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Visit an olde Hotel and take a "moment" in an old hallway
You'll find depth there that
goes beyond physical dimension
Every corridor has at least one vanishing point
And some have possibly more . . .




After Hours
by Caroline Truax
E-mail: shayne@mindspring.com
Hailing From: Atlanta, Ga.
Where it Happened:
Atlanta, Ga.
Favorite Author: Alice Hoffman

This happened about 5 years ago. I can't really remember the exact season, whether it was winter or early spring. (The trees were bare, and there were no flowers blooming.) You see, there are quite a few areas of older trees still left in downtown Atlanta -- and there is an old garden in the midst of a little forest, attached to an old plantation house. The house and garden are now used by a school for children with cerebral palsy, which is also on the premises. The garden combines a formal area and a naturalized area, and is open to the public in the day -- but not at night -- and it's quite easy to sneak in.

I was walking in the garden, at night, and I made my husband come with me. I did this because the garden is off the main drag and this is a big city, so walking at night is dangerous. He was strolling along and I was up ahead of him by several yards. The only light was coming from halogen street lights on the Main drag (Ponce de Leon Ave, for those Atlantans who might want to check this out).

The street is elevated up a bank of some 10 feet or so, I would guess. There are plenty of scrub trees and underbrush on the bank, and they keep out most of the light. Still, there is a kind of golden glow that is cast down on the garden which makes the place very confusing at night with tree shadows, etc.

OK. Now to the story.

As I said I was walking quite a bit in front of my husband. I was on a path that was separated from the woods by a deep concrete ditch which I suppose acts as over flow when the poor polluted creek rises and keeps the garden from flooding. The ditch is narrow and were I young and in shape, I might even be able to jump it.

As I was walking, I saw this bright emerald neon shining light in a tree. I thought it was an optical illusion and stepped closer to the tree (a myrtle) to see what was catching the light and shining that way. Then I forgot all about it, because on the other side of the ditch, in a scrubby bush I saw the air get dark and busy.

For years I have not been able to adequately describe this until I saw Carl Sagan's "Final Contact" with Jodie Foster as a astronaut of the cyberkind. There is a scene on a beach where she sees something coming toward her, and she can see that it's something but the form somehow shifts -- that is exactly what I mean.

The air got dark and busy, and this little gnome or troll thing knitted itself together right in front of my eyes. It was a typical Brian Froud illustration gnome. Gnarled features, rusty vest, floppy hat -- but it was completely inanimate. It didn't appear to be alive, it could have been carved in stone. I was terrified out of my wits. I ran screaming, like someone in a movie. I think I was actually in classic panic.

I ran to the car screaming for my husband to follow, which he did at top speed, thinking I'd found a dead body or an axe-weilding mad man.

And, that's it, no more to tell.

Further investigation showed only that the bush was a Mountain Laurel, since cut back in a renovation effort. I still go to the garden, and have even been in a night a few times, but I have never seen anything else. I swear I wasn't high, nor at that time had I been in years, as I was in the throes of bringing up an expensive daughter (private school and braces).

I would love to hear from anyone who has had any experience with fairies gnomes or that ilk. It is my theory that, if I was not temporarily insane, that older wild things have been trapped in our city in these little areas of remaining wilderness, along with the coons and possums and hawks and such.

Or I could be a looney. You tell me.

Naw, yer not a looney. One of the first canons of Ghostories is that once you pass through our hallowed Ghostly Libraries, you are completely and utterly de-looney-ized! It's kinda like going into an airport terminal and passing through the metal detectors -- no loonies here -- no loonies there (well, except for the ones who work there -- er, sometimes!)

Word has it, though, there are no metal detectors at Nudist Airports (where did THAT thought come from??) . . . anyway . . .

We really enjoyed your story and thank you for sending it in. In the future, however, we suggest you wear an O'Neill's Ghostories Tee Shirt, a GhosTee, to ward off garden trolls and gremlins. Especially since they glow in the dark and might be perfect for the filtered lighting in your Atlanta park!

By the way, did any of those trolls have a GhosTee on?




Cat Scratch Fever
by Janet Harris
E-mail: timwells@earthlink.net
Hailing From: Nashville, Tennessee
Where it Happened:
Marietta, Georgia
Favorite Author: Alfred Hitchcock

This event happened in April 1994 in Marietta, Georgia. I had a gray stripped cat about one year old name Figaro. He eventually became hard to handle. Little by little each day he would walk up and bite, scratch or growl at me or my two sons.

I usually got up every morning at 5:30 a.m. and would sit on the couch and drink my coffee. The cat would sit on the couch beside me and then he would walk up and bite me on my arm or scratch me on my leg as I walked by. When enough was enough, I took the cat to the animal shelter -- and a month had passed since the cat had been gone.

One morning I got up, got my coffee and was walking from the kitchen to the living room. I felt a stinging burning feeling on the top of my foot, and when I looked down, my foot was bleeding. There was a very thin scratch-like scrape across my foot.

This looked liked a cat scratch.

I got Kleenex and kept dabbing my foot to clear up the bleeding. I was very puzzled. Where had this scratch come from?!

I went to work and my husband called me and asked me if I had gone to the animal shelter and got our cat back. I had cold chills. I said, "No, why?" He then told me he was off work that day and had gone out of the house -- and when he returned he said the cat was sitting in the chair in our dining room! He said the cat looked at him and ran under the table.

Neither I nor he saw the cat again. I told my husband what happened to me that morning with the scratch, and we both seem to think that the animal shelter may have put the cat to sleep -- and quite possibly we had been visited by his spirit.

Later on that same day, when I came home from work, we had 3 cats on our porch -- and they were all staring at one corner next to our door.

I never heard anything else from the cat.

Thanks for the story, Janet. Brings a whole new meaning to the saying that cats have nine lives -- and, come to think of it, that all-famous Tweety Bird line, "I tot I saw a Puddy Tat!"




Home Sweet Funeral Home
by Mortimer
E-mail: MortRIP@aol.com
Hailing From: San Antonio, Texas
Where it Happened: The Mortuary I live and work at

I live and work in a mortuary in San Antonio, Texas. I have been interested in the funeral business since I was 12 years old. I have always had an "eerie" aura about me. If you would meet me, you would understand why. I was recently given the opportunity to become a resident of the Mortuary I now work for -- and being the weird kinda guy I am, I could not pass a chance such as this.

I moved in on a Thursday afternoon. With my girlfriend's help, I had everything moved in by the time night came. The funeral home was opened that night until 10:00 p.m. I figured I would go ahead and stay the night in my apartment there. My girlfriend always stays with me until about 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. That particular night, my bathroom was out of order so I was using the bathroom in the family room. My girlfriend was in the bathroom by the employee lounge on the OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE BUILDING.

On my way back to the apartment, I heard her scream.

I ran to the other side of the building to see what was the matter and she said she heard someone whisper her name. I told her it was OK and we headed back to the apartment. I was spooked, as was she, so we both went to her house to stay the night.

What a welcome to my new home, Right?

I returned the next night with the previous night's occurrence in the back of my mind. I stayed in the apartment, watching TV until about 2:30 (a.m.) when I went outside to smoke a cigar. In order to get outside, you must go through the hallway, then through the garage. My car was parked right outside the door to the garage. I was sitting on the hood of my car enjoying the cigar when I heard a loud "WHOOSH" come from inside the garage. This noise is normal when someone opens the door from the hallway into the garage. Mind you this was after 2:00 in the morning and there was not supposed to be anybody (living) inside the funeral home -- except for me.

I was petrified.

I had no place to go.

My keys were in the apartment and I was stuck.

I finally got up the gumption to open the door to the garage. As I opened it, I noticed that the light was off. I never turn off the light. Even if I'm leaving for the night. The only light filtering into the garage was that from the door to the hallway on the other side of the garage. When I opened the door, that door stayed open for a moment, then shut and I heard footsteps going down the hallway.

I'm kinda a big guy so you can imagine I'm about to have a heart attack here. I reach one arm in the garage and turn on the light. At that point, I ran to the hallway door next to the apartment. I thought maybe someone had broken into the funeral home. I had the alarm off because I was walking around in the building so I had no way of telling if anyone had broken in. I ran to my apartment, shut the door, locked it, ran to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. I told the dispatch what happened and she sent 2 units over within 5 minutes. In the mean time I set the alarm so if someone was in the building they couldn't get out without the alarm going off.

The police arrived and searched the building top to bottom and found no evidence of forced entry or anything missing. I knew then what it was. Now, every night, when I go home to the funeral home, I can walk through the hallway and feel the sinister presence of whatever is there. I just explain to it that this is not it's home, it's my home. And ask it to please leave my girlfriend and I alone.

We don't mean any harm to it. It pretty much leaves us alone now, but we can both feel its presence. I just wish the dead would Rest In Peace!

Thanks for the story. It was great. I will never again complain about the house I live in. I promise, cross my heart, hope to . . . er, scratch that . . . I love my house, I love my house, I love my house.

Did you say your name was Mort?

This is a very weird story -- I like it. Wish you owned a GhosTee, I really do! This would be great for the Member's Library! Truly, it would! I know I have been really pushing them this month . . . but for reals! Mort, can't I talk you into one??



The Unbeliever
by Craig Bailey
E-mail: bailey71@marshall.edu
Hailing From: Princeton, WV
Where it Happened: Kentucky
Favorite Author: Shakespeare, Morrison, A. Christie

In telling this story, let me assure the reader that it was passed to me by my grandmother, Alene. Alene is in failing health, but her memory is untouched, and her ability to spin a tale is uncanny. This particular story is about her father Joe, his first wife, and a house that will never be forgotten. My grandmother is devout Christian, but she believes these tales of the unexplained to be completely true. Judge for yourself . . .

In the late 1800s/early 1900s, it was common practice in the coalfields of Kentucky and West Virginia for a miner to spend the majority of the week at the mines while leaving his wife at home alone. This is exactly what Joe, my great-grandfather, did during his first marriage. After a hasty marriage, Joe bought a small, quaint home for himself and his new wife Sue. Sue quickly alerted her husband to a potential problem: the house was directly across the road from the local cemetery. Joe, being a firm disbeliever is such superstitious nonsense like ghosts and spooks, had a good laugh when Sue begged him not to make her stay alone in a house so close to a graveyard and told her to get used to it.

When Monday morning arrived, he left her alone, and laughed as she sobbed on the porch. That night, after completing her tours, she settled down in the bed for a good night's rest and doused the lamps. As soon as she had climbed into bed, a strange noise became apparent outside. As pulled the covers up around her head, she could hear something like barrels rolling or horses galloping around the house. She tried to sleep and eventually, as the sunrise drove the mysterious sounds away, found some comforting slumber.

Every night, the noises started getting louder and louder, seeming to be closer to the house and, on Friday night, Sue heard three slow knocks on her door. In a terrified fit, she screamed, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" and suddenly, the noises faded.

The next morning brought Joe's return and the first thing Sue did was beg him to let her leave this house, telling him of the haunted noises. He laughed unsympathetically and told her to get over this stupidity. In desperation, she bitterly screamed, "Joe, I hope to GOD it gets you!"

Joe wasn't in the least bit frightened and told her that he was sure it was local men playing tricks on her. Later that night, Sue slept well in Joe's arms, but some subtle suspicion began to eat at the unbeliever. As he drifted into a shallow sleep, he was started at a loud "crack" coming from the fireplace that startled him -- and as he sat upright in the bed, he saw the apparition of an elderly woman staring at him from the rocking chair at the foot of the bed.

My grandmother says that Joe knew exactly who this woman was, but he took the knowledge of her identity to his grave because, simply, she had been dead for six months before they moved into the house.

Joe shuddered with fear and her bony, cold hand stretched to clutch his ankles. As she latched on to his foot and began pulling him toward her and the footboard of the bed. Joe fainted with fright as he felt his foot slide down to the foot of the bed in the dead hand of the spirit.

The next morning, Sue roused her pale husband and sat up in the bed as he opened his eyes and screamed with terror. The footboard of the bed was broken and the rocking chair had been toppled during the night. Joe immediately promised his frightened wife that not another night would be passed in this restless house simply telling her, "Sue, whatever it was, it got me."

Craig, thank your friend for sending you to us -- for me and the rest of the Ghostories crew! Apparently, you have inherited your grandmother's keen ability to spin a tale -- you are an excellent writer and I loved the story. You have a gift.

I've always wondered what it would be like to live across the street from a cemetery. I mean, not that I really want to find out, but just what goes on. Now, I know!

My now-late grandmother told a story about her grandmother who spent each week alone in a cabin near woods edge when her logging husband would also go away for a week of sawdust and toil. But, as it turned out in her case, there was another logger who would get corn-whiskey liquored up and one night he wandered right out of the camp to see if he could sneak into her cabin. What he hadn't anticipated was that my German-Irish ancestry was a rough and scrapping lot, and when he came upon her doorstep and started calling out her name, she flung open the door and beaned him a good one with a rather large cast-iron frypan.


And, straight down to his knees and into a heap on mother earth he went.

As the story goes, she could hear him while he lay moaning on the lawn for the remainder of the night, and then somewhere around the cold Hudson Bay daybreak he dragged himself back to camp with a triple hangover and a huge lump on his noggin. Back in those days, the men would laugh anyone out of camp who was trounced by a woman -- and so they did -- and they also booted him permanently for even thinking about messing with another logger's wife. Needless to say, no other logger ever entertained the idea of paying my great-great grandmother an unannounced visit -- even if the reason was forthright!


Note: If you indicated you would like a GhosTee, please fill out "the WannaTee form" and when your payment is received, we'll put your story in the Member's section -- plus you'll join "Our Crew" on in the new Members Forum where, among other things, we talk about new stories and search our hometowns and regions for famous haunted landmarks. When you purchase a GhosTee, you support Ghostories and it lets our editors know you appreciate the work they do -- plus you get a great keepsake to wear for a long, long time.



Shadow on the Wall
Name Withheld by Request

I have told this story to people who were not there to witness the actual event and some look at me as if I am just telling a story to get a good laugh -- but I find nothing funny about it. Everything I am about to relate is true and I guess in some bizarre way I feel that by retelling this story to anyone who is willing to listen it will bring me some comfort.

On July 6, 1990, a high-school friend shot himself in the head with a rifle in a nearby local baseball dugout. The act shocked and saddened everyone, especially his parents, of course, who did not want to believe their only son would take his own life.

The days that followed his death were happening, for me, as if in a dream. Fearing this act would spark some sort of "chain reaction," the school counselors were sent in to help the students grieve and discuss their feelings of loss. Days went by and there seemed to be a cloud of despair and confusion hanging over our entire high school class. If he had lived, my friend would have graduated from high school with the rest of us that same year. When he died, he was two months away from his 18th birthday.

About a week after his suicide, I was visiting my best friend at the time, we'll call her Anne, in her home. We were both still very affected by the death of our friend and we began to talk late into the night about his possible reasons for taking his own life and how crazy and unexpected it was. We had been discussing the whole chain of events and basically trying to make sense of something we could not even imagine, when I suddenly became very uncomfortable talking about our deceased friend.

I was sitting at the time in a desk chair across from Anne who was sitting comfortably on her bed facing me. She was looking directly at me and could see the discomfort on my face. She assumed I was just overreacting and our discussion had gotten to me, so she stood up and moved toward the door of her bedroom and gestured in a sweeping motion with her arm for me to follow her into the kitchen down the hall. There was a single small desk light on behind me when she made this motion with her arm, so that when she moved, her body created a shadow on the wall.

This is going to sound ridiculous, and I am no Physics expert, but when Anne swept her arm up into the air, gesturing me to follow her, her shadow did not follow her arm. Instead, there was a strange kind of delay and I saw her arm move, and about 5-10 seconds later the shadow of an arm moved, mimicking the same gesture she had just made.

I of course, thought my eyes were playing tricks on me and ignored the shadow. And I would have kept it to myself if only Anne had not turned to me and asked, "Did you just see that?" I answered, "Yes!" -- and we fled out of the room and into the kitchen.

Anne's house was large and our frightened voices bounced off the columned walls, but nothing ever occurred after that. My friend Anne and I no longer speak and I am sure that if she knew I was relaying this story to strangers, she would think I was crazy, but I remember the death of our high school friend as if it were yesterday and I can't help wishing that the shadow we saw was indeed a sign from our friend, but I will never be sure. I write this story in his memory and in the hope that he is in a place where his problems have all been taken away.

Boy oh boy. Here is one of those near-untouchable subjects, CD. Just like it's almost impossible to find someone without a ghost story, regrettably it's evenly impossible (and sad) to find someone who hasn't known or been touched by the act of someone who has taken their own life. Suicide is one of the most senseless behaviors that not only causes intense grief -- but it can immeasurably alter the lives of those who surrounded that person not just for months, but decades to come. It is clearly not an act that should ever be considered by anyone.

In my life I have known more than one person who committed such a deed. It is strange -- in life you walk with them, you talk with them -- you look up to some of them who are incredibly insightful and some who are brilliant -- and then one morning the sun rises a little differently. In the months and years that follow, when I have ever found myself in the rooms they used to occupy, I have had a strange feeling that while they are no longer there, they somehow still remain as a shadow on the wall. It is the strangest feeling to relate except to those who know what I'm talking about. I guess my condolences to you are in order -- but I think I'll opt to celebrate your sharing of your story -- for our task is to learn and by so doing, grow.

For anyone who reads this and is close to anyone who might be thinking about suicide -- even if they have only been talking about it in the mildest of terms -- please do everything you can for them. Don't be afraid to help by contacting their families or your local agencies who can prevent these senseless tragedies. Last year I made a call that saved a life -- and while it was the hardest decision I ever made -- I can tell you it is much nicer watching that person continue to grow rather than thinking about them as a shadow on the wall.



by Gretchen Boise
E-mail: boise6@dreamscape.com
Hailing From: Earlville, NY
Where it Happened: Our Old House
Ghostories Almost Member & Ghostee Owner

This story I am about to tell you has been talked about in my family for years, now it has been passed down to my own daughter who tells it to her friends at slumber parties. It begins with the first time I ever saw anything was when I was around the age of seven.

It happened in a house we lived in years ago in Western NY. I shared a room with my sister, we both had the feeling something was always watching us, but being so young, we never really worried all that much about it -- until one night while when I was trying to sleep.

My bed was up against one wall and my sister's bed faced the other. I turned so I was facing the wall, when I opened my eyes (after getting that feeling of being watched again) there standing in the wall was a woman -- she was a young woman, dressed all in black, high white lace collar, wearing a cameo, and hair pulled up neatly in a bun. She stood there with her hands folded in front of her, smiling sweetly at me.

Now, mind you, I was 7 years old so I pulled the covers up over my head, and then down again to take a peek just to see if she was still there (which she was, and this time with a bigger smile) . I got so scared I jumped from my bed and ran across the room to my sister's bed. I landed right on top of her, waking her up of course. I told her there was a lady in my wall, but when we looked again the woman was gone.

The next day I told my mom about it, she said it must have been just my guardian angel and left it at that. She refused to talk it about it further, or even years later.

Then recently, my brother and I got talking about that house. He said, "don't you remember what the neighborhood kids used to say about our house?"

And, of course I didn't remember a thing.

He told me that apparently a couple had died there years ago. Then he asked me if I remembered the time that he and I were in the backyard and we saw the old man in the attic window. And all of a sudden it rushed back --- bammmm!

Right when he told me about the old man in the attic window I had a major flash back and remembered it like it was yesterday. I don't have to tell you even after all these years it scared me. Well, many years have passed since we lived there, but I still have dreams about that house and I wish the dreams would stop! I have many other scary stories to tell, but I have freaked myself out telling this one, so the others will have to wait.

Until next time, Gretchen, we here at Ghostories truly enjoyed your story and hope you return for "sequels" -- and we have a GhosTee for you also.




Note: If you indicated you would like a GhosTee, please fill out "the WannaTee form" and when your payment is received, we'll put your story in the Member's section -- plus you'll join "Our Crew" on in the new Members Forum where, among other things, we talk about new stories and search our hometowns and regions for famous haunted landmarks. When you purchase a GhosTee, you support Ghostories and it lets our editors know you appreciate the work they do -- plus you get a great keepsake to wear for a long, long time.




Nice Necktie!
by J. Colin Heffernan
E-mail: jh150@cornell.edu
Hailing From: Hartford, CT
Where it Happened: Old Sayebrooke CT

This incident happened about 2 years ago. I was 17 at the time and working at a restaurant - motel in Old Saybrooke CT called "The Castle". The scariest thing about the place (besides the low pay) was the old story of what happened to one of its original owners.

From almost my first day working there I was told that one of the members of the family who built the house had killed himself on the grounds. The story was that one night the son had discovered that his fiancee was cheating on him with one of his close friends. Deep in depression the son climbed to the tallest tower of the Castle, tied a rope to some type of pole on the roof, and hanged himself.

The next morning as the parents were leaving the home they saw him hanging. They immediately sold the mansion and it has been a hotel ever since.

Many employees said that they had seen and heard things, yet I (as most people believe . . . at first) didn't believe the stories. That is until one night I was working the late, late shift with a friend of mine named Katie.

We were cleaning up the dining room after closing when we heard the kitchen doors slam shut. I had propped them open; but, as the wind off Long Island Sound is pretty strong, I figured they had blown shut. Katie yelled at me to get over there and look at the kitchen. When I arrived I saw a weird green light pouring through the round window of the door and flooding out the crack at the bottom.

Still unconvinced of any supernatural goings on I tried to open the door -- but it was not happening. I thought someone was in there, and I knew that if the place got trashed I would get fired, so I reared back and tried to put my shoulder through the door. At the time I was about 6'2" - 210 pounds, played football and lifted a lot of weights. The door should have popped right open. But not this time.

Katie and I peered into the window and there plain as day was a man dressed in antiquated clothes, with a noose around his neck looking right back at us. He walked by and the green light left us. We instantly figured "forget the boss, it's quittin' time!" We ran outside, and could barely light our cigarettes our hands were shaking so badly. From then on I was a believer.

Hey Colin, thanks for the story! Some of the best stories, I think, come from old hotels, mansions and restaurants. Just last weekend I revisited the Captain's Anchorage in California's Big Bear Mountains and I could still feel the same undercurrent running through the place -- but while I was there the only thing green I saw in the restaurant was a really bad hairdo! But really, it's a little hard for me to picture what happened to you, and even harder to even think how freaked it would make most of us. If you ever get a picture of the place, send it to us, ok? I'd love to place it in this story if it's ok with you.




Distant Revelers
by Kevin C.
E-mail: kcrummet@erols.com
Hailing From: Harper's Ferry, WV
Where it Happened: Hancock, MD

My aunt and uncle had a passion for restoring old country houses. The last of which had been an Inn at the turn of the century. The house sits on 50 acres at the top of a hill next to a historic old church with an equally historic old graveyard. I can't claim to recall for certain but I think the church was used as a field hospital during the Civil War. My uncle would tell us the story about the months after they moved in to the house.

Their bedroom was on the second of three floors near the large almost-spiral staircase that emptied into the foyer between two sitting areas. Late in the evening, while they were in bed, my Aunt and Uncle would hear what sounded like a distant crowd of people in conversation. Living in quiet country houses most of their lives made them fairly light sleepers (the local Volunteer Fire Department changed that over time, I'll get to that). My uncle would get up to check out the noise and find nothing, but since it was an old house with a boiler -- and that it was more or less near town -- there were many possible rational explanations for the noise.

Still, over the course of a few months the noises grew louder and louder until it sounded like a party was being thrown in their own house -- and my aunt and uncle weren't invited. This had grown so gradually that my uncle was much more annoyed than fearful. One night he went to the stairs and shouted for them to shut up so he can get some sleep! That seemed to scale back the noise enough to satisfy him, although it didn't go away completely.

The next weekend he took a walk for the first time through the local grave yard and noticed many of the stones were overturned and some of the plots were neglected. He righted the head stones and cleaned up some of the plots that weekend and never again heard the noises in the house.

My uncle passed away in that house one year ago this October. Subsequently I spent a great deal more time there last winter than I had before taking care of a few things for my aunt. I slept on the top floor across from the game room. Many nights an air raid siren would go off summoning the local volunteers firefighters to the station house. I never did get used to sleeping through that!

Then one night the siren wailed at about 2:00 a.m. and I was having a hard time going back to sleep. I was wide awake when I heard something. It lasted only an instant and seemed to me to be a crowd in the distance that had just been told the punch line to a very funny joke. Whatever it was it reminded me of my uncle's stories.

As an epilogue I should mention that my Aunt is trying to sell the house. So far the most likely buyer is the local funeral home!

Now, here's a story that makes the afterlife look a little appealing! Like it could be some fun after all! Can you imagine? You pass away and a few months go by. One day, your new friend Eddy comes to your plot and says, "Hey, Gruber! You're invited to a party dude!" Hot tamales! And you thought you were going to spend eternity spit-shining your halo and preening those Addidas wings. Then, halfway into the evenings festivities, as you move from one cute angel to the next, you find out that not a lot has changed after all! Just as you've settled into dipping Doritos and munching on beer nuts, the landlord yells from below to keep it down! Hahahahahha . . . Yessss! But hey, you're still having a devil of a time even if across the street in your old cemetary there's that popular group of Rolling Stones!

Thanks for the story, Kevin. Much appreciated and have a great Halloween!



Closet Portals
by Tony Giddens
E-mail: apg@hom.net
Hailing From: Milledgevill, Georgia
Where it Happened: Dodge County

This story was told to me by my Grandmother about an event in her life that happened when she was a girl.

The two sisters were in the bed when the oldest shook Esther, my grandmother, and said, "Listen! Did you hear that?"

At first Esther didn't hear anything, and she replied, "No." But in only a few minutes the sound rang through the house again.

Clump. Clump. Clump.

It sounded like something banging through the closet and the sound reverberated across the room. Ruby, the oldest sister started to move toward the closet, but Esther grabbed her arm and told her, "No, just wait a second."

In a few minutes the sound rang out again.

Clump. Clump. Clump.

This time sisters went to the closet together. Esther could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she reached her hand out for the closet latch and slowly pulled it back. Then, with her entire body shaking, she dragged the closet door open -- and at that moment a small man ran from the closet and disappeared out the open window.

The next morning the sisters did not utter a word about what had happened, but both had it on their minds the entire day.

To her dying day my grandmother took this event as an omen for what happened the following week. She had been out and when she returned home her father was found dead of a heart attack.

He was found in the closet -- with a hammer in his hand

Tony, thanks for the story -- and like most stories, it starts me to ponder over what it's all about? I mean the thing about the little guy poppin' out of the closet. Didn't Dean Martin always greet his guest for the night by opening up his closet door and out would pop some star like Don Rickles and other famous celebrities? But I guess that has no bearing here, unless the little guy was a star-struck ghost stuck in a some kind of time warp! Maybe he was a ghost who never got the chance to be on Dean Martin . . . nawwwww. A stage hand who lost his hammer . . . uh uhhhh!

But, hey now, what about the omen thing? There's something to think about. I mean, closets have always been a place that kids are afraid of -- just like the thing about "something under the bed." Maybe closets are portals and the sound could have been a muffled celestial gong ringing out the "coming of a new traveler." After seeing "City of Angels," I wonder, when people die, maybe there have been preparations made for them on the other side -- days, weeks or even months in advance -- at the exact location where they will be "exiting stage right." I mean after all, when we enter this life our relatives have nine full months to prepare for us -- so why would it be any different for those who will be greeting us in the great beyond when we are ready to exit?

Can you imagine the "delivery room" on the other side?! Must be one busy place! Pediatrics, geriatrics -- those terms must be juxtaposed!

Oh well, just stuff to think about, I guess. But, while we are thinking about all that (you really don't have anything better to do, do you!! hahha), get ready for the next story coming your way on Ghostories that is a real shocker that also deals with the subject of closets! (Ever notice that some of these stories come two in a row -- like the theatre stories?)





Closet Encounters
by Donna Harford
E-mail: DonnaH13@yahoo.com
Hailing From: Meridian, MS
Where it Happened: Nobleville, Indiana

While sitting around looking at photo albums with my grandmother, we came across some newspaper clippings. The clippings were from a newspaper in Indiana. They were about an old brick house being torn down. Since we live in Mississippi I found it strange that my grandmother would have these clippings, so I questioned her about them. She then told me one of the eeriest stories I have ever heard.

In 1946 my grandmother lived in Nobleville, Indiana with her first husband and their child. They lived in an old brick house that was built before the civil war and stood on the outskirts of town. It was a large house with very high ceilings and wooden floors. In the master bedroom was a closet with a heavy wooden door that did not have a knob, only a wooden latch to keep the door closed. My grandmother would shut and latch the closet. When she would leave the room and return the closet door would be standing open. She would shut the door again and go about her chores. When she returned the door would be open. She did this several times a day. She said the door stayed opened more than she could keep it closed. She was more annoyed than scared by this strange event.

About eight months later she and her husband divorced and she moved to Mississippi with my grandfather. The house she had lived in did not cross her mind until ten years later when her Aunt Bonnie wrote her a letter and sent her the newspaper clippings.

The clippings talked about her old house and reported that it had been torn down. While they were tearing the house down, a hole was discovered under the closet floor. They had found the remains of a man in the hole. It was believed to be the body of a soldier from the civil war.

This is my kind of Ghost Story and I thank you very much , Donna, for sending it to us. I greatly appreciate it.

Imagine, if you will, all the times you use a closet -- for storage, clothes, hiding knickknacks and presents from the kids before birthdays and Christmas. Once, when I moved into a new two-story house on campus in Ypsilanti, Michigan, I even had a former owner's cat deliver her babies in the closet I had to use to hang my clothes (talk about wood chip heaven after that! We tried everything to get rid of THAT odor . . . Rick Allen, if you are out there, you should be ashamed of yourself for making me take that room when you knew all along!). But to even think that the little alcove you use to store your "stuff" rested upon an unplanned burial site . . . gives me the major goosebumps!

It probably was a good thing all he did was keep opening the door . . . can you imagine if one day she had of gone to the closet for a scarf and a hand came out and handed it to her!! LARRY!!! MOE!!!



We Know It's There!
from "The Shadow" by Charry
Hailing From: New Zealand
Where it Happened:
New Zealand

After lurking around here for ages reading everyone else's stories, I've finally got up the nerve to post one of my own. My story isn't as dramatic or interesting as some of the other stories posted here, but I feel confident enough to post it because three other people have had experiences in this particular house -- so here goes . . .

This happened a few months ago while I was visiting a friend's house one evening (I'll refer to my friend as "G"). A mutual friend of ours, "J," was also present. This was my first and only visit to the house and no one else was home at the time apart from the three of us.

The house in question is an old wood villa, which would be (at a guess) eighty to a hundred years old. It's a rather large one level structure with two long and connected hallways, one that leads from the front door to the back of the house and another that spans across the back of the house -- together the hallways form the shape of a "T."

While eating dinner in the kitchen - dining area located in the back portion of the house, something drew my attention to the right, so I glanced down the top section of the hallway. As I watched a dark shadow moved very quickly from right to left, as though it had just moved up the other long hall, through the centre of the house, then straight ahead crossing the top hallway. I didn't say anything at the time, although I was curious about what I'd seen.

I have to say that while I definitely believe in ghosts, I didn't want to get too excited about something which could have had a very logical explanation.

After dinner "G:" invited us on a tour of the house, and while exploring the rooms off the back hallway I carefully checked to see if there were any windows that could have let car headlights in to cause the shadow I had seen -- but I couldn't find anything to explain it.

Some time later "G" left the lounge to make coffee and, while she was out of the room, I whispered to "J" that I'd seen a shadow cross the back hall. She surprised me by telling me that she too had seen a shadow moving from right to left in the exact same place -- only she'd seen it twice before in broad daylight!

We were intrigued and quite excited about this, but didn't say anything to "G" as we didn't want to frighten her. Interestingly enough, "G" approached "J" recently to ask her opinion about ghosts because a young woman who also lives in the house claimed to see a shadow move up the hallway and was concerned because she would soon be spending several weeks alone there -- and understandably she was frightened. "G" explained that while she hadn't seen anything herself, there was one occasion when she was walking up the hallway and she felt like she'd accidentally pushed someone out of the way -- even though she couldn't see anyone there!

I've been in various places before where I've been able to "sense" unseen presences. I have had one experience where I used to get a feeling of overwhelming fear every time I went into one particular room in a house my parents owned.

With the shadow that "J" and I saw, we didn't feel any strong feelings or emotions connected with it. At this moment in time I haven't heard of any more events in that house.

Commander Cody sang a great rendition about just this sort of topic, called "The Shadow Knows!"

I wonder, what did he know . . .

And, what do you think he knew?




A New Tack
by Rosanna Beaumont
Hailing From: Willimantic, CT
Where it Happened:
My grandparents house

When I was about 12 years old my brother, sister and I moved into my grandparents house. Ever since we could remember we had heard stories about the house being haunted. Nothing too big but strange things happened alot. Rumor had it that there used to be a horse tack room/stable where my grandparents built their house and a little boy had been trampled in there. We have never actually checked into this story but it is what we have heard -- at least it is what we were "told."

Anyway, all of us grandkids were petrified of going upstairs. It was always so cold up there and just freaky but, that was where all the bedrooms were so when we moved in, we had no choice.

Actually, I had no choice. My little brother and sister had 'beds' set up downstairs and I slept upstairs. When I was about 14 I had taken up smoking cigarettes but no one knew about it. I used to turn off my bedroom light and smoke cigarettes. I turned off my light just in case my grandparents happened to come up the stairs. They always turned on the hall light to help their way up the stairs. This way I would know to put out my cigarette and spray air freshener.

One night I was upstairs alone smoking when I heard someone coming up the stairs, it was late and everyone had been in bed, the hallway light never came on but all the same I butted out my cigarette and waited -- but no one ever came up. This happened quite a few times and I just got used to it.

This house is about 50 or 60 years old, the doors are the old latch type and made of nothing but wood, they are solid. To close the door you have to lift the hook and latch it into the other part of the door. To open the door you have to lift the handle and pull the door open. On my bedroom door I also had an eye hook lock to keep my room locked and my little brother out. I would be laying in bed at night watching TV and my bedroom door would just pop open but would never open all the way because of the lock on my door. I never thought anything of it, I just thought it was a breeze until my brother and I started sharing stories about what was happening in that room and in the house.

I have since moved out and my brother moved into my old room, we have all grown up and started sleeping upstairs -- and we have gotten over our fears pretty much. There were four bedrooms upstairs and they were set up weird. The house was square, two bedrooms on each side of the house with a staircase up the middle. To get to two of the rooms you have to walk through the two main ones, like this:

upstairs floor plan

S = Stairs

When my little sister finally decided to move upstairs she moved into the room behind mine. She swears to hearing a little boy crying in her room at night.

Recently I had bought a Ouija board and have been using it at my new house. One night my cousin, brother, sister and boyfriend were using it when my cousin and I started talking about how we used to use the board when we were younger at my grandparents house. My cousin remembers talking to the little boy who died at this location and she remembers the little boy telling us his version of the story of what happened to him.

He told us his name was Brandon and his father beat him in the tack room -- and that unlike the story being passed around, he hadn't been trampled at all. Which story is true, I donít know and I guess we'll never know.

My little brother is the only one of us left living with my grandparents and he is now living in my old bedroom. He has heard the footsteps coming up the stairs when he was doing something he wasnít supposed to be doing . . .

. . . he has heard whimpering . . .

. . . and he has talked to this little boy.

Not literally talking but questions will pop into his head that he already knows the answers to, like:

What year is it?

And, he will answer aloud.

He will not even be thinking about a certain thing and all of a sudden heíll have a question. The door pops open on him, but he doesnít have the latch so it pops open and closes again.

Now, here is the last we have heard from the spirits in our grandparents house. He was sitting in his room talking to his girlfriend on the phone when he heard someone coming up the stairs, just like a . . .

thuff . . . thuff . . . thuff . . . of faint footsteps.

The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs, he hung up with his girlfriend and went into the hallway -- but no one was there.

Now, what happens next makes us believe that the little boy was beaten to death and not trampled as everyone had been told.

The footsteps were heavy ones, definitely not those of a child. When my brother realized no one was there he just assumed that it was the father, because of the heavy footsteps. He told the father that if he didnít leave Brandon, the little boy, alone that he was going to kill himself and haunt his butt down, beat him to a fine pulp, then come back to life (yeah, right), dig up his grave and burn his mangy hide!

My brother has become attached to Brandon and has not heard anything from him about his father or heard his father around the house. We all had thought that it was just our imagination until we started telling each other things that had happened to us and realized that it could not be a coincidence.

I am going to look more into this and update you.

Thanks, Rosanna. As you can probably tell, I really got into this one, and I hope I drew the layout of the house correctly.

This is definitely a study in "you can't believe everything you hear" -- for sure. And it's genre is in the afterlife section of this dusty library shelf. Follow me down this aisle and let's see, ah, here is the edition -- wait while I pull it off this high shelf -- ahhh, I almost can reach it, just a couple more inches --- oh, ahhh, oh...yikes!! .... grab the ladder, I'm falling! ! Ahhhhh.....geeez, how embarassing, but I'm ok, now help me up, I took quite a tumble! Here, it's in this pile of fallen books on the floor! There, that's the one -- now we'll read what it has to say:

When the spirits keep coming back there is almost always a story left untold, a wrong that has never been set to rights -- and the spirits will search for a receptive ear until one arrives on the scene. Then, as if in a play, they will act out in the only way they know how to communicate back through the muffled barriers between real life and after-life. Then maybe, just maybe, that living ear can set to motion a course of action -- and with a little more sluething, a touch of luck and the ability to hear beyond the normal clatter, a chapter of an untold tale can finally be put to rest. When the truth is finally set free, the house will grow quiet once again, the footsteps will cease, and a little boy will rest eternally.

Good luck to you -- I hope you succeed. Don't stop until you do -- I believe you and your family have been called upon. And, besides, it could prove very exciting. Let us know when you find out more, and thanks again.

Now, help me get this ladder back up!




It's Curtains For You
by Grace Freeman
Hailing From: Tonbridge,Kent
Where it Happened:
My House

When we moved into our house we were warned that it was haunted -- but we thought nothing of it because my family is not at all superstitious -- that is, until . . . one . . . night . . . .

One night, when I was going to bed, I switched off the light as usual. After about two minutes of lying down, staring at the ceiling I heard someone crying. I thought it was my baby sister but she was asleep because I could hear her snoring. Then, I saw a long, black silhouette on the wall. I was really scared but tried to think of something else.

The crying was growing louder. I screamed but no sound came out. I looked up to where the sound was coming from -- it was by my window. I saw a face of an old woman crying and I screamed, this time audibly, and my parents came running in and switched on the light.

She had gone.

Since this happened I have been to my local library and looked it up in the filing cabinet of the old newspaper and it says that the woman's name who used to live in my house was called Mary Smith and her husband had been murdered -- and so she hanged herself from the curtains (my curtains) because she was so depressed.

I believe in ghosts now and Mary, if you are reading this then I am sorry if I scared you but I have never seen a ghost!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- - - Told by Grace Freeman, Kent, England

Great submittal, Grace! Thanks very much -- we love hearing stories from other countries, especially England with all it's chilling tales of the moors and such!

You can't help but wonder just what is going on in that room and at that window, right? What does her appearance mean?

If what they say is true about suicide (not getting into the pearly gates), then her eternal life might just be to haunt that window and be tied to those drapes forevermore. Sounds like a real bummer, doesn't it? Not exactly the way I would care to spend eternity. I mean, let's just say that if back in those days if they had antidepressants, then rather than hanging by her window she could have been at that party we read about earlier in this library (and in other Ghostories Libraries). Now there's really something to make her wail! (hahahha . . . oh boy, here I go . . . it got me to thinking . . . go into her room and tell her just that! I bet she really breaks into a screeeeeeech!)

Talk about the UnGrateful Dead!



Ghostories Aftermath
by Laura Murphy
Hailing From: Satellite Beach, Florida
Where it Happened:
Right here, in my house, in my room.

Here's what happens when you stay up late reading O'Neill's Ghostories!

The scariest of things happen when you stay up half the night reading ghost stories. Ever since the second grade it seems I have been a magnet for the supernatural. The night that I found this site (Ghostories) I was up 'til all hours reading. I finally went to bed about 12:30 figuring it was late and I should sleep.

Never happened.

I couldn't sleep so I got out my Bible and started reading like I do when I can't sleep.

A real bad idea.

My Bible flipped open to Revelations 13, the story of the dragon and the devil. Now that's not a story to fool with in the first place but I read it anyway. About halfway through the first word the power went out in my room. My parents and brother were watching "Independence Day" in the other room so I know the power was fine. I just couldn't get any of my lights to work.

So I lit the handful of candles the reside on my headboard. As I reached the last bit of the story it started to pour outside. Thunder, lightening the whole bit. I decided it was time to go to sleep and rain storms had always put me to sleep before. So I made sure my closet door was shut and blew out my candles.

I slept for about two hours. Then with out warning my collection of music boxes, all 17 of them, started playing. Accompanied by this was the smell of someone trying to burn wet wood. After the music wound down it took me ten minutes to get my heart back in the right place and the courage up to turn on my lights, which now worked fine.

I didn't notice it then -- the thing about the lights being fine -- but I realized it the next morning. Anyhow, I got up to see if my parents and my brother were playing a practical joke. No such luck. Mom and dad were fast asleep and my brother was out like a light on his top bunk.

I reentered my room and noticed my closet door was open.

I shivered. I ALWAYS make sure my closet is shut before I go to bed. Sufficiently weirded out I crawled back into bed and turned off my lights.

Looking across the room to my mirror that faced my bed (not a good thing in itself, but when over half of your room is a queen sized waterbed, it's not like you have much of a choice). The many millions of glow in the dark stars spelled out S-A-T-A and N was on the opposite wall.

I pulled the covers over my head and fell asleep. The next morning when I awoke and turned on my lights, my unicorn music box that plays "the impossible dream" was playing "silent night." I raised an eyebrow and said nothing more.

When I was on my way out of the room (running late for school), I dropped my bible on my bed and the candle on my headboard sparked -- and so I knew I wasn't seeing things -- the candle left a plume of smoke.

I hightailed it outta there.

When I got home I dropped my stuff in my room and noticed that all of my candles had been arranged tallest to shortest on my desk -- and my music boxes played the right songs. No developments on any of that yet, but I'll tell what happens next.

Laura, thanks for the story, and . . .

Ah-HAH! So much for that person who signed the Ghostories Guest Book and said that she enjoyed the site but couldn't find any scary stories! Ah-hah-hah-ha-hahhh-o-haw! (BIG Raspberry and a Neener Neener!)

So, this proves there must at least be a few scary stories here. Good deal, right on and all that! Makes me wonder if we shouldn't sell a Ghostories make-it-through-the-night Survival Kit. In it, I would imagine we would have to include all kinds of implements of preservation ranging from candles to nerf bats to Barney underwear (er, scratch that last entry!)

Although I'm not sure what would cure 17 wayward music boxes -- maybe that old Christmas Carol, "The Twelfth Day of Christmas!! (Six turtle doves, one each-a-peach, and 17 uncontrolable music boxes!)

(Ok, Ok I still don't know the words to that song!)

Or, we could do like Bill Cosby did back in the sixties -- smear Jello all over the floor! Of course, in the long run he proved that all that kind of nonsense really accomplished was get you a long-running stint doing their commercials!

Oh, I feel better now!




Oh nooooo...we're not finished yet! There's more to come just as soon as I unpack all these new stories that flooded in during Halloween! What a shipment too! We must have over 99 of them, just waiting...so don't despair, we'll be putting them up each week until Christmas (and that reminds me, I love Christmas cards and presents -- so if anyone is inclined, send me a Christmas card or any ol' trinket at the address shown near the bottom on the GhosTee page wannatee.htm and I'll hang them up all over the rancho!).

Now, pleasant dreams -- tune in Next Wednesday, December 2, 1998 and we'll have a new set of visitor and member stories for you, and yours!



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