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Let's Talk: Real Life Ghost Stories/Experiences

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23 Oct 2015 17:26 #213240 by Michael Barnes
In the spirit of Halloween, let's talk about that time you had a ghost experience.

I am 100% a skeptic. I think most ghost stories are complete garbage, and all of those "ghost hunter" shows on TV are trash. However, I've seen too much first-hand to NOT believe that there really are spirits, presences and maybe even things best classified as "other" out there. Let's tell these kinds of real ghost experiences. I love hearing about this stuff and it's something we've never discussed here. Whenever I've gotten into these kinds of discussions with folks, I've always found it interesting to see how many people have actually had some kind of encounter or experience...and how deeply personal they sometimes are.

One of the best- and the scariest- happened to me in high school. I was in the photography class, and being a straight up goth at the time the best way I could think of to impress this beautiful six foot tall deathrock queen I liked was to take her out to a graveyard to take slightly sexy vampire pictures. Of course, the ol' "third wheel", my best friend, came along too. This particular graveyard was REALLY messed up. I swear to Crom I'm not making this up, but it was on top of a hill, in the middle of a pretty ghetto area of west Atlanta. With these giant, old fashioned concrete water slides carved down the side. So if you were to stand at the top of the waterslide to go down, you could turn around and look into this graveyard. I did a little research and found out that the slides were actually open in the late 1970s but wound up getting closed due to some insurance issues. It was kind of one of those places that the local kids knew about, so the slides were covered in skater graffiti and there were beer bottles and assorted litter all over the place. But that little graveyard...man, it was fucked up. When you walked up the hill to the slides- it was kind of out in the middle of this field behind a construction equipment storage place- the first thing you saw was this little waist-high stone wall surrounding the graveyard. It was REALLY old. the gravestones were so worn and ill-kept that either the lettering on them was illegible or there never was any. I honestly think it might have been a slave graveyard or something, maybe even somewhere criminals were buried or something. I've never found ANY record of this graveyard anywhere. It was only like maybe eight graves- all were also badly desecrated- broken headstones and such. Nothing was dug up, at least.

Anyway, we put on the fake vampire teeth, got out the fake blood and so forth and goofed around taking pictures. No big deal. Truth be told, I think the real danger of being up there was more along the lines of being there while a drug deal was going on or some troublemakers decided to show up, nothing supernatural.

So we went back to my friend's house and we were waiting in the living room for his mom to come home because he wanted to get some money so we could go rent a movie. Just hanging out. He got up and looked outside and asked "do you guys hear someone crying?" We didn't. He thought it might be over at the neighbor's house or something. A few minutes later, I was walking out of his kitchen and I saw the front door handle turn and the door opened. "Oh good, there's Chris' mom." I thought. But no one was there. Heather said "Michael, go shut the door right now." I walked over to the door and in the carport, about five feet in front of the door, there was like this swirl of leaves blowing around almost like someone running a leaf blower. There was no wind. It was REALLY cold, even though this was in the late spring. I shut the door and turned around pale white. There was SOMETHING there. Heather said "I'm sorry, we should go back to the graveyard."

HA! Like that was going to happen at that point.

But then she opened her backpack. Chris and I didn't see her do this, but she had put a piece of one of the gravestones that was broken in her bag. Needless to say, we made her ass go back up the hill and return it.

No idea what all that was about. But I do not believe ghosts hang out in graveyards or necessarily care about their gravestones, it's not like that.

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23 Oct 2015 17:36 #213241 by Michael Barnes
Oh, this one is good too. It involves Michael trying yet again to impress a goth girl. I liked this one even more. She was SO freaking cute. My one regret is that I turned her down for another girl, that wound up being a disaster.

Anyway, Halloween, 1993. I took her to see Nosferatu at the local German language society. It was one of those "kind of but not really" dates. We got to talking ghost stuff, and we decided to go to this particular graveyard that had a reputation. Strike that. This was a graveyard where I, at one time, could GUARANTEE something would happen. I seriously never went to this place out of maybe eight or nine times and something totally fucked up didn't happen. I burned the clutch out of my Nissan Pulsar on one visit when we actually did see the so-called "blue man" that others had reported seeing. I've never taken a single drug in my life and I didn't drink until I was 22, BTW.

So there's this statue of Christ in this graveyard that people talked about seeing cry blood and whatnot. Somebody had broken the hands off it, so it was a little weird even in the day time. She wanted to go see it, so we did. It was around 1 am, and I'm thinking "Fine, let's go there, make out and go home.". It was raining lightly, but I like walking in the rain at night so it didn't bother me. We were walking along the path and I noticed that it was really strange that in the middle of the night that there were what sounded like HUNDREDS of birds chirping in the trees around the cemetery. Like, frantically. I mentioned it and Stacy said "I'm kind of scared". So we held hands (oh, high school). We walked up to the statue and stood on the dais it is on and suddenly- like full stop- all of that bird chatter stopped immediately and it was dead silent.

No fucking idea what was going on there.

So we left and made out in the car before I dropped her off.
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23 Oct 2015 17:53 #213242 by ChristopherMD
No ghost stories even though as a kid I always went into the abandoned and supposedly haunted houses by myself to check them out. Great thread idea though.
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23 Oct 2015 18:41 #213245 by Shellhead
No ghost story, but a true story of doing something scary to impress a girl. I once tried (and succeeded) to impress a Swedish foreign exchange student (Gry Romstad) by whacking an adult alligator on the head with a lightweight piece of wood from a palm tree. We were on a golf course on Sanibel Island where the gators sometimes like to wander. My thinking at the time was that alligators were overrated and I could easily outrun something with such short stumpy legs if necessary. His mouth popped open so fast that it knocked the wood out of my hand, and then he just left his mouth hanging open as a statement while I slowly backed away. She told everybody that I was just like Indiana Jones, even though I was just this lanky teenager with glasses.

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23 Oct 2015 23:10 - 23 Oct 2015 23:29 #213255 by wadenels
I'll tell you a story I've rarely told...

About around 1999 I was working small-town small-county highway crew. This mostly involved laying tar by hand from buckets with a bottom valve into cracks. We spent most our time smoking cigs and being generally unproductive. The truck-pulled tar tank usually took about 90 minutes to heat up to pouring temp, so we never lit the damn thing until we were already on site.

One of the things that kept us busy was exploring abandoned farmyards while we spent most our time making no progress whatsoever on back country roads. You'd be surprised at what you can find in old barns. Classic cars, ancient farm equipment, and all the makings of a great horror show. Great entertainment value, and some seriously weird shit. There's a reason that a lot of campy horror antagonists have a random piece of farm equipment readily equipped.

That summer we spent the better part of two weeks on the road nearby one farmyard. It was clearly deserted, but we were too busy sipping booze under the nearby bridge to care. The first week went by and we got bored (tax dollars aren't all that exciting) and finally moseyed on over to investigate the yard. Not a single vehicle had been by the whole time.

My "crew" was just myself and a good friend; we had no manager or backup crew. Just a lone tar truck with two clowns and no motivation. The driveway was overgrown; the grass was easily three feet tall. We idled on in via country truck until we got about 50 yards from the house proper. We didn't feel particularly obligated to do much tarring, so we figured we'd check the barn first. We made a bunch of jokes about the sick horror-show antique hand-held farm equipment, but there was a car under a cloth that demanded investigation. I shit you not there sat a 1954 Olds Super 88 (Rocket V8) with a barely a spot of rust. Motherlode. We spent the rest of the day on the phone with the county courthouse discussing the finer points on how to claim lost title on a car. (Turns out it ain't that easy.)

Next day we decide to check out the house. Since we went directly there it was about 9am. Bright sun; clear day. We had to break a basement window to sneak up and unlock the front door; any alternative would have just been needless damage. I was the one who did the basement entry. I was mildly freaked out; the basement looked lived in, but dusty. The traverse upstairs and the unlocking was easy as pie; I can't stress enough that the place was deserted.

We spent an hour or so just checking out the place. If you've never done it you might not appreciate how interesting it is to see what people leave behind. This house looked like someone had just gone to work one day and not come home. There were weird hints of abnormality; empty ammo boxes in the crawl space, a single wooden spinning wheel in an otherwise empty room, and the kitchen fucking stunk.

The major stench from the kitchen came from the oven so we cracked it open. A dead duck. Mallard; stiff as a board, enough decay to stink but it still had the colors. It wasn't cooked, and it couldn't have fit down the modern-style chimney into the oven. It made no sense. It was the first in a rapid series of questionable discoveries.

Immediately after discovering the duck we noticed there was mail on the small dinette-style kitchen table. Probably six or seven letters. All postmarked on the same day in November 1988. None of it opened. Who would bring in the mail and leave it like that? Post-duck, we started to get sufficiently freaked out. Being the bold highwaymen that we were we pressed on, in the name of discovery.

The fridge was the old locking-handle style that looked to come straight out of the fifties. We cracked it; full of food. Most the expiration dates were late 80s and early 90s. I can't stress how sick this felt; the entire situation pointed at a rapid and unthought exit. The sort of exit that had no concern for anything other than leaving. The air was heavy.

We were pretty damn on edge at this point. No reason to be, really, but we've seen a lot of abandoned houses yet none that that shared both a lived in and abandoned identity like this one. The more we explored the more uneasy we got. A damn arsenal of rifles and ammo under the master bed. Make-up left on the bathroom counter as if someone was in mid-application. All these small thing added up and we decided enough was enough. The air was heavy.

We get back down to the kitchen and the goddamn phone rings. My heart stopped. Maybe I imagined it. I look over at my cohort. His expression said it all. I did not imagine it. The phone rings again. I cannot stress the silence between the rings. The silence had always been there, but the late 80's wall-mounted phone punctuated the silence in a most unforgiving way. The phone is near the kitchen table next to the mail. My buddy bolts out the door. I just... can't.

I can't answer the phone. I grab the cord from the wall a few feet from the phone. Yank that shit. Disconnected. The phone continues to ring. I fucking bolt toward the door. The deadbolt won't budge. We never had keys. Coworker is gone. He just left through this door. It can't be locked. Not from the inside. There's a lever. I can't move it. It can't be locked. It is. The phone keeps ringing. I'm trembling. I go back to the kitchen, because there's nowhere else to go. I answer the phone. Dry air. Light static. Nothing there. CLICK The door is no longer bolted. I walk out. My coworker's already in the truck. We don't really talk about it.



EPILOGUE: I know this isn't particularly terrifying, but if you were there the feeling of dread is unworldly. I've tried to bring it up twice since then with the guy that was with me. He will not discuss it.
Last edit: 23 Oct 2015 23:29 by wadenels.

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23 Oct 2015 23:28 #213256 by Gary Sax
^holy shit awesome

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23 Oct 2015 23:42 - 23 Oct 2015 23:42 #213257 by wadenels

Gary Sax wrote: ^holy shit awesome


Thanks. Not fiction. One of the few things in my life that still sets me uneasy.
Last edit: 23 Oct 2015 23:42 by wadenels.

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24 Oct 2015 00:01 - 24 Oct 2015 00:04 #213258 by Michael Barnes
Yeah, that's fucking awesome Wade. Something must have happened there and left some kind of energy behind. That really does happen, I totally believe in that. Or it could have been a situation where someone elderly or mentally unwell lived there and was arrested or relocated...or just fled. But there could still be residuals. Who knows. If you had the address, I bet you could do some research and come up with SOMETHING.

Shame about that Rocket 88!

I've got a couple that I really don't discuss much myself...mostly having to do with this fucking apartment my wife and I used to live in. Some of it is very personal, some of it is because it gets into the "Come on, you're bullshitting" area but I give you my word I'm not making any of this up. It was the first place where we actually lived together, this older apartment building near Little Five Points in Atlanta, if you're familiar with it. And this place was fucking HAUNTED as shit. Like, more so than anywhere else I think I've ever been in my life.

They had a laundry room that was in the basement of one of the buildings...pretty grungy so it was creepy in yuck way more than anything. There was this door that was sort of stuck partially open that had been chained shut so nobody could get into this side room, I think they used it to store landscaping equipment. But it was always cracked open. One night I was doing clothes down there and I noticed something moving. Thought it was a rat or a palmetto bug. I looked over at the door and there was an African-American boy looking at me. He kind of gasped and turned around. There wasn't anyone in the room and there were no other doors. That freaked me out.

A couple of nights later, I was down there and this girl was down there washing clothes when I was putting a load in...small talk, neighbor stuff...I asked her if she had ever seen anything weird around the complex. She laughed and said "did you see the boy in the room over there yet?" I just about fainted.

But the thing is, he wasn't scary. I was never scared of him. I actually saw him a couple more times and tried to talk to him but it was like he was always so skittish and I never saw him for more than a glimpse.

But then one night I got a good look at him. My wife was up in Gainesville working at a restaurant (which was also, believe it or not, haunted) late and I was by myself with our two cats, Wedge and Kiki. I remember very distinctly that I was watching Takashi Miike's Dead or Alive. I had the sound low since it was late. I heard this sound outside that sounded like a bicycle bell. I went to the window and looked out into the courtyard area around which all of the buildings faced. It was about 2am, and there was that kid out there walking across it. It looked like he was barefoot, wearing a plain white t-shirt and tighty whiteys. I have no idea what the deal was with the bell.

That was weird, but it was still not scary. It was like Wade said "heavy", but I wasn't like freaked out or anything. But then things at this place- for whatever reason- took a really nasty turn. We adopted a dog, a mini schnauzer, and had to keep her in the kitchen when we left. We would come back and she would be just completely terrified. My wife said it was like something was messing with her the whole time. The cats were also unusually agitated, but we assumed they were upset about the new dog.

So one night, it started to snow. Leigh Ann was in Gainesville again, I told her to stay at her parents rather than take the hour drive in the snow. I was by myself again. We had, at this point, let the dog go to another home because it wasn't really going to work with her in this apartment. I locked up everything, fed the cats, and turned up the heat. I'm more prone to sleep in a chair in a bed (like Leon), and my cats were in my lap. I woke up in the morning, and I couldn't find Kiki. She was nowhere in an 800 square foot apartment. I thought that maybe there was some way she got outside, but everything was shut and latched. I unlocked the front door, went down the hall, and out the door. There was about three inches of snow on the ground. I kept thinking that somehow she got outside. I found her literally in the middle of the apartment's yard, covered in snow and dead. Completely frozen. It was like she had walked out in the yard and just laid down to freeze to death. But it wasn't even that cold, it was like barely 32 degrees, and cats don't just lay in the snow like that.

I still, to this day almost 15 years later, think that something in that apartment didn't like animals and it somehow got her outside. There is no other explanation.

That was bad enough, and then not two weeks later Wedge, my other cat, suddenly died. He got really sick. I rushed him to the vet, who told me there was something wrong with his heart that was of sudden onset that was going to make him die within the next couple of days at most. I had to make the decision to put him to sleep because he was going to die, period. Probably not of supernatural origin or anything like that. Could have just been bad timing.

All of this came to a head one day when I was at work. Leigh Ann called me crying and screaming to come home. I worked down the road a couple of miles, so I rushed home. She was completely out of her head in panic. After I left for work, she was still asleep. She said someone came into the house and she thought it was me, forgetting something so she didn't get out of bed or anything. But then this person or whatever was suddenly on top of her holding her down and holding the sheets down over her face and her body, pinning her down. She struggled and struggled, thinking that this was a burglar or rapist or whatever but then it just suddenly stopped. No one in the house. Door locked. If you've read your field guides, this is a phenomenon that goes way back- the incubus. Which has some psychiatric explanations, but...she had bad bruising on both of her shoulders, as if someone were holding her down.

There were some other things not-weird going on at this apartment (hobos breaking into cars, hanging out near our building, etc.) so that was the last straw. I went down to the office and told them we were breaking lease and moving that day. And we did, I found a place within two hours and we never looked back.

Anecdotally, I learned a couple of years later that there was apparently a really bad fire there where the apartments were in the 1960s and some folks died. Maybe that has something to do with it, I dunno. Skeptic!
Last edit: 24 Oct 2015 00:04 by Michael Barnes.
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24 Oct 2015 00:37 #213259 by wadenels
That's sick.

I don't really buy into the residual energy theories and I'm a pretty skeptic ass. But a couple years later I rented an old lake house with a couple friends. We regularly saw gold people shaped things running from the cellar laundry room up the stairs. Weekly. This is in Minnesota. We're not talking underground railroad or anything; the movement was always panicky yet never felt violent or menacing.

Weird shit. I later got a degree in electrical engineering. These are not naturally occurring electrical phenomenon. I still don't buy heavily into the supernatural, but between the lake house and the phone I also can't deny something is up.

The best thing, I think, is to be secure in where you are. If you don't have that human psychology will fuck with you. And if there's something more than psychology in action then it's beyond rationalization and the best course of action is to be somewhere else anyways.

I would be violently pissed if I felt my family were in danger. I can't imagine dealing with the level of paranoia and panic that must have been present there.
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24 Oct 2015 00:43 #213261 by wadenels

Michael Barnes wrote: Who knows. If you had the address, I bet you could do some research and come up with SOMETHING.


I know exactly where the place is. About 10 years ago there was an estate auction and everything sold except the property itself. No bids. It's still there. The story I heard, which I cannot corroborate, is that it was a fringe Catholic family whose children basically bailed. No news on the parents.

Disclosure: I was raised Catholic and I'm not buying into that line of potential superstition.

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24 Oct 2015 01:33 - 24 Oct 2015 01:41 #213264 by Gary Sax
I love reading stuff like this, but from people I actually know or whatever not some horseshit on TV. I don't believe in it myself but no judgment.

I've never had any experiences like this that I can remember. In a strange way part of me sort of wishes I did because I think it would ease my existential crisis w/some evidence. As it stands now I'm a pretty die hard "It all turns to black and oblivion" atheist which isn't like cruel but raises all those tricky questions.

I will say that owning big dogs eases my tension on supernatural/ghost for some reason at home. Which supposedly accords with the lore that says that dogs are very sensitive to supernatural activity.
Last edit: 24 Oct 2015 01:41 by Gary Sax.
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24 Oct 2015 01:40 #213265 by Gary Sax
Also, Wade, for some reason your story reminds me of like the setup for X-files episode "Home."

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24 Oct 2015 02:37 #213267 by VonTush
The first house I lived in just had some strange occurrences. The family moved out when I was five so much is just told by my mom.

One night, my brother and I shared a room, and he woke up freaking out over a swarm of bees. This was in the dead of winter in Chicago so when my mom found a single bee buzzing at the window that was unexpected.

At night, after everyone was tucked away in bed the dishes that were drying in the rack by the sink would bang together. Every night my brother and mom would hear them crash, just once. They both figured it was the dishes drying and settling. It wasn't odd until a few mornings in at the new house both my mom and brother commented over breakfast and noticed that the same dishes, in the same rack, didn't make a sound the past few nights.

Myself, living in the house I was right at that age that long term memories were taking shape. Overall, I remember perhaps a dozen stories well not even stories more like moments, like watching Fat Albert in the basement, running down the hallway to squirt all the Batctine down the sink because I didn't want any on my recent boo-boo and a handful more but one really sticks with me.

The building was a top and bottom duplex with my family in the bottom half which means we also had the basement. It was a finished basement without door just steps leading down, so more like a second floor really just without windows and poor lighting. One day I was doing what I normally did which was head down the stairs to watch some TV. It was one of those staircases that goes down a handful of steps then bends ninety degrees. After you take the turn and the final steps you were looking down the entire length at this old 70's burnt orange colored chair. The house was of a row house style with small side lots and length, so there was a distance between the stairs and that chair. All I remember is on that day I went down the stairs with just the light from the stairwell behind me and from that chair a white formless shapeless thing, energy I suppose, rushed towards me. My fight or flight instinct took over and I was back up the stairs like a flash and that's where that moment ends in my memory.

Well like I mentioned we moved and the weird stuff stopped. The last oddity was a few months later my mom received a call from the lady who bought the house. After some brief small talk she simply asked "Who is she?" It seemed that whatever was causing the mild weird stuff to happen at the house didn't like minorities because it started getting a bit more potent. Apparently they'd go to sleep, doors and windows locked and the next morning everything was flung wide open. And the lady knew it was a "she" because one day she was heading down the hall and a red dress was coming towards her.

Recalling this I really need to press my mom a bit more on some of the details. But that's the story of the first house I lived in.
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24 Oct 2015 11:14 #213278 by ubarose
I believe in the sub bass theory. Sub bass are sounds humans can sense but not hear. When exposed to them, people are often overcome by feelings of dread or terror. They sometimes will see or hear things, The theory is that this is caused by their brain trying to make sense of and process this sound that is felt but not heard. Sub bass noise is produced naturally by earth formations, often caverns, tunnels deep in the ground or underground water. Researchers have confirmed the presence of sub bass at several "haunted" sites as well as places considered "sacred" ground by various peoples.

I lived in a house that I believe was probably subject to sub bass occurrences. Pretty much everyone who stayed there has stories about how the house was haunted. Mostly people would get feelings of dread and terror in certain areas of the house. Over time we simply stopped going to those areas. For example, there were three bathrooms in the house, but we simply stopped using two of them. Seriously, we'd have a line of people needing to shower, and no one ever even would suggest that someone go use one of the other two bathrooms. There was one area in a hallway that was just terrifying for no reason at all. Several people pretty much went nuts in that house. When we had to move, it was impossible to sell. So my mom rented it out. Three times she rented it. Three times the renters broke their lease and got the hell out so fast that they left a shit ton of their belongings and furniture behind. One lady called and told my mom that the house was evil, and was out the next day.
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24 Oct 2015 11:17 - 24 Oct 2015 11:29 #213279 by SuperflyPete

wadenels wrote:

Gary Sax wrote: ^holy shit awesome


Thanks. Not fiction. One of the few things in my life that still sets me uneasy.


No bullshit right there. That's freaky. To be fair, I'd have absolutely, undoubtedly, and without remorse taken the arsenal of guns. Good on you for not pilfering someone's birthright ;)


My wife and I have always been at odds on ghosts and goblins type shit, where she is a true believer (as opposed to a True Believer (TM)) and I have a 99.99999999% belief that it's all bullhit. Well, I almost joined her about 10 years ago. We used to have the downstairs living room as the "Fun Cave". Big TV, fireplace, liquor cabinet, games, Xboxes. It was our chill zone away from the turd (we only had one at the time). Well, during an entire winter we would go down, kick on the fireplace, and hear what appeared to be a smallish dog or perhaps largeish cat running back and forth across the upstairs.

My kid was dead to the world in bed, so it wasn't her. It could not have been the house settling, or anything of that nature, because it was specific, and more interestingly, MOBILE. This sound of a dog/cat running across the floor went from one side of the house to the other, and we started listening acutely. It never happened when anyone was upstairs.

We ended up getting a dog and it stopped. Still creeps me out a little bit. My "rational" answer was that a racoon was in the house, but my logical mind knows it's not possible. SOMETHING was running back and forth. I'm thinking it must've been the ghost of my wife's cat, Private First Class Puddinbelly, who went out to hunt once and never came back.
Last edit: 24 Oct 2015 11:29 by SuperflyPete.
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