The Whistling Jack

The Whistling Jack

This is a true story. I have never to this to anyone before now, for reasons that will be obvious after you read it. This story takes place over several time periods. I am 53 years old.

I grew up in a small community on the southern end of Walden’s Ridge in eastern Tennessee.

Walden’s Ridge is a wide flat plateau the spans most of Tennessee from south to north on the east side of the Sequatchie Valley. Growing up, I lived in a small community there, only a little over 200 people. We just called it the mountain. This community was surrounded on all sides by forest, bordering the Prentice Cooper Game Reserve.

As a kid, we would ride our bikes all over the trails and old dirt roads on that mountain. Hiking, hunting, and just exploring the woods were among the most popular of our hobbies. In 1976, at the age of 12, I had an old mini-bike, this took me even further into the woods.

There was this one old dirt track we discovered that begins my story. It was an old road. The 2 parallel ruts forming it could only have been formed by wagon wheels and deepened by the old Model T or it’s contemporary rivals. I rode through this old road one afternoon and as I exited the other end back into inhabited area, an old lady called to me from her front porch.

I knew this old lady’s name, but I will use no real names here, for the sake of anonymity.

This lady asked me, “Did you come all the way through that holler?”. “Yes, ma’am”, I replied. “Boy, You don’t ever go through there, ever. There is a reason they blocked that road.” Now she had me curious. I had to ask. “Why, ma’am?” “Set down, boy. I’m going to tell you a story. Whether you believe it or not ain’t my business, but if you ask around, other people can tell you”, she said.

This was the first time I heard about the whistling jack.

I always thought the name sounded silly, but you have to understand these were the same kind of people that called a species of quail a bobwhite because of it’s unique call or called a yellow perch a sunfish because of it’s bright yellow belly, just normal, no nonsense, country people It all makes a kind of sense when you learn about these things.

Her story—The old lady I was talking to had lived in that community all her life. Her family had lived there for generations, since shortly after Boone and Crockett had settled Tennessee. Her story took place in the early 1900s, before WWI.

In those days, people here still rode horses and carried guns. It was still a wild area.

This was long before the T.V.A. had brought electricity to these hills. There were 2 families. For the sake of the story, we will call them the Smiths and the Browns. Of course, these are not their true names.

The Smith family and the Brown family had small farms on opposite sides of the hollow. On Saturday a couple of times a month, the boys of the 2 families would get together at one farm or the other to play cards, drink some moonshine, home brew, home-made wine, and generally have some fun.

One fateful Saturday, The socializing went on to well past midnight. This was not something that ever happened, as they were normally the type to go to bed early and rise at dawn. Well it was around 1 a.m. when the Brown boys climbed on their horses and started down into the hollow on their way home. The trail they followed to the bottom of the hollow crossed the small creek at the bottom at a sand bar overlooked by a large boulder.

As they started to cross the creek this particular night, they heard a bird call from the top of the boulder. The seemingly innocent sound panicked the horses. All but one bolted across the creek and up the trail as fast as they could gallop.

All but one, the youngest brother was thrown from his horse as it reared and threw him in panic.

The one thing that may have saved his life was the fact that his lantern fell in the sand, it did not break or go out. Up the trail as his brothers got their mounts under control, they heard 6 rapid shots from a .45. They forced their horses back down to the creek.

When they arrived to the grisly scene before them. They saw their kid brother on his knees in the sand by the lantern, trying to load his gun, dropping some of the bullets because of the shaking of his hands. A few feet from him was his dead horse bleeding from it’s throat. “I shot it,” he said, “You know I never miss this close!”

It took them a while to get the story out of him. When he had been thrown from his horse, he looked up in time to see 2 red eyes on the top of the boulder. It whistled again as it jumped for his horse. It all happened so fast he barely had time to unload his revolver into it in a quick succession of shots before it was on his horse taking it to the ground.

It was big, it ran stooped over on 2 legs. It was dark shaggy and stank. The quick shots of the pistol were not enough to save the horse, but he knew he had hit it as it gave a hissing growl and ran off into the woods. They had heard enough.

Scared and wary, they loaded him onto one of the boys’ horse and rode home as fast as they could.

The next morning, just after dawn, all the boys and their father took their guns and went back down the trail to the creek with the intention of hunting this thing down, killing it and recovering the youngest son’s saddle and gear.

They were all experienced hunters and trackers. Despite this, when they got to the creek crossing, the horse was gone. All the gear, saddle, bridle, rifle pouch, everything that had been on the horse was gone as well. The sand had been brushed clean of tracks, like it had been swept with a pine branch. Even the blood was partially covered.

No tracks could be found and no trace of the horse or it’s gear except the blood mixed in the sand.

As she finished the story I was polite enough not to say I did not believe her, but she must have seen the skepticism on my face. She said, “Yeah, I never believed that story either till about 30 years ago” I looked at her questioningly and she continued. “I used to walk down the side of the holler to gather kindling for my stove. There was always so much kindling there. Nobody else would go down there, so nobody picked it up.

As time went on I had cleared all the fallen limbs from near here and would have to go deeper down in the hollow to get kindling.

One morning, I found a hug pile of limbs just below the rocks close to the bottom a little ways from the creek. I set my basket down and started breaking up sticks from the pile and filling my basket when I heard some kind of rustle under the pile.

I thought it was a rabbit or a fox under there. I took my ax and pulled the brush up a little so I could see under it.

There was a big hole under there and I saw two big red eyes looking up at me!” “I dropped the ax and left it and the basket and ran.

I ain’t stepped foot in that holler since then. My ax and basket are likely still there if that thing didn’t get ’em.””I am beggin’ you, don’t go down there no more, boy.”
Something about the way she gripped my arm when she said this, the look on her face made me believe her. I told her I would not go back down there.

I meant it. I rode the long way around the highway to get home.

13 years later, I was 25, after 4 years in the military and a brief, failed marriage. I was back on the mountain for a while. Depression soon had me roaming the woods again. When I wasn’t working, the woods brought me peace. There was one spot in particular. I had known since I was a kid.

Just a couple of hundred yards from the top of a line of sandstone cliffs along the bluff on the western side of the mountain, there was an old growth pine grove.

I don’t know if you have ever been in an old growth pine grove in the forest. The massive pine trees seem to radiate a peaceful, quiet feeling. The thick canopy they provide inhibits undergrowth.

So instead of crunchy dead leaves you will have a carpet of fallen pine needles that cushion and silence your steps. It is common to find lush beds of moss in these places too.

This place was several miles from that hollow I told about before, on the other side of the plateau. Foolishly, I had spent the afternoon, evening and well into the night hiking along the bottom of the cliffs. I had a small backpack, a little food, a couple of drinks, among other things and a couple of flashlights, in case I found a cave I wanted to look into. I also carried my old Winchester model ’97 12 gauge.

A good solid shotgun. It would hold 5 rounds in the magazine and 1 more in the chamber if you were that careless. I usually only kept the 5 in the mag loaded, myself. An impressive shotgun by any standard.

I should have known better than to be out there after dark. There were a lot of factors involved that got me there at that moment. Sometime around midnight, I had been sitting in a nice spot where I could see the lights from the valley miles away, having a few sips of bourbon.

Thinking about things, just enjoying the peace and quiet.

As I packed up my stuff to go home, I heard a bobwhite call a couple of hundred yards below me along the heavily wooded slope. It seemed perfectly normal for about 2 or 3 seconds then I froze in mid-movement. If it had been a whippoorwill, or any of the normal night birds, It would not have even fazed me.

But I knew that a bobwhite was a quail. Quail are not nocturnal birds. As if this was not puzzling enough, I heard another bobwhite answer from along the slope to the north at about my elevation. Then the first one called back from below me. It had moved closer….

I have never been one to scare easily, but this was too strange. I stuffed my last things in my back pack slung it across my shoulders and grabbed my gun and started up towards the cliffs.

There was a nice moon so I did not use a flashlight. I did not want a light to give away my position, but as I eased through the brush, trying to be as quiet as possible, I got some electrical tape out of one of my backpack pockets and began taping one of my flashlights to the tubular magazine under the barrel of my shotgun.

The calls of the strange bobwhites were still sounding from time to time. Always answering each other, always getting closer, no matter how quickly and quietly I moved.

Now, I was starting to get scared. I, who had always known my way around in the woods, always knew what the denizens of my woods would do, how they would react. I was out of my experience pool here.

This moment is when that story came back to me. That story that that strange old lady had told me 13 years ago. I began to believe I knew what was tracking me. And yes, I was being tracked. I could feel it.

With this realization, came a plan. I would not be hunted so easily. I knew where I was. Directly atop the cliffs above me is where the pine grove grew just about 500 ft from the cliff.

At the bottom of this cliff at this point there would be a deep crevice.

A crack formed over thousands of years of rain and ice forming in the massive layers of sandstone slowly spreading it. It formed an inverted v in the bottom of the cliff going back about 30 ft, along the left hand side as you entered it, the layered stone being pulled apart over time had made a ledge that rose from the rear of the crevice to an opening at the top just big enough for someone my size to squeeze through.

Once through. You would be on a ledge 30 ft or so up the cliff face. The overhanging layer of rock left just enough room to crawl along the ledge on your belly for about 40 to 50 feet then it opened up into a rock slide that you could climb to the top. This entire cliff was between 80 to 100 feet from bottom to top at this spot. I got there as quickly and quietly as I could manage,

This took maybe only 1 or 2 minutes, but under the circumstances, it seemed like time stretched on forever. By this time the “bobwhites’” were really close. I could hear their steps trying to mirror mine. Once in a while, I would stop and I would hear them take a step or 2 before they stopped too.

Then I was in the crevice.

I was soon on the ledge at the top of the crevice, I had to push my backpack and gun in front of me to get through the tight space. I was not taking time for stealth now, I was crawling and dragging, pushing my things to get to the rock slide.

Almost free……..

As I got to the slide and began to climb, I re-slung my backpack and strapped my gun over my shoulder and went up on all fours. I could hear something shuffling around at the bottom of the cliff outside the crevice.

I did not know why they did not go in. but I did not ponder it. I climbed. At the top I ran to the grove. All the way to the middle of it. I leaned against one of the massive old pines at the middle of the grove and dropped my back pack, sat my gun down and took a bottle from my bag. I needed a drink.

Not a soft drink either. I took a swig of bourbon as I realized my hands were shaking and I was dribbling it everywhere.

Then I heard the footsteps…and a bobwhite. I have no idea to this day how they got to the top of the cliff that fast. The cliff stretched for over a half mile south and about a mile and a half to the north. It was a shear cliff face in both directions.

That tight crawl through the crevice was the only way up here. But there they came
I could now hear their steps clearly. Long steps. Longer than a man’s gait. They were coming. I dropped the bottle and grabbed my gun, switching on the light as I raised it.

I pumped a round into the chamber, and took another from my pocket and slid into the magazine to replace it.

They came closer and close, then they stopped at the edge of the grove, just deep enough in the brush to hide from my light. They were quiet, but I kept my light trained on the spot where I had heard the last sound…Why did they stop? They had run me down. Why did they not come?

I could see the light beam shaking slightly. Fear had filled my blood with adrenaline. My heart was thundering in my ears, then they moved.

I could hear the long steps. Moving, one going each way. They were circling me. Panicked, I swung my gun barrel with the light taped to it back and forth from one to the other waiting for a shot.

I had the shotgun loaded with 00 buckshot, but I did not think it would stop them. It was just all I had. They circled around all the way to the other side of the grove, away from the cliff and met up again. It was as if they were looking for a place where they could come at me unseen. My gun was pointing at the spot where I thought they were. I had had enough. I fired. Pumped the gun and fired again.

Then I heard a scream. Excuse me, but I almost pissed myself just then. I do not know if I can describe this to you adequately, It was not a scream of pain so much as an angry, hateful sound. It was a scream like a chimp makes on TV, except deeper and throatier.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Then I heard them crashing through the brush, away from me across the plateau deeper into the woods. They just left. After some length of time, I have no idea how long. It had been silent for a while. I could sense that they were gone. It occurred to me to check my watch. I did not do this at first because it would mean lowering my gun.

But eventually I had to know how long it would be till dawn.

When I looked at my watch it was 3 :18 a.m. Roughly 2 and a half hours till daylight. I stayed there, and waited. As soon as it was light enough that I could see well enough to not be ambushed I left there and ran home. I never went back to that place in the woods. In 28 years I have not set foot in the woods there.

I hike in the woods, camp and fish, but I have not hunted since then and I have never went in the woods in that place.

As a matter of fact about 2 months after that night, I moved way down in Alabama to a small industrial town and took a job. I stayed there for about 25 years till early 2015. In late 2014 a relative passed away and left us a place in the Sequatchie Valley near the mountain where I grew up. I can see the cliffs, just a few miles from my front porch. I would never go there.

I do not think that is quite the end of this story. The house I live in sits on the edge of a 32 acre wooded property in the middle of a small community at the foot of that mountain. It seems a lot of animals use this 32 acres as a way stop between the mountain forest and the woods along the Sequatchie river that runs down the middle of the valley. When we moved in, my daughter was already living here. She had a big old dog, named Buddy.

Buddy was a big tough dog. He had been known to take on a coyote more than once here to protect his turf. A week or so after I moved in I had become one of Buddy’s friends. He no longer barked or growled at me when I came home. He had gotten to know me.

Here is where it gets strange, sometimes at night he would get really excited, barking and howling enough to get me outside with my rifle. After the first time, I mounted a bright led light on my rifle.

I never saw anything except Buddy when I would go out there. He would bark looking at the woods, every so often glancing over his shoulder at me like checking that I was still there then back at the woods barking. I never saw anything and end up bringing him in and letting him sleep on the rug so I could get some sleep.

This went on for 3 weeks till one night when he started his warning barking routine, I went out and heard it.

My light would not penetrate far enough into the thick brush to see it, but I heard it! Long heavy steps going back into the woods away from us. I swear my blood ran cold.

I have not heard those footsteps again since that night. Buddy still had restless nights from time to time for the next couple of years, but I never again heard the footsteps in the brush.

Sadly, Buddy passed away this fall. It was nothing unnatural, he just succumbed to old age. We have a new dog for 2 weeks at the time I am writing this. His name is Teddy.

He is not as massive as Buddy was, although he is extremely smart for a dog and obeys well.

The odd thing is since he is new, I let him stay inside at night and do not let him out of the small fenced in back yard during the day unless one of us is with him. Sometimes at night he will growl and bark looking at the window or the door. When ever I get my rifle and get out there, there is nothing there. It kind of bothers. But maybe I am just worrying over nothing.

That is all I can tell you about this at this time. When Ted has gotten a little more acclimated to his new home, He and I are going to take my rifle and search these woods. It is only 32 acres. This is our place.

We will not be stalked or intimidated on our own ground. Rest assured though, I WILL NOT go up to those cliffs. I will let you know how this works out for us…I hope. In all honesty, at this point, I can not claim to have actually seen anything. I know what I heard and what I have experienced, But I have not SEEN anything.

Pass this along please and thanks for listening,


My True Lake District Story

Before I start talking about the event that happened, there might be many sceptics that do not believe me and I do not care, this is a warning and a story. Another disclaimer before I begin is that I am not very good at storytelling but I’ll try my best here. And the other thing is that I am a Muslim in the UK, this means that I believe in another creation by Allah (God), so this is my thought on what happened to me:

My wife and I were going to Lake District with 8 other friends. This was not the first time that I have gone and it is the last time that I will ever go to Lake District- for those of you who do not know what Lake District is, it is a beautiful area in Scotland that is all mountains, caves and lake. My group consisting of my wife and I and my 8 companions have successfully arrived at Lake District with no difficulty.

As we all settled we were fine and two of my friends (I will be calling them Raj and Ahmad for privacy reasons, and these two people have a huge part in what happen) and I went to the kitchen, as we were the designated cooks for the trip. In the kitchen, everything was fine and neat except there was one of those stereotypical knives that butchers are shown with left on the counter top. We did not say much as we just thought someone went to the kitchen before us and misplaced the knife, so we left the knife as we saw it. After an hour of settling in, we decided to go out on a 2-hour hike.

As we left the villa we saw a herd of white goats, which was not abnormal to see, however in the herd of white goats we saw one black goat. This black goat we had never seen before in all the times we have been to Lake District before- so this was the thing we found as out of the ordinary.

However knowing our group we were all chilled and we all had faith in Allah to protect us and we just ignored it. We came back from our hike just before a sunset prayer Muslims need to perform. And on our way back, just over a hundred yards or so, we all see the black goat roaming free again but this time it was by itself and we were sure it was the same goat as before as in this area there are only a handful of goats.

To understand the next part you need to know that everyone in our group is all-religious, from the wives to the husband. After praying our prayers that we all prayed together, some of the group decided to read the Quran, and one of the people were Ahmad, while the rest of the group were just sitting and relaxing peacefully on our phones. Following dinner, we decided to play pool, as there was a pool board that we saw earlier in the lounge room, which no one entered ever since we settled in.

The main problems that started worrying us as a group was from this moment onwards. The pool table came with a full set of balls, 1 to 8, but when we went to play pool we did not see a single ball for playing. Everyone believed that Raj was playing a prank on everyone as he was the joker of our group, so we all accused him of hiding it and after a couple minutes went by and Raj continually denied the claims, we started to believe him and we searched the whole room. The table of the pool board was made so that pieces can be pulled apart and broken down with a screwdriver, so I decided to check the table and we eventually found the ball inside the table somehow. This is what we found most weird about our trip at the time.

Later on, at around 1 am we decided to call it a night and go to sleep, the villa only had two bedrooms so we split the rooms to be four in one room and 6 in the other room. The room that I stayed in was with my wife and both Raj and his wife and Ahmad and his wife. Ahmad is usually a fast and heavy sleeper, as soon as he gets tired he falls asleep. But that night was different as Ahmad could not fall asleep and he kept everyone awake that night. Everyone thought this was strange as he would never do that and for this reason, we didn’t say anything to him in case he got offended.

The next day was our last, so we only stayed there for two days. On the last day, everyone was tired due to Ahmad the night before so we did not do anything and we just packed and chilled in the main room till around 6 pm.

The trip from where we come from in London from Lake District is about five hours long and we had two drivers, who did not get any sleep due to Ahmad so it was a risky journey this way anyway.

On the way out from leaving from the villa, the group for the last time saw the black goat, which just looked directly at us this time. We again thought nothing of it and just left in our cars. I was in a car with my wife, Ahmad and his wife and Raj, who were the driver.

The rest of the group were in the other car. The last odd occurrence we had been on the journey back, where Ahmad started to act all weird and it seemed as if he was having a seizure. On the journey to Lake District, this had never happened it was only on the way back. Ahmad after having a couple of fits commanded Raj to stop the car on the side of the motorway about half way from Lake District to home, this would have been around Liverpool.

The other car following us also came to a halt to see what the matter was and everyone was spooked out (to say the least) about Ahmad’s behaviour throughout the trip since he is usually quite and not as active as the rest of us. Once we got back everyone went back to his or her own homes, while Ahmad went to his mother’s house and his wife went to her mother’s house.

This was as we agreed that Ahmad had obtained Jinn that followed him and this possessed him. I know this seems far-fetched but in Islam, this is totally possible. While dropping Ahmad off we were all worried and anxious that his parent would shout at us as they are extremely religious and they already dislike the idea of him going to stay at places like Lake District.

A couple of days later, we all met up again we decided to go see Ahmad as we have not seen him for quite some time now and he had not talked to us since the trip. Once we went to his house we saw that he was completely fine, and we didn’t how to approach him to ask what happened to him, so I unhesitatingly asked upfront how he was now and what happened to him before hand in Lake District.

He explained to us that his mother knew exactly what has happened and took him to a Ruqya (a Jinn capturer), and this Ruqya found that a strong Jinn had attached to him and the Ruqya eventually managed to convert the Jinn to Islam (this is part of Jinn capturing). Ahmad then told us that he was acting all weird at Lake District, as the Jinn had come to him from the black goat. And without agreeing with what the Jinn were telling him to do, the jinn caused pain within his body, which were the reasons for his seizures.

He also told us that the Jinn and the Jinn told him to kill everyone with it while they were sleeping, so this was why he kept everyone awake during the night at Lake District put out the knife that we first saw in the kitchen.

Not only that but the jinn told Ahmad to cause a car accident to kill our group, but Ahmad was resisting the will of the Jinn and the jinn caused, even more, pain in Ahmad’s body which was the cause of Ahmad fitting in the car. Ahmad told us that the time when the jinn contacted him and told him to do this was always when we saw the black goat. As a group conclusion, we all decided to never visit Lake District ever again. I write this for real encounters with the paranormal and also to inform travellers and seasonal holiday visitors to never go to Lake District. When I booked the villa online I never actually noticed or considered who I was renting it from, and the owner never shows himself, and those wondering where I got the keys from, was from under the flower pots as I always do, this is the usual method of renting in Lake District.

As a Muslim I believe in the only rational belief to me, and that is that a jinn has done and caused all of this. I am sure I am talking for the whole of my group when I say we are glad to have gotten out from there alive and well and that Ahmad is all fine. Please take this warning seriously and do not dismiss this warning if you ever do end up going to Lake District.

P.S the uploaded photo is the house/cottage that I stayed in

Sunday brunch

Well it happened one day with my then husband and I heading to the inlaws for brunch. The day was a beautiful, (and we would rather have been fishing). Anyway my husband’s sister and her husband were there also along with their new baby girl.

We women where in kitchen getting food and coffee prepared as we chose to eat in the kitchenette. A comfy room with lots of sunlight and warm memories.

Soon it was time to eat, so we all chose our seats and began filling our plates, laughing, joking, talking about the newest addition to the family.

It already had been decided that after dishes were washed, there was going to be a mean game of poker!

We were all enjoying eating and being together when something caught my eye.

From where I was sitting I could see thru the foyer to the hallway leading to the only bedroom. I saw a black haired man, straight shiny black hair wearing a brown plaid light weight jacket with light blue jeans.

He was walking down the hallway towards the bedroom and I looked at my father in law and said, “that’s just plan rude, Tony (a family friend) coming in the back door and not even calling to let you know he was coming over and what’s he doing going into the bedroom?”

My father in law got up out of his chair, walked thru the foyer, down the hallway and all of us were expecting to hear a rash of shit echoing from the hallway.

Nothing, Silence. My brother-in-law got up and hurried to the hallway to find out what was going on. A few minutes went by and the 2 came back to the table. My father-in-law asked me just what I saw and I told him “a black haired man about 5 ft 6 inches tall wearing a plaid jacket with blue jeans.”

After a long pause he told us there was nobody in the hallway or bedroom or closet. Just as he got those words out of his mouth I see that man again in the hallway heading towards the back door.

I shouted “there he is again going out the back door”. My father-in-law turned back around and ran towards the back door. No one was there and the security lock was in place.

I looked at my mother-in-law and she was white as a ghost with eyes open wide as possible.

She didn’t speak a word but she waked out the front door with her purse and coat in hand.

She never set foot in that house again. They sold the house 2 months later and moved into an apartment complex and the experience was never spoken about again.

Vale end encounter

I live in central New Hampshire.  About ten years ago I met my, now husband. When we were first dating, we went fishing a lot.

One evening he said “hey, let’s go fishing for horn-pout, I know just the spot.” Horn-pout are a night dwelling fish similar to catfish.

I said yes and we quickly gathered out gear and headed out. We drove for about 40 mins south to a small town in southern New Hampshire called Wilton.

My husband directed me onto a one lane dirt road. It was very dark on the road. There were no street lights and no houses around.

We finally made it to the body of water he wanted to fish at, so we disembarked from my truck and headed on the path that goes around the lake fishing gear in tow.

After perhaps five minutes of walking in absolute darkness we made it to a clear spot and started baiting our lures and fidgeting with the glow in the dark bobbers.

Suddenly there was a large sounding crash in the woods around us. It sounded like a large branch breaking, or a very large wild animal was carelessly thrashing about.

We both jumped up and started shining our flashlights in that direction.

We heard another fainter cracking sound come from a different direction.  The woods were silent. No crickets. No other night creatures rustling around. Just the cracking and crashing sounds

We wispered to each other trying to figure out what was making that sound as we frantically shown our light around.

We were hoping to see eyes reflecting back at us but we saw nothing. We wondered if it were an injured moose or bear. We listened for footfalls, whimpers and yips from coyotes but we heard nothing.

Another loud cracking sound came from our left.  Followed by a fainter one to the right.  There was no wind. No grunting of large animals.

We listened in the painful silence and came to the conclusion that whatever was out there was not an animal because there were no other sounds to denote footfalls or breathing.

The crashing sound was coming from all over at different intervals and at different distances.

We both shown our lights in the direction of the last crash from the left, as we looked and listened another even louder, closer cracking came from the direction our lights were pointed.

We got out of there. My husband is experienced in the woods and has never seen or heard anything like that.

Fast foreward a few years and I finally graduated into the age of technology and got my first internet capable phone.

I was researching some local ghost legends and came across The Blue Lady of Wilton whose headstone rests in The Vale End Cemetery.

In one paranormal investigation I read, the investigators found a body of water behind the cemetery beyond a small stretch of woods where they found more activity than the cemetery itself.

I told this to my husband and showed him the picture of the apparition over the head stone.

he said “yeah, that’s the reservoir where we went fishing that one night.”

As soon as the words left his lips the memory of that night came flooding back and we both got chills.

A few months ago, I told this story to an online community, and someone pointed out that it could have been a puckwudgie encounter.

I don’t know what we encountered that night. Whatever it was, really spooked the both of us.

I do believe in the paranormal. I did not know how close to the cemetery we were that night.



Disappearing Santa

I wasn’t going to send this story in but I figured the world needs to know what has happened and is still happening to me.

First, a little back story on myself. You see I am sensitive to the paranormal, mostly spirits but I have seen creatures I can’t explain too. I am not the only one in my family like this, all of my mothers side are like this but I also have visions. I can dream about something then maybe a week, a month, six months, it happens just like I dreamt it. Our great great grandmother was full blooded Cherokee Indian and they say that’s why we are the way we are. My uncle can start speaking Cherokee and the lights start going on and off. I have seen, heard, dreamed and felt all kinds of weird things.

This story happened when I was eight years old, it was the night before Christmas and I wanted to spend the night with my cousin, let’s call her Beth. We lived next door to each other, so my parents said it was ok as long as when I woke up I came straight home to open presents and have Christmas breakfast with my parents and brother. I agreed and got my sleeping bag and went to my cousins house.

Now I must tell you my cousins house was rumored to be hunted but us being children we didn’t believe it. That day nothing really happened. We played and watched tv until about 9pm and my Aunt told us it was bedtime.

Beth climbed into her bed and I laid down in my sleeping bag. We talked a while about what we thought we would get for Christmas and I must have fall asleep talking because the next thing I know Beth was shaking me awake. Startled, I jerked awake and asked What’s going on. Beth had this deer in the headlights look and she was pale. She pointed to the living room and said I just saw someone, a man. He looked around the door at me and when he seen I was awake he disappeared.

Now I was scared but logic kicked in. I told her she must have been dreaming. Then we heard what sound like someone washing dishes. We heard the clink, clink, clink of the dishes. We looked at one another. I got up and tip toes to the door of her room and looked out. Nothing.

I waved her to come with me and we slipped out of her room and tip toed to the living room where we had a good view of the kitchen. I still can’t believe what we saw that night.

We saw a tall man in a Santa outfit standing in her kitchen and a lady getting plates and cups out of the dish drainer and placing them on their table. We were absolutely shocked and then the tall man looked our way. Half of his face was gone, just hanging there and blood covered the Santa outfit. The woman stopped what she was doing and we could see her throat was cut open. Beth let out this scream and I couldn’t do anything I was frozen.

When Beth screamed the woman dropped the plates and both her and the man disappeared, just into thin air disappeared. Beth’s parents came running and asked What was going on. I couldn’t speak but Beth was crying and screaming telling them about the man and woman. Finally I found my voice when I realized I was safe again. When Beth settled down we both told her parents what we had saw and amazingly they believed us. My Aunt went to clean up the broken plates while our Uncle took us back to Beth’s room. He told us to try to get some sleep and they would talk to us in the morning but sleep didn’t come for either of us.

The next morning my Uncle told us that we had seen some ghost and that their house was indeed haunted but none of them would hurt us. I never believed that.

I went home and told my parents what had happened and needless to say I never went back to Beth’s house for sleepovers, she came to my house after that.

When I turned 16 my grandmother told me the story of that house. In the late 1940s there was a man that loved to play Santa to the kids of the neighborhood during the Christmas Season. He had came home one evening and caught his wife with her lover. The man killed his wife and her lover then took his pistol and ended his life. My grandmother showed me the newspaper clippings and there was a picture of the man in the Santa outfit. It was the exact same man I saw that night.