked around and saw my door and closet door open, so I got up to check it out. I was a little scared but I realized it was probably mom or dad checking out the rubbing sound since I told them it still happened sometimes. I turned the light on in my closet and looked in. I saw a figure sitting in the room facing the wall. Now even when I was a kid, I had been pretty brave. I was still scared since I was pretty young, but I knew that you can't just run or you'll never know. I said "Hello?" and I heard "She wanted me to see" in what sounded like my sister's voice. The light was in the middle of the room, and it was tough taking even those few steps to get to it in the middle of that dark room. But like I said, I couldn't just leave so I just went there and turned it on. When I looked at the figure, it was indeed my sister, sitting and scratching at the wall paper. I touched her and she was crying so I pulled her up and took her out of the room. I'm really glad that I didn't just lock the door and run or else she'd be stuck in there all night (this is one reason why I never run away from anything abnormal). I locked the door, took her to her room and watched her as she went to sleep. I really thought she could've been sleepwalking or something although she never had before, and since it was over I didn't want to wake up my parents. I went back to sleep.

The next day I asked my sister in the morning if she remembered going into the room and she looked freaked out. I told her she was probably just sleep walking but she said that "the girl" asked her to come look at her pictures. She didn't start crying but she was about to because she was so scared. I didn't ask who "the girl" was. I told her it was just a dream and went to prove it. She didn't want to enter the room again so I went in and saw where she was scratching on the wall. Only a little bit was scratched away, so I started peeling some more wallpaper off. Under the wallpaper were different pictures drawn in what looked like crayon. They were typical kid pictures of mainly cats, and houses, however there was one picture that I thought was weird.
It was a little girl, a cat, a mom, and a dad. Now everything looked like a normal kid family portrait, except the dad had no face. It was just a circle. Of course my rational side said she just never finished it. But still the dad picture looked strangely out of place, like the lines were distorted like she had trouble drawing it. Anyway I told my parents and they yelled at me for pulling back the wallpaper. I didn't want my sister to get in trouble so I didn't say anything about her or what happened last night. My parents said we had to get it fixed now and were mad, and didn't let me play in there again as punishment. The whole thing still seemed normal to me. Kid draws on wall, parents put wall paper up to cover it up. I didn't realize until later that night when the scratching rubbing sound started up, that it sounded like a crayon. I really started thinking that it was "the girl" that my sister talked about was drawing on the wall.

Now after this happened, I started believing that the girl was actually in there. Once I started acknowledging her presence, weirder things began to happen. It happened really slowly. I was about 14 or 15 after the episode with my sister, and the weird things were happening slowly over the course of the next years I lived in the house up until I was 18. The changes were so subtle that I didn’t really notice that they were happening until much later. The drawing sounds increased a little bit and soon were audible even during the day. I also started hearing little pattering of feet. The more I heard these things the more emotional I felt about them. I started feeling angry the more I heard the sounds, especially when I was trying to sleep. However I always managed to control myself and try to think that this girl was obviously sad and just trying to have fun and I calmed myself down. However this was going on so long that I finally asked my sister when I was about 16.

I asked her if she ever heard the sounds. She said that she did, although they were pretty quiet. Now I didn’t think this was so weird since obviously I could hear them too, and I told her how annoying it was. She kind of looked at me as if she was hurt, and said that every time she heard the sounds she felt really sad. She had trouble talking about it, but I told her this is pretty important since it’s going to affect the rest of my years left in the house. She told me that “the girl” was the girl that she used to talk to when she played in the room. She didn’t know her name, but they used to play together. She said she looked just like a little girl about her age so they had fun together. However, as my sister got older, the little girl seemed to get older too, except very unnaturally. It was subtle at first but soon she began hating seeing her. She said she looked as if she “shouldn’t have been alive anymore.” I didn’t really know what this meant. My sister said she wore the same dress the whole time, even when the girl grew out of it. I asked her why she went into the room that one night to find the pictures, and she said she really didn’t want to but the girl made her feel so sad and she’d do anything to help her out. However this still freaked her out and I didn’t ask anymore questions.

Things got worse every night, and I hated hearing that sound. I was so mad that she wouldn’t just shut up so I could sleep. The weird thing was I was scared at the same time, since I knew that whatever it was in there wasn’t actually alive anymore. What also freaked me out was that the sound didn’t annoy my sister, but I guess she had more tolerance than I did.

I asked my parents who used to live here, and they said a family with two sons. Of course this didn’t have anything to do with the room, since they had it locked off the entire time they were there. So I asked if they knew anything about the family before them. They said the original owners were the ones who had the house built and that they didn’t know much about them, except that they had a daughter who died when she was 11. I asked if they knew how she died, but they said it was some sort of accident, so it wasn’t murder or child abuse or anything. I also asked if she died in the secret room, but they said they didn’t think so. I really think that this was the girl in the room, although I have no idea why she inhabited it still.

Once I knew this I sort of had an idea with what I was dealing with. Last year was when things got the worst. I heard almost constant drawing and her jumping around inside the room. The footsteps sounded heavier and were louder. If I ever heard it I’d pound on the door to the room and she’d stop immediately, but I’d hear soft whimpering or crying. She’d also start drawing again later on. Sometimes I’d scream at her to shut up. I really got mad every time it happened since it had been going on for 6 years. However, I knew that I had to do something about this. I was a lurker by this time so I’ve read a lot of ghost story threads, and I remembered how pussy most of the goons were regarding ghosts and never checked anything out. So I knew that I had to at least understand what was going on exactly, and if possible end it. I didn’t really have a plan but I knew I had to see the girl or talk to her or something.

Last year, shortly before I turned 18, my parents went away for the weekend, so I took the key to the secret room from their room (they kept it ever since locking it that day when I took off the wallpaper). I was determined to see her so I stayed up expecting to hear sounds. I couldn’t hear anything so soon I just fell asleep. It was about 1 am when I woke up to a loud bang, like someone jumped or fell. I heard her footsteps afterwards and of course the drawing. The first thing I felt before any fear was pure anger. I hated that she woke me up, even though this was what I wanted. I immediately grabbed the key and went to the door. I was pounding on it as I said “That’s it!” and unlocking the door. The sounds stopped and I heard whimpering. I threw open the door and this was the first time I saw the room in years.

The light coming from my room illuminated a figure in the room, much like when I saw my sister years earlier. This was when I began to feel a wave of different emotions. I was really angry, really scared, yet I also knew that I had to do this and remain calm. I went into the room and stood a few feet away from the figure which was standing in the corner. I turned on the light. What I saw was probably the most horrific sight I could probably have ever even thought of in my entire life. Any horror movie monster had nothing on how unnatural the girl looked.

I finally realized why my sister described her in such a weird way. Her body was taller than she should have been. Her limbs were so lanky and bony and stretched like she kept growing past how tall she should have been. She was wearing a really small dress, and it was really tight on her body. Her face looked as if her head had continued to grow but her face had not. The skin was stretched and the eyes were sunk back into her head yet wide open and her small, childlike teeth were exposed since her lips were stretched back with the rest of her face. Her hair was down to her waist, her face had tears streaming down. I took all of this in in just a moment, and as soon as we met eyes she let out a wail as if she was crying and moaning at the same time. It wasn’t a loud wail like most people describe ghosts, it was pretty soft and it was as if she was in terrible pain, but I couldn’t tell her expression since her face was so unnatural and stretched.

As soon as I heard the wail all the anger in my body was overcome by fear and I ran. I wish I could say I ran for a video camera, but I just ran. I know I’ve been talking about how much I hate when people don’t investigate things but I was so terrified that I ran. Once I got out of my room I ran to my car and drove away and spent the night at a friend’s house. Once I realized what happened I was in a cold shiver and scared out of my mind for the entire night. I was too scared to go back home until my parents came home.

I waited until they came back on Sunday, and then I came over. They asked me why I took the key and left the closet door open and I just told them I wanted to see if I could sell any of my old toys on eBay. I took one last look in the room and locked the door. Ever since then nothing happened. I don’t know why things stopped, but I’m always hoping its not because I “let her out” like in the Ring or something and that she’s really evil. Since nothing has happened since then I do really hope that I helped her out in some way, but in all honesty I don’t care. My parents moved after I went to college, and I have no intention of ever going back. I came up with a theory that the male family member in her life was really mean to her and hated her playing in there, and possibly beat her, while the female family member always felt sad (hence my sister, and the girls willingness to open up to her first). Anyway like I said that’s just all theory but it kind of makes sense. This all happened last year, and the more I think about it the harder it is to remember. Sorry for typing such a long post, I didn't realize I had this much to tell.

Esbat wrote:Ooh on another site I read a couple freaky ass Ouija board ones. *blurrgh*

Evil Spirit From a Ouija Board
Posted on October 11, 2009
Hello, I felt like sharing my detailed story. My name is Ross, I am currently 23. I grew up in a small town in North Dakota. As a child I had a fascination with ghosts. It wasn’t until I was 14 I had experienced my first %100 sure ghost, which was before I discovered Ouija. When I heard about Ouija from my friend Amanda at the age of 15, I was already a full believer.

My friend Amanda (who was about 6 years older than me) said when she was younger she and a friend used the Ouija board and it always worked. So I told her I would come over with a friend and she would show us how to use it. But my friend and I, everyone nick named him “Hammer” because he was always hammered, got a piece of cardboard, a marker, a case of beer, and drove over to Amanda’s house.

We got there and Amanda drew out the board on the piece of cardboard which was about 2′ by 3 1/2′ (pretty big). She got us two candles and sent us downstairs to play. Now remember this is a town in North Dakota about 18,000 people, so it was an old basement with a late 1800’s coal heater. We started playing and instantly got a response from one of our friends that had died about ten months previously from a drug overdose at the age of 21. I knew him because he lived about six houses down from my parents, but hammer was good friends with him, his name was Tony. We could tell it was Tony because he kept saying slang remarks he use to always say.

This whole time hammer thought I was moving it but he still apologized to Tony that he wasn’t at the funeral because hammer was locked up at the time. So we agreed to ask Tony to knock on the wall, and we heard a knock. We asked him again, and we heard it again but it was more faint. We asked to do it again and this time it was KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. We both got up in a hurry and I got to the stairs first but hammer grabbed me and pulled me down and he ran up first. After we asked Amanda and her boyfriend if they were messing with us and they weren’t, we went back down to apologize to Tony. He said he had to go home and we closed the board.

At this point Hammer and I were really into the board. I was a musician at work, joining various projects as a drummer and doing quite well for what that town was. I still am a musician and I am doing quite well in Portland. But anyway Hammer and I were both in the same grade (sophomores) at this time, we played so much that at lunch time we would go to my room, get stoned and play the board.

One day we played at lunch, went to school, then after school we went back to the board. When we approached my room (which was in the basement of my parents house, two blocks from a huge graveyard) we could smell a rotten smell. Hammer made a remark which makes me smile to this day, even though he was really fried for his age he was serious about this, “It smells like burnt mushrooms”. So we got stoned, put on some music and got out the board. We asked what the smell was and the board simply spelled out D-E-A-T-H. Hammer said “I don’t like this”. So we stopped.

I kept this board in my room (which was the darkest, creepiest room in the house). There was two nights in a row where I saw an entity in my room. I always slept in pitch dark, just wasn’t scared of it I guess. But I woke up, my eyes were still closed but I sensed something. I squinted my eyes open a little bit just so if there was something there it would still think I was asleep. To my astonishment I saw what looked like either a midget or a kid. Its back was facing me and it was looking down at my cd case. Now this spirit was standing only four feet from where my head was. It was wearing a t-shirt and there were a bunch of faces on the back of it. Also, it was bald. It was pure white with a slight glow because I could see it in pitch dark. But yet it looked so real, like a real person. As a matter of fact my little brother was only about six at that time and the being looked the exact size of my brother. I actually called for my bro, and I thought he was playing a trick on me, but it was PURE silence. The more I opened my eyes the more he vanished. The second time I saw him he was running across a doorway, and I thought it was my brother again, but it was silent (keep in mind I am the only person that is rooming in the basement).

The very next day I had an average day in school, got stoned with all my buddies at lunch. I was putting the Ouija board aside for a while. After school it was back to my old life again, I always popped in a cd and played drums to it. I always played to Black Sabbath and stuff like that. I knew whole albums of Led Zeppelin, Coal Chamber, Black Sabbath. But I could play drums to the whole collection of Nirvana. So I put in Insecticide and I began to play the first song. The Ouija board was propped up against the wall about a foot and a half from my right. About two minutes into the song I heard a really loud, and distorted evil scream. It drowned out the 600 watt stereo and my drum kit and I always played loud. But there was something different about the scream. It seemed like it came from inside of my head, but yet the sound came from my right which is where the board was. I blew it off and kept playing when about five minutes later the sound happened again. This time louder and it was so bad I had to drop my sticks, turn off the stereo. I ran upstairs where there was a pet cockatiel that I took out of its cage.

I sat with the bird on a chair in the living room and turned on the TV. I could sense a strong presence when all of a sudden I can see a dark figure of a hooded kid or a midget. I can only see this dark figure in the corner of my eye as I kept my eye focused on the TV not daring to look. The figure moved closer into my sight until it stopped (if it would have moved any further I would have been able to clearly see it). I kept my eye on the TV as what felt like the hooded figure stood and stared at me. About five seconds passed when my bird just goes completely berzerk, I look over and nothing is there. I put the bird in his cage and left the house for a few hours.

Even after this horrible experience I kept playing. I even got my mom to play, and we tried to summon the midget. But I always kept the board in the garage after these events. Eventually I quit playing.

Esbat wrote:WHAT?!?! I thought the wireman story came from you?!?!

krpykrwly wrote:

Esbat wrote:WHAT?!?! I thought the wireman story came from you?!?!

I'm just sharing things I've found elsewhere; hence, the quotes.

I've posted my 'experiences' on the WUMB before....
http://wizarduniverse.invisionzone.com/index.php?s=&showtopic=23966&view=findpost&p=747942

http://wizarduniverse.invisionzone.com/index.php?s=&showtopic=23966&view=findpost&p=748042

http://wizarduniverse.invisionzone.com/index.php?s=&showtopic=23966&view=findpost&p=751547

http://wizarduniverse.invisionzone.com/index.php?s=&showtopic=23966&view=findpost&p=751693

http://wizarduniverse.invisionzone.com/index.php?s=&showtopic=23966&view=findpost&p=755878

krpykrwly wrote:Pretty long..

Esbat wrote:

krpykrwly wrote:Pretty long..

Holy crap I love this story, man. I'm not even half way done. I wish this was a movie.

Joshua wrote:

Esbat wrote:

krpykrwly wrote:Pretty long..

Holy crap I love this story, man. I'm not even half way done. I wish this was a movie.

It is...http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0275022/