Demon Tweaker

I grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere Eastern Washington. Not the lush forest and raining all the time washington. Dry, dusty, hills on fire every summer, racist, small town Washington. I’m not going to use real names for Towns but if anyone reading this is from eastern washington you’ll probably know where I’m talking about. The town I grew up in had only two bars in it, a post office, gas station, convenient store and two schools. Elementary and the high school\middle School was further down the road. Since there weren’t a lot of kids, the middle school and high school kids were all in the same building. Like I said small town. This story though takes place in the neighbouring town 15 minutes or so down the road when I was 15 years old.

My best friend Nathen lived in town right in the middle of the university in some of the lower income apartments. These apartments weren’t that bad for being low income like other places. They were nicely kept up and not to many druggies around that area but a lot in the surrounding. I prefered hanging out at his apartments and around the university than my shabby falling apart trailer residing in the middle of methsville. Nathen and I have known each other since kindergarden and have been best friends since the very first day. We ended up both getting in trouble for writing on the walls so we got put into chairs facing the wall together and we had gotten into trouble together ever since.
We went to the same school for the first couple years after he moved up here from Alabama. Eventually his parents divorced in 3rd grade him, his two sisters, and their mother moved out to the next town over, so he had to go to school out there. We could never just not be best friends for life. So we kept in touch with phone calls, emails and little letters telling each other about our days at school and how much we hated our teachers and stuck up peers and school, work we were proud of. We even got to hangout at each others houses for entire weekends every weekend. I had just turned 15 in December when I had to deal with my bio mother dieing of a drug overdose. Both of my parents were heavy drug users and my father is still to this day a drug dealer. I have a lot of horror stories growing up because of this but those are for another time. A couple months after my mother died my father went to jail for a bit. I don’t remember how long but it was a couple months.
He was in and out of jail a lot throughout my entire life, When he came out he was different, he was worse than before. He’d always been the devil himself to me but somehow he had became even worse.

Months later right before summer started my bio father kicked me out because I had told someone something that had happened to me. Again another story for another time. 15 and on my own I was couch sufering for awhile (I did end up finding a forever home) around my shitty tiny town just trying to finish out that year of school before summer hit. I felt like once summer hit and I had more free time I would be able to figure out what I would do about everything then. This was the early days of facebook and not everyone had a phone in their pocket so just like any normal kid in those days, the library is where I spent most of my days. We had an hour time limit on Billy. One of the names of the computers available for public use at the library. Slow as all hell and loud as shit I would scroll through facebook seeing if any of my friends were on to see if I could crash with them and their family for a couple of days. Nathen was the only one that was on and he was also the only one that had messaged me. His mother was gonna be gone for a couple of days for something or another and his sister’s were staying at their father’s house. Nathen and his father were never on good terms so he didn’t go over there to visit as much as his sisters. He was going to be home alone for almost a week and his mother agreed on me staying with him while everyone was gone. She just wasn’t able to come get me and the people I was staying with didn’t have the time or means to transport me into the next town. We agreed to walk down the trail that connects the towns, meet up in the middle and walk back together smoking cigarettes his mother had gotten him and weed we had obtained. ( we were considered the bad kids in town. We got into a lot of shit together. We had shitty lives and should’ve died many times but boy did we have fun.)

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My House Was Haunted By A Demon!

Hey there what I’m about to say is 100 percent true, and I know many people say this but I swear this is true I still remember it so clearly so let’s begin.

This was during the summer of 2017 and I was 14, it all began when my granddad died and we took the car he died in our garage because my uncle did not want it! so everything is alright for the next couple of days until one day my grandma goes downstairs around 7:30 am and sees that all the windows are opened, which for me as really strange because the way my windows are is that they are two in one so you have to open the inner one to open the outside one.

This really made my grandma scared because she said it might be a demon! now here’s the thing about my grandma she is Bulgarian and very religious.

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Don’t walk late at night in Mexico

I have been listening to your stories for a while now. Since then, I’ve been wanting to send you a story my dad told us about. I just couldn’t find the courage to send it in. But I think now is the right time. I’ll tell you the story from my dad’s point of view. Here goes…

I was about 19 or 20 years old when this happened. It happened one night in my village in Guanajuato, Mexico. I was out drinking and playing cards with a couple of friends. After a few hours, it had gotten real late. I believe it was 12 or 1 am in the morning. Anyways, I said my goodbyes and started to walk to your grandmas house. The night was earily quiet and dark. But I was a bit drunk, so it didn’t bother me too much.

As I was walking up the path to get home. I felt as if something was looking at me. I thought it was just my tipsy state. But something told me to turn around. As soon as I did, I regretted that decision.

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Homesick

 

Homesick

      This story happened to me over the span of about 5 years, starting back in 1999 during my second year of middle school and ending near my 18th birthday. Before I begin, I’d like to apologize for the length of this story, as it really means a lot to me and I feel that I need to spend some time explaining all of the details. Now I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts and spirits and all that. Even now, I find it very hard to place my trust in the supposed paranormal encounters that I hear from time to time. However, these events that I’m about to share changed my life forever, and I will never think about life and death the same way again.

The story starts when I was 12 years old and attending 7th grade in Black Forest Colorado. I didn’t have many friends at the time because I was new to the area, and I was also a bit shy. I can’t even recall who I was friends with back then. However, I remember very clearly the day that I met her. She was a tall blonde girl who always had this sad and confused look in her eyes. Her name was Allie. I had seen her around the school before, and I knew that there was something a little off about her, like she had some kind of mental disability or something. Whenever I saw her she was always sitting somewhere by herself and drawing in her notebook.

People would make fun of her all the time because she was so quiet, like she literally never said a word to anyone. Ever. I actually thought that she might have been mute. It wasn’t until about half way through the semester when I noticed her standing near the school entrance, clutching her notebooks tightly to her chests, and looking as though she was about to cry. A few kids were holding up a picture that she had drawn, waving it around in the air while taunting her like a bunch of entitled assholes with nothing better to do than to humiliate this poor girl.

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The Twenty-Eleven house

As cliché and annoying as it is sometimes, I need to start this story with a little preface, a little background and an apology as it may be on the long side for this category compared to similar posts. I’m picking this particular experience out of a timeframe that lasted for a cumulative total of eight years. I say ‘cumulative’ because I actually lived in this house/apartment on two separate occasions, but purely by coincidence. Or at least I thought it was coincidence. I don’t live there any longer and, looking back, I am convinced that the house called me back as if it wasn’t done tormenting me, my family and my friends.  Every week of every year I lived in that house was terrifying, to say the least. This experience takes place during my second stint in the house. Also, a little apology if this story sounds like it’s ripped straight from a horror movie, but I can assure you that it’s all true. This experience, in total, spans roughly a year and involves myself, Jamie – my wife, George and Lilly – our upstairs neighbors and my best friends Travis and his wife, Julie.

The Twenty-Eleven house is a large farmhouse that is one of the oldest structures in town; roughly 120 years old. For the last couple decades, it has been used as two apartments; the first floor and the second floor. It’s in the middle of a bustling town with many popular places to eat, drink and has a nice music scene. It isn’t some backwoods, middle-of-nowhere shack; it’s only a seven minute drive from the downtown area of a major city. I won’t give you a detailed history on the place, but, needless to say, it has had a long, jaded, destructive and violent past that has it infected.

When this experience first started, I was living on the first floor with another good friend, Kevin, and it had been almost a year, and a half-dozen people moving in and out of the second floor apartment before our landlord finally found a nice, married couple that loved the place; George and Lilly. They were sweet enough and kind of kept to themselves whereas Kevin and I were night owls and loved to stay up late drinking, playing video games, etc. For the first six months they lived upstairs, we were convinced they hated us because Lilly was awake before sunrise to leave for work and we weren’t the quietest of drunks. We thought she had OCD because at least a few days every week, she would move all – and I mean ALL – of her furniture around and run the vacuum cleaner across their entire apartment. The house was old and there wasn’t hardly a lick of insulation in the place, especially between our ceilings/their floor, so we could hear everything. She walked very heavily and slid the furniture with determination. It was assumed that she was doing it to pay us back for being so loud at night. This routine went on for the next six months until Kevin moved into his girlfriend’s place. After that, my place wasn’t so loud and neither was theirs.

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