Ghost stories!

[BreweryYardRat]

Inspired by the SomethingAwful forums' current ghost story thread. These are taken both from that one and an older post. Not mine in the slightest (and not spell-checked), but I hope you'll enjoy them and share your own.

Story 1:
When I returned from college, around 92', I worked at a downtown bar that was a ballroom in the early 1920's. It was said that Al Capone and all the other gangsters used to frequent there on a regular basis. Well over time it had been opened as many resturaunts and even at one time was an old movie house.

I started there as a bartender, I worked Mon, Tues, Thurs, Fri and Sat til 4:00 am. The weekends were packed, standing room only. The first part of the week we did not get much of a bar crowd. So I would sit there and watch Kung-Foo on USA network and smoke cigarettes. Since I am a big guy, the owner showed me where the gun was and they left. So every week night I was alone from 10:00 pm to 4:00 am.

My first encounter with the ghost came on a Monday morning around 2:30 am (I will never forget this). I was washing the last of the bar ware and starting my closing crap to get out at 4:00. The bar was one huge square and across from the dish well, where we did our dishes, was a corner mirror. On each wall was a mirror that met at the right at the corner. As I was washing everything I could see myself and what was behind me.

Now before I start this I have to say I was a skeptic of the paranormal. I believe in what I see. Well that all changed in a six month period.

Now as I said while at the sinks, I would watch the mirror for anyone who tried to creep in and rob me. This night I look and no one was there, I did not here the sqeak that the front door made. I could always tell when someone walked in by that sound. The next time I looked up there is a huge figure standing right behind me in the mirror. I almost shit my pants thinking some thief finally got me. I spin around ready for a fight and nobody was there. I think OK your just imagining things. Little too much on the Stephen King novels. So I go back to work. I look up again, same figure right behind me. This time instead of spinning around I watch the figure. I stands ther and shifts, I hear no sound, It was not a trick of the light, it just stood there while it kinda shifted. I really don't have a word to descibe it. I can see it clearly in my mind but to put it to words is hard. I am 6"3" and this thing had maybe a foot on me. So this time I turn around slowly, nobody, I look back to the mirror and its gone. Now I know what I had seen. It had form and some detail. It was not a shadow or a trick of the eye.

Over the next four years working there, when I was alone, this thing would play games with me. It would cause things to fall, the bathroom doors would open etc, etc, etc. My wife, I met there. She used to come in and sit with me on the slow nights. One night she went into the bathroom, a second later she screams. I run in ready to kill some pervert that I thought had snuck in the ladies room. I meet her in the hall, she is hysterical, couldn't even speak. I go in every fucking door in the ladies room (12 doors) are opening and closing in rapid succession. I stand there stunned, and watch this happen for a minute or so. She left never to go back in there unless a lot of people were there.

We have had cleaning people leave in the middle of their shifts, refusing to return to work, unless someone else would be there. The place next to us was renevated from an old ballroom to a concert hall. Denny the manager would not go into the hall unless someone else was there. He told me one night he was booking bands and setting up schedules, he hears a noise outside the office. When he walked out, all the lights shut off and he looks up the grand staircase, descending down the stair case is a female figure that he said "sort of glowed", he also tried to produce the noise the form was making. It was sort of a whispering scream. Needless to say he ran out of there and would never stay late again.

Our cook Jimmy used to do part-time work over there. Setting up sound equipment, cleaning, basically the "everything" guy. We got to talking about the shit that happened to us, he starts to tell me that one night, after a Battle of the Bands tourny, he was cleaning up. He went downstairs to grab the cleaning equipment. The closet door slams shut and everthing on the shelf starts to shake violently. The mops and brooms all fall off their pegs and he described a sound of someone screaming upstairs. He never worked there again. The next day he walked into to Denny's office and told him what happened. Denny said he understood and they left it at that.

I used to talk with the manager and the other bartenders, they said since I was the new guy, that's why I got those shifts. They would not work them. They would tell me their the things that would happen to them. Very much the same that was happening to me. I didn't care, I was making money and this thing never touched me, just mind fuck you. At the end of the night it would try and talk to me, I would be in the office and I would hear someone shout "HEY YOU" or just a low moan or a scream from next door. I know I was the only person when it happened. At closing I would do a walk-through with a flashlight and a 9-iron from my car. I checked upstairs and downstairs, no one.

After a while I used to taunt it to see what would happen. Usually the screaming would become more frequent or doors would open but no harm would befall me. I dealt with that for over four years. I heard and had seen some freaky shit. I just took all the shifts that nobody would take. I go back home from time to time and see the old place. The new crowd of bartenders know me, but not all that well. One time I asked this kid about it, he was the new early week bartender. He didn't say anything but just looked at me and he his face had turned white. O yea, he knew what I was talking about.

Story 2:
About 5 or so years ago, I was going on a 20km, overnight hike with a bunch of friends ( From Lake Cowichan to Duncan on Vancouver Island, if anyone knows where that is). Most of the trail followed either old railroad tracks, or along the Cowichan River. There were plenty of cliffs along the river from erosion and stuff.
Obviously, we took lots of pictures, but one of them was a little strange. It was taken near one of the big cliffs along the river, with about 3 of the group in it. However, when the picture developed, there was a 4th figure in it. He was mostly transparent, and was the blue/grey colour of campfire smoke. His head was tilted back, with his hand held up to his mouth, as if drinking something. He did appear to have something extending from his hand... maybe some more smoke... maybe a bottle... but the creepiest part was that whatever it was, it had a very distinct human face in it.

Now, we were severely creeped out by this picture, as the man in the picture didn't look anything like us, and it definetly wasn't a case of double exposure. But it gets better.

We started showing it around school to people we knew, and one girl actually recognized him as her late uncle. Turns out he had gotten drunk and fallen off of those cliffs a few years before.

Story (well, technically not, but whatever) 3: (You might not want to read this one at night.)
The Intruder is a silhouette and similar in shape to a Siamese cat. When sitting, it is about 7.5 feet tall. It has two overly large, slanted eyes, which glow a bright fluorescent green, and have no pupils. It blinks these eyes occasionally. Other than the eyes, it has no other discernable facial or body features.

Whenever you enter your home after dark, The Intruder is always watching. It sits about 10 feet away from you in plain view. It remains immobile and does not even try to conceal its presence. While outside, it can only be seen by one person at a time. If it were to be within the sight range of two people then the first person who sees The Intruder would remain being able to see it while it would remain completely invisible to others.

It emits no noises of its own. The only time it can be heard is when it is stretching its claws on a tree or your house siding. If you approach it then it will run away very quickly and violently, kicking up dirt and rocks. The sounds of the wind from The Intruder’s movements and flying debris from under The Intruder’s feet can be heard. If you were to throw an object toward it or discharge a firearm at it you would get the same effect. Once you turn back to the door to insert your key you will find that The Intruder has noiselessly returned to its previous position where it continues to watch you.

Some say that The Intruder listens to your key hit the lock. They say that The Intruder can eventually ascertain the shape of your key simply by hearing the pins of your lock moving. It is unknown how many times The Intruder must hear you unlock your door before it can determine the exact shape of your key.

You see, The Intruder wants to kill you, that is, if this creature is even capable of wanting anything. Perhaps it is better to say that it intends to kill you. However, The Intruder can only kill you inside your house, and may not force its way in. Furthermore, it cannot enter an empty house. You must already be at home in order for it to enter. If you were to run outside of your house once The Intruder enters, The Intruder will pursue you, drag you back inside, and then kill you.

If you ever hear a key hitting your door in the dead of night then it may be The Intruder trying out its key that it has made. The Intruder only tries to use its keys when it is close to perfecting them, so if you do hear it trying to unlock your door then you can be certain that it will have a proper working key within a few nights. If you enter your house through another means, for example a garage or screen door, then you may suddenly find it them inoperable from the outside, through both remote or attempted physical operation of the door. If you attempt to leave your door unlocked in order to prevent The Intruder from hearing the shape of your key, then you may be disappointed to find that the door has been locked by the time you arrive at home.

If you hear a key hit your lock it is advised that you turn off all of your lights and attempt to push on the door to try and prevent The Intruder from entering, although it likely outweighs you. Once The Intruder enters your house all light sources above that of a candle become blinding to all inhabitants other that The Intruder. If you have time to light a candle then it is suggested, as this will still allow you to see the silhouette without becoming blinded. A very small advantage that you may have is that, once inside a home, all inhabitants are able to see The Intruder simultaneously.

The Intruder will kill every human inside of the house. It will only attack pets if the animal chooses to engage The Intruder. Most animals choose not to engage The Intruder. The only time that the Intruder will make any noise of its own is during a kill strike. The Intruder will make a quick hissing sound during this strike, and will not make this noise again until it claims its next victim. The Intruder has never been known to kill anyone without hissing during the kill strike. It will usually try to completely disable its prey to the point where it cannot move before it makes the kill strike. It is thought that The Intruder prefers to disable its prey before a kill strike because the act of hissing may be the only time that it is vulnerable to damage. This is purely speculation however.

Story 4: (Ah...it's probably safe.)
I don't really know what I'd call this story if I was submitting it for publication in Fate or something of its ilk. "Brian vs. the Evil, Black-eyed, Possibly Vampiric or Demonic But At Least Not Bloody Normal Kids" doesn't have much of a ring to it. (Shrug.)

But that's at least an accurate title.

As so many things do, it all started out innocently.

My Internet Service Provider used to have offices in a shopping center before they moved to their (comparatively) lush accommodations elsewhere. There was a drop box at that original location. The monthly bill was due, and thus, there but for the Grace of the Net I went.

It was about 9:30 p.m. when I left. From my relatively isolated apartments, it's about 10-15 minutes or so to downtown (Abilene has a population of about 110,000).

Right next to Camalott Communications' old location is a $1.50 movie theater. At the time, the place was featuring that masterwork of modern film, Mortal Kombat. I drove by the theater on the way into the center proper and pulled into an empty parking space.

Using the glow of the marquee to write out my check, I was startled to hear a knock on the driver's-side window of my car.

I looked over and saw two children staring at me from street. I need to describe them, with the one feature (you can guess what it was) that I didn't realize until about half-way through the conversation cleverly omitted.

Both appeared to be in that semi-mystical stage of life children get into where you can't exactly tell their age. Both were boys, and my initial impression is that they were somewhere between 10-14.

Boy No. 1 was the spokesman. Boy No. 2 didn't speak during the entire conversation -- at least not in words.

Boy No. 1 was slightly taller than his companion, wearing a pull-over, hooded shirt with a sort of gray checked pattern and jeans. I couldn't see his shoes. His skin was olive-colored and had curly, medium-length brown hair. He exuded an air of quiet confidence.

Boy No. 2 had pale skin with a trace of freckles. His primary characteristic seemed to be looking around nervously. He was dressed in a similar manner to his companion, but his pull-over was a light green color. His hair was a sort of pale orange.

They didn't appear to be related, at least directly.

"Oh, great," I thought. "They're gonna hit me up for money." And then the air changed.

I've explained this before, but for the benefit of any new lurkers out there, right before I experience something strange, there's a change in perception that comes about which I describe in the above manner. It's basically enough time to know it's too late.

So, there I was, filling out a check in my car (which was still running) and in a sudden panic over the appearance of two little boys. I was confused, but an overwhelming sense of fear and unearthliness rushed in nonetheless.

The spokesman smiled, and the sight for some inexplicable reason chilled my blood. I could feel fight-or-flight responses kicking in. Something, I knew instinctually, was not right, but I didn't know what it could possibly be.

I rolled down the window very, very slightly and asked "Yes?"

The spokesman smiled again, broader this time. His teeth were very, very white.

"Hey, mister, what's up? We have a problem," he said. His voice was that of a young man, but his diction, quiet calm and ... something I still couldn't put my finger on ... made my desire to flee even greater. "You see, my friend and I want to see the films, but we forgot our money," he continued. "We need to go to our house to get it. Want to help us out?"

Okay. Journalists are required to talk to lots of people, and that includes children. I've seen and spoken to lots of them. Here's how that usually goes:

"Uh ... M ... M ... Mister? Can I see that camera? I ... I won't break it or anything. I promise. My dad has a camera, and he lets me hold it sometimes, I guess, and I took a picture of my dog -- it wasn's very good, 'cause I got my finger in the way and ..."

Add in some feet shuffling and/or body swaying and you've got a typical kid talking to a stranger.

In short, they're usually apologetic. People generally teach children that when they talk to adults, they're usually bothering them for one reason or another and they should at least be polite.

This kid was in no way fitting the mold. His command of language was incredible and he showed no signs of fear. He spoke as if my help was a foregone conclusion. When he grinned, it was as if he was trying to say, "I know something ... and you're NOT gonna like it. But the only way you're going to find out what it is will be to do what I say ..."

"Uh, well ..." was the best reply I could offer.

Now here's where it starts to get strange.

The quiet companion looked at the spokesman with a mixture of confusion and guilt on his face. He seemed in some ways shocked, not with his friend's brusque manner but that I didn't just immediately open the door.

He eyed me nervously.

The spokesman seemed a bit perturbed, too. I still was registering something wrong with both.

"C'mon, mister," the spokesman said again, smooth as silk. Car salesmen could learn something from this kid. "Now, we just want to go to our house. And we're just two little boys."

That really scared me. Something in the tone and diction again sent off alarm bells. My mind was frantically trying to process what it was perceiving about the two figures that was "wrong."

"Eh. Um ...." was all I could manage. I felt myself digging my fingernails into the steering wheel.

"What movie were you going to see?" I asked finally.

"Mortal Kombat, of course," the spokesman said. The silent one nodded in affirmation, standing a few paces behind.

"Oh," I said. I stole a quick glance at the marquee and at the clock in my car. Mortal Kombat had been playing for an hour, the last showing of the evening.

The silent one looked increasingly nervous. I think he saw my glances and suspected that I might be detecting something was not above-board.

"C'mon, mister. Let us in. We can't get in your car until you do, you know," the spokesman said soothingly. "Just let us in, and we'll be gone before you know it. We'll go to our mother's house."

We locked eyes.

To my horror, I realized my hand had strayed toward the door lock (which was engaged) and was in the process of opening it. I pulled it away, probably a bit too violently. But it did force me to look away from the children.

I turned back. "Er ... Um ...," I offered weakly and then my mind snapped into sharp focus.

For the first time, I noticed their eyes.

They were coal black. No pupil. No iris. Just two staring orbs reflecting the red and white light of the marquee.

At that point, I know my expression betrayed me. The silent one had a look of horror on his face in a combination that seemed to indicate: A) The impossible had just happened and B) "We've been found out!"

The spokesman, on the other hand, wore a mask of anger. His eyes glittered brightly in the half-light.

"Cmon, mister," he said. "We won't hurt you. You have to LET US IN. We don't have a gun ..."

That last statement scared the living hell out of me, because at that point by his tone he was plainly saying, "We don't NEED a gun."

He noticed my hand shooting down toward the gear shift. The spokesman's final words contained an anger that was complete and whole, and yet contained in some respects a tone of panic:

"WE CAN'T COME IN UNLESS YOU TELL US IT'S OKAY. LET ... US .... IN!"

I ripped the car into reverse (thank goodness no one was coming up behind me) and tore out of the parking lot. I noticed the boys in my peripheral vision, and I stole a quick glance back.

They were gone. The sidewalk by the theater was deserted.

I drove home in a heightened state of panic. Had anyone attempted to stop me, I would have run on through and faced the consequences later.

I bolted into my house, scanning all around -- including the sky.

What did I see? Maybe nothing more than some kids looking for a ride.

And some really funky contacts. Yeah, right.

A friend suggested they were vampires, what with the old "let us in" bit and my compelled response to open the door. That and the "we'll go see our mother" thing.

I'm still not sure what they were, but here's an epilogue I find chilling:

I talk about Chad a lot. He's still my best friend, my best ghost-hunting companion and an all-around cool guy. He recently moved to Amarillo, but at the time this happened was still living in San Angelo of Ram Page fame.

I called him and talked to him briefly. He had two female friends with him at the time, both professing some type of psychic ability.

I started telling him the story, leaving out the part about the black eyes for the kicker. One of the women (we were on a speakerphone) stopped me.

"These children had black eyes, right?" she asked. "I mean, all-black eyes?"

"Er ... Yes." I said. I was a bit taken aback.

"Hmmm," she said. "One night last week, I had a dream about children with black eyes. They were outside my house, wanting to be let in, but there was something wrong with them. It took me a while to realize it was the eyes."

I hadn't even gotten as far as them wanting to come in.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I kept the doors and windows locked," she said. "I knew if they came in, they would kill me."

She paused.

"And they would have killed you, too, if you had let them into your car."

Story 5:
One summer, not all that long ago, I worked as a field ecologist in a nature reserve on an undisclosed US government site. Part of my job was to go out surveying vernal pools, checking for rare amphibians. Some of this was done in the dark.

On a punishingly humid July night, a little after 11pm, three of us set out, walking two miles through the woods and dirt tracks to a particular unsurveyed lake. We joked as we went, cheerful, our hip waders slung over our shoulders, and GPS/weather stations/waterproof electric torches in bags. The lake stretched in long J shape. By 2am we were expected to have completed a tour of the shoreline and returned to our office and checked out – unfortunately, our ariel photos hadn't shown how truly large the lake was. We split up. Each going in a different direction.

I took the near, shore and began to walk clockwise. There was a mist on the water, faint and creeping, and the night time noises of cicadas echoed in a shrill cacophony as I splashed along. Two steps. Run the dip net through the weeds. Check. Dump back. Keep moving. Across the lake, the beams of my coworker's torch reflected weirdly off the eyes of green and bull frogs.

I paused to check the time.

A hand dropped onto my shoulder.

I froze. I could see my reflection in the water along with another, taller stranger. It was male, broad, with a glint of gold (an earring?) in one ear. For half a heart beat, I was a statue, a scream trapped. Then I did what any sensible woman would do.

I shrieked and whipped the net pole back as I bolted forward. Water weed wrapped around my lets and I stumbled, falling in a half sprawl in the waist deep water. Shit scared , I jammed that net pole back, hoping to hit gut or an eye and hit. . . nothing. There was no one there; I picked myself up. I was metres from the bank, there were know over hanging trees, nothing that could have brushed against or cast that spectral reflection.

My coworkers yelled to me, asking if I was alright. My heart pounding in my ears, I yelled back that I was fine, even as I moved as fast as I could deeper into the lake.

I had reached the centre of the lake when the night went wild. It was as if every beast with wings or legs exploded into wide, wild panic; beasts (deer?) pounded on the opposite bank, crashing through the underbrush, invisible in the dark, as overheard a flock of birds went tearing off, up, and away, their cries too loud in the midnight quiet.

It was a creepy night. It was dark. I was tired. The birds could have been startled by my fall or our voices. I don't believe in ghosts.

I saw a fucking face in the water and felt a hand on my shoulder.

Shaken, we all went back to work, finished late at 4am and trundled home, where upon I was cornered and interrogated about what had so freaked me out. My partner were silent; and we all agreed that it would be the last time we went back to that lake at night.

Two days later, we went back to that lake -- at mid day -- to complete the survey; rain hammered down, and the water licked our waders in anger. Slipping away, I returned to the place I had been so terrified a few nights before.

Nothing. Nothing there at all. Not even fallen branches. Except, the lad Al pointed out, washed up on the bank, was something faded and slightly pink. An old bed sheet – the kind you've accidentally washed with red things – and use for picnics or paint sheets or. . .

"To wrap bodies in," Al said.

We got out of there fast.

Later still, the network of pools and ponds and lakes came up in a conversation with our boss. "The mafia dump their dead here," he joked. He could never get us to explain the wide-eyed horror in our faces.

Story 6: (Might not want to read this one past 7 PM or so.)
Ghost stories, eh? Well, being an Army brat, I’ve stayed in my far share of houses. I’ve always been a believer in the idea that emotional residue of the owners remains in the house, and I’ve certainly stayed in a few that felt “unhappy”. We stayed in one house where the inhabitant before us had committed suicide. He shot himself in the front area, which always seemed colder than the rest of the house. We’d also hear footsteps and such. My mom said she saw him standing in a doorway, but it could have been a shadow or something. He was a pretty chill ghost.

One house/condo, though, really sticks out in my mind. I honestly don’t know what was up in that place. Someone told me it was built on the site of an old mental hospital or something. Whatever. I just know that it scared the beejesus out of my family the whole time we were in it.

The thing loved me and my mom. First night, I wake up to someone stroking my cheek. I think it’s my mom or something (she would get up and wander into my room when my dad was deployed) so I just lay there and try to go back to sleep. Then I feel it go down my neck. A long fingernail, I distinctly remember that feeling. It goes for the neck of my PJs (old, huge shirt) and starts to pull it down off my shoulder. Well that’s not Mom! I sat up but only saw darkness. There was no one there. Same thing happened to Mom several times, but it would also try to feel up her leg.

Things started to get a little freakier with my brothers’ room. They had bunk beds at this point, and Paul would happily take the bottom bunk because he was known to shift around a lot in his sleep, and, well, that doesn’t mix well with a top bunk sans guardrail. However, one night he came to my mom and explained how he didn’t want to have the bottom bunk anymore. Why? When he would get up to use the bathroom or get a drink of water during the night, a hand would reach out from under his bed and grab him. He said it was cold, it had sharp nails, but he had never gotten a good look at it because it always let go too fast.

My mom told him that it was just a dream or maybe a toy had brushed against him. Then he showed her the scratches around his ankles. Great.

Story 7:
Troy and I have been good friends for the better part of the last decade, but even today I'm finding out shit about him I didn't know. Seems that back when I was in college Troy had an encounter with something in his house, which I didn't know about till about a month or two after I graduated.

He was up around 3am getting a drink in the kitchen. After getting his drink, he headed back to his room, but stopped as he passed the stairs to the basement. He said he felt a huge presence at the base of the stairs, but didn't see anything.

Then he felt it move, and so did he.

Apparently, this had him freaked so bad that he made a mad dash down the hall for his room and slammed the door behind him. Whatever it was it chased him down the hall and attacked the door when it couldn't get at him, and kept at it for a good ten minutes before it stopped.

[valis]

1. Story 8: boooooo!

:)

[bertha katzenengel]

2. Johnny... I'm on the first step... I want my liver back!

Anyone else remember that one?