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--== A Ghostories Library ==--

When it's late at night -- I'm in Camelot!


The Timid Library Features:
(All Ghostory Libraries best viewed in 600 x 800 monitor settings)

70. Painting the Shudders . . . by Jerry Crawford

71. The Last Smile . . . by Nat S. D.

72. faceless . . . by Dani B.

73. Calling My Name . . . by Debbie

74. Something's Rotting Upstairs . . . by Carolyn Davis

75. Buyers Remorse . . . by Callie Casstevens

76. Then Something Sat Down . . . by Lance Layton

77. Down There . . . by Dani B.

78. Legend of Curly's Fold . . . by Sara

79. Grandmother Dear . . . by Adriana Sanchez
80. Grandmother Dear -- Part Duex . . . by Adriana Sanchez
81. The Olde Stories Are True . . . by Carolynn Marie Ramsey
82. A Single Rose . . . by Justin R. Scott
83. Out on a Limb . . . by Amanda
84. The Late Gravedigger's Digs . . . by "Bri"
85. Complete Terror . . . by "Tiffany"



Painting the Shudders
by Jerry Crawford
Hailing From: Pilot Mtn., North Carolina
Where it Happened: South Holston Lake, Virginia

When I was a young kid, my parents were in the business of painting the exteriors of houses. We were invited by a friend of my father's to stay at his chalet on the lake for a couple of weeks to paint their home. We only stayed one week. Here's why:

It was some years later before we discussed it, but their were some strange things that occurred to each of us while we were there. My father told of an eerie and very cold wind (in the middle of summer that would overtake him when he stepped out of the shower. The lights in the house would mysteriously come on and go off. We were told not to use the downstairs bathroom, which was locked, but when curiosity got the best of Dad, he jimmied the lock and went in.

Their were bloodstains behind the toilet and inside the tub. There was also a strange note, addressed to my half-sister (Dad's daughter through his first marriage), who has an unusual name: Leeza. It told her that the shells to the gun were in the bathroom closet. Ironically, she was to visit us the next night. We had brought our white Persian kitten, Snowball, with us on the trip. One evening we went down to the lake to fish. We looked up and saw a large white ball on the deck of the house looking down at us. We assumed it to be Snowball, but the thing never moved, and as we returned up the hill to the house, it disappeared. When we entered the house, there was Snowball, locked inside.

Also, my younger sister and I shared a rear bedroom. It got cool up in the evening, so when we went to bed, we shut the windows. In the morning the windows would be standing wide open. Everytime I think about this story, I get cold chills. It is without a doubt the scariest experience I've ever had in my life.

Well, Jerry! Thanks for the story. I must say, for an exterior paint job, there sure was a lot going on in the interior! Hmmmm, I wonder, did you use a long-lasting paint that won't vanish as the years go by? And about that bathroom, sounds like something terminal happened there -- did you ever find out what it was? (Enough to make me feel flushed!) I'll bet, though, that you and your Dad finished that ol' paint job in record time, eh? Right after the very last stroke! Er, I mean, brush stroke!



The Last Smile
by Nat S. D.
Hailing From: Simi Valley, Ca
Where it Happened: In my house

Hi. Before I tell my true story, let me tell you some stuff about myself. I'm a girl, for one. I was born in California, but my parents were born in Sri Lanka, which is an island south of India. So my grandma was from there too. One summer - the summer of 1995, some spooky things have been happening in my house.

My dad and I were going to spend two weeks in Sri Lanka to visit my relatives there, particularly my grandma, who was very old. One night, about two weeks before we were going to leave for the trip, I was asleep in my bed. On my nightstand was one of those glass orbs that when you shake it, all the colorful glitter inside it swirls around within it. My glass orb also played "Free" when you wound it up. My grandmother had given it to me when she visited the U.S. for a week when I was five. In the midst of the night, the tune started to play all by it's self; no one had wound it up. I became very apprehensive; I think my heart even stopped beating for a second. With a surge of bravery, I jumped out of bed and grabbed the orb, and hid it deep within the linen closet so that I couldn't hear it. Then I went back to sleep.

Later that night, the phone rang. I awoke and sat straight up, pearls of sweat on my forehead. I realized I had been dreaming about my grandmother. I heard my dad pick up the phone from his room. I heard him gasp, then cry and sob. Something had happened to my grandma, I thought. The next morning I found out she had died.

Numerous other times that week, queer things seemed to happen. We had an alarm system, and we set it on "chime", which meant that the alarm would chime when someone passed through the door. But we locked the door. While my family and I watched a movie, the chime went off several times. Each time we checked to see if the door was locked. It was. On another occasion, the entire family was downstairs for some quiet time, when we heard footsteps - loud and unmistakable - coming from upstairs. They were slow and even, as if an old person were making them. My dad went upstairs, but found nothing.

One time, I saw a handkerchief fly through the air. My dad thought he saw my grandma in the kitchen. My mom thought she heard my grandmother's voice singing in Sinhalese (a Sri Lanken language). My brother kept hearing slow footsteps behind him. Despite my grandma's death, my dad and I continued with our trip to Sri Lanka, though it was put off for two more weeks.

The trip was great, but I won't bore you with the details. I will tell you about our last night there, though. On our last night there, we, and all of our other relatives, stayed at my grandmother's house, where a sort of pre-funeral ceremony took place (with monks, flowers, food - the whole bit). After the ceremony, we all crowded into my grandma's room, which was where she had died. My uncle had placed a huge photo of her against the wall. In it, her lips were pursed in sort of a straight line - not quite a frown, but not a smile either. In the room we all shared memories and sang songs and recited stories and told jokes and ate food. It was great. Also in the room, we all felt a presence; a vibe. But none of us could have sworn it was there; we were all having such a good time.

When we were ready to head for bed, we all took a quick glance at my grandma's picture. She was smiling. There was no doubt about it. But after a second glance, she was the same as before. But everybody had witnessed it - it was a Mona Lisa type of smile. After my dad and I returned home, nothing more that was even the least bit odd or scary happened to us or the rest of the family.

Thanks for the very cool story, Nat! I appreciate it. I always wondered if sometimes, when you look away, if paintings might, I mean just for an instant, change their expression. I mean, when I was a kid, I guess I thought when you weren't lookin', they might give you the raspberry! (I musta been a seriously deranged kid, I suppose) But really, I do like this story and it sounds to me like you were able to view the morph first hand! Absolutely cool! A sign that Grandma is a happy camper in the everlasting beyond.



by Dani B.

Hailing From: California
Where it Happened: Oakland California

This happened in a house I stayed in for a while in approx 1989. The house is located in Oakland California in a not-so-great area of town. It's pretty small, originally had two bedrooms, one bath. There is an area attached to the back bedroom that is like a porch used for storage. The door between the back bedroom and the "porch" has a small square window in it. It's right down the street from I believe it's the Eastmont Mall. (been a while since I've been there). Anyhow, when I first arrived to stay at this house it kind of gave me the "creeps" but I brushed it off thinking it was because of the area that the home was in. I was staying in the back bedroom of the house with some of the couple's kids who had bunkbeds. I had a hard time sleeping and felt like somebody was "in there" with me in the room. I also did not want to be alone in the home under any circumstances, but I just couldn't explain why.

I myself, never saw anything, but I always had a nervous feeling like something just wasn't right. (I've had other vivid experiences which made me believe my intuition which I'll send later). So anyway, I started asking some of the kids, and older members of the family if they had any weird feelings in this house and this is the story that I was told.... The house was actually owned by the families grandmother and she allowed her son and his wife to live in it. When the current crop of grandkids were in their teen years they had spent allot of time growing up staying with grandma. And there was always that weird feeling in the back bedroom.

One night, two cousins were staying in the room and one woke up in the middle of the night scared to death (you know when you can't breath or speak or move even) and he saw a "person" sitting on the edge of his bed. The "person" who looked like an old woman with long grey hair and black clothing turned to face him and had no face (we all know that this means the thing is evil: no face = evil). He knew he was in for a bad time because once something with no face visits that can't be anything but bad. He started praying to himself because he was still so scared that he couldn't yell or anything, meanwhile the other cousin was in a deep sleep. Eventually the thing faded, and the awake cousin kept trying to wake up the sleeping one, but he just would not wake up.

Other people in the family had also had bad experiences in that room, once one of the grandkids was there when he was in highschool, and he woke up and saw someone looking in through that little window. The person's face disappeared, but the porch door had never open or shut so where did he go?

There was also a fire that started in that house luckily no one was hurt, but it was still odd. Turns out that one of the prior owners of the home used to live there with her husband. The backdoor used to go directly outside, the porch had been added later on by another tenant. When this couple lived there the husband used to be a drinker, and when he went out drinking his wife used to get mad at him and lock him out of the house. Turns out he died on the back steps right by the door. Was it him peering in through the glass window? Needless to say, after I found out the "real deal" about the house I didn't stay there again.

EB, thanks for the story, I enjoyed it very much. Puts a whole new meaning into trying to sneak back into the house after a night of frolicking, right? Thanks goodness, most of us are home safe and sound after the sun goes down. Or, as this story underscores, are we really? Hmmmmmm . . . . . . . .



Calling My Name!
by Debbie
Hailing From: California
Where it Happened: California

This event happened to me when I was approximately 14 years old. As a kid I lived in a small town in Northern California, my maternal grandmother lived in S.F. My family and I would usually see my grandmother twice a year, at Christmas and during the summer. A couple of reasons we didn't see much of her was because she was busy and she hated the hot summers in the Ca. valley. I always looked forward to the summer months because it meant that I would go and spend a month with grandma in the big city. One night shortly before I was to go and visit my grandma I had a strange and disturbing dream.

My dream began with me standing in the hall of a very lavish home. I could see beautiful blue, red and white tile on the entrance hall floor, to my left, some how I knew was the kitchen, and directly in front of me was a beautiful ornate staircase leading to the upstairs. Now, it was what was to my right that was causing me to have extremely anxious and scared feelings. To my right was a sunken living room. I remember the carpeting was an off white and there were two steps leading down into the room. As I stood in the hall gazing towards the sunken room I heard someone calling my name. The person kept asking me to please come into the room they needed help, I'm not exactly sure why but I was very afraid and did not enter the room. This person just kept pleading over and over to me to please help them, finally I awoke from the dream feeling very frightened.

This dream bothered me so much I told my Mom about it as soon as I got up in the morning. She really didn't have an explanation for it but some how she was able to aleive some of my fears of the dream. Being a typical teenager, I slowly thought less and less about the dream and focused on more important things, like friends, the end of school and boys.

Approximately 4-6 weeks after my dream, my grandma came and picked me up to spend my annual month with her. Since the last time I had seen her, which had been Christmas, she had moved to a new district in the city and I was anxious to check out her new home. The first night at her house I was lying on her bed talking about various things when the dream popped into my head. Now, I don't know what possessed me to tell her about the dream, it just seemed like something I should do. I noticed that the more of the dream that I told her the more interested she seemed to become. When I was finished, she sat there for a minute just staring at me. I will never forget for the rest of my life what she told me when she finally started talking.

My grandmother said that I had described to a Tee the inside of a house that was nearby her own. Grandma said the home belonged to a doctor and his wife, and that recently the wife had died. The husband went away for a weekend seminar and had left his wife at home alone. Apparently the wife had a drinking problem and had become injured somehow in the "sunken" room and had died. When they discovered the wives body, directly in front of her on the wall, were scratch marks, where she had clawed the wall while lying incapacitated on the floor. The next morning after telling my grandmother the dream, she drove me to the house and asked me if the house was the same one in the dream. I told her I had only seen the inside of the house and that it didn't look familiar.

To this day I believe that I was inside that home. That some how I heard her calls for help and that my spirit left me in my sleep and went to her. It is one of the strangest things that has ever happened to me. Is this a ghost story? I'll let you decide.

Debbie, ya got my vote. For a long time I've seen many stories that are somehow interconnected with the deep state of somnolence. And there are those who really believe that being asleep is the closest thing to being near that final doorway -- for why else do they call death the "big sleep?" Our bodies are comfortably at rest while our minds are zooming ahead at 5000 miles per hour -- in this altered state even flying can somehow become possible. And it is here in this transformed consciousness where we are amazingly capable of thinking on a variety of seemingly non-related, and at times, nonsensical dimensions that we would most likely dismiss in our waking states . . . yet it is here in this creative abyss that we find answers to some of our most unsolved questions . . .

Thanks for the story and keep an eye on the listings . . . if it ever comes up for sale, possibly you could plan a visit to some very hot property!



Something's Rotting Upstairs
by Carolyn Davis
Hailing From: Ironton, Ohio
Where it Happened: Columbus, Ohio

When my husband and I were first married (some 29 years ago), he took me to Columbus, Ohio to meet his family. His mother lived on West 2nd Avenue and his sister and her family lived across the street from her. Tootie, my husband's sister, was a nice friendly person and we got along great from day one. She and her family lived in a big old house that, like many other old houses, had been divided in to two apartments, one upstairs and one down.

Tootie and her family lived in the downstairs apartment. My husband and I were staying with his mother, but we visited Tootie and her family every day. Several times during the visits I heard the front door open (the two apartments shared a common front door and foyer, then each had their own individual doors to the apartments), foot steps going up the stairs to the other apartment and then what sounded like people moving around up there. I found nothing strange about this, as I was not familiar with the house or it's occupants Then one night Tootie, her three children and I were alone in her apartment. She was in the kitchen fixing supper while I kept an eye on the kids who were watching t.v. in the living room. Again I heard the outside door open, someone going up the stairs and the door to the other apartment open and close.

About that time, Tootie called the kids and me to supper. During the course of conversation over supper I asked her who lived in the upstairs apartment. "No one," she said, "that apartment has been empty since we moved here, three years ago." I felt the blood draining from my face because I knew that someone had been going up there all week and was, in fact, up there at the moment we were talking. My first thought was that someone was up to no good and that they were using the empty apartment as a base.

Tootie was looking at me strangely. "Someone is up there," I said, "I heard them go up a while ago."

"That's impossible," Tootie replied, "the only other person with a key to that apartment besides myself (the landlord had given her a key so she could check on the other apartment from time to time) is the landlord and he's out of town this week."

At that moment we all heard heavy footsteps plodding down the hallway upstairs. The hallway led down a back flight of stairs which ended at a door (which was kept locked at all times) that opened into Tootie's apartment. The footsteps were headed for that door! Badly frightened, we all jumped up from the table. "Call the police!" I screamed.

"I'll call Ted's (her husband) brother," she said, "he lives just two houses down the street and can get here before the police."

Tooties brother-in-law and a friend that happened to be visiting him arrived within minutes of her frantic call. Tootie gave them the key to the apartment and they went upstairs with flashlights (there was no electricity on in the upstairs apartment) to check things out. Tootie, the kids and I sat huddled in the kitchen, expecting the men to yell "Call the police!" at any moment, but nothing happened. Then we heard footsteps coming down the stairs to the door that led into the kitchen. There they stopped. We thought it was Tootie's brother-in-law and his friend and Tootie called out to him. There was no answer.

A few minutes later Tooties brother-in-law and his friend came down the stairs via the door in the kitchen and called for Tootie to let them in. They had seen or heard nothing, they said, and had been through the whole apartment. They probably thought we were two hysterical women who had spooked each other, but we knew what we had heard. Tootie said that after that night the footsteps and banging doors in the upstairs apartment got so bad that she eventually moved out, even though her apartment was a really nice place. She moved across the street to the house where her mother had lived and stayed there for the next ten years. People moved in and out of the downstairs apartment in her old house at an alarming rate and no one ever stayed long. Strangely enough, no one ever rented the upstairs apartment, even though it was a nice place.

About ten years after this incident a strange odor started permeating the air on West 2nd Ave. It smelled like something dead. Everyone up and down the street assumed that some large animal, a dog maybe, had crawled into the basement of a house and died. Eventually they decided the odor was coming from the house that Tootie had lived in. The police were called to investigate and they found they body of Tootie's former landlord -- you guessed it!-- in the upstairs apartment! One has to wonder if the entity that haunted the place had any thing to do with the old man's death. I hope not. I hope he died a peaceful death, but the police said a look of pure terror was frozen on his face when they found his decomposing body in that awful apartment.

Wonderful stuff, once again, Carolyn. Way to go! And thanks for being a repeat writer! Keep coming back! Absolutely superb stuff. One has to wonder about the goings-on. Is it at all possible that a closer look into the life of the landlord might prove he had underworld connections? Or, like you speculated, it wasn't the underworld that killed him, but the other-world!


Buyers Remorse
by Callie Casstevens
Hailing From: Corpus Christi, Texas
Where it Happened: Car

It all started when my boyfriend and I were driving up to a little town called Driscoll near my city of Corpus Christi. Well, we were looking at buying an old car to restore as a project and saw to our excitement an old VW bus. We stopped to look at it, but the house looked abandoned and so we went our way because on the FOR SALE sign there was no number to call.

We went again down that road a week later and saw that it was still there, so I decided somebody must go by the house still, and I wrote down my number and name for them to give me a call, that same day, I received a call from a man who said he would love to sell it to me. The next day, I got back some film I had developed and a couple of the pictures were of the bus, I was excited and went back to the house and no one was there still. I was disappointed so I went back home. My best friend was driving by and saw that there was a bullet hole that was old on the car, she told me about it and I showed her the pictures I had taken of the bus and she pointed out that in the car there sat four ghosts, a man a woman and the other two were not to visible. It scared me, the next time I drove by, the bus . . . was gone.

Thanks for the great story. I have always known that buying a car was scary, but this takes the cake . . . er, or should I say the chassis?


Hiya Ghostories!
T'is nice to be back after a great two weeks in Sequoia (I won't miss my bear box, but say hello to Yogi! And, what about that Ghost Village? Now there was a treat!), and Tahoe (I loved meeting you people from Texas! Next time scale back to green chips! Yikes!), Yosemite (did you see that snow and rain??! And many thanks to the ranger who let us tour our favorite campground, that was very nice!), --- and we love Bishop, California (where the "Pizza Factory" rules the roost!) -- and by the way, all my thanks to the great people in Auburn, Placerville and Cool, California -- also to Sutter's Mill!) Also, hello to Joyce and her great Sacramento family and friends we met on the Tahoe Queen paddlewheel on Lake Tahoe. And, let's not forget Planet Hollywood at Caesars --- you have the best Italian Promodoro on Tahoe's South Lake or as a matter of fact, anywhere! It's nice to be home, but I love being on the road.
- - - Your Ghostories WebMaster, Ken


"Then, Something Sat Down"
by Lance Layton
Hailing From: Richland, Mississippi
Where it Happened: Atlanta, Georgia

I don't know if this counts as a "scary" story or not, but here goes . . .

I had only gone to visit my aunt in Georgia a handful of times, mostly when I was a young child. She lived in an older two story house, in a suburb of Atlanta, with her daughter and her daughter's pets. I say pets because she had many. Six dogs, five puppies, two cats, and ten birds, one of which was a one-eyed talking parrot.

Downstairs, there were two bedrooms, a bathroom, a den, and a washroom. If you went up the first section of stairs, you were at the front door, with the living room at shoulder level. If you continued up the stairs, you would be in the living room, facing the dining room with two bedrooms and a bathroom to the right, and the kitchen behind the wall next to the dining room.

I never slept well in the house. It didn't feel right. My parents were always in another bedroom and I just felt ‘weird'. Then I learned of the ‘spirit' when I was older. It's probably a good thing my parents and my aunt waited until I was a teenager to tell me these stories. These playful things were commonplace. They did not happen every day or with any consistency. But, they did happen. My aunt would tell of walking downstairs, only to hear someone fumbling keys at the front door as if trying to find the right key to unlock it. The doorbell would sometimes ring and no one would be there. In a neighborhood with hardly no children to play ‘pranks', this was a little odd.

One night, my aunt was reading a book in bed, in the upstairs bedroom. The upstairs bedrooms had hardwood floors and would creak like those floors do when being walked on. The bedroom door was shut, but not latched. As she sat reading, the door creaked open about halfway. My aunt, assuming it was one of the dogs, looked up and to her surprise saw nothing. Then, next to her on the other side of the bed, ‘something' sat down. The bed actually moved and made a depression! There were no footsteps or sounds of any kind other than the door creaking when it pushed open. My aunt decided to get a cup of coffee. That episode was not malevolent and none of the smaller episodes were either.

Then my cousin, for lack of a better term, ticked it off.

My aunt was visiting our family, in our state, one summer. My cousin, not being able to take time off from work, had to stay home. Now, one of the downstairs bedrooms is hers, and the other one is for the dogs. The cats had free run of the place, but the dogs got put up at night. After a long day, my cousin goes to bed around eleven thirty. She just gets to the point of falling asleep, when she hears a grinding noise coming from the bedroom above her. My aunt's bedroom. The one with the hardwood floors. After about fifteen minutes of this ‘noise', she gets up to go investigate. She opens the bedroom door and the wooden rocking chair in my aunt's room is slowly rocking. It stops when my cousin turns on the light. Downstairs and back to bed she went. Five minutes later, the rocking starts again. Upstairs she went. "Please stop. I am trying to sleep she says."

Downstairs again. Five minutes pass and it starts again. This time my cousin ‘stomps' up the carpeted stairs sighing loudly and takes the rocker and places it in the living on the carpet where it cannot make noise if it rocks.

Downstairs, and finally asleep. Sometime later that night, not exactly sure of the time, my cousin is awakened by ALL of the dogs barking. She sits up in bed and amongst the howling and barking she hears the stomping. ‘It' was going up and down the stairs stomping loudly. She stayed in bed this time. The stomping and the barking continued until morning. Now although my cousin was alone, she was in her late twenties at the time of the events, and had no motive to lie or fabricate this story. She did not tell it to me directly. I overheard her tell my parents. It seems to me, if an individual heard, saw, or felt ‘something', that is one thing, but for animals to respond to the same stimulation, makes it more believable.

That was the last episode to take place that I am aware of. My aunt still lives there, with grandchildren. I have visited the house once since learning of this. I lay down on the couch, right next to the stairs. Everything was quiet, everyone was in bed. Did I sleep? Not one wink.

I don't know about you, but any ghost who feels comfortable enough to decide to sit on the bed next to me would be enough . . . add in the animals and I think we have a bonafide scary story here! Thanks muchly for sending it in . . . only thing I wish is that I had that ol' ghost on the camping trip with us -- he/she could have kept that ol' bear away from the tent trailer for at least one or two nights! Then again, maybe that ol' bear knew something about the forest we didn't!!! Hmmmmmmmmm . . . I wonder . . . .



Down There
by Dani B.
Hailing From: California
Where it Happened: Pine Ridge, SD

This event happened in Pine Ridge, South Dakota. This is an area which has numerous ghostly happenings. I think the reason is the ongoing despair and bloody history of the general area. Many of the houses in this area have basements, and this particular house was no exception.

The way to get into the basement was through a door in the kitchen. You went down a flight of stairs into an unfinished basement. One day the family dog started growling and barking at the basement door. The family tried to get the dog to go down there thinking that there was a rat or other animal that the dog was barking at. But when they opened the basement door the dog would not go down the stairs. So, they shut the door and left it at that. But then a few days later they heard a scratching sound down in the basement. They thought for sure it had to be a rat or some other varmint. They took the dog and basically pushed him down the stairs.

A little while later they heard the dog barking ferociously. Then they heard the sound of somebody crying. The whole family opened the basement door and looked. The dog had something cornered. They looked closer. They saw what appeared to be an Indian woman dressed in old style clothing and moccasins, but as she was crying she kept her hands firmly over her face as if she was weeping. (Now remember from my last post, if there isn't a face you better run in the other direction).

The dog ran back up the stairs once the door was open and the family got scared and slammed the door shut once the dog ran out. They called in a local person who dealt with these type of things for advice. Turns out that the "woman" was evil and was starting to make allot of noise down there in the basement. The family locked the door, then nailed it shut and hung a big picture of Jesus on the door, then they had it blessed and said some prayers on it. (In an attempt to keep the thing in the basement).

And of course, this just made the "woman" mad. After that, you could constantly hear the "woman" alternately crying and sobbing for help and then it would sound like she was running back and forth between the corners of the basement. As far as I know she is still there . . . .

The subject of basements leads me way, waaaay back to Corrine, our first babysitter (Michigan, c. 1957). She was the most wonderful person I think I ever met in my not-too-tall years. I miss her allot and wonder if she will ever stumble upon this site and say hi. But what was awesome about her is that she liked to play hide and seek throughout our house, and more often than not, she would hide in the basement, making it extra scary. We would try to walk up the basement stairs and a hand would jump out and grab our leg!!

I loved when she came to visit, and I can only wonder to this day when I go to excavation sites, or simply down to my computer room to edit web sites and pages, if that singular twinge I feel when the lights are all out and I am making my way upstairs might just have something to do with Corrine, our BabySitter!




Legend of Curly's Fold
by Sara
Hailing From: wilkes-barre, PA
Where it Happened: In my friend Lisa's house

On the day of Lisa's sisters car accident, I decided to go over to her house and help her clean out her sisters smashed car. I walked into Lisa's house which was notorious for strange happenings. I never looked at it that way until that day. I had to have been in ninth or tenth grade when it happened. It was a minor accident and no one was injured.

Lisa's family was the kind of family who turned on about one light in the entire house and it always looked kind of creepy, whether it was mid afternoon or midnight. Anyway, I made my way to her kitchen and sat down at her table. While we were talking about her sister's accident I decided to go and get a drink out of the fridge. I walked over to the fridge and opened the door. I grabbed a coke and then glanced into her living room as I turned.

To my surprise there was someone staring back at me.

It was an older man with curly dark hair. He was wearing a green sweater and grey slacks. He was extremely pale. It looked like he was about to go up her steps and that I had caught him in the act. He looked so frightened. I didn't know what to do. I just stared at him and my first thought was, "Oh my gosh! He got in through the front door. Lisa left it open!".

I screamed "Lisa!!!!!! There's somebody in the house."

She ran over to look and the man was gone. We checked the entire house. The front door had been locked the whole time as was every door in the house. Every window was closed. This man who had been standing before me had vanished into thin air. I told Lisa about the man and all she said was, "Well, sure . . . everyone's seen something in my house."

Cool story, Sara, thanks. But, ya know, I wouldn't be doing my job here if I didn't pose the burning question: You mean you were willing to settle for your friend Lisa's response? Letting her simply pass it off? Hey, you don't sound like the kind of Ghost person who would do that. So c'mon, tell us, after you decided to press her a little more, did she fess up? Any update you can give us? Tidbits? Stay in touch and let us know. I'm sure there's lots more to this tale of the Curly (headed) Ghost (Larry! Moe!)

Meanwhile, I'm going in the next room to watch this Billy Crystal movie . . .


Grandmother Dear
by Adriana Sanchez
Hailing From: Chicago, IL
Where it Happened: Chicago, IL

When I was about 5 or 6 years old, I had the mumps and stayed home sick from kindergarten. My mother had gone to work, so I was all alone in the house. But, luckily my aunt and grandmother lived in the apartment right above from where we lived. The day before my grandmother (whom I loved dearly, may she R-I-P) had given me an old box of crayons, it was VERY OLD! She told me to never lose this box of crayons because it had been given to her by her favorite uncle when she was young. Seeing as how important it was to her for these crayons to be well cared for, I placed them neatly on my dresser that same night and went to bed.

The next day was as usual, my mother went to work and told me, "If you're scared or hungry, just ring the doorbell to upstairs so your aunt or grandmother can take care of you," and she left on her way to work. This was about 6:30 a.m. I fell asleep for a while, and then about 8:00 a.m. I heard someone at the door, I was still in bed, just laying there covered up to my chin. Slowly I heard the footsteps of my grandmother!!!

I already recognized the rustling of her slippers on the floor. Then I saw her come in to my room, but something was not right? It looked like her, but, but it wasn't her! I saw her pick up the box of crayons that I had so neatly set up on my dresser the night before. I pulled up the cover higher to cover my face, and acted as though I were still snoozing. She looked at the crayons, and then turned and looked over at ME!!! I was SCARED by the look on her FACE!!! She did not look the same, there was a chill in the air, a small breeze. But it was summer! She had a very evil look on her face and her eyes seem to glow a dark, dark green -- and my grandmothers eyes were BROWN!

She made an ugly grin that sent shivers, I MEAN SHIVERS, down my spine. But still, I acted as though I was still sleeping. Then she turned around and walked out my bedroom door. I heard the door again, and then the key. By now I had no idea of what in the world was going on! You see my grandmother was very sickly, and like I said, I had been awake for a while. The shocker is I never heard her come down, and never heard her walk back up. AND SHE COULDN'T HAVE WALKED OUT THE DOOR TO THE STREET! WE HAD A VERY NOISY DOOR THAT TO THIS DAY STILL SCRAPES AND MAKES A LOUD BANG WHEN YOU CLOSE, almost making it seam as if the door is going to break any day now.

Well right after she left, I dressed myself up, washed my teeth and headed towards the door to ring the bell from upstairs. I heard my aunt come down to answer the door and asked her, "Why did grandma take my crayons away?" She looked at me in a puzzled way and answered "Adriana your grandmother has been upstairs all this time, you should know how sick she is, she can't even climb stairs. What's more I just finished giving her coffee and breakfast!?"

So I told her what happened, all she could say is: "If you don't believe me check for yourself, she's still in her PJ's and in bed." I went upstairs and there she was, SLEEPING! Till' this day I don't know who it could have been, and I've told my same story over and over again. But know one remembers seeing anyone come up to the house that day! All I've heard is that it could have been my father (who practiced black magic). But why would my father want my crayons? I don't know, a lot of different things have happened in that house. It's like AMITYVILLE all over.

I'll send another story in soon. This one happened to my brother in the same house, only its 15 years later. We moved out only to move back!!! I HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYS MY "TRUE STORY". DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU!

Ghostories Advisory:
Reading certain stories could result in a Chill -- be advised. If you happen to catch the Best Chill on the Net, stay low, keep covered, read more stories and drink plenty of evaporated milk. Hang garlic over your bed and avoid watching Siskel and Ebert. Under no circumstances should you listen to accordion music or read Steven King within any 24 hour episode; however movies by Bruce Willis or Jack Nicholson may have an antidotal effect -- and books by Deane Koontz may offer some distorted insight -- so apply with care. If the symptoms persist, bookmark O'Neill's Ghostories and call us in the morning. Suggest purchasing a GhosTee to protect your abdomen from further exposure.

Hope you like our "Advisory." We loved your story and hope to hear from you often . . . many thanks, it was very colorful!


Grandmother Dear: Part Duex
by Adriana Sanchez
Hailing From: Chicago, IL
Where it Happened: Chicago, IL

This another story of mine which I'm very chillingly excited to share! It takes place in the same house of my first story about my grandmother. Only this time the family moved out only to have to end up moving back in due to financial difficulties.

My Parents had a very bitter divorce, when I was 7 years old. My father was a drunkard, a wife beater, mental abuser (even to his own children), a cheater, a druggy, and to top it all off he practiced in the forbidden art of "BLACK MAJICK".

Well anyways a couple of years later my mother found a new love. We packed up and moved out of the gloomy 1913 house. I felt safe because I always had nightmares. But eventually we wound up moving back in!


We always heard my brother saying:"Why did we move out, why can't we go back?

I didn't stay there for very long -- I married. After that my mother said that as much as she cleans the house it still smells bad! And everyday she hears noises, like a man is in the house. But there is no man because my mothers love affair didn't last, but she did gain another son at the age of 47! When I was 15. So the only man, I mean boy in the house is my brother and he's only 6!

Well anyways one day when my mother was sleeping (she slept during the day because she had been up all night at work doing her graveyard shift), she heard my brother run to her room screaming, and crying. MOOOOOOOOmmY!!! She burst her eyes open and saw him standing there crying.

When she asked, "What's wrong?"

He kept screaming,


Meaning "A MAN IN RED!"

And then when he calmed down a little he told her that he had seen a man with a bright red shirt and black hair sitting on the couch! He said that the man wasn't there and that all of a sudden he heard a man say "HEY FATBOY!"

My brother described the man, and she couldn't believe it! She thought to herself if it could have been my father performing his practical jokes -- or anything to cause a scare so he could laugh. But when my mother got up from bed to check the door. It was locked! There was no sign of anyone coming in or out. She had thought it was maybe my father because it sounded so much like him.

My mother also believes it could have been my grandfather, who has long since passed on. But just like my dad, he practiced magick also, and loved to scare people!

What do I think? I think it was the ghost of a man who also molested his 3 girls, and when the wife found out she filed for a divorce, he was so upset that he hung himself on some pipes that are in the basement.

This is why I say that this house is a little like AMITYVILLE, because like him my father did the same. And after my fathers arrest, they say he just disappeared. Well anyways after the incident, my mother called upon a priest to bless the house. And nothing else has happened, although my brother still has nightmares about it, and he still asks my mom,

"When can we move out again?"

I really don't like to go there myself either, I can also remember being pushed down the stairs when I was 6 years old from the third floor down to the basement! My family just found me there unconsciousness. And every time I do go back, my daughter doesn't want to stay there, she just turns wild. And when you see the house, you feel as though the house and something is looking out to see if your coming.

Well that's my story I hope everyone likes it as well as "GRANDMOTHER DEAR",
I really enjoyed writing it!

Definitely sounds like prime real estate to me!

A Very Big Thank You for sharing your stories with us here at Ghostories. Since I already issued the "Ghostories Advisory" as you saw in the last story comment -- all I can do at this point is add one more thought: Adrianna, you need a GhosTee, fer sure. Hey, all my writers with "more-'n-one" story onboad are gettin' the "Tee." So, well, I

Most of All, take care, visit often, y'all come back here any ol' time! And, well, maybe red wouldn't be the best choice of colors to wear!


The Olde Stories Are True!
by Carolynn Marie Ramsey
Hailing From: New Jersey
Where it Happened: very near

There was supposedly also a murder in my town in the 1950's, and the victims ghost still wanders the back roads about two blocks from my house. I want to check old newspaper clippings at the local college's library, but where else can I go to see if this is true?

(Carolyn: Go to your local library -- find the librarian who deals in "Heritage" or "History of the Town" and "make friends" -- give yourself a couple of visits, get to know her/him -- surprising things will happen -- just my advise -- Ken)

My Uncle Artie swears the old stories are true! Any advice is greatly appreciated, and keep this ghost stuff up! It's the best page I've found so far on this topic.

Anyway, on to the story . . .

I'd never really believed in ghosts except in the movies. As a little kid, I'd watch the "Poltergeist" flicks over and over because for some reason I loved to be scared. It was just a yen I had. Whenever I told mom I was too scared to go to bed (Oh, c'mon, after seeing some rotted corpse grow out of a guy's mouth, wouldn't you?), she'd tell me some dumb excuse like "There's no such thing" -- or once went so far as to say "All ghosts are in England, you know, but not here".

Well, I believed her at first.

Note the words, "at first."

My mom's dad died about two months before I was born in the winter of '82. I never got a chance to meet him, but I've always felt very close to him for some reason. Still, Mom and Pops started to believe in ghosts more and more on account of very weird stuff going on.

The first hint that grandpa was still hanging around was in our old house, about a week after I came home from the nursery at the hospital and two months after he had died. Our old house was real small with only two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a backyard that had given way to things that crept and crawled (and, let's not even go into the basement!).

They swore they heard something upstairs while they were watching TV late one night. I had finally stopped crying, which relieved them -- but the footsteps were scary. Afraid a burglar was in the house (and I alone in my crib up there), they went to investigate, only to find me laying in my crib, fast asleep with a little smile on my face! Not only that, but they found my blanket tucked around me and actually tucked UNDER the mattress corners. A quick search of the second floor proved all locked windows and no sign of any other person in the house.

There are a few other encounters my folks have told me, though I doubt that's all. Gramps liked Dad in life and often played little jokes on him. He still does. Only recently (even though we now live in a bigger house) my dad came downstairs for breakfast with a funny look on his face. He said he had just stepped out of the shower only to have the door shut in his face. He nearly hit his head on the ceiling and swore he heard Grandpa say "Got'cha!" followed by laughter. Whenever anyone in the house loses something, we also always ask Great-grandma to help. She was my mom's fave-grandma, and she always loved corned beef and cabbage. Mom says she knows she's happy because whenever she makes that for dinner, she senses great-grandma around, and in a happy mood (supposedly grandpa has talked to my folks through my dad).

Anyway, to date, I've lost everything that comes in contact with my hands: keys, library books, gym sneakers, math book, best friend's borrowed shirt, phone numbers, and I probably have a dead body buried underneath the junk on my bedroom floor somewhere. I always ask great-grandma to help me find whatever I've lost, and I always immediately feel as if someone is guiding me to a certain area of the house. At first I thought it was my subconsiuos ("Hey, I think I remember leaving it here ..."), but then I'd find Mom may have moved my stuff to a new location that I would never in a million years have looked (like the never-used foyer closet) or something. I can't explain it, but all I know is to date, I have NEVER NOT ONCE ended up not finding what I lost. I ALWAYS have found the lost item from this little guiding force.

I know grandpa watches over me because at times he tells me not to do stuff. I remember trying to ride down the stairs on my tricycle and someone telling me not to do it. I got a bump on the head anyway for not listening. I've never seen or heard anything big like stuff being moved or doors opening of their own accord or white lights flying around the kitchen, but I swear at times I feel like I'm being watched. I'm never really scared, however, and often just say,

"Gramps, don't scare me. I hate being scared by real ghosts",

and I'll feel like whosoever watching me leaves the room. It's weird, and my mom has sworn she's seen stuff happen around the house. She doesn't tell me much; my little sis is terrified by these stories even though they're not malicious.

Frankly, the above stuff is all I can take.

Loved the story and thanks a million! And hey, don't worry about not seeing the big stuff . . . after all, look what the "big stuff" did to our other Ghostories writers!

I was wondering, though, if you had seen, The Borrowers?


A Single Rose
by Justin R. Scott
Hailing From: Mooresville, NC
Where it Happened: In my 100 year old house

First of all, I'll give you a little background on my house. It's a little over 100 years old and is in pretty good condition. Now back when this house was new, there lived a doctor. He operated, checked up on, and did all the doctor things in this house. Well, of course at least a couple of patients died in the house. My story is about an encounter with one of those patients.

I first heard the noise about 5 months ago. It was this low creaking sound coming from down the hall from my bedroom. It was about 3:00 a.m. and I suspected my little sister of staying up late and trying to sneak up the old stairs so mom and dad wouldn't yell at her for staying up until 3:00 a.m. I thought nothing of it and went back to reading my Anne Rice novel. The noise grew until it was right outside my door (right across from my room is my sister's). I knew it! The little weasel was sneaking up to her room! I was going to catch her, then tell mom and dad (many times before she had told on me for sneaking in late) I was going to get her. I leapt up out of my bed and made a mad dash to the door so she wouldn't have time to get in her room. I flung the door open, but no one was there. The hallway was dark. I creaked open my sister's door. There she was, asleep in her bed. At first, I thought, that little(can't say the word in this story!), she heard me coming and she leapt into her bed and was pretending to be asleep. Well, I know what I heard and I heard her coming up the stairs. Tomorrow, I'd tell mom and dad.

The next day, I told my mom and dad that my sister had stayed up late and my sister denied everything. My mom and dad both said she couldn't have stayed up late because she got up at 9:00 a.m. (you can tell when my sister has stayed up later than 11:00 p.m. because she sleeps in until at least 11:00 am the next day). I told my parents I heard her come up the stairs. They said it couldn't have been her. I started to believe them and told myself it was a loose board or something in the stairs.

That night, I went to a party and came back at around 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. I started up the stairs when I noticed their was more than one person breathing! I stopped and listened. I heard it more clear. There was DEFINITELY someone behind me. I twirled around and saw nothing. I was getting mad. Then, I turned around and staring right back at me was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

She was on the step above me so she was eye level with me. I was speechless -- even if I had WANTED to scream, I wouldn't have been able to. She was about 16 or 17, or at at least she looked it. She had long flowing hair down to her mid-back and was wearing an old-fashioned, early 1900's dress.

She said something, but too soft for me to hear.

I was thinking, how did this girl get in my house? That's when it hit me -- I COULD SEE RIGHT THROUGH HER! She was glowing and was in dressed in black and white. Her eyes seemed to be the only thing translucent. The rest of her was transparent. I looked deep into her eyes and saw a great many things. I saw fear, anger, but most of all, I saw sorrow.

I asked her why she was here and she replayed more clearly now. She said she was here to right something that was wronged. She said that she was not dead at the time of her burial (back then, when you passed out and they couldn't find a pulse, you were pronounced dead). I felt bad for her and asked what I could do. She told me to go to her grave at the Willow Valley Cemetery and hold a proper burial ceremony for her.

Well of course I couldn't just walk up to a priest and say, "Hey, this dead girl told me the hold a burial ceremony for her, you wanna do it?" I told her that I'm not a priest and probably no priest would take my story seriously. She told me just to go to her grave and hold a ceremony. That's all.

The next day, I woke up early, and went to her grave (she had told me her name the night before). I said a few words, and bowed my head, prayed and set a rose on her grave. All in all, it was a burial ceremony. That night, as I was getting ready for bed and an interesting thing caught my eye. On my dresser was a note -- and next to that a single rose. The note read: "Thank You," and as I read the note I picked up the rose and smelled it. I never again saw her --but I still remember her and I still have the rose that she gave back to me.

Wonderful story Justin. Thank you for sending it in. You sound like a very caring person. Sometimes in the middle of adversity that's all anyone needs -- in this or any other world I suppose -- it's like the line in "Independence Day" where the father is on the plane and he says, "All you need is love. John Lennon wrote that . . ."



Out On A Limb
by Amanda
Hailing From: Marengo, IN
Where it Happened: Paoli Community Cemetery -- Paoli, IN

When I was in 7th grade I had myself a little boyfriend who was often upset with me because I could not attend his jr. high football games. So one Friday night my friends and I made plans to go to his game, only the weather had other plans and the game was rained out.

Seems as though my mother too had made other plans that evening, so she dropped my two friends and I off at the school to watch a volleyball game. Being rambunctious 12 year olds, we didn't want to go watch a boring volleyball game. After sitting in the school cafeteria for about 20 minutes, we decided to walk up to the cemetery, which is located just across the street from the school.

I remember saying a little prayer as a joke as we made our way to the cemetery. I prayed for God to send the demons out so we could fight them. Only now, it doesn't seem like much of a joke! As we made our way into the cemetery, we started making fun of my friend Laura, who thought a the spirit of a 12 year old girl named Annie lived in her house. We started saying, "Come out, come out wherever you are, Annie," -- and chanting the only bible verses we knew.

When you first enter the cemetery, there is a paved path and you can either go to the right or the left. We chose to go to the right. About 50 yards down the path, I noticed a very tall tree in the middle of the up coming path. I remember thinking how strange that this big tree is planted where only little shrubs are around. Then, I remember thinking how odd it was that this tree was in the middle of the paved path.

Nearing the fork still, I began to notice that the tree was a very light green, almost glowing. By now, my friends had stopped far behind me. I did not notice this, but instead noticed that the tree was translucent! The next thing I now this glowing, green, translucent "tree" is moving!

Well, it took me this long to notice this wasn't a tree at all!

My friends must have been in shock behind me, because they noticed this exactly when I did. As most 12 year olds would probably do, we ran down the hill back to the hill and continued to tell everyone what we had just seen until two of us were grounded for leaving the school grounds and we figured out that no one was believing us. To this day I don't think anyone believes us.

Good story, Amanda. Thanks for sending it in. Your friends musta been "shakin' like a leaf!" (er, groan, sorry...but I did like the story!)



The Late Gravedigger's Digs
by Bri
Hailing From: Charleston, IL
Where it Happened: My Fiends Home

I have always had a "power" ( for lack of a better word) to sense supernatural things like ghosts and such. I didn't ask for it and sometimes it bugs me because I sense so much not many people believe me except my best friends. Some people have even called me evil and avoid me.Thats why I don't tell too many people anymore -- but this happened with at least two people who can verify it.

My friend lives in an old (I'm talking OLD) house in the country. There is an old forgotten family graveyard across the street and up the hill from her house. We researched the house and the family name at the library and found out that a family by the name of Leach built it about 150 years ago. They were immigrants from Ireland if I'm not mistaken (and were the caretakers for the graveyard).

The last person buried in the graveyard died about 70 years ago. The last member of the Leach family died about 40 years ago -- and before he passed on, even he stopped burying the dead there. When he died the graveyard grew over with weeds and no one visited it.

Oh, and did I mention that he hung himself in her garage?

We also found out that some of the family had died in the Civil War (this fact will be of some importance later, so don't forget).

Well anyway, the time I stayed there her former stepmother warned me about "him". My friend, Staci, told me about the graveyard -- and about the hanging, and cold spots, and the voices. I was really not scared though. The first night nothing really happened except with for some eerie sounds. But the next time I stayed there I was with another friend. It was late at night, about 2:00 a.m. or so. And we were all asleep. I was awakened by my friend D.J. shaking me saying that she had a strong feeling someone was watching her and she asked me if I would stay up with her, so I did.

We watched a video and things began to calm down. Then D.J. Turned snow white and stared staring at the window. I was facing the other direction and turned around to see a man in a union army uniform. He was completely transparent and had a bicycle style mustache.

We ran and woke up Staci, but by that time he had dissapeared. She didn't act to surprised and said that she had seen him before. Nevertheless I think that she really was scared because she stayed up the rest of the night too.

After a while things started to calm down and we started talking. Then I heard a sound like animal claws on the floor behind me. I thought it was her little dog so I turned around only to find a little gray cat. That wouldn't be scary except for the fact that she doesn't have any cats. I turned back around to tell my friend then looked again and it was gone.

Her dad's new girlfriend Jonnie didn't believe in ghosts until she moved in. One day Staci was at school and her dad was at work so it was just Jonnie and the dog. She was sitting in the living room and heard voices in Staci's bedroom (which had since turned into her parents room). She got up and looked n the room -- and saw a boy and a girl who both looked about 16 or 17. Then the girl said something about going into the garden, walked half way upstairs and disappeared. Needless to say she now believes in ghosts.

I have had numerous other experiences in the house but for now that is enough. I'm actually starting to scare myself.

Thanks for the cool story, Bri. Old houses seem to be a specialty around Ghostories -- or maybe we could we say a "Specialty of the House!"


Complete Terror
by Tiffany
Hailing From: St. Louis, MO
Where it Happened: My Bed Room

Back when I was 13 years old I got a Ouija Board for Christmas -- and me and my sister played with it all the time. Well we came in contact with this spirit named Nomad, he was really nice at first. Then he started getting really strange.

He would tell us things about family members I never even knew I had. My sister and I shared a room. And, you see, I finally had enough of it -- I was little and it scared me, so I quit playing.

My sister and her best friend kept playing with that evil thing anyway.

But one night I knew I had to do something because the previous three nights I was woke out of a dead sleep to the feeling of complete terror. I felt pinned to my bed and I could hardly breath.

Finally on the third night I called out my sisters name only to hear the response of, "OH MY GOD! IT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU TOO!" I never really knew what she meant by that because I was to busy jumping into her bed.

The next day I gave my Ouija board to a friend and she started playing with it and ripped a corner. She started yelling for me and I came over only to see her face was as white as a ghost. I asked her what was wrong and she said, "Touch the center of the board." I did and it was ice cold then I touched the edge of the board and it almost put a blister on my finger. Needless to say I grabbed that board and put it in the closest trash can I could find! But one thing always bothered me -- was it real or me with an over active imagination? I still remember it to this day and I still get scared.

One of life's little idiosyncrasies is that Ouija boards come with no guarantees, no promises to deliver pleasant moments, no we-gotcha-covered "feel-goods" if not completely happy, and for sure no hard and fast ingredients for smiling faces or thrills and chills. They remind me of the Jumangi where, as in my case as a younger person, they merely stared back at me with absolutely no indication that they were much else other than a board with printing. In someone else's hands, however, I would imagine that their pressed board interiors must be filled with blue-white electricity -- and at certain times of the year, maybe even more so!

Thanks for the story, Tiffany. We enjoyed it!


There are few who wander past a certain line,

There are more who wonder beyond a certain time.

When the two intersect and by chance they do meet,

The Timid are free and somehow complete.

-- K. R. O'Neill

Well . . . that was fun, wasn't it?

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Time to move to the next Ghostly Library


Wanna Join Us? Sure Ya Do

We'll be waiting!


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