I Think I Saw Slenderman

It was the day before my sixth birthday. I was going to be staying the night at my favorite aunt and uncle’s house while my parents got the house ready. For most of the day we were out; I played at the park for awhile and ate ice cream. I had a blast. When we got home from the busy day is where the story starts.

My Aunt was inside making dinner while I played catch out in the backyard with my uncle, laughing when their dog barked at us. A few minutes in, and my uncle accidentally threw the ball into the woods.

“I’ll get it!” I yelled, and took off.

I don’t remember exactly what happened in the woods, but I do remember finding the ball, and then turning around to find I had no idea how to get back out. After that, my memory gets fuzzier, but this is what I was told happened…

“Isabella!” My uncle yelled when he saw me, looking half scared and half relieved. “You were in there for ten minutes! What happened!?”

I handed him the ball and said with a grin. “I got lost, and I was scared, but then Mr. S helped me find my way out!”

“Mr. S?” My uncle made a face as he looked down at me. None of the neighbors called themselves that, in fact, I knew all of the neighbors.

I smiled back and nodded. “Yep!”

“Dinner time!” My aunt called out the back door before he could ask me anything else.

At the table, once we started eating, my aunt spoke up. Apparently, she had heard me out in the backyard. “Who’s Mr. S? I’d like to thank him for helping you.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. He was out in the woods.”

“Can you tell us what he looked like?” My uncle asked.

I looked at them and said, completely serious and nonchalant. “He was really tall and didn’t have a face.”

“That’s nice.” My aunt just laughed, assuming I was talking about an imaginary friend of some sort.

Fast forward to two years ago, I was seventeen years old, and with my aunt again. She was staying with us for a few weeks, looking for a new house. I was on my couch, playing Slender: The Arrival on my laptop. She walked over and asked what I was doing then froze.

“What is it?” I asked, giving her a confused look.

She pointed at the screen and said. “That thing… What’s it called?”

“Slenderman,” I said, “Why?”

My aunt just asked me if I remembered the day before my sixth birthday. I nodded and told her I remembered some of it. She proceeded to tell me about how I said “Mr. S” helped me find my way out of the woods, and how the description I gave of him matched The Slenderman’s.

I wouldn’t have known anything about creepypasta at that age, so that really freaked me out.

Backwoods Ghost Story

My name is Quintin and look I don’t care what people say, this is a real ghost story. When I was young I used to live in the backwoods of Pulaski, Virginia. I lived in a relatively large house and we lived rather close to my grandparents which being a kid, I thought was nice.

Ever since I was a kid there are days that I stay with my mother and some days I stay with my father, on this one night it was a day when I was with my mother and my grandparents came over who I will address as Paw and Granny.

Paw and Granny had come to the house and we decided to go out for Pizza, when we came back to the house after eating we all decided to go downstairs and watch T.V. so me, my mother, Paw, and Granny went downstairs and sat down to watch T.V.

When we went downstairs we were down there for about 25 minutes and there was one point where my Granny had to use the bathroom. She went up to the bathroom and after she was done she came down stairs milk white an told us all what happened.

She said that after she had used the bathroom she had stopped and look in the mirror to fix her hair and at one point she looked away from the mirror for one moment and she told us that when she looked back up, she said that there was a woman ghost in the mirror that looked my Granny dead in the eyes. My Granny said she wasn’t scared but very nervous and as she looked the ghost in the eyes, the ghost got what my Granny called a “warm smile” on her face and when my Granny turned around to look at her, the ghost was gone.

My Granny had come down stairs and she wasn’t shaking but she looked very uneasy and she was white as the daylight and she told us what she saw and my mother didn’t pull any of the stuff you see in the movies saying stuff like it was her imagination. My mother said she saw the truth in her eyes and that she clearly wasn’t lying.

We watch T.V. for about 20 more minutes and then they went on home. After hearing what my Granny said, being young I slept in my moms room that night andy grandmother hasn’t seen the ghost since we moved out of the house when I was 8.

I may not be living in that house anymore but my dad’s house is haunted so I am still in a haunted house to this day.

One thing weird about that house though is that even though being little I had never wtnessed the ghost but whenever I stayed in that house, I had a lot of nightmares night after night it was nightmares. It had finally stopped when we moved out. Read more “Backwoods Ghost Story”

My grandpa and his ghost

When I was 15, I moved in with my grandpa.

I had lived at that house with my mom before when I was really young, and I always hated the upstairs floor because I had an encounter with a ghost there when I was 5 or 6. What had happened was I had been looking for my mom all over the house, and calling out for her.

“Mommy? Mommy? Where are you?” I already looked upstairs for her, but since I had just looked in the basement I figured she had time to go back up to her room.

When I got back up to her bedroom door and opened it, I again asked, “Mommy?”, only to find the shadowy figure of a man sitting on her bed across from me. He was watching me, and tilted his head. I heard him imitate me by asking, “Mommy?” as if he didn’t understand what it meant.

I screamed my head off and bolted downstairs, almost wanting to run backwards because I felt a presence behind me, but I just kept going, only to find my mom at the bottom of the stairs.

That has always haunted me. My grandpa talked to his neighbors who had lived there longer than him, and they told him that there was an older man with a beard named Frank who lived in the house two owners before him, and that he had died in the backyard while shoveling or raking, of a heart attack. Every time something unexplained happened to my grandpa, he had an ongoing joke about blaming Frank.

For example, my grandpa had gotten a new camera to snap photos of our vacation in Mexico that he set down on the desk.

He would go to the bathroom for a few minutes, and when he came back it would be gone. He searched throughout the house, and eventually gave up and bought a new one. A few days later, low and behold, the old camera was sitting on the desk where he had left it. He’d laugh it off, saying things like, “Damn you, Frank! You just outed me fifty bucks!”

It was almost like they were buddies, in their own weird way.

Fast forwarding back to moving in as a teen, I was still weary of the second floor.

Throughout living there until I was 20, my room had to, of course, be upstairs. I’d experienced footsteps stomping up and down the stairs which were just about three feet away from my bedroom door, my door closing by itself even though it wasn’t weighted and would stay where you left it, my cat growling and glaring into thin air, etc.

When I was about 18 and out to a movie with friends, my grandpa called me asking if I was home.

I said no and that I was on my way.

He said that was odd, because he swore he heard me crying right outside his window, and when he went out to look, nobody was there. A few days later, I was on the phone in bed and my cat kept jumping up on and bugging me so I temporarily locked her out by shutting the door until I was done with my conversation.

About a minute later, she jumped back on the bed, which made me immediately look up at my door, which had been opened again. Suddenly, I could hear a woman faintly crying on the other side.

It lasted for what seemed like forever, but was probably only around 15 seconds, until I got up to investigate.

Only then did it stop.

A few years later when I was 21, I moved out because my grandpa’s health had been deteriorating due to his alcoholism, and despite my help, he just wouldn’t help himself and I was getting sick of it, plus it seemed like the activity wasn’t going to cease.

Six months later, my grandpa died. It came as a huge shock, and for a while I blamed myself because I thought, maybe if I had stayed with him he would have somehow lived longer. Maybe I could have done something. But I kept my feelings to myself, because my mom was completely devastated, as she was pretty much his favorite kid and everyone in the family knew it. It was always kind of like that. My grandpa, my mom, my siblings and I.

The house was sold to the bank because he just honestly didn’t take very good care of it, and luckily the locks hadn’t been changed right away because I needed to grab a few personal items for my apartment that I’d left there.

When my husband and I walked through the house, it was eerily dark and cold, like a ghost of the house I knew growing up. I soaked it all in, all the memories that I’d never be able to visit again, because he was gone.

I still struggle with his death to be honest.

But I felt like I was being watched the whole time, which I didn’t mention to my husband because it was just the vibe that you felt at that house and nothing new.

But the weirdest part of all of this, is months later, my mom and aunt spoke to an alleged psychic, who said my grandpa hasn’t moved on yet. She said he’s staying with “The boy”, who we assume is my little brother who has down syndrome.

My grandpa watched my brother at least every other weekend for his entire life. Before he was cremated, my mom tried to gently tug my brother into looking at GP (which is what all of us called him), but he shook his head and refused.

We think GP stays with David to keep him at peace. But the psychic said GP also hangs out with someone in the after life.

An older man, who has a beard.

They spent weeks trying to decipher who the psychic was talking about, until they told me about what she said and I immediately gasped and said “Frank!” Their eyes lit up. “Oh my God, I think you’re right!” My aunt was stunned.

To this day, I firmly believe that when my grandpa isn’t with my brother, he’s hanging out in the afterlife with Frank, haunting the house with the ghost that haunted him. To the next person who ends up living there, good luck

Glad I wasn’t alone

This happened about 3 months ago, which was September from today. Me and my friend Justin were gathering our gear to go for a deer hunt. It was a little past noon, so we didn’t expect animals to start moving yet, so we had some time to get prepared.

Our usual hunting spot is only a mile and a half walk from our property. The spot we like to sit from gives us a view of the whole area. It is on top of a hill, in a field. The woodline is directly behind us, so we are quite close to some deer bedding. I was armed with a compound bow, while Justin had a crossbow, with a scope.

Our plan was to sit till about 6, since it usually gets dark at 5:45. One thing about our hunt kind of had me on edge, and that was that the area was a bit quiet, besides the occasional leaf falling, or wind gusts.

Since we saw nothing, we decided to move down the hill, to get a different vantage point. I was putting my water bottle back in my daypack preparing to move, but a sudden crunch made us both freeze in place. I slowly drew my bow expecting a deer or coyote, but what we saw still haunts me to this day.

I saw deer like horns sticking out of the brush, so naturally I aim in that direction, thinking it’s a deer, but one thing was off. It was about 70 yards out so I waited before it came into the open to shoot, but when it moved into the open, I was stuck in place, and I’m sure Justin was the same.

First we smelled a rotten stench, similar to that of sulfur, or a rotting corpse. When it walked out, it had a head of a deer, with one feature that is sort of burnt into my head, and that is it’s eyes. Dark, empty, black pits in the creatures head.

It was about 4 and a half feet up on all fours, but that creature stood up like a human on its hind legs, scaling in at over 8 feet tall, so easily taller than me and Justin on top of each other, since we are quite short. It just stood there, gazing at the empty highway about a mile out. We tried to be silent to not get attention, so we didn’t shoot. I have never been so terrified in my life. Luckily when a semi engine braked, it scared the creature into the woods where it showed up.

We waited about 5 minutes so if we ran it wouldn’t hear us, or at least catch up with us, since I had a bow and a backpack to carry, and Justin had a crossbow. All I can say, is if you are going into the wilderness for any reason, don’t go alone. Take it from me, because no one wants an encounter like this to happen to them.





Scared Sober

I come from a huge, Irish family. I’ve got 11 aunts and uncles, not including their spouses, and each of them has from three to eight kids of their own. My grandparents used to tell us about when they were oppressed for being immigrants and couldn’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day publicly due to the strong xenophobia that surrounded Irish people when they were young. So, considering how large a family we have and how much we were taught to appreciate it, St. Patrick’s Day is a big deal for us.

Every year, we go to my tiny hometown, where the kids all get together and wreak havoc while every adult with access to alcohol gets so smashed that the older children have to corral the little ones before they start their own version of the purge. Everyone between ages 15 and 20 has to stay completely sober so we can make sure everyone else gets a safe drive home. I’ve had to get my fair share of aunts and grandparents back to their houses in the early hours of the morning, and by now I’m used to avoiding beer and taking care of them, even if I can now legally drink.

The year I’ll never forget, though, was in 2012, the St. Patrick’s Day immediately after I lost both of my grandparents on my father’s side. It really tore us apart, but we promised one another to have a great holiday, if only to honor their memory.

That year’s celebration was like most of them, with a few extra drunken tears thrown in, but all in all, it was pretty fun. Once the partying was over, it was my job to take most of my aunts and uncles with fewer children home, so I didn’t have to make more than one trip in the family van to drop them off. Last one on my route was Kenny, my dad’s older brother who lived in my grandparent’s empty home while his kids were staying with his ex-wife. I can’t imagine how hard it was to stay in that house after losing his parents, but he never complained.

A few things for context: this place is a huge farmhouse twelve miles from the nearest town, surrounded by fields and grazing area for the cattle my grandparents bred and raised. All the cows had been sold since grandma and grandpa died and the whole place felt unbelievably empty as soon as I pulled into the driveway.

Anyways, I got my uncle up to his old room, made sure he was okay, and started eating poptarts in the kitchen, which he promised to give me for being such a good sport and driving people home at four in the morning. I hadn’t been in the house since my grandpa was diagnosed with a brain tumor the size of a baseball last November. I was right at the base of his skull, just to the left. He’d died from it a few weeks later. My grandpa was a tough, bald guy who like cigarettes just a bit too much, and I’d really looked up to him, so you can see why I really missed the old place. It smelled like smoke and the rain, and it was nice to see all the memories I had of my grandparents again.

As I finished up the last poptart and put on my jacket, I could see a figure sitting in the living room, looking at the TV. The chair whoever it was sat in was between myself and the television, and since they were looking at the TV, I couldn’t see them very well. All I knew was that there was some stranger in my grandparent’s house, and I was the only one awake and sober enough to make sure they didn’t do anything. Not taking my eyes off this guy for a second, I grabbed my pocket knife and the baseball bat my grandparents had kept in their cupboard full of collectables, which I’d bought for them since it was signed by the 1997 Chicago Cubs. I don’t know what I was planning on doing, really. Was I actually just gonna bash this guy’s face in and call the cops? I was a short, chubby sixteen-year-old with the muscle and dexterity of a baked potato, what did I really expect?

Armed, and practically pissing myself, I walked as silently as possible toward the person sitting completely motionless in my grandpa’s old La-z-boy. As I got closer, my eyes adjusted to the dark, and I could see him more clearly with just the moonlight. From the back, he was pretty bald, had quite a few liver spots, and had asymmetric ears like all the people on my dad’s side of the family. I didn’t really notice any of these things about him, though, until I was able to see the gaping, baseball-sized hole in the base of his skull, just to the left. Once that caught my eye, I saw everything about him, and, aside from the hole, he looked exactly like my grandfather.

As soon as I had put the pieces together, the TV turned on, blasting static at a volume higher than what I thought the old set could handle. The sudden bright light from the television and loud noise made me cover my ears and blink furiously. The TV shut itself back off in what felt like less than a second, and when I opened my eyes again, the person sitting in my grandpa’s chair had vanished.

I sprinted to my uncle’s room, got him up, and ran with him, as fast as he would let me, back to the van. I pulled out of the driveway and gunned it back to my parent’s house like a bat out of Hell. As I drove off, I swear I saw the TV back on again and someone, still inside the house, staring at me.