I slept with a ghost

This story takes place back in 2007 in my family’s farm house in Minas Gerais, southern east Brazil. Many weird things happened to members of my family in this house since it was build by gradmas’s father. It’s weird because this farm was build in the middle of nowhere back then and no family ever lived there before ours. I’ve heard many weird stories about this farm but nothig really happened to e into this day.

I was 15 years old when I went to the farm to visit my gradma’s brother who lives there, I was with my cousin that I will call Ellie and her father. We walked aroung the property taking pictures and posing around like any 2000’s teenagers would do. I was facing Ellie with my back turned to the house when she turned pale. I asked what happened and she said she has just seen a little boy wearing a suit standing in the balcony looking at us. The boy was aroung eight years old, had black hair and was very pale, but nothing else happened during this trip.

A few months later we had both forgot about the incident and we got back to the farm to our uncle’s and aunt’s 25 year anniversary celebration. Our intire family would spent the night at the house and them we all would go back home after lunch the next day. Even if the house is big there wasn’t enough space to all of us, so my cousin Ellie and I slept together in a air mattress on the flor in the reception room along with her brother in the couch and her father in another mattress in the same room. This room had a door that opens straight to the balcony where we first saw that little boy months before.

I woke up during the night feeling a cold I never felt before, it wasn’t just natural cold and it was also very odd since it was summer. If you ever feel this cold before you will know what I’m talking about. This could comes from inside. I quickly roled in my blanket but it wasn’t enough. I realized Ellie was also awake and she was shaking. We didn’t think anything of it and we finally fall asleep just to be woken very warm by our seven months old cousin crying in the bedroom next to us. After he stop crying we would fall sleep again and wake up feeling that strong cold. That happened aroung four or five times during the night.

The next day I sleep into lunch time when my mom woke me up to eat. I told her I didn’t sleep well because of how could it was that night. She looked at me worried and said that she couldn’t sleep because of how hot it was that night. She slept with the window opened and the fan turned on and still had trouble sleeping. I asked my cousin and my oncle who sleep in the same room as I did and they said the same. My cousin even said he woke up in the middle of the night and had to remove his t-shirt.

When I was about to come home I told this story my gradma’s bother who lives in the farm and he said one day he woke up feeling a intense and strong cold to find a little pale boy sleeping next to him in his bed.

Hunted

Before I start, all of this is real. Everything in this story happened. I wish it wasn’t real. I wish I was making it up. And by the end of it, you will be wishing it was all a tall tale as well. But it isn’t. So sit down, buckle up, and hold on to your spare underwear because the scariest thing about this story is that it is 100% true. Nothing is exaggerated, and everything is told exactly how I remember it.

Now that the experience is finally over, I feel I can finally tell my entire story. I am not entirely human, and as such I am very sensitive to the spiritual realms. I always felt that I was something else because I never really fit in anywhere, able to see and sense things other people couldn’t see or didn’t believe were real. I later found out that I was a being known as a Deamon, which will become important later on.

Either way, I could see and interact with numerous spirits, including a mysterious large grey cat spirit who showed up from time to time. The cat will become important later on in this story.

Now, for a bit of background.

I have been plagued with misfortune for as long as l can remember. I was born to a teenage mother who never wanted me but was guilted into keeping me by her family and her religion. She married my father, but later betrayed and divorced him. She hated him and felt I was the mistake that ruined her life. As a result, she abused me throughout most of my younger life. Much of the story regarding my childhood is horrifying in its own right, even without the paranormal aspect. I was subjected to terrible abuse, both mental and physical. It all ties in with the main narrative, and is only one part of the misfortune that filled my life and everyone connected to me until recently.

Happiness was an elusive thing, dangled in front of me and taken away every time I felt like it might have been in reach. Many times throughout my life, I thought I was cursed. But every time I tried to clear the curse, I never could. It would always come back. Oftentimes with a vengeance. Churches and pastors tried to say possession, and I had several times where they tried to cast out demons, with no result. Failing that, I spoke with numerous psychics, but they were stumped. Nothing they suggested worked, and while they would often say there was nothing there, I would see nervousness and fear in their eyes. Nobody could stop the ‘curse’ and most people believed I was just overreacting to normal stuff that happens to everyone. I even started to believe that for a time, even if a part of me somehow always knew otherwise. No normal person went through everything that I did. With all of this said, I will now dive into the actual story.

The earliest incident I can remember was severe night terrors that happened when I was a child. It happened almost every night. I never slept well, and was always exhausted. When I was around eight years old, they got way worse. Shadowy things would approach me, creeping closer and closer. Moving like predatory beasts on the prowl.

These were not your usual shadow people. They were vaguely humanoid, but more like they were trying to mimic a humanoid form and failing miserably. They always looked wrong and unnatural, like vaguely human shaped eldritch horrors that could never just be imagined up in the mind of an innocent child. Twisted long limbed things surrounded by tendrils of blackness with wide mouths and burning pits for eyes. I’d often wake up bruised and shaking, crying, and unable to figure out what was going on.

The most eventful night was when one of the things, more distinct and horrifying than the rest, lunged at me. Its long, sickle-like claw fingers were reaching right for my chest. Everything was vibrating around me, my head was filled with a sickening heavy thrumming that was felt more than heard. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t move. Just when I thought it was surely over and that I was going to die, a horrendous caterwauling feline scream filled the air around me as the mysterious grey cat spirit I had been seeing launched herself into the thing with her teeth bared and her claws out. The sound she uttered was like nothing I had ever heard, or have ever heard since. I have heard cats fighting but that could never compare to the shrieks coming from the grey spirit.

I will tell you now, this grey cat was never really a real cat. I knew nobody else could see her, and I always felt comfortable around her despite her massive size and odd looks. She was kind to me. She came and went as she pleased, and when she appeared the bad dreams would go away for a brief time. She gave me hope and respite.

She always appeared around the size of a cheetah but with the face of a domestic cat with a wide nose and rather angular features. Her eyes were golden yellow with slit pupils, and glowed in the darkness. She was long and lean, one tattered up ear and the area around her right eye scarred up as well. She always had this mysterious ancient and powerful air, like the stray cat in a neighborhood that nobody could claim as their own. She was stormy grey in color with lighter underparts and subtle tabby markings around her shoulders, forehead, tail and hindquarters. Her flesh was a dull pinkish color and she had elongated canine teeth, almost like small sabers. Her most distinctive feature was her tail. It split halfway down, becoming two tails that moved independently of each other. The name that has always stuck in my mind when I saw her was “Greymalkin”.

As Greymalkin attacked, the thing hovering over me let out a shriek of its own and fought back. Greymalkin continued to shriek and caterwaul in a stunning display of the vocal ranges of a cat and all I could see was a blur of evil thing and grey cat fighting, splatters of black fluid flying everywhere, and a bit of her blood as well.

Eventually, everything went quiet and the thing faded away and vanished. I was still completely unable to move until I felt the cool touch of a damp nose against my forehead and the rumbling purr of a very large feline. I felt my breath return. I immediately began to sob uncontrollably. Greymalkin licked the tears away and continued to purr until I calmed down, then stayed beside me throughout the night, stretched around me with her head resting gently on my chest. She left around the sun’s first light, though my forehead tingled throughout the day where she had touched me.

That night, I discovered I could control my dreams. When the thing returned, I forced myself to move, and became something bigger and scarier and scared it away. Greymalkin showed up in my dreams many times after that. The night terrors stopped. Greymalkin had given me a gift; the ability to control my dreams and I could finally sleep in peace.

It was a small comfort in light of everything else, because around the time I was 9-10, my mother remarried, got pregnant, and had a miscarriage. It changed her and I saw her start to slowly go mad. She pulled me out of public school and decided to homeschool me. When she gave birth to my oldest little brother when I was 11, it went from bad to worse. She favored him, and everything he did was blamed on me. He was her miracle child and could do no wrong, I was the miserable mistake that ruined her life. I was beaten black and blue and abused on a daily basis for different reasons each time. Even forced to sleep on the floor with no blankets or pillows… or, even, outside with the dogs once or twice. Forced to sit for hours in an agonizing position called the “Thinking Position” for reasons only she understood. It was always my fault, always something I did wrong, always came back to the fact that I was the mistake that ruined her life and that her life would be perfect if I was gone. I was never allowed to go out, had no friends and no social interaction. Made to eat nothing but peanut butter sandwiches with no jelly for months at the time. I still can’t smell peanut butter without nearly throwing up.

When I was sent to spend time with my step dad’s mother, I was afraid to come back home and kept claiming that there were demons waiting for me, but only because that was the only thing I could think of at the time. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew something, or somethings, were watching me sleep.

Every time I became attached to a toy or item, my mother felt that it was “Taking the place of God” in my life and she’d take it away. Everything I loved was taken away, and I became complacent and just sorta let it happen. There was nothing I could do about it and I was slowly being broken into thinking I really was the problem. Even then, a part of me always remained strong. Some spark deep within that kept me from giving up. But that only angered my spiritual stalker even more.

Any time I found some light, some hope, it was ripped away from me. I could always see that eldritch horror on the side of my vision, off whooshing sounds and tendrils of darkness reaching from underneath anything dark to grab me,sense the heaviness nearby. I could faintly hear its deathly cackling sometimes, like the grating of a guttural unnatural voice gargling salt and gravel. Subtle… if I tried to focus on it, nothing. It only became clear if I wasn’t paying attention to it. I often heard voices speaking in similar tones and figures looming over me as I tried to drift off to sleep each night.

Unsurprisingly, my sleep remained terrible, even with my ability to control my dreams, I couldn’t control the thing that appeared in them. It wasn’t part of the dream, it was something else entirely. I knew that much. I could do things in my dreams to protect myself, but it was touch and go and meant my sleep was not very restful. I had to stay on my toes at all times. When I saw Greymalkin, I had more strength, and the thing would back off for a time, but she wasn’t constantly there. She never directly did anything for me aside from when she stopped the thing from ripping out my heart or whatever it wanted to do, and I believe she was trying to give me the strength or kept me on my toes whenever I started to grow weak.

When my mother had a second child, when I was around 13 or so, it got worse and worse until I completely lost my room and was sleeping on the living room floor for months or even years without a blanket or pillow. I lost track eventually. She felt that my “rebellion” was not ending and she took it to more extreme measures. I was sent to a camp to be brainwashed at 15 years old. That really is the only way to describe it. I won’t even begin to get into what they did to me in an effort to force me to follow religion, but it was stuff that I am fairly sure is illegal and I am not at all sure how they got away with it and I am amazed that I did not take my life during that time. Any time I considered it, Greymalkin would show up and I would feel just enough of a flicker of hope to keep going.

All the while, this eldritch horror thing continued to follow me. It continued to mock me, day in and day out, stalking around my hard miserable little cot at night, which was only minimally better than sleeping on the floor. At least I had a pillow and thin blanket.

I felt it stalking behind me whenever we went outside, causing the others at the reformation camp to think I was possessed. They tried to do exorcisms on me… which never worked. Nothing rid me of the thing, of the curse. They forced me to pray in an awkward and subservient position for several hours a day several times a day, but whenever I did, all I felt was an intense, pressing evil. Like clawed fingers digging into my temples. As the horrible feeling grew more intense, I felt as if I lost control of my body, the thrumming and vibrating and lack of movement from my dream. That terrible looming figure laughed wickedly in my mind as alien words rolled off my tongue. It left me quivering and shaking, and while the others rejoiced that I had made some sort of “spiritual breakthrough”, all I wanted to do was cry. They thought I was speaking in tongues, but I tasted blood and burning, as if the words were never meant to be spoken by the tongue of a human. Everything felt wrong, and while they were rejoicing that I had “made a spiritual breakthrough” and was “Speaking in tongues” all I could do was tremble and cry. They mistook it for joy. When I looked up, all I saw was those eldritch horrors standing all around me with their gaping mouths and burning eyes, sickle clawed fingers reaching for me. I passed out. After that, I never truly prayed again and faked it from then on.

Eventually, I think they caught on that something was off, and they kicked me out of the program feeling that I was “Unredeemable”.

I was sent back to my mother. I was both horrified (They had me brainwashed into firmly believing that I would go to hell unless I completed their program) and relieved, because I absolutely hated their program that stole my freedom and made me feel like less than a person. When I returned home, I was blamed for everything all over again. The abuse continued until my step dad had me sent away to my grandmother soon after I turned 16. He had no idea how bad it was, but knew I was miserable there. I also think he wanted to focus on his own children rather than his wife’s previous mistakes, even though he claimed that he didn’t think differently of me. Either way, he was not aware of the full scale of abuse and sending me away may have very well saved my life because I was just so close to ending it all once again, I was so broken and miserable.

I saw Greymalkin again, and I was happy because it meant that I would have some respite. When she showed up, things were less dismal for a time, after all.

I thought my life would finally improve. Once I reached my grandparents, the curse was forgotten. I was allowed to draw… I was allowed to be creative. My true self wasn’t being crushed and stifled, and I felt like I could actually breathe fresh air for once in my long, dismal existence.

I started to open up and learn. I met new friends, had new experiences. I learned to think for myself, and gained strength as a person. I met a friend who was like a sister to me. I also realized that religion wasn’t right for me, and followed my own path as a spiritual atheist. Life was good, I was discovering myself. I was coming into my own. But alas, it was never meant to be, and the respite never lasted. Now was no exception.

The next major night terror happened soon after I decided to follow my own path. Far, far worse than my first. I remember the dream in intense detail, and I couldn’t control it, which scared me even more. It started off mundane enough. I was in my bed at my grandparents, but in the dream I was sleeping over at my friends house. I remember hearing her speaking in hushed tones to her mother, who was speaking loudly. She was telling her to keep it down so I could sleep. I opened my eyes to see the back of a filing cabinet, nicked up with half peeled stickers on the back. It was tan. Annoyed at her mother’s loud speaking, I tried to move and shift to emphasize the fact that she was waking me up. That… was when it turned bad. The bed began to shake violently and the world dropped away around me as I was surrounded by pure blackness. Whispers, icey cold and intensely burning hot at the same time, claws and rattling chains the and cackling and gargling whispers of those things surrounding me. A threatening feeling overtook me. A voice. “You will never get away. You will see what happens when you try.” whispering in my ear. The worst of it was the pure blind terror like I had never felt in my life. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could hardly even think. I managed to break out of the dream, but I couldn’t open my eyes or move, and when they finally opened a slit the thing lunged towards my face, then vanished. As soon as I could move, I screamed.

I screamed until I swear my throat bled, and couldn’t sleep for weeks after that, sitting upright in bed in a quivering mess. I couldn’t turn off any lights, and barely ate. I knew it was more than a dream.

I didn’t tell anybody about it, feeling they’d think I was crazy, but I was truly and horribly shaken. Eventually, though, I calmed down though I slept with a light on for months. I slowly returned to normal, spending time with my friends, one of which was like a sister to me. We hung out all the time, talked every day and I even went to her house several times.

All good things come to an end for me, however, and one day, out of nowhere, my friend just snapped. There was no reason, no lead up. It just went from being close friends to absolutely hating my guts. She turned on me, turned my other friends against me and left me alone and miserable. I sank into another deep depression, refused to eat until I was thin and weak. The friend she turned against me realized what happened and came to apologize. She got worried that I had stopped contacting anybody and even refused to come to school. She came by and forced me to eat and helped me recover slowly.

The other friend’s insanity was sudden. Around this time, I started to notice a pattern. Triple threes would show up. It was a curiosity at first, but that soon turned to dread when I realized that number always showed up before things went bad.

Soon after that, I turned 18. My grandma never treated me well because I think she believed my mother that I was “Rebellious” or something, which was odd because I was always a quite and well behaved person, even as a teenager. I never went out and did anything stupid, never touched a drug or alcohol and never went stupid places where I could get hurt. I was quite and respectful. But her views on me changed the instant she realized I wasn’t Christian. She threw me out on the streets.

A friend took me in so I wouldn’t die on the streets. All seemed well for a time, but as was usual for me, it didn’t last. Her uncle threw me out after his deranged girlfriend tried to attack me with a knife and I broke her wrist defending myself. I had to panhandle enough money to take a train to another state so I wouldn’t be on the streets again.

All the while, the heavy feeling never left. I started seeing psychics, but none of them could figure it out or looked too confused and frightened and ushered me out of the room dismissively. I never got any answers. Only the fake ones said good things. The real ones looked haunted and pale.

I managed to get enough money to buy a train ticket and make my way to Wisconsin, where another online friend took me in.

Once again, I was sure things would finally start looking up for me. I met someone who seemed nice, and got a steady job. But, as was a trend with me, the nice didn’t last. He turned out to be a manipulative, emotionally abusive jerk.

It went from bad to worse when I lost my job. A close friend of mine started to go crazy. She started to see the thing I was seeing. She started to talk strangely. The things she said were just not her. It got worse and worse no matter how much I tried to save her. I tried to give her strength, I tried to talk her through it, but she went between elated about a shining being she called a sun god, to horrified and sobbing and shaking in voice chat that something was watching her. Nothing I did helped.

She committed suicide, and I knew that thing had done it. She was driven mad by the thing that was stalking me, then died at its hands, driven to suicide. I was devastated. She was like a sister to me. I loved her dearly. I was also terrified.

One thing after another happened, leaving me exhausted and weak and struggling just to stay off the streets. I couldn’t keep a job no matter how hard I tried and my ex got worse and worse as time passed. He would eat everything that was in reach, leaving me to have to hide and eat cold chili out of a can and drink warm soda. Five years, I lived in that hell. I was giving up, fast. FIve times I nearly attempted to commit suicide, but my cats stopped me, cuddling closer to me and giving me something to live for.

Even still, I was breaking.

Greymalkin showed up again. She gave me a ray of hope. But by then, I was so broken it was only a thin ray in the complete darkness that had overtaken me. Soon after that, I was given the help to get away from my ex. My online friend and his brother came down and picked me up, keeping my ex from trying anything as I moved my belongings into a pod, and was driven from Wisconsin to Kentucky.

I was safe. I thought it was over, but I am sure all of you know exactly what happened next, misfortune soon followed. It struck my now husband, my friend’s brother. The closer I got to him, the more he was suffering my ill luck, but I didn’t want to be alone. I knew whatever it was was affecting him, but I didn’t want to leave him for my own selfish reasons. We had found a kindred spirit, and he helped me discover that I was a Deamon-soul… as was he. We were meant for eachother, and we got closer and closer as time passed. I often confided in him about the curse, but he didn’t believe I was cursed and like everybody else, he just thought I was overreacting to little things. And I, once again, became complacent and thought maybe I was. Maybe it was all just a coincidence.

We eventually married… and had a child. We were happy, and something lured us to move to Florida, though we didn’t know at the time that it was a trap. Once there, our misfortune got exponentially worse. Spiritual attacks left and right, nothing ever going right. Sick constantly, his panic attacks getting worse.

Our young son was taken away on a false call to CPS by somebody we tried to help but later betrayed us despite ample proof that he wasn’t neglected. As we tried to find an open adoptive home since we knew they’d never give him back to us with the lies they were spouting. His foster mother beat him to death. He would have been in his new home within a week or two.

The thing came in closer and closer. I felt it. My husband felt it. I was too broken to care after the untimely death of my little one, who was no older than 17 months at the time. Somehow, I prevailed. My husband and I made it through, and we started to heal…. Before being falsely arrested, injured and treated as less than human. That also nearly broke us, with brutal treatment and fear with such fresh wounds still not healed.

We spent agonizing months in Florida, Hell I was calling it, fighting for our very freedom against false charges as our names were slandered to the point where we couldn’t go out in public without feeling uncomfortable. We finally got some hope. We got a lead, and decided to move out of Florida… but the closer we got to moving, the more everything was trying to stop us. It got dragged out for months. I was about to just give up as things were getting so tauntingly close then blowing up in our faces time and time again.

A very close online friend finally revealed the identity of the thing that had plagued me all my life. She helped me find its name.

Rag’hedara. The Ruin. The Madness. The Desolate One. The Hunter. Rag’hedara is very malignant cosmic entity, who drives anyone who witnesses it completely mad. Anyone it targets, it will stalk for their entire life. It will drive their friends and family away or kill them one by one, isolating and breaking its prey down until nothing but a husk remains. It then goes in for the kill, devouring their tortured soul to turn them into one of its many spawn. Even ancient sigils like the Elder Sign are ineffective against it, but it has a strong dislike for anything pine related and pine incense or pine trees will keep it, and its spawn, somewhat at bay. At least, for a time. It plagued the life of Lovecraft himself, filling his sleep with nightmares and horrible dreams and glimpses of a reality beyond human understanding, that he wrote into his books until he succumbed to its wiles. It appeared as vaguely humanoid from the waist up, with three huge shadowy tentacles sprouting from its back and shoulders and a mess of smaller ones all around.

My friend and I employed the help of a few friends with spiritual helpers, and we thought it was defeated, but it was a wiley, clever thing and just kept coming back. Each time it came back, more misfortune struck my husband and I. Things would seem to get better, only to blow up again. A constant up and down that was making us sick, weak, and intensely stressed out.

My husband started having the same horrible dreams as my friend who had killed herself. It was trying to kill him, and I utterly snapped. It had taken several friends from me, turned my family against me, taken my son from me, and was now trying to take my husband away from me. The only thing I had left. It was trying to strangle out my connection to the Tree of Life. My Deamon side awakened in an explosion of white fire. I tore and burned away the tendrils that were choking off my branch of the Tree of Life, shattered the source, and attacked the thing with all I was until it was consumed. Flickers of spiritual flame could be sensed all the way to the highway near the apartment complex. I thought it was over, but it was only one fragment of the thing. It was merely weakened. Rag’hedara went from having three large tentacles, to two.

Immediately after that, things looked up. Our brother was able to help us move out of Florida, to a nice house in Colorado, somewhere far better. Rag’hedara continued to send its spawn after us, but my white fire consumed them instantly. It tried to attack our plane as it took off. It followed us to our new home in Colorado. All of its efforts were in vain.

As we settled in triple threes started to show up again, but I had stopped being afraid. I had hurt it once. I wasn’t going to stand by and let my husband and I’s new start in our new home be ruined. I had entirely enough of Rag’hedara’s crap. I used my lucid dreaming ability to enter the astral plane and defeat it once and for all. It took several nights. I had to rip off its remaining two tentacles, tear through its layers of protection to get to its core. The Hunter became the Hunted, and it knew it. Every night that I slept, I slipped into the astral plane. I hunted it down, and I attacked. Every time it fled I tracked it down all over again. And finally… it was done. I reached its core. I destroyed the darkness, the evil that had plagued me my entire life.

After a long horrifying ordeal that lasted my entire life, from birth to my 28th year, it is finally over. I can finally rest. Rag’hedara is no more, and will never hurt anyone ever again. My husband and I can finally have peace. The air feels lighter and better, my husband has an amazing job prospect that will have us doing really well. I feel alive again. Things have stopped going wrong aside from the normal inconvenience that every person experiences. The numbers have stopped showing up.

I will tell you now, spirits and entities are very real. Entities beyond your wildest imaginings exist. Entities so strange and hostile that one look at them can shatter your very mind. Not everyone has the soul of a Deamon, or the aid of spiritual friends or other beings like Greymalkin.

Let’s just hope that one of these entities doesn’t try to target you next…

 

Update:

Update: When I destroyed Rag’hedara, when I reached his Core, I found that there was a fragment of something within that core that was not evil. It turned out that it was his true self, from before he was corrupted and sent to plague me. Rag’hedara is now a close constant companion who does everything he can to keep me safe. This fragile little spark died, but I nursed him back to health with the same white fire that had destroyed the darkness that had gripped him.

Having recovered considerably, Rag’hedara refuses to leave my side and is incredibly protective of me. The story itself is horrifying; but the outcome gives hope that not everything is quite as it seems.

My haunted childhood home

What I am about to share with you are a few paranormal occurrences that happened to me growing up in my childhood home.

I have told very few people about this, but it has been weighing on me for years.

I am 27 years old now, and these things had happened to me from the ages of 5 to 18, 18 being the age when I moved out of my mother’s house and into my first apartment.

Let me start off by saying that I am a very rational person. I work as an internal auditor for a major corporation in my area, and am a mother of an 8 year old boy and two dogs, so my personality is more serious than fanciful, but I have NEVER denied the existence of the paranormal.

I grew up in an older, rougher neighborhood of St. Paul, Minnesota that used to be a swamp or bog, but dried up enough so houses could be developed. Remnants of the swamp are still present to this day. My block was filled with families of middle class people, making happy homes in an otherwise tough area. The houses were older, mine happened to be near 100 years at the time, and it showed.

I was raised by my mother, had one sister, Shannon, who is two years my junior, and one German Sheppard named Jersey.

I am going to need to explain the layout of the house, as it will be important for the events that occurred throughout my childhood.

My house was decent sized, two bedrooms on opposite ends of the house, living room, bathroom, porch and kitchen on the main level, a basement with two storage rooms, a half bathroom with only a shower and a mirror, a laundry room, sitting area and a spare room my mom converted into a guest bedroom. My mom and sister both had rooms on the main level; my sister’s was located near the narrow stairwell to the basement and my mother’s just off the living room. My living space was upstairs in the attic which had my own living room and bedroom that was just a few steps down from a mini balcony. In my room, I had a very large walk in closet.

My first childhood memory is actually my first experience with whoever or whatever was in my old house. I remember sitting at this desk my mom built into the pantry in the kitchen which had become her home office. Back in the 90’s when computers where just starting to make their way into homes, I was excited that once my mom was finished with her projects, she would let me play on it. I would sit there for hours just play typing or being a weird little kid. One day, however, as I was messing around on the computer, I remember feeling very, very cold. It was weird because it was summer time, and though it was dusk, it should never have been that cold. Then, something caught my attention.

From the kitchen, I could see into my little sisters room and the open entrance to the basement stairs. Thinking maybe it was my sister darting into my peripheral, I turned to look at her, only to see me, but not me. At the top entrance of the stairs, I saw a perfect clone of myself in the same princess nightie I was already wearing, except whatever it was had big, black eyes.

It just stared at me for a couple moments, looked towards the stairs, then back at me, before once again turning towards the stairs and walking down them slowly, as if beckoning me to follow. I did not. I might have been a little kid, but I wasn’t stupid. And I was not sleeping or dreaming, as just a few moments after that thing disappeared, my mother called to me to get off the computer and get ready for bed. I remember that occurrence vividly to this day.

Another experience I had in my house that I actually shared with my sister was in our basement. We had always hated going down there. It was oddly cold, even in the summer, and gave us the creeps. One night when I was in middle school, I was babysitting my sister so our mom could have a well deserved dinner night out with her friends. Mom asked me to get a jump start on laundry, and begrudgingly I obliged. The laundry room in the basement was one of my least favorite rooms.

While I was down there putting clothes into the machines, I heard a bunch of toys go off in one of the storage rooms. I remember jumping up and getting pissed off thinking Shannon had tried to scare my, so I ran out of the laundry room to yell at her, only to find no one there. I yelled for her and she came running from the living room upstairs into the basement with me. I asked her if she made all these old toys go off at the same time, and she said, “No, I haven’t. I’ve been up watching TV in the living room.” After she said that, we both heard a low, feral growl coming from behind one of the shelves in the storage room. Needless to say, we booked it out of there and went back upstairs to where our dog, Jersey was sleeping and held onto her and each other until our mom came home. That was the only time I had ever heard that growl, but not the last time all the toys would go off randomly, seemingly on their own.

The next experience I had was when I was a teenager, in the basement bathroom. I was taking a shower downstairs for whatever reason when suddenly, I heard a loud bang and saw a black shadowy figure out of the corner of my eye above me. I immediately jumped out and screamed for my mom. I wrapped myself in my towel and moments after, my mom came down in a panic asking me what was wrong. She had heard the noise too, and thought I had slipped, fell and called for help. She was shocked to see me perfectly fine, but scared. I told her about the black shadow, she sort of scoffed at me until I noticed her turning to leave, satisfied that I was okay and it was just an “old house” noise, until I saw her eyes widen and her jaw drop. I turned to look in her direction, and on the mirror, there was a large crack, with a long, smeared hand print in the condensation. She didn’t even have to ask if it was mine or not, because if it was, my hand surely would have been bleeding or scratched, which it wasn’t.

Now, onto the last and final experience I am willing to share that truly opened me up to the fact that there is more to this world than I could ever imagine.

As I have stated earlier, I had the entire attic to myself, which, as a moody teenager, I loved the idea of my family not being able to sneak up on me or bug me as much. If they really wanted to talk to me or see what I was up to, they needed to make an effort to get up the stairs, walk through the living area and across the balcony, which by that point, I would have heard them coming.

On more than one occasion, I would see a black shadow of a man. It looked like an older person by the way the shadow body would slouch a little, like old people do. He never would do anything but appear in my room at night when it was dark, but I would still see him. Somehow, he was darker than the nighttime lighting. I would see him walk into my room, look at me, walk towards me a little, then disappear like he was never there. I never saw his face, just a shadow. I admit that over time, it did not scare me anymore. Not even my dog would wake up when he would show up, which was almost nightly, so I didn’t think he meant me any harm.

That all changed one night when I was 17 years old. It was about 11:30 PM, maybe midnight, and the rest of my household was long asleep. My loyal and loving dog Jersey, once again, laying at the foot of my bed. I have always been a night owl, so I was still wide awake, writing in my journal with the help of the little lamp on my night stand, when all of a sudden, I felt this weird pressure on my head and shoulders, and a chill that ran throughout my body. Jersey’s head then popped up from her sleep. She began to stare at my walk in closet door. All of a sudden, the doorknob started to jiggle, like someone is trying to turn it, but couldn’t. It was just a closet door, so no one could be in there, even if they tried, and it wasn’t locked.

It was then that the hair on my neck began to stand up, and Jersey started to growl. I quickly turned off my lamp, and threw myself onto the opposite side of the bed where my dog was, and hung onto her neck, while she continued to growl, only now, she was growling at the shadow man who had appeared once again. This was the first time Jersey even reacted to him or it, and she did not keep her eyes off of him.

This time, he didn’t walk towards me, but only looked at my and then walked to my closet, through the door. He walked through the freaking door! I don’t know why that scared me so much, I knew he was a shadow, but I had never seen that happen before. Jersey then jumped up and ran off my bed and began to growl louder, more threateningly at the closet door. And that’s when it happened.

From the other side of the door, I could hear my heavy oak dresser start to rattle, then it was all out shaking. I didn’t dare go in, but I could tell it was shaking from side to side, as if something or someone was aggressively trying to empty it fast. The best sound I can use to describe it is a washing machine shaking while in spin cycle and one side is heavier than the other.

The dresser was violently making that noise so loudly, that it woke my sister and my mother up. The first person I heard coming up the stairs was my sister. She was screaming my name and I could tell she was afraid like I was. All the while, Jersey was barking and growling like I had never heard before. Once I saw Shannon, I jumped out out of my bed and ran to her, sobbing while my dresser just kept shaking violently. She was just as terrified, hearing what was coming from my closet. Only a couple short moments after my sister came into my room, my mom was there. She grabbed us both in her arms and in her authoritative voice, she commanded for my dog to “come”, and then it stopped.

It just… stopped.

As soon it did, the pressure, chill, and hairs on the back of my neck went away, and Jersey calmed down.

Nothing like that ever happened again, which I am glad for.

I don’t know why it only stopped when my mother spoke. I don’t know why it happened to begin with. But it did.

I moved out of that house not long after when I was 18, as I had gotten pregnant with my son. I don’t know if it was one or more “ghosts” or maybe a “demon” or poltergeist that was doing it, but I am glad I no longer live at that house.

My mom ended up selling the house and moving a little over a year after that happened when she married my step dad, but since my grandparent’s still live in that area, I often have drive by on my way to their house. Every time I do, the hair on the back of my neck still stands up, and I feel like whatever it is, is still there, and that it is watching me, waiting for me to come back.

The Landlady

The story I’m about to tell you might sound like a campfire tale…some twist on an urban legend or something…at least, that’s how it seems whenever I think about it, or tell the story to someone. I can assure you, however, that it is NOT. It happened to me around 16 or 17 years ago, when I was about 18 or 19 (I can’t remember exactly).

I was staying with a friend of mine at his apartment, which is in a small, old building in the downtown area of the small town where I grew up. Next door was a slightly larger, but even older apartment building, and both were owned and operated by the same people.

So one day my friend had to take his rent money to his landlady, who lived in the building next door, and he asked me to join him (I can’t remember why…perhaps he just wanted to introduce me to her??)…so I did.

The building she lived in was three stories, with small businesses on the ground level, and apartments on the upper levels. Her apartment was easy to find, because it was the first door on the right as you enter the second floor (in other words, the first apartment you see when entering the residential portion of the building), and there was I sign on the door that read “Manager”.

My friend knocked on the door, and we were greeted by an older man…probably in his 60’s. He was thin, maybe 5’9”, balding gray hair, and somewhat gaunt-looking…like he’d worked hard for too many years, and it had taken its toll. Apparently, he was a close friend of the landlady, and also worked as a maintenance man in the building.

Anyway…we were invited in and shown to the living room, where the landlady greeted us, and asked us to sit. She was a fairly large woman, with short, whitish-blonde hair, pale skin, and dark circles under her eyes. She seemed quite healthy…but there was something “sickly” about her face. I remember thinking it rather strange that she looked so ill, but spoke and moved like someone in perfect health.

The apartment itself was clean, though somewhat cluttered…the furnishings were clearly old, but still in good condition…and the place was decorated with lots of antiques and knick-knacks…all of which appeared a little dusty…as if the place hadn’t been cleaned or even lived in for awhile. Though I couldn’t determine exactly WHY, something about the atmosphere there just felt “off”.

Despite all of this, the landlady was a friendly woman, and we all chatted for about 20 minutes after my friend gave her his rent money…though I can’t recall what we talked about…then we left, and the whole thing began to fade from my memory…for awhile.

Approximately 1 year later…after my friend had moved away, and we’d lost touch…I was looking for an apartment, and remembered those buildings and the pleasant conversation I’d had with the landlady, and I decided to go there and find out if she had any apartments for rent.

I remembered which apartment she lived in, because, like I said before, it was the first one on the right when you enter the second floor…pretty easy to remember. When I got there, however, there was no “Manager” sign on the door. I knocked anyway, and got no answer. I waited a moment, then knocked again…still, nothing. I thought perhaps she was out, or had moved, so I decided to walk around and see if there was a “Manager” sign on any of the other doors.

As I made my way down the hall, I noticed an open door to an apartment that appeared empty, and there was a woman inside vacuuming. I figured she might know where the landlady was, so I knocked on the open door and waved as the woman looked up at me. She turned off the vacuum, walked to the door and pleasantly asked, “can I help you with something?”

I remember thinking immediately that this woman looked like a much younger, much smaller version of the landlady. She, too, had short, blonde hair, cut in much the same style as the landlady’s had been. She looked healthier, though…and not just because she was thin, where the landlady had been quite large…but her complexion was simply healthier-looking.

I explained to her that I was looking for the landlady, because I was interested in possibly renting an apartment. She then informed me that SHE is the landlady, and that the apartment we were currently standing in the doorway of, was the only apartment available. This didn’t really phase me…I mean, it had been about a year, and I figured the building was simply under new management.

She showed me around the apartment, and we spoke for a minute about what I needed to do to apply…and though I could’ve just ended the conversation there…I for some reason felt compelled to ask about the previous landlady…the one I’d met a year ago.

At this, the woman looked confused. “I’ve managed this building for over four years”, she said. Now was confused. Though there was a resemblance, there was NO WAY this was the woman I’d met before. She was too young. So I told her that I’d visited the landlady a year ago, and pointed-out her apartment. She assured me that wasn’t possible. She then informed me that had once been her mothers’ apartment…and her mother had indeed been the landlady…but she’d passed away nearly 5 years ago.

At this point, I think we BOTH felt a chill run up our spines. So I described the woman I’d met a year before, AND the old man who had been at her apartment. She told me I was describing her mother perfectly, and the man who had been her friend, too…but BOTH had been dead for quite some time. Ok…now we were both freaking out a little. So I went on to describe the apartment…and again, she told me I was describing her mothers’ apartment in perfect detail.

I spent a lot of time going over the whole thing in my head after that…but all these years later, I STILL can’t think of any logical explanation. There’s no way I misjudged the amount of time that had passed. It had only been 1 year…not 5. Hell, had it been 5 years, I would’ve been like 14 or 15 when I met the landlady, and I certainly had no friends who lived on their own at that age. I also don’t believe the woman was lying or just messing with me. Her reactions were genuine, and she even became visibly emotional once she realized that I’d likely encountered her mother’s spirit. I’ve come to learn that nothing in this world is certain…and it’s possible that reality itself is just an illusion…so I can’t say with any certainty that I encountered any “lost souls”, “spirits”, or some other paranormal phenomena…but I DO KNOW that I can’t explain this experience. Eerie as it was, though, it never frightened me. I mean…I probably won’t ever rent an apartment in that building…but I wouldn’t be opposed to visiting it again…if only to see what strange or unbelievable things may occur.

 

 

Haunted Ouija Board

I was a teenager when this happened, but I can honestly say I remember it like it happened just a few hours ago. My friend, Bailey and I were staying at her house for the weekend. It just happened to be the weekend that her mother decided to do some spring cleaning and clean out their spare bedroom. As teenagers Bailey and I of course were doing more playing with the things we found than cleaning.

Bailey pulled a box out of the closet and held it up, asking her mother what was inside. Her mother snatched the box out of her hands and told her it was a Ouija Board that her aunt had brought home when she lived there. We shrugged it off and went on with our day. Later that night her dad decided we needed to burn some of the things that had been thrown out. The fire was small and burning normally until her mother threw the Ouija Board in it.

What happened next is something I can only describe as unexplainable. The flames of the fire turned blue and the fire flamed up much higher than before. We stood there looking at each other, all a bit shaken but also glad that it was gone. Eventually the fire burned down and we all settled in for bed. Bailey and I were in the den watching a movie when we heard it, something rattling inside one of the boxes that was to go back into storage.

Thinking her cat had climbed inside and become stuck, Bailey opened the box and immediatley screamed a scream that could only have been matched if a man had jumped out of the box with a knife. I ran over to her and peered into the box  myself and found the Ouija Board from earlier, alone in the box. Her parents ran in to find Bailey and I still staring into the box trying to wrap our minds around what we were seeing.

It was the middle of the night but her dad grabbed the box and threw it outside. He proceeded to spray it with lighter fluid from the nearby grill and light it on fire. The flame was the same strange blue color and this time there was an odd noise that came from it. Almost like a hissing mixed with quiet screaming. When the fire had died down there was nothing but a pile of ash and embers.

To my knowledge the Ouija Board has not made another appearance since, but even know, all these years later I still get chills thinking about it. Ouija  boards are nothing to play with, and knowing what I know now, it terrifies me to think that some people play with them as if they are a toy.