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

Running Man
by Jerry Crawford, Jr.
Hailing From: Pilot Mtn., NC
Where it Happened:
King, NC

I tell this story because the one who experienced it will not. He's my future brother-in-law. I'll call him "Danny." The story takes place in King, North Carolina, a small town near here. It's common knowledge that the southern United States was at one time infamous for slavery -- and this particular area wasn't any different.

During this era, a southern plantation-type home was built in King. At the time, the land that accompanied the plantation encompassed about all of what is now King, North Carolina. This plantation was owned by a doctor. During that period, travel was difficult, therefore a lot of the doctor's patients stayed at the plantation with the doctor -- and no doubt some of them passed on there, too.

The doctor also kept slaves in nearby slavehouses, one of which still stands today, along with the plantation house. The land slowly sold off until all that remains in the family name is the lot where the house stands.

In recent years, the doctor's old house was rented out -- and that's where Danny and his family come into the story -- they were residents there for a couple of years. Although Danny says that he would still live there today if he was given the opportunity, he did relate to me this little story about his own ghostly encounter.

The house had become known as the Old Chigger Farm -- why, I don't know -- but Danny told me of the night that he and a friend of his were standing on the rear porch. They were, well, there was no indoor plumbing. You get the picture. All of a sudden, Danny notices the shadowy figure of a young black man with real white eyes staring at him from just behind the house.


"Did you see that?" Danny asked his friend.

"See what?" his friend asked back.


"That black guy standing over there watching us."

His friend looked, and there it was, plain as day -- a black man watching them and then suddenly made a break for the woods behind the garden. He cut right through the garden to get there. Danny and his friend ran after him, but when the he reached the edge of the woods, he simply vanished. Danny and his friend searched for a sign of him everywhere, but there was none, not even a footprint in the garden.
Danny says a few other things happened in the house, but they were minor. However, he still insists that he felt more at ease in that house than anywhere he has ever lived.
Thanks for the story. From this chapter in our country's history, I suppose there could be a ghost or two lingering about -- but it would be even stranger still to imagine there might be people living out their existence in hiding, for whatever reason, be it faculty, fear or phantom. I wonder . . .




Passers By
by Paul S. Escalera
Hailing From: Arleta, CA
Where it Happened:
My uncle's house in Tala, Jalisco, Mexico

This happened when I was about 8 or 9 years old in a little town in the state of Jalisco in Mexico. In this town, due to poverty, the houses are constructed more like single level apartments. In other words, there is a block where each house is separated by the wall on either side, like an apartment, so the house isn't wide but rather deep. Furthermore, since they are single level, the windows facing the street are low enough so that if someone walks by you can see them from the torso up.

Now at night with the curtains drawn and the street lamp right outside the house when someone walked by you could see the shadow outline on the curtains cast by the street lamp. And due to the thin, cheaply made walls, you could hear the footsteps and voices if people spoke as they passed.

Well on this particular night I was lucky enough to get the big bed next to the window and being the curious little kid that I was, whenever I heard someone coming down the street I would watch the window and wait to see the shadow pass by.

I eventually fell asleep only to be awakened, at about 3:00 a. m., by the sounds of a woman screaming and running down the street. I was frozen by the blood chilling sounds of this woman's screams and my eyes were fixed on the window waiting to see her pass swiftly by. As the sounds grew closer I could feel the hair on my neck stand on end, finally I heard the footsteps and screaming go flying by the window but never saw a shadow pass by.

When I finally blinked I was frozen with fear, not being able to comprehend what had just occurred.

The next morning I told my uncle what had happened, to which he simply replied, "Things like that happen all the time".

Needless to say, that's one memory that sticks in my mind. I haven't been back since then but plan to go back to visit my family, maybe I'll experience first some of the other 'things' my uncle was talking about. Thanks for listening(reading) to my story. Hope you liked it.

And yes we did, thanks again Paul for you contribution to Ghostories. Glad you like your GhosTee Shirt and hope that you'll be a regular here, and it looks like you will! -- Glad to have you!




X Marks the Bloodspot
by Ryan Liebermann
Hailing From: Fishkill, NY
Where it Happened:
My Shed
Favorite Author: Alfred Hitchcock

First of all I just want to say I love your site. It's one of the best I've been to.

(now here is a fan with a keen sense of good taste! =[:~))

Anyway, here is just a little background information. My story took place in my shed when I was nine. This is important. I live in a trailer park {which there is nothing wrong with} and the guy who lived in the lot before me murdered three people. He killed two with a gun and burned them in a house. He killed the other guy with a hammer brought his body about two miles back to his house {trailer} then in the shed he chopped him up and put the body parts in dumpsters. I now live in that lot different trailer but same shed. Now let me tell you what happened.

I just moved in and I was nine I think. My sister, a friend and I went in the shed with a Ouija board and started to play. We asked if Joey was there (that's the guy who got killed).

The board said he was.

Now here's a interesting point: the shed was a workshop so it had a phone that wasn't hooked up -- actually the wire was ripped off. Anyway we started asking questions and all of a sudden the phone rang, a big shelf fell and the pointer flew up in the air.

What's interesting is he didn't die there -- and there are bloodspots on the floor.

And, isn't it said that "ghosts return to their bloodspots?"




The question is: Do ghosts return to their bloodspots?

You know, I have no idea ( . . . by the way, has anyone seen that I-Hop commercial where at the end the two guys are walking down a country road and the I-Hop guy says to the farmer, "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" and the farmer answers, "I don't know," in the most matter of fact, honest and frank way? I was kind of setback by that because I figure if anyone should know the answer to that one, it would be a farmer, right?

But the farmer doesn't know and openly admits to it. So, I guess it is the same here, if anyone should know this, you would think after three years, it would be me. I mean, I return to the dinner table everynight, I go to bed in (mostly) the same place, and I return to Ghostories like clockwork -- but I don't know if ghosts return to their bloodspots. So I ask all of you out there, does anyone know the answer to this one? If you do, let us know by leaving an entry in the Ghostories Forum, ok?

For certain, Ryan, thanks very much for the kudos and the story, I appreciate it muchly. Also, thanks for your Ghostories Tee Shirt order -- it is winging it's way to you as I make this entry and you should have it in a matter of hours now. Enjoy and wear it as many places as you can. And let us know if you notice how much it really glows in the dark, ok?

Great story, I liked it very much!



Pull Up a Chair
by Ghostories Member "John"
Hailing From: San Antonio, Texas
Where it Happened:
Hickam AFB, HI
Favorite Author: Brian Lumley

I enlisted in the US Air Force in 1989. My first duty station was at Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. It was a great place to be stationed, but little did I know it would be one of the strangest experiences of my life.

I spent the first year working at one job until the office closed. Then I was transferred to another operating location, and this is when my experience began.

My new job was in the Job Control section at the Headquarters of Pacific Air Forces. Basically, Job Control is a 24-hour operation that logs and tracks equipment when it breaks down. What happens is, when a unit had an equipment failure, they would call Job Control and then we would call maintenance.

I began working the "Midnight Shift" from 2300 hours to 0700 hours, which meant I spent a lot of time sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. The door to Job Control was in the South wall of the room. The desk sat just inside the door along the East wall and we had a television that was mounted on the North wall just below the ceiling. The door had a cypher-lock on it that required a code that was deactivated at night, which meant that no one could enter the room without buzzing me from the outside or using the only key, which I kept with me in case I had to exit the room for any reason.

Nothing happened to me the first few nights I was on duty. The first indication I had of anything strange was on my third or fourth night of duty. As usual, it was pretty slow, and I had just finished logging one of the few calls I had that night. I guess it was about 0300. Having a little time on my hands, I turned on the television to pass the time. I sat there watching for a short time when I got this "feeling".

You know, that feeling you get when someone is looking over your shoulder?

(You mean like the one our readers are getting now?)

That is what it felt like.

I kept looking back over my shoulder certain that I would see someone, even though I knew it was impossible. It was like someone was watching television over my shoulder. This happened to me on several consecutive nights. It wasn't a frightening experience, just unsettling. Kind of like when someone is reading something that you are reading over your shoulder.

Finally, one night, I had had enough. It seems kind of crazy but, I just blurted out, "Dammit, if you are going to watch T.V. don't do it over my shoulder!!"

After a few minutes, the feeling went away and didn't come back for the rest of the night. I came in the next night and began my duty day much the same way as always, working off and on for the first few hours and then watching a little T.V.

It was soon after I began watching T.V. that the feeling came back, with one important difference. The feeling was no longer directly behind me, it was off to my left near the West wall. This I could live with. It wasn't nearly as unsettling as before.

I worked midnight shift in Job Control for the remainder of my three year tour. Almost every night, "my friend," as I came to know him/her, was there to enjoy a few hours of T.V. viewing.

I for one enjoyed the company.

I mean how many people do you know that you can watch whatever you want without them complaining? After being there for a few months I began researching the history of the building. The headquarters building that I worked in was the enlisted dormitory up until just after the bombing of Pearl Harbor (by the way, the bullet holes from the Japanese strafing runs are still in the sides of the building). Just after the bombing the wounded were moved into a makeshift infirmary on the third floor (which is the floor I worked on). I spoke with the other Airmen that worked midnight shift when I was off. She said she had felt things at times but, nothing as concrete as what I experienced.

I also heard stories from security personnel in the building that were pretty strange. There was a long narrow hallway that you had to walk down to get to the Job Control office. More than one Security Policeman I spoke to claimed that, at times, their dogs would refuse to walk down that hall. They would just begin backing up, whimpering and barking.

I don't know, maybe "my friend" was one of the Airmen that died in the bombing just looking for someone to pass the time with. What I do know is that I felt perfectly at ease once he/she decided to watch from another position and I had a companion to pass the time with, albeit a silent one.



It's the craziest thing. I finished editing the story and thought, gee, great story, famous place -- perfect! But I had no comments rushing to get out and onto the screen -- and then all of a sudden, boom! I knew exactly what happened.

The reason the ghost didn't scare you, like they might have the others, was that you were relaxed, kicked back -- and so the ghost had nothing to fear because you weren't a threat. Moreover, you even invited him or her to join you, to have a seat, as we would do with any guest who enters our room. Once seated, all was fine.

The others who encountered the ghost were in active modes, doing things other than relaxing -- working, patrolling, moving about, etc.

Now, putting ourselves in the ghosts shoes, if the last moment you were alive there was a cataclysmic surprise attack on your installation, the very last emotion you might have had was one of readiness, of fear or flight or, who knows, both! And didn't the raid on Pearl Harbor come in the very early morning hours? So here we have a ghost with, I can well imagine, a real bad case of shattered nerves. A ghost who, when he or she encounters people in any kind of active mode, probably leaves some pretty creepy, but not concrete impressions because by the time the living are trying to figure out just what it is in the room (or hallway), that ghost has either made ready for a confrontation or hightailed it out of there!

But not so with you. Here the ghost could easily feel your vibration was another familiar one -- a friendly one that he or she remembered before all hell broke loose on that fateful and tragic night -- and it probably was a very welcome vibration indeed. I'll even bet they were eternally grateful that you asked them to "Pull up a Chair!"

And, by the way, there is a real possibility there was more than one ghost watching the tube with you those nights! I'd even bet on it!

Thanks for sending in the story, John. It was great, and thanks for getting the Ghostories Tee Shirt -- it is winging its way to you as I write this comment. ~ ~ ~ Keno



Guardian Sprinter
by Ghostories Member "Cheryl"
Hailing From: Newnan, Georgia
Where it Happened:
Newnan, Georgia
Favorite Author: Dean R. Koontz

This story takes place in the Spring of 1967. As I recall, it had been raining solid for three days when it happened, and it was late in the evening just before dark when someone kicked open our front door.

My dad was at work, and my mom, my brothers and sisters, and I were home alone. One of my sisters, who was about fourteen at the time, had scoliosis which is a disease that causes the spine to grow crooked, therefore causing the person who has it not to be able to run very fast or walk straight.

I don't recall what we were all doing at the time it happened, but it seems as if some of us kids were telling ghost stories, (our favorite past-time during rainstorms). Mom, I think, was on the closed in back porch washing clothes or something. Anyway, everything was fine until suddenly our front door was kicked open, though no one entered the house, drawing screams from all of us.

Mom shouted at us to "RUN" out the back door to my grandparent's house, who lived next door. We all headed for the back door and out into the driving rain.

Our back yard was like one big mud puddle -- and we did as we were told. When we got to my grandparents' house, we were muddy from head to toe. None of us had any shoes on. My grandmother, shouting "What Happened?" went and got towels for us to dry off and clean up with. She handed each of us a towel and we started drying off.

Noticing the stillness and wonder with which she was looking at my fourteen year old sister, we all stopped and turned to see the cause of the startled look on her face. My sister, the one with the scoliosis, had no mud on her at all. She was barely even wet, whereas the rest of us were soaked and muddy.

How had she managed to get from our house to our grandparent's house without getting muddy? Even the soles of her feet were perfectly clean!

The only explanation I can come up with is this: It is said that everyone has a guardian angel who looks after them and keeps them safe until it is time for them to leave this world. My family and I believe that after assessing the situation, my sister's guardian angel, knowing my sister would never be able to keep up as she tried to run with the rest of us, lifted my sister up and carried her to my grandparent's house to safety. We never found out who kicked the door in or why, for whoever it was they never went into the house. They had just simply kicked the door open and then ran across the street down an embankment and across another road.

The next morning, there was a large, muddy footprint on our front door -- a and faint, but unmistakable, footprints leading across the front yard to the road and down the embankment on the other side.


I swear, these stories send goosebumps rumbling up and down my spine -- and, I am certain they are not the bumps of fright, but those of wonder. I have always thought that the line between ghosts and angels is rice-paper thin -- and most likely someday we'll find there is really no "line" at all.

I often wonder when tragedy is imminent, if there is some kind of standoff taking place in the heavens between the forces of good and those of evil -- a tug of war, if you will, to see who eventually wins. But I suppose that would, in an unpalatable way, make us all the pawns of some strange and never-ending ritual, which really doesn't sound quite "right."

Instead, I would surmise that our inner spirits must play a strong part in the final outcome -- and so I have heard that for those with handicaps, the inner spirit can be quite strong, if not mortally defining -- maybe even strong enough to influence that skyward tug of war just enough to summon the Guardian Sprinter earthward to our rescue.

And, they say if it happens once in your lifetime, it can well happen again.

Thanks for sending in the story, Cheryl. It was great, and thanks for getting the Ghostories Tee Shirt -- it is winging its way to you as soon as I complete these comments. ~ ~ ~ Keno





Just a word about this
"Members Only"
stuff you've been hearin'.

For the longest time, I'd thought about doing something really special for those who would like to be considered "Ghostories Members" (and Supporters) -- the people who buy a Glow in the Dark Ghostories Tee Shirt (GhosTee) where the proceeds also go to help keep Ghostories deliverin' new personal encounters each and every week. And, and luck had it, I finally did exactly that.
In fact, you're in one of those Libraries
right now as we speak!

Now, don't get the wrong idea, folks won't have to be a member to come and read. Shoot, that would defeat the whole purpose. On the contrary, anyone is welcome to visit and read, anytime, 24-hours a day. What we doing here is posting just the stories of those who

Buy the Tee & Become a member

of Ghostories.

Isn't it about time you did?

-- Your Very Humble Webmaster, Ken O'Neill




Olde Betsy
A Second Submittal by Ghostories Member "Cheryl"
Hailing From: Newnan, Georgia
Where it Happened:
Atlanta, Georgia
Favorite Author: Dean R. Koontz

This is a true story about my great-grandfather, whom I will call GF, and his pet cow. Now although GF died long before I was ever born, this story has been handed down through the years. The first time I heard it was back in 1968. It was a stormy night and, as my family loved to do on such a night, we were taking turns telling ghost stories. Although to some folks, the story may not be very scary, it scared me very much, for I was only seven when it was told to me.

Back in the 1890's, GF purchased a small piece of land and a couple of calfs which he intended to raise for slaughter to help feed his family. He also kept chickens but they are of no significance in the story except that they, also, were raised for food. Anyway, the calfs seemed healthy enough when he purchased them, but as they grew, one of them took sick. I don't know what kind of sickness it had, only that GF became worried that the other calf, as yet unaffected, would also take sick if he didn't separate them. So he took the sick one and put it in a stall in the barn and began nursing it back to health.

He was successful in the nursing. The calf became healthy again and grew into a fine cow. When the time came to carry the two cows to slaughter, GF found that during the nursing of the sick one, although he hadn't realized it, he'd become strongly attached to it. He'd even given it a name, albeit subconsciously. He called it "Betsy" and, as I'm sure you've already guessed, only one cow went to slaughter that day.

Soon GF bought a large bell, attached it to a rope, and put it around Betsy's neck. He took to walking her everyday when he'd get home from work. Everyone close by, always knew when GF and Betsy were on their evening stroll, for Betsy's bell would jangle loudly each time she took a step. Each evening, GF and Betsy would take the same route on their stroll. They'd walk down the dusty dirt road to the creek, cross the wooden bridge to the other side, and there they would stop, take a drink of water from the creek, then head back home, Betsy's bell jangling all the way.

Several years passed, both of them growing older. Then one morning, as was customary for him to do, GF went out to the stables to check on Betsy and say good morning. He found her laying in her stall, having died sometime during the night. Unashamedly, he cried over Betsy's still form then proceeded to dig a grave for her beside where she lay, for there was no way he could move her from the stall. He commissioned several neighbor men to come and help him get Betsy into the grave. Then (I know this sounds kind of strange), he said a prayer over the grave. He then closed the stall door and nailed it shut, never to be opened by anyone again.

Several months passed and, though he still grieved for Betsy, he began to heal. Then one morning as he started out for work, (the mill where he worked was just down the road and across the bridge he and Betsy used to stroll over, so he walked to work when the weather permitted), he heard the distinct, familiar sound of Betsy's bell jangling behind him. As a natural reflex, he stopped, then turned around to look behind him. Of course there was nothing there. A feeling of warmth came over him and he continued on to work, the sound of the bell following.

It followed him all the way down the road and across the bridge, stopping on the other side. He stopped, listening for it to pick back up. It didn't, and he continued on to work.

That evening, on his way home from work, he stopped before crossing the bridge and listened, hearing nothing. As soon as he stepped on the bridge and started across, he heard the bell again. It followed him across the bridge and down the road until he reached home, then it stopped, only to follow him again the next morning.

This happened several days in a row. Then one morning he started out for work and listened expectantly for the sound of the bell. He heard nothing. Saddened, he started down the road toward the mill, puzzled as to why he couldn't hear it anymore.

For several days, he listened each morning for the sound. He never heard it again. Reflecting on it later, it dawned on him that he'd heard the bell for six days in a row, the same amount of time it'd taken him to nurse Betsy back to health when she'd been so sick. The same amount of time it'd taken him to grow too fond of her to allow her to be slaughtered.

I suppose Old Betsy had just been letting GF know that she hadn't forgotten him, nor what he'd done for her, nor had she forgotten the strolls they'd taken together...This is the story as I remember it having been told to me. Hope you enjoy it.

- - - Cheryl



- & -


Thanks for sending in yet another story, Cheryl. It was great. Many of my relatives lived on farms in Canada when I was a little boy, and I love these kinds of stories. I think this one here, including being a true story, is also a Classic for Ghostories . . . perfect to start out the month of September.

Now, because I have been asked a lot lately, a word about how your story got up here ahead of about 100 others:
I guess what they say about membership having it's privileges is true. What is this for you, Cheryl, your first few weeks at Ghostories and already two stories up within ten days of each other? Cool! I hope your wearing your glow-in-the-dark Ghostories Tee Shirt often and I thank you for writing a little something in the Guest Book to let others know that I do keep my promise -- and that the Tee is everything I promised it would be.

Here's what is happening folks: For a long time now it's become clear that the site is doing unbelievably well and the stories keep coming in at an ever-increasing rate that is a challenge to keep up with. Ghostories started out with one story coming in each week, then two, then three . . . Now they literally come in bunches! Since I can only post a couple of stories each week (well, during October we'll increase that to 3 and 4 stories each week, just to keep "in the Spirit" of things), and as everyone knows I insist on keeping the high-standard format that we have and not let the site begin to look like a Newsgroup (sorry Newgroup fans, but the popularity of the site is based on quality, mostly, and that many come to the site for the comments and the time taken for them as well) -- anyhow, knowing all that, and at the same time being hounded by folks who sent in their stories wanting to know where they were/are, I realized I had to come up with a solution -- what to do?

Now, I am the kind of person who likes to please everyone -- and finally by the age of 47 I've learned that's virtually impossible. And, there is only one of me to run the site -- and this is a hobby site, I don't make any money from it -- and that is the absolute truth! The sale of tees barely keeps up with the costs of keeping such a large site on the Net. So, I can't hire anyone to help edit and post the stories, and I can't take myself away from my paying work to post 3 and 4 stories a day (although I would love to if given the chance), so I had to come up with an alternative.

One day when I was paying my ever-increasing online hosting bill and fees, I decided if people really love this site and truly want to be a part of it -- and many would like to get their story put up ahead of the rest -- that if they bought a tee shirt or helped out with a Contributor Brick, etc. I would put their stories up right away without making them wait in line. It just made good sense -- and Cheryl's story here is a current example that I do keep my word.

Sound unfair to ask for support? I don't know, I guess everyone has an opinion on that, but I don't really think so. After all, the stories that go up on Ghostories are never taken down, think about it -- that means I bear the monthly cost for them as long as Ghostories is alive (excuse the pun) -- and I also do all the graphics, layout, new libraries, edit, post, wash the windows, etc. So maybe it isn't all that bad to ask for a little help along the way . . . would you?

Remember, all submittals are free if you are willing to wait. Just recently I was chastised for asking for a "fee" and we ironed it all out once they understood that the only thing we're doing here is talking about "when" your story will go up (not "if" your story will go up).

Now, I'm not complaining, I love this site and really I hope you do too because I work hard at it (does it show?) -- but like I said, I had to come up with something, and maybe while it isn't the best alternative, it does work and it does help me run the site and keep all the stories online. Kind of like those win-win things the suits are always talking about in those fancy workshops . . . in other words, it helps me keep the boat afloat [:~)

Well, thanks for listening and letting me bend your ear. I guess I did ramble a little, eh? Oh, one more thing, check out Cheryl's entry in the Guest Book when you have time. I really appreciate her help and support, and you're being here with us.

~ ~ ~ Keno





The Haunted Ring
A Third Submittal by Ghostories Member "Cheryl"
Hailing From: Newnan, Georgia
Where it Happened:
Atlanta, Georgia
Favorite Author: Dean R. Koontz

This story takes place back in 1971 when I was ten years old. My cousin and his family had just moved into an older home in my hometown of Newnan. The house was on the corner of Jaskson and Elm Streets. There were eight rooms in all, plus a full basement. The living room was the largest room in the house, and the prettiest. There was a large picture window that faced Jackson Street in the living room, and one that faced a neighbor's house plus a set of french doors that led from the living room into the kitchen. Now the basement was full of old junk such as broken typewriters, junk fans, broken chairs -- and lots, lots more.

Anyway, a week or so after moving in, my cousin, who was thirteen at the time, was down in the basement rummaging through all the junk when he came across a rusted old toolbox which was locked with one of those tiny little padlocks (you know the type). Looking around for something with which to break the lock, he finally went outside, coming back in a few minutes later with a large rock. After busting the lock, Sam (not his real name) opened up the toolbox. In it was a large assortment of greasy tools which he pulled out and studied one by one. Toward the bottom, something else, not a tool, caught his eye. He reached in and pulled it out. It was a ring of some sort and, though it was greasy, it looked mighty expensive.

Forgetting about the tools, he took the ring up stairs and cleaned it up with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and hot water. When he'd finished, the ring had a shine like new money.

Of course, being just thirteen, he didn't know if it was real or not, but it sure looked real to him. He gave the ring to his mother, excitedly telling her he'd found it in the old toolbox downstairs. He told her how it'd been all greasy and how he'd cleaned it up for her. Naturally, she wondered why anyone in their right mind would put such a beautiful, expensive ring in a greasy toolbox.

"You found it in a toolbox, you say?" asked his mother.

"Yes ma'am," he answered. Not knowing what else to do at the moment, my aunt thanked him and put the ring on, then went about her house work.

Sam went back downstairs.

That evening when my uncle got home from work, my aunt showed him the ring, by now knowing that it was indeed very expensive. If I haven't mentioned it yet, the ring was made of yellow gold with diamonds, a large ruby at the center. It was quite beautiful. My aunt asked my uncle what should they do, for the ring had obviously been in the toolbox for quite a long time and someone surely was wondering what'd happened to it. My uncle told her to just keep it, for if anyone was still searching for the ring, they'd eventually remember where it was and come to claim it. Until then, he told her, "Don't worry about it, just wear it and, if no one ever claims it, chalk it up to good fortune."

That settled, my aunt went about her chores, admiring the ring from time to time throughout the day and hoping no one ever claimed it.

That night, when she and my uncle got ready for bed, she took off her wedding rings and the ruby ring, as she did every night before going to bed due to swelling in her hands, and layed them on the headboard. As was customary, my aunt got up the next morning, an hour and a half before everyone else did, and went about fixing breakfast, giving no thought, as yet, to her rings, for it usually took a couple of hours in the mornings for the swelling in her hands to go down.

Once they'd finished breakfast, my aunt got my uncle off to work, then went about getting dressed. Sam, as usual, had gone back to bed after breakfast. Once she was dressed, she reached and took her wedding rings from the headboard and put them on. About to turn away, she remembered the ruby ring and went to reach for it, but it wasn't there. She shook the bed covers to see if it'd somehow fallen off the headboard and onto the bed. Not finding it, she looked all over the floor around the bed, and behind the headboard. No sign of it. Deciding that my uncle must've taken it with him intending to have it appraised, because he 'HAD' mentioned doing just that, she thought no more about it and went about her housework.

Sam got up an hour or so later and went into the kitchen where my aunt was sitting at the table, taking a break from her chores. Noticing she didn't have the ring on, he asked her where it was. She told him she believed my uncle had taken it with him in order to have it appraised and find out how valuable it was. Sam accepted the explanation without question. Some time later, after watching some TV, Sam went down to the basement intent on fixing the broken chairs that were down there. Finding a bucket of nails in the corner of the basement, he picked them up then went over and picked up the hammer from where it lay beside the toolbox. Noticing that the other tools he'd taken out of it yesterday, were back inside, and knowing that he hadn't been the one to put them there, he peered inside at them.

"That was strange," he thought, for he didn't remember his mom or his dad going down into the basement since he'd taken the tools out. Putting the strangeness of the situation out of his mind, he was about to get up and begin his work on the broken chairs when he caught a glimpse of something that shouldn't have been there. He took a couple of the tools out in order to get a better look. Sure enough, it was the ring he'd found in there yeterday and given his mother.

He reached in and picked it up, noting that it would have to be cleaned again.

He went upstairs and showed it to his mother. "I thought you said Dad took the ring with him this morning," he said with a puzzled look. My aunt, a little startled, said "I thought he had when I couldn't find it this morning. I'm glad you found it. Where was it?"

Sam, angered and hurt, said hotly, "As if you didn't know! If you hadn't wanted it, all you had to do was say so!"

"What do you mean, if I hadn't wanted it? Of course I want it!" said my aunt.

"Then why did you put it back in the toolbox?" Sam asked.

"In the toolbox? I didn't. Is that where you found it?"

"Yes," answered Sam forgetting about the tools which had also been put back by someone as yet unknown.

"It must've been Dad, then." he said.

"It must've been," said my aunt, "Although I don't see any reason why he would've. I'll ask him when he gets home."

When my uncle got home that evening, my aunt asked him if he'd taken the ring and put it back downstairs in the toolbox for some reason. He hadn't touched the ring. Upon questioning Sam again later on that evening, my aunt was satisfied that he told her the truth.

How had it gotten back down there in the toolbox, she wondered. Finding no logical explanation, she forgot about it and, as she had the night before, after getting ready for bed, she took the ruby ring and her wedding ring off and layed them on the headboard. And as before, the next morning the ruby ring was gone. Once again she searched the bedroom even though she knew she wouldn't find it.

When my cousin got up, she told him that the ring was gone again and together, the two of them fearfully went downstairs to check the toolbox, subconciously knowing that was where it would be. There it lay in the bottom of the toolbox, partially hidden by the tools that lay on top of it. She told my cousin that although she very much appreciated him cleaning the ring up and giving it to her, she thought it best that they leave it where it was, for someone, or some-thing, obviously did not want it removed from the toolbox. My cousin didn't argue, for he too, had sensed that something wasn't quite right.

Without touching the toolbox, my aunt and my cousin went back upstairs then left the house, coming back a short time later with another small padlock. They went down to the basement, put the hammer and the couple of other tools laying there, back inside, then closed the toolbox and locked it. She told my cousin not to ever mess with it again. He agreed, and they went back upstairs.

You are a truly awesome teller of true stories, Cheryl. Thanks for sending this one in. Cheryl would like everyone to know if they have any questions about the story to post them in the Ghostories Forum -- she'll be glad to answer! :-) . . . Keno


Don't Monkey Around!




The Paralyzor
A First Submittal by New Ghostories Member Dale Johnson
Hailing From: Dennis, Mass.
Where it Happened:
My family home

My family and I have always been in tune to paranormal activities and I could tell many, many stories. I don't look for ghosts, yet they seem to find me. My family moved around a lot when I was a child and I could probably tell a tale about almost every house we lived in. When I was about ten years old we finally settled into a three bedroom ranch style house in my home town. Things seemed normal for the few years until I was about 12 years old, until I started hearing heavy breathing in my room at night. It used to drive me crazy. I would stuff paper in my ears just to go to sleep (for ear plugs), but when I took it out, I would hear the breathing again.

I knew the breathing I was hearing was not in my head.

At about the same time my mother and sister claimed they were waking up at night and being pinned down by an invisible entity. They said they were unable to move or breathe when it visited, and that they were truly terrified. Because they were in shear terror, they started sleeping together to be "safe."

I didn't meet the "Paralyzor" until I was about 17. My experience was the same as my sister and mother. I could not move or breathe and I swear someone or something was holding me down. This happened on several occasions. Sometimes I would try to ask the Paralyzor who it was and to show its face, but I could not speak. Whatever it was, it was cowardly.

I moved out when I was nineteen and have never had anything like that happen again -- that is, until last February.

My mother moved to Texas and I rented the family home from her. It was about two weeks before the Paralyzor let me know he was there. I came home from work at about 3:30 p.m. and was tired. Since I was expecting company at 7 o'clock, I took a nap. But about 5 p.m., the Paralyzor woke me.

I swear it felt like someone was on top of me that I could not see. I could feel a knee against my thigh and an elbow pinning my my neck. We seemed to wrestle. I actually broke its grip. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw a dark human figure run out of the room.

Still not really seeing it, I followed it into the kitchen, trying to turn on several lights on the way. They did not work. When I got to the kitchen the Paralyzor seemed to be gone.

I walked outside and everything was normal. It was an early New England evening. The T-roofs were off on my Camaro, just as I had left it. The only thing that was strange was there were no lights on in the entire neighborhood.

Suddenly I was back in my bed. I got up and all the lights I had tried to turn on were on.

Had this been a ghost and an outer-body experience? All for the price of one? Or just a dream? You decide.

I have not met the Paralyzor since.



This is truly a fine story and I thank you for sending it in, Dale. I also think this is a first for the Cape Cod area, a place I hold in fond memory when I was probably knee-high to a grasshopper, or around 7 years old in Midwest terms.

I also have to add that I am just a trifle jealous -- I have always thought that T-roofs were extremely cool and would love a T-roof Camaro! Very nice indeed.

As for the Paralyzor, this one is startling, indeed. You see, it indicates a spirit that is indeed troubled, if not extremely perverse. I wonder what some late night detective work might prove out regarding this old structure, its history of inhabitants, and possibly older stories involving things better left unstated and unsaid.

For sure, there are tales that can mildly scare most humans, especially this time of year. This little vignette will most likely send a few chills into our oldest Members and Visitors, as well as the new ones that have just discovered us tonight through the magic of the Internet.

Possibly you just joined us for the first time on this fine evening, yes? If so, I would suggest turning on that light in the far corner . . . yes, that one over there next to the far window. I thought I heard a strange sound coming from that direction just a few minutes ago! It sounded like breathing . . . .

Pleasant Dreams . . .

Well, ok, I haven't really said anything really stupid in a long time (ok, personal opinion aside), but here goes:
Do you think this could be a long departed wrestling trainee of Don King? Eww, that's enough to make my hair stand on end!!!

Hmmm...nawwww....ok....well, I told ya....

Thanks for sending in the story, Dale. It was great, and thanks for getting the Ghostories Tee Shirt -- it will be winging its way to you in a matter of a few days -- wear it in good health with my compliments! ~ ~ ~ Keno

Halloween is coming -- stay safe -- be well -- Tell your friends about Ghostories!



The Shadow Room
A First Submittal by New Ghostories Member Dwight Holland
Hailing From: Peru, Indiana
Where it Happened:
My parents house in Peru
How Dwight Found Us: Web TV Search Engine
His Favorite Author: Stephen King

Members of my family and myself have had many encounters over the last 28 years. I'll start with the most recent and go from there. In August 1998 I had just finished my second and final tour in the Army and was hired by the railroad here in Peru, so we (my wife, son and me) moved in with my parents for a few months until we got our own place. While I was at the school training for my new job I called my wife to see how things were going at home. She told me that she thought our 4 year old son Trey had seen one of the two ghosts in my parents house.

This gave me chills as soon as I heard this. She said that the two of them were in bed when Trey woke up and asked, "What?" which then woke up my wife, Joyce. She then asked Trey what he wanted. Trey said, "What did you say?" and Joyce told him that she didn't say anything.

A few minutes later the same thing happened again. At about this time both of them heard a scratching at the door and Trey asked if one of our cats had gotten out of their room.

Joyce then got out of bed to see if the cats were loose (we kept them in the spare bedroom at night). After seeing the cats were not loose, and were still in the spare bedroom, she returned to the room in which she and Trey were sleeping. Trey then said, "She's laughing at me" and Joyce asked, "Who?" -- and Trey pointed at the open door and said, "That mommy just like you was laughing at me."

This of course scared my wife because I had told her of other encounters that had happened to myself and other members of my family. All three of us were afraid to sleep in that bedroom after this happened. What is really scary is only two people, Trey and my Aunt Susan, have seen one of the two known ghosts in the house, and both times it was in that room.

Another reason that this gave me chills is that it brought back the memory of my first encounter. And here it is! When I was 7 years old, my mother and two younger sisters lived in this old apartment in Peru. One night my mother had a few family and friends over for a visit. My mothers bedroom was towards the back of the apartment and when it came time for me and my sisters to go to bed she put all three of us in her bed so the grownups wouldn't keep us up while they were visiting.

I had one of those "stick horses" that had a plastic head and a stick coming out of it and you ran around and acted like you were riding a horse. I carried this thing with me all the time and always hung it on the curtain rod over my bedroom window before I went to sleep at night. That night I took the stick horse, (I named it Pokey) to my mothers room as we prepared to go to sleep and hung it over the curtain rod like I did in my bedroom. The next thing I remember was waking up from the grownups laughter in the living room. I looked around the bedroom and both my sisters were still asleep. We were all in my mothers bed and I then looked at the wall opposite of the window I had "Pokey" hanging. I then noticed the shadow of "Pokey" on the wall and also the fact that the shadow was moving! Pokey's shadow looked as if it was pacing back and forth.

I was not scared to watch the shadow move about on the wall, but I was starting to wonder what was happening. I watched this go on for a few minutes and then for some reason I said, "Stop it Pokey!" and at the very moment the bed my sisters and I were in lifted in the air and then slammed into the floor. I don't know how high the bed rose, but when it hit the floor it woke both of my sisters up and they started crying. I was so scared at this time that I couldn't cry. My mother heard the noise the bed had made and my sisters crying, so she came into the bedroom along with my uncle and she asked what had happened. All I could say was, "There's something under this bed!" My mother and uncle just chuckled and said that there was nothing under the bed, that it was just my imagination. I protested this the best way that a 7 year old boy could but they still wouldn't believe me. I can remember that like it was yesterday and I'm getting goosebumps just telling this story.

Through the years there have been many episodes at the house my mother and stepfather lived in at the time, but I'll save that for the next time - so STAY TUNED!!!!


Thanks go out to our new Ghostories Member, Dwight, for sending in this great story. I know there were rooms at my relatives homes that didn't feel like sleeping in, they gave me the creeps -- but nothing ever happened. I'm sure I would have opted for the couch the very next time if that had happened to me! For sure!

Sounds like we have a new member with a lot of great personal accounts to tell (Yesss!! and we got this submittal posted in less than 48 hours!!) Just keep on sending them in and we'll post them once each month for a whole year like we do for all Ghostories Members (who "don" the magnificent Tee) -- and most certainly, we'll be sending your Ghostories Tee Shirt right away and hope you enjoy wearing it and glowing-in-the-dark this Halloween! Welcome aboard!

After talking to Clint Ford (aka Dr. Thinkenstein) at Radio Disney, I was impressed with their creativity in selecting titles for each tale they will be telling during their upcoming "13 Nights of Halloween" radio programs they are putting together -- that will also include a wonderful tale from O'Neill's Ghostories -- and the title "Elevator Bed" was almost the one I nearly picked out for this one. It made me think of the earthquake we had just last night, but for sure, the bed didn't rise, just shake a lot. I can only wonder what I would do if the bed actually came off the floor and floated in the air!



Also Visit "Dear Midwife" -- The Forum that's all about having your baby at home!




A First Submittal by New Ghostories Member April Rodriguez
Hailing From: Tampa, Florida
Where it Happened:
My own home
Her Favorite Author: Anne Rice

It all began when my husband and I were house hunting. We found a great two bedroom condo. From the moment that we moved in, I had an eerie feeling that something was not right. I always got the feeling when coming down the stairs that someone was right behind me, and the hallway seemed so much colder than any other parts of the house.

The things that I am about to tell you about happened over a period of a year. We had been in the house for a few months and one night we were all upstairs in bed. We started hearing the kitchen cabinets opening and closing. Since we have cats, we thought maybe one of the cats got into a cabinet and couldn't get out. But much to our surprise, the cabinets in the kitchen started to slam shut. We immediately ran down the stairs and the cabinets stopped slamming. We sat in our living room for a little while waiting for our heartbeats to slow down and we went back to the kitchen.

Before our eyes, the kitchen cabinets and drawers began to open and close slowly, and then it got faster and louder.

After about two hours, this stopped. I immediately told my husband the feeling that I had when we moved in and begged that we move out, but he later talked me into staying because he figured it probably wouldn't happen again. Still, for the next few months we had this problem with our kitchen drawers and cabinets.

The next incident happened when my husband and I were upstairs with the lights on and the downstairs lights were on too. All of a sudden we thought that the kitchen cabinet was opening, but it wasn't - it was the fuse box cover. One by one the fuses were turned off.

Let me remind you that when this happened, my husband, myself and our sleeping daughter were the only ones in the house, and we were all upstairs. The house was completely dark and the kitchen cabinets and drawers began to slam furiously. As my husband raced down the stairs - I felt a presence in the bedroom and it told me not to worry that it was here. The bedroom was extremely cold and the voice that I was hearing was not the voice of my husband's.

For quite awhile we were unable to turn the electric on, and since we were not sure it really was a presence, we checked the neighborhood lights and everyone had power up and down the street except for us. Once the power came back on, the house was quiet once again - for the moment.

Later that week, my sister-in-law stayed the night (my daughter was away at her grandmother's) and we decided to take a walk in the woods behind our condo. Before you know it, this bluish see-through apparition appeared and began to chase us. It never touched the ground. We ran and I don't know how we got away, but we made it inside. Once we were in the living room, not only could we see it, but we could hear it slam time and time again against our sliding glass door. We thought that it would shatter, and then it disappeared.

When my sister-in-law went to bed later that night she woke up thinking my daughter had come downstairs (but my daughter wasn't home). What she saw was a child that was see-through and when my sister-in-law, who was still half asleep told her, "Holly go back upstairs," it instantly disappeared.

My sister-in-law was a little freaked out still but managed to go back to sleep only to be awakened by a presence that was trying to push itself into her body. She doesn't know why or how it stopped, but it soon disappeared.

The next morning she told us her tale and refused to ever stay the night at our house again. A few months went by and we didn't hear or see a thing -- but when I was watching television at home alone one night, my cat that had been lying beside me suddenly puffed up and went running under the bed. I got chills and thought to myself, oh no, not again.

Then all of a sudden, as I was lying in bed, it was like something sat down on the bed (you know when someone sits down and there is an imprint on the bed) - there was an imprint. All I could do was to try to convince myself to stay calm and tell myself it would go away. With my luck it did, but later that night I awoke to something that was heart-stopping. I had thought that my condo was being burglarized. It sounded like people were trashing my downstairs looking for something. My husband was working nights now and my daughter was fast asleep. I began to panic. I reached for the phone and tried to call 9-1-1, but all I received was a message on the phone telling me that I had a party on my same line, and instructions to hang up and try again.

This was really scaring me. I crept into my daughter's room and grabbed her. After awhile everything quieted down. I then decided to check out the downstairs for myself. I told my daughter to stay in the closet and to be quiet. When I went downstairs everything was in its place and the doors were locked. I did manage to call the police and they arrived and fingerprinted. When I told them what I heard, they looked at me like I was crazy and said I had a terrible nightmare.

How could I have a nightmare when I was wide awake?

The police left and the house was silent once again. After this, my husband and I decided to call a minister over to have him bless the house. Believe me, this took a couple of times and now the house is quiet again, but for how long I don't know.

We found out that our house was not only built on property that had once been a crime scene for satanic murders, and that the people that lived there before us had two children, one that died, a little girl.



Here's a big Thank You to our newest Ghostories Member, April, for sending in this great story. It's been a wild Halloween, and so I'll keep my comments short for tonight.

I can't even imagine living through your experience, and from the sound of it, you still live there. There have been a few other stories submitted to Ghostories with cupboards opening and closing, it seems to be a common thread for haunted abodes. I often wonder not about how it happens, but why? Is it a ghost trying to get attention with an obvious "tool" that will definitely make some noise? And once you were downstairs, you would think it would stop, but it just got more intense as if it were trying to scare you away, but it didn't succeed -- and I'll just bet that you might have puzzled it. You must not scare easily! If it were me I think I would have been spending the night at Motel 6!! (Do they still leave the light on?)

Well, 'tis time to call it a night, maybe I'll go to the cupboard and get a glass for some chocolate milk -- ahhh, then again, a sip of tapwater might just be ok for now!

Tomorrow, I'll go to the post office and take that newly wrapped Ghostories Tee Shirt sitting on my table over there and send it winging your way to Tampa, Florida! I hope you enjoy wearing it and glowing-in-the-dark in the months ahead! Welcome aboard!

~~~ Keno




Of Sea Captain's & Cars
A First Submittal by New Ghostories Member Julia Davis
Hailing From: Galveston, Texas
Where it Happened:
How Dwight Found Us: Netscape Browser
Her Favorite Author: Stephen King

Hi, my name is Julia I was born here in Galveston -- it is a real old town. My mom was born here and her dad was born here. There are many tales about Galveston, here's one my boyfriend told me about.

At the UTMB Medical Branch there is a face on the wall outside of the building. No one knows how it appeared there, they try to wash it off, paint over it, it still appears on the building. The face appears to be of a sea captain. It was in the paper a while back. It is a true story.

Hi, I'm back again to tell you the rest of the face on the building. The story goes that the man who used the land, that Ewing Hall sits on, did not want it sold to UTMB. This is the hospital I was born in, He threatened to haunt his relatives if this ever happened.

Well, as the story goes, they of course sold out and now he has been seen on the side of the building. A lot of people go there to feel his presence, and they can feel it too! Just thought I'd give you a little more detail on it thanks. I even feel it too.

~ ~ ~

Hi, it's Julia Davis again with another true story, this happened to my best friend Tawn, who graduated a year before I did.

Well, any ways on with the story, Tawn, her mom and grandma were going on a trip, I can't remember where, and the car stopped running. Her mom got out to see what she could do, and she told my friend not to start the car until she told her to.

So her mom opens the hood hasn't even touched it yet, and here is the car trying to start up all by itself.

She tells my friend not to turn the key, and of course the friend replies that she didn't turn it. Her mom starts to fix the problem again when it starts again, where she tells my friend to stop, and again, the friend insists she didn't do it.

So her mom tries again, again the car starts up again. She tells my friend to turn it off she holds up the keys and shows her they were not in the ignition. That freaked my friend out. She was scared for a few days after. This was told to me by my best friend Tawn.

Congrats on the new tee Julia! And welcome to Ghostories!
Please send us your stories any ol' time -- I love em and I hope others do too!

~~~ Keno




John Taylor
A First Submittal by New Ghostories Member Lyn Landon
Hailing From: Portland, OR
Where it Happened:
North Carolina
How Dwight Found Us: Through Ghosty Stories
Her Favorite Author: Robert Heinlein

This is not my story, but a story my grandmother who recently passed away told me. In North Carolina years ago, my mom's family was a collection of poor farmers. Another wealthier family, the Taylors, had a large plot of land and my family worked for them as sharecroppers. More recently, about 20 years ago, there was a big family reunion held at the Taylor's farm. For those not familiar with the South, many older families have cemeteries on their land, it's a relatively common practice.

My grandmother and her sister were at the reunion, and had gone out to one of the barns which was situated next to the Taylor family cemetery to get something. They were about to head back to house after picking up what they came for, when my grandma saw something moving near the gravestones. Thinking it was a raccoon or a dog, she picked up a stick to run it off. As it came closer, she could see that it wasn't a raccoon, and not really a dog.

My grandmother could see a man's head, bald, with a long red beard that trailed on the ground. The man's head was connected to the body of a brown dog, which was floating about 7" from the ground.

It didn't appear to notice her or my aunt. It simply went floating off deeper into the cemetery and vanished.

After a little research, my grandma thinks she knows who the man was. The Taylors were a relatively wealthy family, but they had some relatives who weren't as pleasant or well-to-do. One of them was John Taylor. He had a very bad reputation as a cheat, a liar, and an all-around jerk. He had lived alone in a little shack out in the woods and rarely interacted with other people. It is believed that he was not found until many weeks after his death, which was believed at one point to be due to foul play.

And, John Taylor is still quite the jerk! At one point, my grandpa was out back at the Taylors' farm chopping wood when he heard someone laughing. He looked up, and perched atop the log pile was John Taylor, pointing and laughing at him. John Taylor never did think much of honest work and never held a job for long.

I liked this story a lot, Lyn -- thanks for sending it in.
I guess I should say this but we have Taylor's in my family history,
but they are from the Canadian provinces. I guess when
someone goes around with a reputation of being a "dog"
and a scoundrel, he must get what he deserves, eh?
Spending eternity floating around in a dog's body!


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Prices Reasonable . . . "Paid in Advance" Preferred! =[;-)


There's a sign out front

Blowing back and forth in the breeze.

It wouldn't be so bad,

But it keeps us up sometimes

late at night

Even though both it

and the building it was

attached to

have been gone for

40 or more years.



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