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Once upon a time . . .

Someone you never knew told you a story.

One you will never forget.


And now, dim the lights --

And be sure to listen for any unusual sounds in the night



Just One Look!
by Ghostories Member: Dani B.
Hailing From: California
Where it Happened: Carson City, Nevada

This true story has been witnessed by probably hundreds of people over the years. It happened at "Stewart Indian School" in Carson City, Nevada, a school founded in the early 1900s (as best that I remember) and closed down my freshman year of high school.

The student body was made up of American Indian kids from various areas on the West Coast. The land where the campus was situated is really large -- and on this huge area of land is the main school building (also large and two-stories), a gym, a post office, medical and dental clinic, and many little outlying structures which were the various men's and women's dorms -- there were some free standing homes as well. There was also an auto shop, paint shop etc. It would have taken a good 10 to 20 minutes to walk the length of this campus from one end to the other. Since the school is so old, the campus is full of large trees and many lonely, deserted walkways.

There is more than one spooky story, but this is one I will never forget....

Since the guys and gals that attended Stewart Indian School had to move away from home and live in the dorms there were, of course, "great love affairs" and, well . . . sometimes we all know how those can turn out.

This story involves a young couple who were in a really intense relationship. They had been dating and depended on each other for just about everything. I am not sure when this all occurred since this is a haunting that has gone on for years. Eventually the girl got pregnant and told her boyfriend. They were both really scared and were afraid to let anyone know, since they would both be sent home, back to their own reservations -- and they would be split up. So they just kept quiet about it.

After awhile it got to be too much for the boy involved and he started seeing another girl on campus. Since his girlfriend had thought he would marry her and they would raise the baby together this new development devastated her. She went into a deep depression and since she was pregnant she didn't have much time until all was found out. This girl had allot to worry about, she had only dated this one person, and to top it off she had bad skin. What would she do with a baby? How could she face her family?

Unfortunately, she couldn't face it and hung herself from a rafter in the gym.

She was found there by some of the students and faculty, who cut her down. A few weeks later the first sightings of "The Peanut Lady" started to occur. The reason they call her the "Peanut Lady" is because her skin was scarred from her acne and had the appearance of a peanut shell. The Peanut Lady is usually seen walking along the cement pathways around campus -- but you will only see her if you are alone. She has been seen both during the day and night. Many times people would see her from behind, her long black hair hanging down, but when she would turn around she wouldn't have a face.

Pretty soon things took a turn for the worst. People who saw the Peanut Lady started to have misfortunes befall them not long afterwards. People who viewed her ended up having a car accident, or getting into some other kind of trouble. After a few years people started being afraid to venture out after dark or to go alone to the gym or the library for fear of seeing "The Peanut Lady."

Anyone who ever attended Stewart Indian School has heard the stories, and some report seeing her walking in the dorm hallways or walking around the campus. Some have even reported seeing her hanging from the ceiling in the gym. The only thing they all had in common is right after seeing the Peanut Lady they all had something bad happen to them -- usually involving bodily injury.

I personally never saw the Peanut Lady (thank God) but I know those who have -- and out of those one person was shot by accident (he lived), another died in a car crash with her infant daughter.

How many more are out there who saw her? I don't know. But, Stewart Indian School is still there with all the buildings intact. Some of them are being used by the Federal Government as office space. The High School is used by the local Community College.

You can find it off of Highway 395 South in Carson City.

Just don't go there alone.

I love your stories, E. Thank you so much for sending them in and becoming one of our first GhosTee people, Member and published writer on Ghostories.

I'm going to think of a response to this tale, I promise . . . but for now I'll put it up and hope it sends chills out in several directions.



for art, visit www.piersidegallery.com


The Last Door on the Left
-- "Papaw is coming up the porch and I have to let him in.”
by Ghostories Member: Kenneth L. Shank
Hailing From: Kingsport TN
Where it Happened:
Hawkins County, TN

There is a door that separates this world from the next. Some people pass through this door on a regular basis; while, others do not even acknowledge its existence. Behind this door are the spooky shadows, bad dreams, ghosts of loves lost, and all the things that are slightly out of sync with reality. I have been through this door many times in my life, especially when I was a child. I would like to share with you, the readers of O'Neill's Ghostories, a trilogy of my experiences on the other side of this door.

My first journey through the door was when I was a very young child. I used to have a reoccurring dream in which an old lady was sitting in an old Victorian Style Chair - the ones upholstered in velvet and patterned in ornamental wood carvings. The old lady, in the dream, was eating a bowl of chicken soup. She would stare at me with a most benevolent look between bites. For some reason the aroma of the chicken soup was very offensive too me and I would always wake up crying. I have never understood this because chicken soup is one of my favorite foods.

The dream vexed me almost all of my early childhood years. Then one day my grandmother and I was looking at her family album; she turned a page and I got the most electrifying shock of my young life. One the next page, there she was! -- the old lady of my dreams.

It was like viewing my dream in a moment of frozen time - she was eating the bowl of soup just like in the dream. Instantly, I became a goose - my body was covered from head to toe with goosebumps. Of course, I asked my grandmother who the person was in the picture; she replied, “That was your great grandmother.” The next thing she told me never really hit me until I was a few years older - the picture was taken by my mother when she was pregnant with me and that my great grandmother had died just a few weeks before I was born. I never knew my great grandmother in my daily life, but somehow in my dreams, she made herself known too me. So, I asked myself; did I see my great grandmother from the womb, or was it her way of introducing herself from behind the door?

--==-- This next story involves my younger brother, Bill, and my grandfather. Bill, my impish little brother, created a new chapter in the haunted legacy of my family. My grandfather and brother were very close. In fact, they were together almost all the time while my grandfather was healthy. I was overwhelmed with jealousy. I could never be a part of their little games and gatherings. My brother could sense my anguish and would taunt and tease me by saying things like, “Papaw doesn’t like you and he loves me.”

Oh, how I wanted to beat his little brains out. Fortunately, for him I never did. Then one day my mother had to take Bill to the doctor and I was alone with my grandfather. I was very angry at him and wouldn’t talk to him. I guess I wanted him to reach out to me, or maybe I was just being the child that I was. Anyway, he finally won me over. He sat me on his knee and gave me a good talking too. He said, “Sonny, I know you think that I don’t love you, but there is something I must tell you. I am very sick and I’m not going to be around much longer. I want you to know that I love all my grandchildren the same. The reason I spend so much time with Billy is because he’s the baby of the family and I want him to know and understand who his grandfather was and is.”

He really didn’t have to say much more because even though I was only eleven I felt like I could sit on the edge of a dime and swing my feet. A few months later my grandfather passed away. My brother had a hard time accepting my grandfather’s death, but as with all healthy children, he finally did.

After the family had adjusted to the loss, there was all this talk about a gold watch -- nobody could find my grandfather’s gold watch. I was given the third degree, my mother was questioned, and one of my aunts was accused of taking his watch for a keepsake. The only one not questioned was Bill. Then one day my grandmother was cleaning our room -- she picked up a pair of Bill’s trousers and out came the watch. She immediately questioned him about it. All my brother would say that Papaw gave him the watch last week. My grandmother just about beat him to death, but he never would change his story even until this day.

My grandmother was about to have a nervous breakdown because she could not believe Bill. That is, my grandfather had been dead for well over a month. So, how did he get it. It was locked up in their little metal box they had kept important papers and stuff in. Did my grandfather briefly walk through that door to give his favorite grandson his most prized possession?

--==-- This last story also involves my brother and grandfather. Not long after the watch incident, something else happened that truly made me a believer in ghosts. We all were getting ready to eat supper one night and my brother Bill was playing near the dinning room door. I was watching him not really caring one way or the other of what he was doing. Suddenly, I saw his face literally glow with delight; he opened the door and the cold January air rushed into the room. My grandmother yelled. “William close that door now.”

“I can’t, Grandma. Papaw is coming up the porch and I have to let him in.”

My heart jumped to my throat. I was scared to even look toward the door. Bill was having a tantrum because my mother and grandmother was holding him down. He fought with the valiancy of a Spartan.

“I want my Papaw, I want my Papaw,” he cried!

“I have to let him in; please let him in!”

As long as I live I will never forget that incident. I don’t know if it was Bill’s loud screaming or the fact that he really did see my grandfather that scared me the most. We all grew up and had our times, but I still wonder: Did my dead grandfather open that door just one more time, because that was last we ever heard from him.

I suppose there are a few of us who might say that when you were a newborn, your mother might have held your grandmother's picture in front of you, and with tears in her eyes (remember, you associated the image with pain) she might have said, "Here, Kenny, this is your grandmother." After all, it must have been incredibly hard, and heartbreaking, for her to come so unbelievably close to having her mother see you and know you and hold you -- and having that ripped away and lost forever must have been cruel and unfair -- unfair not just to her, but to both of them.

But it is the perception of the doorway that provides an undeniable clue that there is much more to that story than simple explanation could ever hope to provide. The homecoming at the end of the trilogy underlines the shear magnitude of the belief that there are passageways and portals that simply exist without solid explanation. After all, I've never seen a billion dollars, yet I know it exists -- and infinity, the most incomprehensible number, is the multiplier that makes timeless passageways possible. It is the mixture of infinity and the magnetic conduit of family spirit on each side of the mystical canyon that build each fiber in the eternal bridge of ropes, that aerial passageway that spans the chasm walls and connects each side to the other -- through doorways.

Pardon me for a moment, I think I hear my doorbell ringing . . .



Rollin' Dem Bones
by Ghostories Member: Dani B.
Hailing From: California
Where it Happened: Carson City, Nevada

This true account happened when I was 10 years old. (Now keep in mind, I come from a long line of superstitious folks.) I also confirmed this story by checking with my mom (who is the person it happened to).

When I was 10 my Uncle "A" and his wife came out to visit us. Now Uncle "A" liked to gamble, and back in the 70s there was no Atlantic City, no Indian Gaming, no Lotto, no nothing. If you wanted to gamble, you had to come to Nevada.

Uncle "A" was from the east coast and was making a big visit, seeing all the relatives who had come out West. He spent his days gambling and visiting. All of us kids loved him. Well, the day came that Uncle "A" had to leave to go up to Oregon to visit his daughter. While he was up there he suffered a heart attack and was sent to the hospital. He did come back to his daughter's house for a few days, but then tragedy struck. Uncle "A" suffered a massive heart attack and died in my cousin's kitchen.

Of course, the whole family was shocked and sad. The same day that he died my mom's sister happened to come out to visit for the first time. That night she was sleeping on the couch. At that time my mother had a light up make-up lamp that she kept in her room. She used it at night in place of a night light. This make up lamp had a round switch on it that had to be turned around at least 180 degrees to turn the lamp on or off -- and according to mom you "had to really turn it."

Anyway, my mom was lying in bed, with the light off, and was thinking back to her childhood and remembering Uncle "A". As she was thinking back to when he used to work in the coal mines, the light suddenly turned on. At first, mom thought nothing of it, thinking that her sister had gotten up and walked into the room. She figured this was her sister's first night there and maybe she needed something.

So, mom said "B---, do you need something?" and then sat up to look for her sister. She didn't see her there, so she got up and looked in the bathroom, no sister there either. Then she walked to the living room and found her sister asleep on the couch.

Mom said, "B---, did you need something?" but her sister was out cold. This is when mom realized that no one in the house was awake. It was just her and Uncle "A".

My mom walked back into the bedroom and woke up my dad (leaving the light on since there was no way she was going to touch it at this point) and she said to dad, "D----, the light's on.."

And my dad said, "So, turn it off!"

My mom answered, "BUT I DIDN'T TURN IT ON."

Signals happen at the weirdest times -- and come from the strangest of places. I once knew a relative who always was worried over how his daughter looked. If she was sad, he wanted her to look in a mirror -- and then he tried everything to make her smile.



Interested in Art?
You're invited to come and visit Pierside Gallery
(one of my premier Web sites I personally Webmaster) at: www.piersidegallery.com -- and while you are there, let them know in their Guest Book that you found them via Ghostories.com




Hitchhiker's Hoof
by Ghostories Member: Dani B.
Hailing From: California
Where it Happened:
Pine Ridge SD

Here's another installment of "weird happenings" from Pine Ridge S.D.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, this area of the country is remote, has a troubled past and present, and is in general a hot-spot for spirit activity. The history of Pine Ridge is loaded with superstition and hauntings. Let's start on the road to Pine Ridge . . .

Anyone who grew up in Pine Ridge during the 60's and 70's knows better than to pick up hitchhikers on the way home. One of the most heavily trafficked roads in the area is between Rapid City and Pine Ridge. The trip usually takes about an hour one-way, and much of the trip is over large, desolate areas. Often times as people were on the way back to Pine Ridge they would spot a solitary hitchhiker trying to catch a ride back to "the rez".

Now everybody knew that there was "a devil" who used to try and catch rides. Many people spoke of seeing hitchhikers, but they wouldn't pick them up. But every once in a while someone would let down their guard and pull over.

One evening a group of friends from Pine Ridge were on their way back from Rapid City. As they drove along the highway, they saw a lone man. A white man standing along the side of the road trying to hitch a ride. Keep in mind, seeing a lone white man hitching a ride towards the reservation is an unusual sight. Curiosity got the better of the friends and they persuaded the driver to pull over. After they picked him up, they resumed their trip home. Nothing unusual happened, at least nothing more unusual than having a white man in your car.

As they drove along, at first everything was fine. The group kept on joking and laughing and even gave the stranger a beer. But after a few miles, they started to feel "uncomfortable." Finally after they were "on the rez" the white man asked to be let out of the car. The driver gladly pulled over and the stranger opened the door and got out.

As he walked away there was one unusual thing about him that they all noticed at once. He had a funny way of walking. As his feet came into view they understood why. He was walking on little goat feet.

EB, thanks for the story. Only thing I thought of was this poor guy wasn't "On the Lamb!"



Theatre Number Nine
by Ghostories Member: Krista Fells
Proud New Owner of an O'Neill's Ghostory GhosTee
Hailing From: Asheville, NC
Where it Happened:
Savannah, GA

Well, I took note that you were hinting at a theater story, and it just so happens I have quite a few. This one occurs in a movie theater in Savannah, Georgia where myself and Patricia Lightfoot worked. This theater was built on the land of an old plantation, so it seems fitting that it should be haunted. And so it is.

I was working a a ticket seller and Trisha was working a a projectionist. Each night when the last movies were started, my shift was basically finished, and so I would usually clock out and go up to the projection booth to keep Trisha company -- seeing as how she had to stay until the movies were done.

The booth is very long to accommodate 10 projections. Also, it tended to be very dark. We'd mostly sit up there and talk, role play, and basically goof around. During these talks we traded stories of things that happened to us with the resident ghost.

For instance, while the movies are showing, there isn't much for a ticket seller to do, and you can't leave your little cubicle filled with lots of money, so I'd read a book or draw. Mind you, nowhere near the buttons that pump out the tickets. Well, my machine would regularly pump out tickets when I was not paying enough attention. Mostly this irritated me because I'd have to get my manager to either void the ticket, or gain permission to sell it for the next showings.

One of my duties consisted of checking the ladies room to make sure it was clean and well stocked. The nozzles for the water controls were such that they were timed. You'd push them down and they'd stay on for only so long. Many times I walked in there while shows were running to find all the sinks running with no one having been in there!

One the my own scariest experiences was with Theater #9. It was the last theater on the right, directly next to the door leading out to the side parking lot where the employees would park. I was on my way out from work after a long shift with another cashier when we noticed the exit lights were blinking in that theater alone. This meant a fire alarm had gone off, but there would have been a very loud buzzer as well as all the exit signs in every theater blinking and buzzing. The movies were all out and no patrons were left, so myself and the other cashier decided to check this out.

We were kinda spooked so we poked out heads in the theater cautiously. The temperature in that theater only had dropped to the point we could see our breath and the lights to the exit signs were silently blinking away at us. We panicked and ran out saying to each other that the place could burn if it wanted to. Our manager had the security check the systems the next day and there was no reason the signs could have done what they did. After that, I never cleaned Theater #9 alone, even though that was the theater that yielded the most lost money for some reason.

Trisha told me her own story from the projection booth. At the far end of the booth is a door leading to a fire escape. It cannot be opened from the outside, and there is only one access to the booth. One of our favorite games when we're bored was to sneak upstairs while the projectionist was threading movies and scare the bejeezus out of her. Trish caught on to this game, after many a time of leaping out of her skin, so would pay extra close attention while doing her job. One day while threading movies, she heard the door to the fire escape close, and assuming it was our assistant manager, quickly ran to the door to catch him in the act, as he had three flights of metal stairs to run down. When she opened the door with a triumphant grin, no one was anywhere to be seen. Needless to say, she called down to the office, which is in the center of the building, nowhere near the fire escape, and he was in there counting my money drawer for the day where he had been for the past 15 minutes.

After that, Trisha took a short break.

So those are my movie theater stories. I have some stories from when I worked at a professional dinner theater that I may submit to you at a later date.

A very, very large applause to you Krista for sending in your story! I really appreciate it and yes! I had been hinting around about theater stories -- so I thank you personally for picking up on it and sending a great story for us to relax with on an end of a very wonderful family Labor Day Weekend! (My dad turned 80 this weekend! Happy Birthday Dad!) I do appreciate your time writing it and hope you'll send in the dinner theater story soon!

Bravo! Bravisimo!




Scratch 'n Dash
by Ghostories Member: Dani B.
Hailing From: California
Where it Happened:
Pine Ridge SD

Well, it's time for another installment of Pine Ridge ghost stories..... (by the way, got my ghostee!!).

This story took place about five years ago now. The person involved was my distant cousin, we'll call him "J". For anyone who has ever been in Pine Ridge, they know that there isn't a whole lot to do. The unemployment rate is sky high and the "rez" (reservation) is located in the middle of nowhere.

My cousin "J" usually finds works during the summers fighting fires for BLM (anachronism for California's "Bureau of Land Management"). In his off time he also works as a volunteer fire fighter on the reservation.

At the time of this story, the volunteer fire station was in an old home which had been converted. My cousin was supposed to sit the day shift, so he got up early and drove over to the "fire house." When he pulled up he noticed that the front door was hanging open. This in itself wouldn't be unusual, since it is hot and muggy during that time of the year. He walked into the house and started looking around for the guys who had worked the night shift. A few things were unusual, he noticed that the radio was on, and their coke cans and playing cards were still on the table. It looked like the night shift had simply gotten up and walked out leaving the lights on and the door open behind them. This made my cousin "J" a little exasperated, since anyone could have walked right into the house and taken anything they wanted. Also, if there had been a fire, who would have answered the radio?

He looked through the house, but nobody was there. "J" walked back out, got into his car and drove over to the house of one of the men who had been working the night shift. He figured they had decided to go out and party or whatever and had just been irresponsible.

When "J" pulled up all the guys who had been on the night shift at the firehouse were there. So he asked them what were they doing and why did they leave the house door open, etc. etc.

The story they told him was this . . . The night before they had been doing their usual night time thing. They were drinking sodas, listening to the CB radio and playing cards. Just hanging around the station in case a summer fire broke out. Then they noticed a scratching sound. At first they thought nothing of it, but it was persistent. It seemed to be coming from the basement (this house, like many others in the area, has a basement). The guys figured it was a mouse or something scratching around in the walls or in the stairwell. Finally, one of them decided to go take a look. He pulled open the door and started walking down the stairs, all the while talking with the other guys seated at the table still playing cards.

Suddenly, without warning a little girl with blood running down her face "flew" up the stairway and went right past him! All the while she was screaming a high pitched blood curdling scream... Needless to say, he ran back up the stairs screaming as well!

He and the guys playing cards all ran out the door and all the way home without looking back! Not only were they still badly shaken, but they all stated that they would not go back to the house, even during the day, to get their stuff or anything else ever!

After asking around a little, it turned out that there had been a little girl who died in some kind of accident in the home before it had been converted into the fire station.

Loved it, Dani, as always. Keep it up and we'll just have to commemorate your own library here at Ghostories! Yikes! (But it would be a treat!)

Now, let's see, about this story. Can't really blame those guys for going full-on elbows and ... well, let's just say leaving in a hurry. I think I would too!

I grew up with in a house with a basement, and although I think I mentioned it before, my baby-sitter Corrine used to scare the livin' daylights out of us when we were kids. She'd hide downstairs and we'd count to 40 and go down into the darkness looking for her . . . and she always delivered a good rush-out-from-behind-the-fruit-cellar-door scare -- must have been why us kids never needed laxatives!!! hahhaha...ahem.

Well anyway, back at the ranch, er, I mean reservation. There is a visual of a large group of sober guys, possibly a lot of them big dudes, muscles poppin' out everywhere (anyone who works with the fire department or BLM would be in good shape), flailin' down the street in a panic. Didn't I see a reenactment of that on an old episode of the "Three Stooges??"

Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk! -- Larry, Moe!! Wait for Meeeeeeeeeeee!!

PS: Thanks for your support in purchasing the GhosTee, Dani. Wear it in good health and welcome always to our humble crew!


The 3:00 a.m. Ghost
by Ghostories Member: Jerry W. Crawford, Jr.
Proud New Owner of an O'Neill's Ghostory GhosTee
Hailing From: Pilot Mountain, North Carolina
Where it Happened:
Glade Springs, Va.
Favorite Author: Tom Clancy
Interested in Arranging Ghostories "Meets"

I've sent in a couple of other stories before, and I have held onto this one until this moment. Why? Because, until we recently moved -- and the fact that we still lived in the house where this happened. But now I can share it.

The house we used to live in here in Pilot Mountain (Mount Pilot to Andy Griffith fans) was a split-level. We remodeled it and enclosed the garage to make it a family room. When we did, I moved from an upstairs bedroom to the basement into a little mini-apartment. From there, I could hear everything going on in the upstairs bedrooms. I could even tell where the walls dividing the rooms were because no one walked in that area and there were no footsteps.

My dad often tried to convince us that something, or someone, was in the house. We just thought he was trying to scare us and laughed about it. He would say that every morning around 3:00 a.m. or so, whatever it was would walk down the steps from the upstairs bedrooms, into the kitchen, and out into what was the garage, which is now the family room. He knew this because his favorite sleeping spot was in a recliner that was located in the family room, and he would witness every morning around 3:00 a.m.

So, I called it the 3 a.m. ghost -- laughingly.

But, one night, I witnessed it first hand. It wasn't anywhere near 3 a.m. though. It was about 11 p.m. My dad had a job that forced him to work screwy hours, sometimes late at night, and this was one of them. My mom, my little sister (who was just a baby at the time), and myself were in the family room watching T.V. My eyes got heavy, so I decided to call it a night. I said goodnight to everybody and went to bed. I had no more than crawled under the covers when I heard footsteps pacing upstairs. I assumed it to be mom putting my sister to bed. But, the pacing footsteps continued.

Then, I noticed something. The footsteps were coming from right where the wall was.

Whatever it was, it was passing from one bedroom to the next by going through the wall! It had to because the only doors in the 2 rooms were the closet doors (and the closets were not connected) and the entrance doors, which were on different walls at 90-degree angles from one another.

I jumped from bed, threw on some clothes, and ran up to the family room where mom sat engrossed in an episode of "ER" My sister was on the couch beside her, asleep. I asked mom if she had been upstairs, she said no, she hadn't moved in thirty minutes or more.

So, with my heart pounding like a snare drum, I crept up the steps, still hearing the footsteps, now accompanied by a slow, heavy breathing sound. When I reached the top of the stairs, it stopped -- and I never heard it again.

My grandfather had died some time before. He was a good Christian man, adored by everyone. His loss hurt us all deeply, but none deeper that my mother. She loved her father more than anything that there ever was on this planet. He had a tendency to breathe slow and heavy, thus my mom thoroughly believes that the 3:00 a.m. ghost was her father -- who looked after mom in life like he did none of his other children -- and now he is looking out for her in death.

I hope to have some more tales in the coming weeks!

A great tale, Jerry! And thank you so much for sending it in. We appreciate it muchly!

Spirits are connected with their children in ways that can never be fully explained or understood. It makes sense that if it was indeed your grandfather, he may have sensed some incoming signals from your mom regarding being in an emergency room! (How funny, right?!) And, so, since those were the only signals he was "receiving" at the time, he most likely had to "take a little roam" through the house to check it out for himself.

One can only imagine what might happen if she were to watch Allie McBeal! (one of my all time favorite shows!)




Tombstone Transformation
by Ghostories Member: Dani B.
Hailing From: California
Where it Happened:
Pine Ridge, SD

-- Hi all! I figured it was about time to post another Pine Ridge story . . . because soon I'll have my "GhosTee" in hand!!!! (he he he) --

From my previous posts, you all know that Pine Ridge Indian Reservation can be a pretty spooky place -- and if one ever visits Pine Ridge they will immediately notice that Pine Ridge has a number of cemeteries which seem to be located at random. There is no rhyme or reason to how they are placed.

This story takes place in the cemetery located directly behind Red Cloud School (formerly known as Holy Rosary). The history of this school goes way back to when the Jesuit priests originally came to convert the Indians to Catholicism around the turn of the century. So, this school has been around in one form or another for years.

One cemetery stands up on a hill right behind the school. The entrance is a dirt roadway and the cemetery is basically hard packed earth. Some of the grave sites are decorated with the traditional granite markers, others are homemade wooden crosses. There are a few family plots which are fenced in and elaborately decorated. But in this cemetery is one tombstone that over the years has both fascinated and terrified those who see it.

The story began years ago, way before I was born. The grave in question contains a person who is reputed to have been quite evil in life. The tombstone placed above this grave is a tall one, made of gray granite, but initially the marker was a simple tombstone. It contained the name, date of birth, date of death, and a picture of a cherub.

But shortly after the tombstone was put into place, visitors to the grave noticed a disturbing change in the cherub. It had gone from a chubby cherub with a beautific smile to a horribly ugly demon, complete with little horns and terrifying expression. At first, the family members and Jesuit priest who was running the school thought that someone had vandalized the tombstone. So the family had the tombstone repaired, but sure enough within a few days the demon had returned. The priest was very concerned about the situation and they had the tombstone repaired again -- and this time, just as a precaution, the priest stayed at the foot of the hill below the cemetery to be sure no one entered or exited the cemetery.

The next morning he walked up the dirt path, unlocked the gate and went to the tombstone -- and when he turned his eyes to look at the tombstone -- IT WAS A DEMON!

This phenomenon has occurred again and again over the years, but with each repair the demon returns. My aunts have all told stories over the years about this tombstone and I finally had the chance to view it myself a few years ago. At the time I viewed it the area where the cherub had been was sandblasted off entirely. But I am told that after time passes, the cherub will either reappear entirely or just a demonic face shows. Either way, I wasn't hanging around to find out . . . .

Nor would I, well maybe -- although I suspect that "hanging around" is what has been responsible for turning a lot of perfectly living people (cattle rustlers, claim jumpers, bank robbers and Main Street hooligans) into ghosts in the first place! But, who knows? This spot sounds like a perfect place for an outdoors Ghostories camp out! I mean, that must have been what the priest did, right? Let's see, what would you bring to this kind of Ghostories meet? Tombstone pizza? Cherubs jubilee?

For sure, Dani, thanks for the ghost story. On the Eve of Halloween, it is absolutely perfect! My guess is that the person who occupied that grave site was one convert who reverted because he couldn't stay converted! I wonder what Dr. Jekyl would say about this? I'll bet that priest had a few choice words!




Slow Burn
by Ghostories Member Paul Escalera
Hailing From: Arleta, California
Where it Happened:
Pacoima, California

When I was about 17 my mom would sometimes drag me along on her religious activities -- and it just so happened that on this particular day she took me to a house blessing where a little girl was having dreams about some doll chasing her.

Anyways, we all get there and pray as the priest is blessing the house, going from room to room. Finally, when he's done we all go outside to the garage, and it's here where the owner of the house brings out some stuff he found in the garage that was left by the previous owners. He pulls out this black leather bound book and a small bottle made into a doll -- and it's when he shows everyone the doll that the little girl screams that it was the same doll that was chasing her in her dreams!

At this point I'm getting a little freaked out, but think that maybe she's a little brat and just wanted to scare everyone.

So then the priest examines the doll and the book, and the book turns out to be a book of satanic rituals or something of the like. Well, they place the book on the sidewalk at the top of the cul-de-sac and try to burn it, and this is where I got scared.

When they put a match to one of the corners it caught for a brief moment then turned off, the book didn't even show evidence of a burn whatsoever. They tried a few more times with the same result. Finally, everyone made a circle around the book and started praying while four people went and lit one corner of the book and finally the fire caught and the book started to burn, but very slowly. In an effort to make the book burn more quickly the owner of the house poured some gasoline on the book (yeah, I was standing BACK at this point) and when the gasoline hit the book there was a flash of flame rising and the gas was repelled all around the book, and where the gas fell small flames rose. This made all the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

The book finally burned after much prayer. Needless to say, I never went with my mom to another one of her religious activities.

And I can't say I blame you in the least! What an experience, eh? And to think, I used to complain about being suited up and dragged to church on Sundays (well, ok, to be fair, our suits never had more than one or maybe two of those shiny lapel pins on them -- and there was always this one guy with something like three dozen "acheivement" pins bragging it up everywhere we went! He had so many pins, if he was German he could have been a Burgermeister! He seemed to just pop up everywhere -- like there were hidden tunnels or clones of him placed in strategic hallways just to make us other guys feel mediocre!).

Ahem, have I run off the subject again? Sorry. But for sure, great story, Paul, and welcome to you as a new member of Ghostories. Hope you enjoy the GhosTee! Keep the home fires burning (ooops, poor choice of words, eh? I must brush up on my Emily Post).




Coming Soon to Ghostories -- Our New Member Library

The First Sure Sign that Something Definitely Isn't Quite Right

I turned and stared directly into the source of the light
When it came into focus it finally hit me.
My entire body was shaking uncontrolably,
And it wasn't just my hands . . .


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