I have had strange experiences my entire life. I don’t know if they are paranormal, or some kind of Monster/Urban legend; I really don’t know but I’ll leave it up to you to decide.
I was just like any other 8 year old. Running around playing with my friends, being outside was always my favorite after school activity. To describe the lay out I am from a small town in Canada. Like really small, less than three thousand people including a couple of cows. I lived in a very tiny, newly developed subdivision. There was me, a few neighbors, and a field behind the house that seemed to go on forever. Throughout our little town and acres of farms there were abandoned barns. I had seen them all over and they were nothing special to me. They were two stories (the top being where they held feed), all made out of wood that was now rotting and generally they had small bits of a rusty red coloured paint that was mostly chipped away. All of them were abandoned a long time ago. There was one of these barns near my house, in the back field, tucked away in a little grove of trees; it was tucked into a little C shape of trees and had an opening about the size of a car you could get through to it.
I was out in the field playing by myself and running through the tall grass as I often did when I saw the barn. Now I had walked passed this barn hundreds of times with my friends and family…it was different now. It lost all it’s colour. It wasn’t that same brown wooden colour with some red it was black and white. The trees surrounding it, usually vibrant and green, now seemed pale and lifeless. I knew my mom wouldn’t want me playing in the barn as it was falling apart, but this one seemed together. Like it was newly built. (It’s probably good to note this was a time where your children would run around anywhere and parents were just kinda like “hey come inside before dark” and my parents were at work during this time).
Read more “The Black and White Children”
My daughter, Grace, is 5 years old. She’s incredibly smart to the point she’s reading, writing and communicating well above her age. She has always been like this. She was my first child and I was no longer with her father by the time she turned 1. We had been on an off since I found out I was expecting, we had broken up at 7 months pregnant and got back together when she was 5 months old. Grace and I lived with her Grandpa, my father, in my Nan’s old house. She had passed away a few years previous, and we always joked that she was still wandering around house, it was almost like a daily routine that at 9am and 4 pm every day there were noises from upstairs of her bedroom door opening and footsteps to and from the bathroom, ending with the eventual closure of her bedroom (now my fathers bedroom) door. My bedroom is opposite his and I could never have the door open in the evening or at night. There was always a growing sense of someone, or something on the landing, watching all the time. But I’ll dedicate another post to that at another time.
I never really thought about it much until I was showing Grace the photos on the fireplace when she was about 7 months old. I showed her a picture of my family and was teaching her people’s names. I showed her a photo of my Father when he graduated the Police Academy, he was standing next to my Nan so I said her name and tried to get Grace to point to where she was in the photo, like she had with the multiple other photos. She looked at me and pointed behind me, to the cupboard under the stairs and said, clear as day, “Nanny.” Seems a bit unimportant, until I tell you that that cupboard is completely empty. Except for my Nan’s Urn. I froze. The temperature dropped and I couldn’t bring myself to turn round and look. I heard what sounded like the door handle squeak and the door creak as it someone were trying to open it. It stopped after about 10 seconds and I immediately heard the footsteps upstairs. We were home alone, my Father works 12 hour shifts in London and his house was in a village about 45 minute train journey away. He wouldn’t have been home for hours. After a few minutes things seemed to go back to normal, I locked us in my bedroom all the same. I never joked lightly about my Nan’s ‘daily routine’ again. I moved out a few weeks later, and my dad sold the house not long after. We don’t spend enough time at his new house to experience anything. I don’t know who she saw, but I know it wasn’t the last time she would see someone who wasn’t physically there.
I haven’t posted this story anywhere so far. I haven’t really thought to. But it seems right to post here.
I live on Long Island. I’m surrounded by ocean, so I know my marine animals. I have seen ducks, geese, swans, plovers, and gulls. I know the local fish species, and I’ve seen seals and sea lions. But this was… something different.
A chilly day last spring, my sister, Sophie and our younger neighbor, Henry, went down the street from our house. We live on the corner of two streets, and down that street was a small portion of beach. Our little spot was a cute place to be in the summer, but the cold spring fog made the place a little more eerie. But I was used to eerie.
As all three of us headed down the sloping road, the sand in sight and the pathway clear, we started to think of how many rocks we could find that day. It was a hobby of mine, and the kiddies had just wanted to be cool like their teenage role model. The sand dusted our shoes, and we knew we had to start our awkward trek down the rocky terrain to get to the beach. A harshly snappy wind hit us all at around that time. With your head down, looking intently at green and brown and blue rocks that could break under your feet at any time, you don’t notice much.
Read more “The Water’s Shadow”
A few years ago, my family took a short holiday to a city we’d never visited before in Asia.
I have two sisters, and the youngest one has always been a little distant and timid. At the time of this story, she was about 7 years old. On the first day of our holiday, we visited several shops selling handcrafted souvenirs including small toys, keychains and jewellery, which had been made by the local indigenous people. I wasn’t feeling very well, so I stayed outside at most of the shops we visited.
At one of the last shops we visited, my youngest sister exited after a long time spent browsing inside, and told my parents she’d seen something she wanted very badly. She described it to be a ‘cute’ snake toy that was made out of wood.
My dad doesn’t like spending money on unnecessary items, so he dragged her away from the shop after much persuasion and a weak promise that he’d buy it for her before we went home. For the rest of the week-long holiday, my sister would not stop talking about this wooden snake toy. Day and night, she reminded us of how ‘cute’ it looked and how my dad had said he’d buy it for her. It drove us crazy and my parents finally gave in and agreed to purchase it, thinking that it was just one of those little kid whims.
Read more “Scary Experience with a Toy Rattlesnake”