WARNING: Do YOU Feel The Drip?!

WARNING: Do You Feel The Drip?!

If you feel the drip, your life is in DANGER. This creepypasta by reddit nosleep author jorabu will have you shaking in your bed… This creepy story is about hallucinations, creepypasta, darkness prevails, creepy stories, scary stories, ghost stories, urban legends, horror stories, creepypasta narration, reddit stories, scary stories from reddit, creepy reddit, scary reddit, the hum, what is the hum, mysterious phenomenon, unexplained, unsolved mysteries, strange mysteries, unsolved, comatose, er stories, from the er, medical stories, school stories, high school, disturbing, disturbing stories, what if, supernatural, bizarre and more!

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The ghost that has crush on me?

I wanted to share my story.

I grew up in the Philippines and since I had an accident where I fell from the second story of my grandmas house I become closer to the things that can’t be seen by naked eyes. Around 9 I started seeing things like my brothers dubbelganger and other sort of “ghost or spirits”. But the story that I’m gonna share is the most unforgettable one I had.

It happened around my first year in college around 2008.

I just moved in with my dad cause I was living with my aunt (moms sister) cause she was supporting me on my high school studies which she sent me to a private school.

The apartment that I’m moving in was a two story vary spacious.

It was me, my dad, my sister, my uncle (dads brother) my aunt (dads sister and her 2 kids ages 5&3).

The house has 2 bedrooms in the second story and a long corridor.My aunts and her kids share one bedroom and me and my sister on the other one. Our room is the closest to the stairs.My dad and uncle was sleeping in the first floor living room but mostly my dad was not there at night because i works at night shift. When I moved in there I was fully aware that we have an extra tenant with us.

Ones that can’t depart this world.

I heard a lot of stories from my dad and his siblings. Like sudden flashing of toilet in the middle of the night. Or sounds like someone is having a coffee in the middle of the night but when they go and check it no on was there.

I don’t really mind those kind of things cause I’m use to it. Most of the houses I lived with has someone in them. Like in my previous house with my aunt where I stayed with in high school. I would just wake up that may bed has a part like someone is sitting on or sometimes I’ll see this girl just standing in the living room.

Or sitting in my bedroom. She was great never she never harm me.So back to my new house it was late at night and I suddenly woke up to a loud footsteps just outside our room.

i know my sister was fast asleep cause if she’s not she would says something.

I started sweating like cold sweats and then I just said in my mind holy shit so this is what they are talking about. I started whispering oh god please don’t open the door , repeatedly. And then the next thing I remembered I was awake in the morning.

I am certain though that it’s not a dream. I asked my sister about it and she said she didn’t hear anything last night I told my aunt and uncle and they just laugh and said the ghost has crushed on you.i just kind of smirk at them.

And my life continued forgetting about what happened but it haunting is just starting.

It got scarier when my cousin which is 5 asked me one day when I got back from school, he said “big sis who is that guy that’s always with you?” I froze staring at him.

“Wh-what guy?” I asked him.

And he just pointed at my back “that guy, he’s always following you”.

And just smiled I him “hehe nice, no one is with me” and walk away.

But deep inside I was scared of all my experience I never had a ghost follow me around.

It even got worse to the point that I can feel him. It happened around January where they have a bunch of fireworks.

I was a fan of fireworks. This happened around 7 pm ii was already dark outside.m when one of our neighbors started to light up some fireworks. I couldn’t see it in the first floor window so I ask my 5 year old cousin to come with me upstairs but he said no cause h was busy playing. My aunt was also downstairs with my cousin and my sister. My uncle was still at work same as my dad.

So I went upstairs alone it was dark all light was off cause nobody went upstairs so far. And due to the excitement I didn’t bother to turn on any lights. I position my self near the window where my uncle kept one of his dumbbell he use to work.

I was too short to see plus there is a tree branch blocking my view so I decided to step on the bar of the dumbbell when suddenly I felt this heavy hands in my shoulders. I can feel the weight of the hands like it’s telling me to get down from the bar of the dumbbell that it’s not safe.

So I got down and turn around as fast as I can but nobody was there.

And if someone was there I’m sure it’s not my 5 year old cousin or my sister or my aunt. That hands that touched me that night felt so different, it felt so heavy. Then later that week I tried to do some excitement, cause some people say camera can capture things our eyes can’t.

I just randomly started taking videos in that same spot.

And in my second my second take I captured what I was looking for but since I was so scared I forgot to save it.

In that video while I was going around that spot I capture a hand reaching out for me as if it’s saying I’m here something like that.

And that was the last thing I can remember of that ghost that maybe had crush on me. Later on I found out that the house we are living in was a dumped site of dead bodies like rape victim or murder victim. Me, my dad and my sister moved out of that place in early 2009 not because of ghost but some family issues with her sister.

But I would love to come back and set those soul free.In that house I have experienced a lot of other stuff not just from the same ghost but from the others like him trap in that place.But in the place where we moved in it’s the same thing.

A roommate that’s not supposed to be there.

Thank you so much. I hope my story get featured in the video. I always listening to your story. I also have a lot of other ghosts story and sleep paralysis story.

Automatonophobia

This happened more than 20 years ago, back in 1993 when I was still an incoming fourth grader. I shared a room with my brother, who was an incoming high school freshman at the time.

It started when my grandmother (may her soul rest in peace) purchased a small, 60-centimeter (about 24 inches) Santo Niño statue with green cape on December 1992 for us to place in our room. It was later placed on top of the four-foot-high cream-colored cabinet there.

She was a devout Catholic who believed we needed to have a sacred relic to keep evil away. In the Philippines, where 85-90% are Catholics, many people have such statues. Also, the statue served as a Christmas gift of sorts.

While we also were Catholics, we didn’t really pray to it or anything. It was simply just there. Sometimes, it would collect dust but even at that point we never really bothered with it.

We generally kept our room clear of clutter. However, we seldom would dust the shelves and cabinets since we found this to be too repetitive and tedious. We were just too lazy about it. The only time we would dust the tops was when our mother would tell us to do it, which was months far in between.

In the summer of 1993, my brother went on vacation for about a week, leaving me temporary sole occupancy of our room. I remember feeling ecstatic about this, because this was the first time I would have the room to myself.

On the first night I was alone, I woke up in the middle of the night. There wasn’t any noises or anything that would cause me to wake up. I just did, for some reason. I tossed and turned, trying to get back to sleep but to no avail. I suddenly got the feeling of being watched, so I sat up on my bed looking around the room. The light from the street light outside dimly illuminated the room.

No one else was inside the room, and no one was standing outside the window. Still, I felt there were eyes on me somehow.

It was then that I noticed something off with the statue. It seemed to have moved closer to the edge of the cabinet. It also appeared to be positioned in such a way that it was facing me. It normally faced the center of the room, and my bed was on the farthest left side facing the door while my brother’s bed was to the right wall. I knew this was off, but I didn’t really make a fuss about it. I decided to get back to sleep.

When I woke up in the morning, the Santo Niño was right there where it should be, and positioned as it should be.

For the succeeding three nights, I would wake up in the middle of the night with the feeling of being watched. No matter how I tried, I could never find the cause of this feeling.

It was on the morning of the fifth day when I noticed something different. The Santo Niño was slightly off of its position. I knew this because of the circular clean spot the size of the statue’s pedestal right in the middle of the cabinet top. No other spot that big should be clean, except the exact spot where the Santo Niño should have been.

Again, I shrugged this off and placed the Santo Niño in its proper place. That night was the same as the previous nights; the feeling of eyes on me was still there.

The morning of the sixth day was even weirder than the previous one. This time, I found the Santo Niño near the edge of the cabinet; the edge closest to mine. The marks on the top of the cabinet was unmistakable also. The clean spot in the center was there. Furthermore, there were now lines, dust trail marks, starting from that clean spot which ended right to where the Santo Niño was.

This time, I freaked out and told my parents about it. They checked it out, and saw what I saw. However, the dismissed it on account of me being not used to sleeping alone. Until then, I have never slept by myself. They placed the Santo Niño back and went on their day like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, I was freaking out. I didn’t want to sleep another night in my room alone. So that night, I ended up sleeping in the living room. As soon as my parents were asleep, I let our dog, Richard, into the house. Richard normally slept outside the house to guard the my father’s prized roosters. Richard and I shared the sofa. In the middle of that night, I woke up again but this time to the sound of Richard’s low growls. He was facing my room’s closed door. I don’t know how long that went on, since I eventually drifted back to sleep.

My brother went home a day earlier than expected. I told him everything about what was happening in the room. Of course, he didn’t believe me and picked on me for being such a wuss.

His presence didn’t make the situation go away. For the next few nights, I kept getting that same feeling. In the morning, both of us would see the Santo Niño being out of place which my brother attributed to me.

One night was probably the worst of all. That night, I once again got woken up. This time, I could see the Santo Niño move. The correct word would be slide. It slid across the top of the dresser, until eventually it fell to the ground still upright.

It then slowly slid on the floor, heading to my bed.

I stared at it as it did so. However, at one point the light from the street lamp illuminated its face.

It was the most hideous face I’ve ever seen. The statue’s face was contorted, like it was smiling and frowning at the same time. Its grin revealed tiny triangular teeth in its mouth.

I knew this thing was supposed to be holy. But at that time, it felt as if I was looking at pure evil. I was so afraid, tears rolled out of my eyes uncontrollably.

If I didn’t do anything, I wouldn’t make it through the night. This was what went through my mind as cold sweat started breaking.

It took another few seconds for me to realize that my brother was sleeping just on the opposite side of the room. I looked to him, and he was sound asleep.

I turned back to the Santo Niño on the floor. Somehow, it was now a lot closer to the foot of my bed.

I mustered up enough courage to set my feet on the floor and jump onto his bed.

He’s normally a light sleeper, with the slightest of noise being enough to rouse him. But at that time he didn’t wake up from the ruckus I made. I had to forcefully grab his shirt by the sleeves and shake him as violently as I could.

As soon as he woke up, he slapped me across the face hard.

“The f*ck are you doing?! Get back to your bed! You’re all sweaty and gross!” he exclaimed.

His anger gave way to confusion as my shaking hand pointed to the floor near my bed.

“If you woke me up because of a stupid cockroach, I swear I’ll beat…” my brother’s voice trailed off as he realized what I was pointing to.

“What the hell is that thing doing there?” he asked.

I couldn’t speak because I was openly crying by then.

I saw how his eyes widen. I looked to floor, only to see the Santo Niño now halfway between my bed and my brother’s bed.

It was then that my brother realized that I was telling the truth all along.

We sat there, horrified. We both kept our eyes on that unholy statue until the sunlight made its way into our room.

We became braver come sunrise.

Without speaking another word, my brother grabbed his blanket and spread it on top of that thing. He then tied the blanket and brought it outside to the garage. As soon as Richard saw the blanket, he barked like crazy.

My brother grabbed a hammer and kept pounding away at the Santo Niño inside the blanket. He kept at it until the thing’s shape could no longer be discerned through the blanket.

“We need to get rid of this thing,” my brother said. He then grabbed a bottle from the worktable.

With that, we went to the next neighborhood on foot, along with Richard. We made our way to the local playground, and since it was so early in the morning there wasn’t anyone there yet.

He grabbed a couple of loose iron bars and told me to dig at one of the spots there. We dug a hole about four feet deep.

He then threw the blanket-covered remains of the Santo Niño into the hole. He spilled the liquid contents of the bottle he took, lit a match and threw it in setting the blanket on fire. It actually took him maybe four or five tries before being able to successfully light up the thing.

The wind blew hard that morning, but the fire kept going until there was nothing but ashes left in the hole. Richard kept barking the whole time.

We then buried the ashes and left to get back home in silence.

Eventually, that particular playground became overgrown and abandoned. Until this day, there are rumors spreading across that neighborhood about disembodied voices being heard by some children left unattended there.

My brother and I never talked about what happened. At some point, my brother became an atheist while I became more of an agnostic. I can’t help but think that this incident is one of the main catayst for our current religious stances.

We’ve drifted apart after the years, to the point where we only consider ourselves brothers on paper. Minor arguments led to major ones. One argument came after the other. It’s probably been a decade since I last talked to him.

Since then, I’ve also developed an irrational fear of statues. I can no longer stand being inside Catholic churches, Buddhist temples or any places of worship with statues. If I’m within the vicinity of one, I sweat and tremble. If I stay with it any longer, I panic.

When I was in Bangalore (India), my Indian co-workers didn’t know what to do with me when we entered a Hindu temple because I panicked.

All of this, because of that haunted Santo Niño.

One psychic I told this story to said that the reason why the sacred relic became the way it was was because it wasn’t able to attract positive energy as no one prayed in its presence. She also explained that possessions do not just happen to people similar to “The Exorcist”. Possessions can also be connected to places, or in this case, inanimate objects.

This is my first true paranormal experience. It was after this that I started experiencing many other ones in my lifetime.

Hiroshima Ghost Story

Two years ago, I took a gap year to travel abroad, and was unsure where I wanted to visit. I’ve always been a student of history, and Japanese history has long been a passion of mine: My mom’s side is fourth-generation Japanese and many of my friends in San Francisco where I grew up were Japanese, so it’s close to my heart.

I decided to spend six months abroad in Japan, researching very different periods of Japanese history in three different cities.

My first two months were in Kyoto, the next two in Himeji and the final two in Hiroshima. My first four months in Japan were incredible, and I immersed myself in Tokugawa Shogunate-era history, visiting the Himeji Castle and poring over treasure troves of old documents, in great preparation for my college History Studies at UCLA. But my last two months in Hiroshima?

That’s when I saw something I still can’t explain.

I arrived at Hiroshima by bullet train in late July, and arranged to stay on CouchSurfing with a local University student who, for the sake of anonymity, I’ll call Hideki. Hideki took me back to his place and I practiced my Japanese with him.

We sat on his balcony sharing a Vape, talking about girls and university and our share love of history when I carefully asked him a question I’d been quietly dreading posing: “Did your family lose anyone? In the war, that is.”

Hideki paused, staring back at me and pondering how to answer that. He took a stuttering drag on the vape, blowing out vapor that masked his face in a swirling cloud of grey. “Almost all of them,” He said. “My grandmother and grandfather were the only survivors of their families when the bomb fell.”

The vapor cleared, and I saw a tear disappear down his cheek. “What about you?” He asked, voice surprisingly steady. I told him my great-grandad on my mom’s side fought with the Japanese and died on Saipan and my great-great grandad fought with the Americans in World War I, and we cautiously discussed our family’s military exploits.

It’s much more sensitive in Japan than it is back home to talk about this, and it was a big show of trust for Hideki to tell me this. After a while I told him I’d go to bed, as it had been a long day.

But as I got up, Hideki asked – “Do they ever visit you?”

I paused, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Your grandparents – do they ever come to you?”

I paused again. “No,” I said, feeling weirded out. What was he driving at?

“They visit me,” he said solemnly, taking a draw on the vape and staring at the passing lights of the city.

“Especially at this time of year.”

There was nothing I could say to that that wouldn’t be disrespectful: Was Hideki telling me he was visited by ghosts? Japanese was my second language, after all, so maybe I was misunderstanding him.

I shook my head, and went to bed.

Fast forward a few days, and the annual ceremony to commemorate the victims of the August 6th bomb were out on the streets in the evening. Hideki and I were going to celebrate it together, and we were walking along an old street down to the river, where lanterns are set adrift to commemorate the seventy thousand people who died here.

As we were moseying along in companionable silence, I looked down a side street – and froze.

At the end of the street there were a pair of figures, dancing. They were waltzing together, as if there were old-fashioned music playing in the background.

Dimly, I could almost hear it: an American tune that would have had to have been smuggled in, maybe from the 1940s. But what would this music be doing here, now? I was only dimly aware of this, however, as the figures seemed to be waltzing – zig-zagging – in my direction. As they came closer, I felt a hypnotic sense of horror as I realized these two figures were not just black – they were charcoal.

Moving, seething masses of charcoal, their blackened bodies jerked awkwardly as the danced together, all discernible features other than outline scorched to ash. I opened my mouth to scream for Hideki and the figures vapourized, turning to a harsh, fast-moving cloud of ash as if blown away by a terrifying wind beyond and comprehension that exploded towards me, blowing me back flat on my butt.

This time I screamed as the dark ash cloud passed right by me, filling my senses with ash and a foul smell of burning flesh. When Hideki came running to the sound of my screams, he found me curled in a fetal position, sobbing – laying right next to a pair of Hiroshima shadows, the permanent burn marks of people vapourized in the burning bright blast of the Hiroshima Bomb.

To this day, I have no logical explanation for anything I saw that night – other than what Hideki told me after: “Now, you have been visited too – haven’t you?”

The Fallen Japanese Soldiers in the Woods

Let me share this cultural and historical background before we begin the story. My family is originally from Taiwan. Taiwan was occupied by Japan from 1895 to 1945. Thus older generations such as my grandparents and great-grandparents still speak fluent Japanese. When the Japanese first took over, many people joined militias and fought back. The war against resistance lasted few years. Both sides suffer heavy casualties.

Due to the chaotic situation, many corpses were buried randomly throughout the entire island.

There are still many burial grounds being accidentally dug up occasionally until this day. In Asian cultures, we believe in spiritual entities such as deity, jinn, ghost, and demon. A mortal can choose to pray or worship any spiritual entity regardless it’s good or evil. The general rule of thumb is that a mortal should respect the existence of any spiritual entity.

Like my grandma always says, if we don’t disturb them, they wouldn’t disturb us.

We also believe if a spiritual entity wants your attention, it would come into your dream and tell you what’s going on. My parents are both MBAs from WSU. Needless to say they choose science over paranormal stuff. It was not until this incident in the early 2000 forever changed their perspectives.

My mom grew up in a farm in Yangminshan, a very famous national park in Taipei. My grandparents’ farm is located by a major highway yet most of the farm itself is surrounded by dense woods. When I was three year old, my grandma had tenant named Chen.

Chen was a college student majoring in sculpture at the Chinese Culture University. One day he was wandering in the surrounding woods when he came across a small, abandoned shrine with many fist-size rocks stacked on its roof.

In our culture, a typical shrine usually has a carved description of what’s being worshipped inside the shrine nearby.

Yet this shrine looked sketchy and it had no description at all. He randomly took one of the rocks from the rooftop then went home to sculpt it for his assignment. Two semesters later, Chen traveled to England to study aboard yet he somehow had really bad luck in daily life. One day, a soldier came into Chen’s grandfather’s dream.

The soldier somehow spoke Japanese. The soldier told Chen’s grandfather that someone in his family had stolen from him and the entire “platoon” was very angry.

Chen’s grandfather woke up in the morning and immediately contacted Chen and told him to come back to Taiwan right away. When Chen fist learned about his grandfather’s dream, he finally realized why he had such bad luck for months. He revisited the shrine with many offerings.

He apologized for his rude behavior in prayer and asked if they wanted to be compensated.

Chen soon asked if the spirit would send out a volunteer and follow him to a psychic to negotiate for the compensation. Chen later told us that he did feel being followed on his way to the psychic.

Also, when he passed a farmer’s market on, the livestock in the market suddenly went silent for no reason. He later spent some money fixing up the shrine and offered many offerings again. Soon everything went back to normal.

My family is still in touch with Chen. He is now a professor in a college in Yilan County.

I still visit my grandparents every year but they wouldn’t tell me where the shrine is every time I bring up the topic. I somehow still want to find the shrine myself, but my parents always tell me not to.

I recently learn that there were many battles took place in that area when the Japanese army first entered Taipei in 1895. It really gives a better explanation of the origin of those fallen soldiers and why the soldiers had spoken Japanese, and visit Chen’s grandfather instead of Chen himself.