Scared

Piano..By Ghost

So one night me and two of my friends decided to go wondering around an old abondoned house to see if the rumors in the past years were true. The rumors were that when you go in there at night you'll hear an old piano playing. When we went in there during the day we saw there really was some kind of old tore up piano. So it was decided that night we would go see if we could hear any music playing. when we finally got there we were too scared to go inside so we stood outside by the window. it wasnt long until we heard scratching noises then soon after that follwed the sound of a woman singing. we never heard the piano cause we ran away......

House with Scary Girl..

I lived in this house that was fine it was a nice house but when ever i got up to get a drink of water or go to the bathroom i swear i saw a figure at the end of the stairs and my 2 uncules and 1 aunt lived with me and my uncule jimmy always used to scare me with freaky stories and one night when there was this big huddle my mom was at work [cuz she worked late hours] and it was late at night like 11:00 jimmy kept scarying my when i was on the couch trying to sleep so i just ran at and my grandmother was outside,and i saw a blue hand with claws scratching at the end of the stairs and this story is 100% true.

Mirror=>Backdoor.

One day I was playing basketball outside when i hear my mom scream and come running out of house we were the only ones home so I asked her what was wrong she said " You Know that mirror we have at the front door, I saw a litttle girl with blood on her face and a small butcher knife in her hand and she swung it out of the mirror trying to cut me" so I went to go check it out but my mom refused on coming inside the house so I went alone and when I was headed to the mirror I heard a voice say " If you come any closer I will swing at you and not miss" I was quicky headed outside to meet my mom. We immediately moved out with the help of other peoples ..

Was it my IMAGINATION.?

One day i was going home after going to the park with my friends . Well my building looks like a pretty creepy place to live but i get used to it anyways my building has a long driveway where it leads you to the parking lot well my apartment is at the secong to last well while i was walking down i got a feeling something was following me but i thought it was just my imagination i dared not looking back cus i didnt want anything scarring the living hell out of me so then i got to my stairs and i felt like something was trying to drop me and i got in huge trouble cus my parents thought i was drunk and falling over lol i told them what happened but they dont believe anything til they see it hopefully one day they do and everytime im walking down i feel stared at when no one is there and i havent gotten dropped but when im riding a bike i feel like something doesnt let me pass i dont know its weird...

News.

One day i was walking with my best friend to school she used to come to my house every day but ever since she has been hanging out with MISS PRISS she has been acting weird.She says she'll be back what ever that means.I dont know what has gotten into her but i get woried im going to her house today.that day we were watching tv and on the news channel and it showed a picture of Alyssas house and the lady was saying little girl possesed of devil taking over her headi started freaking out and then i got it when she said i'll be back.By the time i was going to turn around she had a bat in her hand and was aiming for my head. So im warning you if you hear someone saying i'll be back dont let them take over your mind or you will end up like me alone and scared hurry up i've got to go the devil is calling p.s this story is 100% true

Haunted Block.

so this happend about a few months ago. Well i just moved in to this one neighborhood and my very nice neighbor, rebecca, said that the last house on the block was haunted. So i said "Well lets go check it out, and see if it really is haunted" And she said "Okay, But first let me call my friend crystal and have her come too" And i said "Ok" So she called crystal and within a few min crystal was there. So all 3 of us walked to the haunted house and we brought a flashlight just in case it was dark. We opened the door and it was really creepy and dark, Well all 3 of us went upstairs and looked at all of the rooms up there. Then we went to the last room and saw a lil girl with a night-gown on, just standing there, Then Crystal said "Hey, who are you?" Then the little girl just disappered. So we all got freaked out and ran back downstairs, Then she was standing there, telling us to get out now or else! So we all ran outside and went to my house.

Doggy Human or Human Doggy?

There was once an old lady who lived in a house with a dog. When she went to sleep at night, she usually had nightmares. She would wake up, with her dog lying down next to her bed. To calm herself down a bit from the nightmare, she would always put her hand down the side of her bed, and the dog would lick her hand reasurringly. She would then resume sleeping. One night, the old lady had a bad dream. She put her hand down on the side of her bed. She felt a warm lick. She then went back to sleep. The next day, the old lady needed to borrow some sugar from her neighbor. So she knocked on the door of her neighbor. No answer. She decided to telophone her neighbor. Still no answer. Her neighbor was old and weary, like herself, and never left home. So the old lady opened the door. She went in the house and searched it. She found the old lady dead on her bed with black sharpie written on her nightgown saying, "Humans lick too"

Guest.

When I was about 8 or 9 years old I was downstairs watching TV. My mom was upstairs washing her hair. All of a sudden the TV turns off and in the black reflection of the TV, I see one of my braids stand straight up on the top of my head. I screamed and ran upstairs to my MOm. For a about a week my grandparents, my aunt, and my cousin visited us. One night my Aunt woke up to the soud of paper ripping. She thought that it was my Mom up late doing work, because my mother works alot. In the morning my Aunt was advising my Mom to go to bed earlier. My Mom simply said that she went to bed early that night. My aunt was shocked. One morning, everyone woke up early except my grandmother, who was really tired and never really slept in. Well everyone went down stairs. My grandmother eventually woke up. When she was getting ready to go downstairs, to greet everybody she heard the shower on, and saw the lights on and the door locked for the guest bathroom. She assumed that it was my uncle who finally arrived from a 2 day trip. When she came downstairs she saw that my uncle was downstairs with everybody. Suprised, my grandmother looked up the stairs to check the guest bathroom. She saw the bathroom door open, the lights off, and no signs of a person taking a shower. My grandmother was totally weirded out. My mother and I have moved out of that house.

By:Savoid.. Blood Patient

So me and my girlfriend just moved into a 2 bedroom apartment in Cali. we made one of the bedrooms into a game room. everytime we went into that bedroom the closet door was open so we would close it and this went on for many days. so one day my girlfriend was away and i was at a friends house all day . i came home to notice that my bedroom window was brokin it looked like someone was into my apartment and punched the window. i called the cops thinking that maybe someone broke in even tho nothing was missing and i had money just layin around however before i called the cops i noticed that there was blood on the bedroom walls then i looked down and i had blood all over my snecker. i pointed that out to the police lady and she could not explain it either we checked everyother window in the apartment all of them were fine. just about once a week i will wake up cause of the bathroom vent being on and the water running however the vent doesnt work. and i keep getting hospital bills in some mans name addressed to my appartment i tried asking the landlord or even the neighbors about the people who lived here before us but no one will tell us anything. its like everytime i bring it up they change the topic

What if u see Spirits.?

For just about my entire life, I have had insomnia and migraine headaches. I normally do go to sleep, but wake up again around 2:00 am. The only medications I have taken in my life has been for depression and migraines, all prescribed by doctors. Up until about a year ago, I have awaken to find other people in my room. I'm sure that they weren't actual people. If they were spirits or just my imagination, I honestly don't know. When I saw these "apparitions", they were usually the size of a human and slightly transparent. I could feel them there, but nothing actually was. As a child, I was always afraid of whatever these things were, and could barely shut my eyes from fright. As time went on, the only thing that would happen when I saw one was that it startled me. For a while, I thought I was crazy, and even tried to talk to them or send thoughts to them. I seemed to know things about these "spirits" that you just couldn't know by looking at them -- but that was probably just my overactive imagination. For example, I remember seeing an old couple (someone's grandparents) sitting at opposite ends of my bedside table, playing chess. If they had been real people, this would have been impossible because my bedside table is blocked off on the sides they were sitting at. Sometimes, I would wake up to find them sitting right next to my bed, just staring at me. They always seemed to be looking at me, in a sad way. Sometimes there would be a person so huge that it filled up my whole room. Like "Alice in Wonderland", that writer also had migraines and there is a certain type of migraine headache that can make you see that type of thing. Of course, ordinary things would look like them; a laundry basket filled with white clothes transformed into a baby or a dress hanging in the closed would be a woman with long brown hair. The worst incidents were the ones I couldn't get away from, such as when I would go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and come out to see a man or something watching me. I know that location has nothing to do with it. I have seen them at friend's houses, in different states, and even different countries. When I visited Arknsas for Christmas, I shared a bed with my cousin, and woke up to see a man with a large hat leaning against the wall, staring out the window. Its the truth i swear.

Dead Mother

This happen to my step brother his father is not my father no more so the man in this story is someone else and his mother is not my step mother, but i feel sorry for his mom and sister. this is the story he told me when i say i or me it is my brother talkin It took me a moment to recognize my father in the crowd of guests, partly because all the men were in black tie, and blurred together, but more specifically because he was smiling—an unfamiliar expression to his square jaw. His wife, Elaine, had locked her arm with his, and they were walking around the ground floor of the house, laughing. It was her third marriage, his second. She was in a simple tan dress that showed off her thin arms and exercised legs. At 48, 12 years younger than my father, she was justifiably proud of her body. My mother had been 13 years younger. I didn’t know Elaine well, only from a few dinners and a weekend we all spent at her father’s ranch in Montana, but she was pleasant, professional, a senior partner in an old city law firm. Listening to my friends tell about their own father’s second marriages—to women half their ages, women who were still excited to see more than one fork on the table—I knew I was lucky, that this was a good match, someone calm and collected to go with him into his later years. It had never occurred to me, in my selfish 20s, how lonely he must have been. And he never spoke about my mother to me after her death; it was as if a curtain came down, and afterwards he had become cold, impossible to reach. Yet now that I was married myself I could forgive him; I realized how strange and sad those 20 years between my mother and sister’s death and this day must have been. My own wife was downstairs with the rest of the crowd, also younger than I (at 25), lithe, and, while not yet showing, three months pregnant. Throughout the day there’d been no mention of my mother, which was appropriate but somehow unsettling. Her parents had given the wedding their blessing but not come. I’d been thinking of her more often lately, with news of the wedding, and had dreams in which I betrayed her in some way—never certain. When I was 16, my mother, Francis, and my ten year old sister, Coral, had drowned. It was a Sunday. They’d gone out on our sailboat. My father was supposed to be with them. My mother was not a strong sailor, but she’d been independent and when my father said he wouldn’t go, she insisted on going alone. The boat struck something and overturned, washing up a few miles south, empty. I could barely remember those days now, the twin memorial services in the Presbyterian chapel, all pushed back somewhere in memory. The reception was jubilant—a barbershop quartet of my father’s fellow judges were singing, and there was champagne, beer, a huge catered spread. I knew almost no one, although they all knew me, remembering me as a 12-year old or a high-schooler, asking me vague questions about my life. My hand was tired from shaking. My wife was deep in conversation with a stranger, so I snuck upstairs, unseen, and then, nostalgic, went further up to the attic for a moment of privacy. I’d often hidden myself here as a child, looking out the two small windows, playing with toys. I hadn’t been here in at least a decade, though for no reason I could remember. There were boxes, and more boxes. Dominating all was an old wardrobe, 7 feet tall, an antique. I opened it with a sudden sense of foreboding, of something long-repressed and feared coming forth. But it was only full of my mother’s dresses. I rifled through them, the fabric smooth against my hand, the fashions caught in the early 80s. I opened a box to the right of that and found old papers from 9th grade—a diagram in pen of the parts of the cell, a few tests with “B” on the top in red ink. To the left of that, my massive toy trunk, which I tried to open but couldn’t. I remembered a plastic apple with a bell inside, something I’d loved to play with when I was four or five, and old board games. It wouldn’t open—it was nailed shut, but the nail was loose and I pulled on the lid until it did finally open, impossibly curious. It had been lined with a thick, black plastic tarp, and resting on the tarp were two bodies. I jumped back, and then peered in with a kind of awe. It was my mother, and on top of her my six-year-old sister, their eyes closed, both of them much smaller than I remembered, their mouths open, my mother in a nightgown and my sister in pajamas, everything stained brown, the skin of their faces tight and drawn. I recalled them more from photographs than memory, but it was certainly them. My mind began to compile something, some story that I’d known but forgotten, a surge of repressed experience at seeing their bodies wizened, mummified. My father’s distance. My father’s strangeness with me after their death, what seemed to be fear. Because he was a killer. My father, the judge, the killer. I was in thrall, my mind moving furiously, as if I’d drunk all the whisky and coffee in the world at once. I heard the door to the attic open, and a voice call my name. It was my father, tall, gray-haired, immaculate in tuxedo. He saw me looking into the toy chest. “I watched you come up. I was thinking of this, that it could happen. On this day of all days, but it makes sense. I had some fear, some intuition—” My mouth was open, looking at him. “You’ve forgotten it, haven’t you?” he said. “How can you…have them?” “I don’t know,” he said. “I put them up here, I sealed it. The thought of disposing—of digging a grave myself—” “You’re, a—” Suddenly I was furious. I yelled, “murderer!” I swore at him, raised my hand. He flinched, then reached out and grabbed my arm, strong. “Be quiet,” he hissed, and though he was a murderer he was still my father, and I obeyed. We stood that way for a moment, silent. I could feel each of his fingers pressing into my arm, and his face became sad and quizzical, the smile from a half-hour ago gone entirely. He released his grasp. “You don’t know at all,” he said. “How could I know you killed them?” “I didn’t kill them.” He said my name, very silently. “You did.” And then it did come back, and I knew that I had. The events came back in my mind as he told it: “You drove home one night after a binge with your friends, all the little neighborhood shits you liked. You were sixteen. I heard you in the garage, and came out. You were rooting around in the dark, I thought you were robbing us. I turned on the lights, yelled at you, and you came at me with your Little League bat. It was PCP, I think. At least that’s the only thing I know about that does that.” He breathed. My mother and sister, one on top of the other, lay still in their box, witnesses to the story, a musty, leathery smell rising off of them. “And knocked me out. When I was back up you were unconscious yourself, but you’d beaten them—” he trailed off, near tears. “And there wasn’t anything,” he said. His voice came back only after a moment. “You had no idea what you’d done. You saw the bodies and pretended they weren’t there, kept asking where your Mom was. And I thought, I can’t lose my son, after all this. I have to save him, to keep something. I hid them. And I took out the boat that night, the dock silent, and hammered through the hull and took it out, and rocked it over. I wish I’d been caught, I wish—I had a story about them going out and planning to stay in a hotel, I called the police chief. And I was a judge…and so you went to boarding school…I couldn’t have you near me….” I stammered something. I couldn’t place the memories—I must have blacked out, or shut myself down over those days. Chosen to believe him. I looked back to the bodies in the box, unable to recall any more than a muscle memory, of the aluminum bat rising in the air, then coming down, my 16-year-old muscles working furiously, first the sister and then, when she ran towards the noise, the screaming, the mother, my mother, and I shuddered before them, their familiar faces. Elaine, the new wife, my new mother, yelled my father’s name up the stairs. He changed his voice, put his head over the banister, said he’d be down in a moment, just a little private father-son conversation. The attic door closed again. He closed the box, the loose nail falling on the floor, and put one of the boxes of papers on top of it. “Come downstairs,” he said. “There’s nothing to do about it now. Except perhaps a burial.” He turned from me and went downstairs. I followed him, towards the shouts, the sound of clinking glasses.(Jackie was his mom and Jasminse was his sister.)

In the Night

Once, when I was about 5, I was wearing this awesome Anastasia costume.I was just hanging out on the front porch with my parents and older sister, when all of a sudden, I had to go pee really badly.So I asked if some one would go with me because back then, I didn't even want to go upstairs by myself in the day time because I would see spirits and stuff.Anyways, everyone kept saying no, but I had to go really badly, so I just went by myself.Now, remember that I'm only 5, so when I get into the bathroom, I can't reach the light switch, so it's all dark in there.By then, I was already starting to get scared, but then, when I had almost gotten the light switch on, I heard this terrifying voice.It sounded like a demon, but also that of an angel.Remember how I had to pee real bad?Yeah, I was so scared that I peed myself and then ran outside.Instead of finding comfort, I found trouble.Not only had I ruined my cosutme, but I got pee all over the house.But the worst part was that my parents didn't believe me.I will always remember that, and now my mom feels kinda bad for not listening to me, but she still doesn't believe me, and neither does my dad.right now, I'm typing this story at my dad's at 6:04 A.M.I'm only up this early because I stayed up all night.Also, my friend B.B. says that a lot of times when we would play at my mom's house, she would see a little girl in my garage, dressed as though it's still the late 1800's.Another time, when I was sleeping (this happened when I was about 8), I was starting to kind of wake up, and before I realized it, I was having a tug of war with me and my sheet.By the time I realized this, I was full awake.Then, to make sure this was real, I looked at my hands and saw the sheet being ripped from my hands.When I turned, abruptly, around to see who it was, I was surprised to see that no one was there, but I was really tired, so I flopped back on my stomack and fell back asleep.Now, I had looked around the room for about 30 seconds, and saw nothing.Then, in the morning, I started to think about who it could be.I knew that it couldn't have been my parents because why would they do that?They're my parents, ya know, old fuddie duddies.It couldn't have been my older sister because she would have burst out laughing.And how could it have been my younger sister?She could barely talk, let alone get out of her crib and rip the sheets out from around me.Well, I hope that you've enjoyed these few spirir encounters of mine.I hope that I have more innocent ones kind of like this to tell in the somewhat near future.I love spirits and experiences and all that stuff.It may seem kind of geeky, but I don't really care.Oh, and sorry I made you read so much, but I'm bored, and what more, I've written all this in less than half and hour, but it normally takes me about 2 months (no joke) to write this much.That makes me feel really dumb.Oh well..

Scary Night

When I was about 9 or so, I was having a sleepover with 4 of my friends, we were all in my room telling ghosts stories around a lit candle, although we were young, they were pretty scary at the time, so we all got tired and went to sleep. Late at night i woke up to the sound of something at my window.. the shades were down so i couldnt see anything, i got out of bed cautiously and very slowly peeked out of the corner of my window and saw a man, just standing outside, he was wearing a black trenchcoat and smoking a cigar, althogh i couldnt see his face i knew he was looking at me.. the firey orange flames burned deep into my eyes as i stared out the window into the darkness at this man.. "BOO!" my friend said as he gave me a shock by grabing my shoulders, I gave a loud shout and said "WTF! Dont scare me like that!" "what are you looking at" he replied and i looked out the window to see the dark night, that was it.. i said nothing but i wanted to get a little bit of air and go outside, although what i really wanted to do was investigate the scene more closly, my friend agreed with the idea and joined me with a fresh air brake.. we soon went outside and i rushed to the spot where the man was standing, my friend asked me waht i was doing and i said i want to be here, for some reason it was like a forcefull thing, i couldnt help it i just stood there and stared into my window where the man was standing, i looked into my window to find one of my friends staring at me, in his watchfull eyes i could see a orange flame, my friend said lets go in, but i couldnt look away, my eyes were glued into the the orange flame burning bright in my friends eyes, i then passed out on the lawn, i woke up in my room the next morning, my friends were all gone.. my mom then came into my room and asked me if i was alright, yea i replied why? she said "i found u in the lawn this morning, do you remember anything?, no i repiled what happned" she said that a someone had kidnaped my friend i was with in the lawn, he left a note, and it said this "in this world there are people who take actions and people who recieve them" and at the end there was a chark burn from a cigar, i sat there in shock with the note in my hands, she then said, im so sorry, but thats not all we found, i asked her what else happned last night, she said she came into my room this morning and found my friend dead cold on the floor by the window, he had been scared to death, i sat there crying and said and josh? (he was my friend that stayed asleep during this whole thing) she said he went home early this morning, we called the police as soon as we could and the parents have been notified.. And to this day, i still have reacurring dreams of the man in the darkness outside my window, i have been diagnosed with insomnia and i have had problems sleeping for the past 8 months

Anne Walker

In the year 1680, at Lumley, a hamlet near Chester-le-Street in thecounty of Durham, there lived one Walker, a man well to do in the world,and a widower. A young relation of his, whose name was Anne Walker, kepthis house, to the great scandal of the neighbourhood, and that with buttoo good cause. A few weeks before this young woman expected to become amother, Walker placed her with her aunt, one Dame Clare, inChester-le-Street, and promised to take care both of her and her futurechild. One evening in the end of November, this man, in company withMark Sharp, an acquaintance of his, came to Dame Clare's door, and toldher that they had made arrangements for removing her niece to a placewhere she could remain in safety till her confinement was over. Theywould not say where it was; but as Walker bore, in most respects, anexcellent character, she was allowed to go with him; and he professed tohave sent her off with Sharp into Lancashire. Fourteen days after, oneGraeme, a fuller, who lived about six miles from Lumley, had beenengaged till past midnight in his mill; and on going downstairs to gohome, in the middle of the ground floor he saw a woman, with dishevelledhair, covered with blood, and having five large wounds on her head.Graeme, on recovering a little from his first terror, demanded what thespectre wanted. "I," said the apparition, "am the spirit of AnneWalker"; and proceeded accordingly to tell Graeme the particulars whichI have already related to you. "When I was sent away with Mark Sharp, heslew me on such a moor," naming one that Graeme knew, "with a collier'spick, threw my body into a coal-pit, and hid the pick under the bank;and his shoes and stockings, which were covered with blood, he left in astream." The apparition proceeded to tell Graeme that he must giveinformation of this to the nearest justice of peace, and that till thiswas done, he must look to be continually haunted. Graeme went home verysad; he dared not bring such a charge against a man of so unimpeachablea character as Walker; and yet he as little dared to incur the anger ofthe spirit that had appeared to him. So, as all weak minds will do, hewent on procrastinating; only he took care to leave his mill early, andwhile in it never to be alone. Notwithstanding this caution on his part,one night, just as it began to be dark, the apparition met him again ina more terrible shape, and with every circumstance of indignation. Yethe did not even then fulfil its injunction; till on St Thomas's eve, ashe was walking in his garden just after sunset, it threatened him soeffectually that in the morning he went to a magistrate and revealed thewhole thing. The place was examined; the body and the pickaxe found; anda warrant was granted against Walker and Sharp. They were, however,admitted to bail; but in August, 1681, their trial came on before JudgeDavenport at Durham. Meanwhile the whole circumstances were known overall the north of England, and the greatest interest was excited by thecase. Against Sharp the fact was strong, that his shoes and stockings,covered with blood, were found in the place where the murder had beencommitted; but against Walker, except the account received from theghost, there seemed not a shadow of evidence. Nevertheless the judgesummed up strongly against the prisoners, the jury found them guilty,and the judge pronounced sentence upon them that night, a thing whichwas unknown in Durham, either before or after. The prisoners wereexecuted, and both died professing their innocence to the last. JudgeDavenport was much agitated during the trial; and it was believed, saysthe historian, that the spirit had also appeared to him, as if to supplyin his mind the want of legal evidence. This case is certainly a solemnillustration of the mal-administration of justice in an ancient court;yet the circumstantial evidence, arising from the appearance of thespirit, appears very strong--the finding of the body, and the boots andstockings. Yet we need perhaps to live more immediately within thecircle of the circumstance to pronounce upon it. None of us, however,reading this book, would like to take upon ourselves the responsibilityof those daring jurymen, who durst venture to throw away life uponevidence which, strong as it appears to have been, did not come to them,but only to one who had borne witness to them.

A Wireless Message.

In the summer of 1896 Mr. William Holt, a wealthy manufacturer ofChicago, was living temporarily in a little town of central NewYork, the name of which the writer's memory has not retained. Mr.Holt had had "trouble with his wife," from whom he had parted a yearbefore. Whether the trouble was anything more serious than"incompatibility of temper," he is probably the only living personthat knows: he is not addicted to the vice of confidences. Yet hehas related the incident herein set down to at least one personwithout exacting a pledge of secrecy. He is now living in Europe.One evening he had left the house of a brother whom he was visiting,for a stroll in the country. It may be assumed--whatever the valueof the assumption in connection with what is said to have occurred--that his mind was occupied with reflections on his domesticinfelicities and the distressing changes that they had wrought inhis life.Whatever may have been his thoughts, they so possessed him that heobserved neither the lapse of time nor whither his feet werecarrying him; he knew only that he had passed far beyond the townlimits and was traversing a lonely region by a road that bore noresemblance to the one by which he had left the village. In brief,he was "lost."Realizing his mischance, he smiled; central New York is not a regionof perils, nor does one long remain lost in it. He turned about andwent back the way that he had come. Before he had gone far heobserved that the landscape was growing more distinct--wasbrightening. Everything was suffused with a soft, red glow in whichhe saw his shadow projected in the road before him. "The moon isrising," he said to himself. Then he remembered that it was aboutthe time of the new moon, and if that tricksy orb was in one of itsstages of visibility it had set long before. He stopped and facedabout, seeking the source of the rapidly broadening light. As hedid so, his shadow turned and lay along the road in front of him asbefore. The light still came from behind him. That was surprising;he could not understand. Again he turned, and again, facingsuccessively to every point of the horizon. Always the shadow wasbefore--always the light behind, "a still and awful red."Holt was astonished--"dumfounded" is the word that he used intelling it--yet seems to have retained a certain intelligentcuriosity. To test the intensity of the light whose nature andcause he could not determine, he took out his watch to see if hecould make out the figures on the dial. They were plainly visible,and the hands indicated the hour of eleven o'clock and twenty-fiveminutes. At that moment the mysterious illumination suddenly flaredto an intense, an almost blinding splendor, flushing the entire sky,extinguishing the stars and throwing the monstrous shadow of himselfathwart the landscape. In that unearthly illumination he saw nearhim, but apparently in the air at a considerable elevation, thefigure of his wife, clad in her night-clothing and holding to herbreast the figure of his child. Her eyes were fixed upon his withan expression which he afterward professed himself unable to name ordescribe, further than that it was "not of this life."The flare was momentary, followed by black darkness, in which,however, the apparition still showed white and motionless; then byinsensible degrees it faded and vanished, like a bright image on theretina after the closing of the eyes. A peculiarity of theapparition, hardly noted at the time, but afterward recalled, wasthat it showed only the upper half of the woman's figure: nothingwas seen below the waist.The sudden darkness was comparative, not absolute, for gradually allobjects of his environment became again visible.In the dawn of the morning Holt found himself entering the villageat a point opposite to that at which he had left it. He soonarrived at the house of his brother, who hardly knew him. He waswild-eyed, haggard, and gray as a rat. Almost incoherently, herelated his night's experience."Go to bed, my poor fellow," said his brother, "and--wait. We shallhear more of this."An hour later came the predestined telegram. Holt's dwelling in oneof the suburbs of Chicago had been destroyed by fire. Her escapecut off by the flames, his wife had appeared at an upper window, herchild in her arms. There she had stood, motionless, apparentlydazed. Just as the firemen had arrived with a ladder, the floor hadgiven way, and she was seen no more.The moment of this culminating horror was eleven o'clock and twenty-five minutes, standard time.

A Cold Greeting

This is a story told by the late Benson Foley of San Francisco:"In the summer of 1881 I met a man named James H. Conway, a residentof Franklin, Tennessee. He was visiting San Francisco for hishealth, deluded man, and brought me a note of introduction from Mr.Lawrence Barting. I had known Barting as a captain in the Federalarmy during the civil war. At its close he had settled in Franklin,and in time became, I had reason to think, somewhat prominent as alawyer. Barting had always seemed to me an honorable and truthfulman, and the warm friendship which he expressed in his note for Mr.Conway was to me sufficient evidence that the latter was in everyway worthy of my confidence and esteem. At dinner one day Conwaytold me that it had been solemnly agreed between him and Bartingthat the one who died first should, if possible, communicate withthe other from beyond the grave, in some unmistakable way--just how,they had left (wisely, it seemed to me) to be decided by thedeceased, according to the opportunities that his alteredcircumstances might present."A few weeks after the conversation in which Mr. Conway spoke ofthis agreement, I met him one day, walking slowly down Montgomerystreet, apparently, from his abstracted air, in deep thought. Hegreeted me coldly with merely a movement of the head and passed on,leaving me standing on the walk, with half-proffered hand, surprisedand naturally somewhat piqued. The next day I met him again in theoffice of the Palace Hotel, and seeing him about to repeat thedisagreeable performance of the day before, intercepted him in adoorway, with a friendly salutation, and bluntly requested anexplanation of his altered manner. He hesitated a moment; then,looking me frankly in the eyes, said:"'I do not think, Mr. Foley, that I have any longer a claim to yourfriendship, since Mr. Barting appears to have withdrawn his own fromme--for what reason, I protest I do not know. If he has not alreadyinformed you he probably will do so.'"'But,' I replied, 'I have not heard from Mr. Barting.'"'Heard from him!' he repeated, with apparent surprise. 'Why, he ishere. I met him yesterday ten minutes before meeting you. I gaveyou exactly the same greeting that he gave me. I met him again nota quarter of an hour ago, and his manner was precisely the same: hemerely bowed and passed on. I shall not soon forget your civilityto me. Good morning, or--as it may please you--farewell.'"All this seemed to me singularly considerate and delicate behavioron the part of Mr. Conway."As dramatic situations and literary effects are foreign to mypurpose I will explain at once that Mr. Barting was dead. He haddied in Nashville four days before this conversation. Calling onMr. Conway, I apprised him of our friend's death, showing him theletters announcing it. He was visibly affected in a way thatforbade me to entertain a doubt of his sincerity."'It seems incredible,' he said, after a period of reflection. 'Isuppose I must have mistaken another man for Barting, and that man'scold greeting was merely a stranger's civil acknowledgment of myown. I remember, indeed, that he lacked Barting's mustache.'"'Doubtless it was another man,' I assented; and the subject wasnever afterward mentioned between us. But I had in my pocket aphotograph of Barting, which had been inclosed in the letter fromhis widow. It had been taken a week before his death, and waswithout a mustache."

Present At a Hanging...

An old man named Daniel Baker, living near Lebanon, Iowa, wassuspected by his neighbors of having murdered a peddler who hadobtained permission to pass the night at his house. This was in1853, when peddling was more common in the Western country than itis now, and was attended with considerable danger. The peddler withhis pack traversed the country by all manner of lonely roads, andwas compelled to rely upon the country people for hospitality. Thisbrought him into relation with queer characters, some of whom werenot altogether scrupulous in their methods of making a living,murder being an acceptable means to that end. It occasionallyoccurred that a peddler with diminished pack and swollen purse wouldbe traced to the lonely dwelling of some rough character and nevercould be traced beyond. This was so in the case of "old man Baker,"as he was always called. (Such names are given in the western"settlements" only to elderly persons who are not esteemed; to thegeneral disrepute of social unworth is affixed the special reproachof age.) A peddler came to his house and none went away--that isall that anybody knew.Seven years later the Rev. Mr. Cummings, a Baptist minister wellknown in that part of the country, was driving by Baker's farm onenight. It was not very dark: there was a bit of moon somewhereabove the light veil of mist that lay along the earth. Mr.Cummings, who was at all times a cheerful person, was whistling atune, which he would occasionally interrupt to speak a word offriendly encouragement to his horse. As he came to a little bridgeacross a dry ravine he saw the figure of a man standing upon it,clearly outlined against the gray background of a misty forest. Theman had something strapped on his back and carried a heavy stick--obviously an itinerant peddler. His attitude had in it a suggestionof abstraction, like that of a sleepwalker. Mr. Cummings reined inhis horse when he arrived in front of him, gave him a pleasantsalutation and invited him to a seat in the vehicle--"if you aregoing my way," he added. The man raised his head, looked him fullin the face, but neither answered nor made any further movement.The minister, with good-natured persistence, repeated hisinvitation. At this the man threw his right hand forward from hisside and pointed downward as he stood on the extreme edge of thebridge. Mr. Cummings looked past him, over into the ravine, sawnothing unusual and withdrew his eyes to address the man again. Hehad disappeared. The horse, which all this time had been uncommonlyrestless, gave at the same moment a snort of terror and started torun away. Before he had regained control of the animal the ministerwas at the crest of the hill a hundred yards along. He looked backand saw the figure again, at the same place and in the same attitudeas when he had first observed it. Then for the first time he wasconscious of a sense of the supernatural and drove home as rapidlyas his willing horse would go.On arriving at home he related his adventure to his family, andearly the next morning, accompanied by two neighbors, John WhiteCorwell and Abner Raiser, returned to the spot. They found the bodyof old man Baker hanging by the neck from one of the beams of thebridge, immediately beneath the spot where the apparition had stood.A thick coating of dust, slightly dampened by the mist, covered thefloor of the bridge, but the only footprints were those of Mr.Cummings' horse.In taking down the body the men disturbed the loose, friable earthof the slope below it, disclosing human bones already nearlyuncovered by the action of water and frost. They were identified asthose of the lost peddler. At the double inquest the coroner's juryfound that Daniel Baker died by his own hand while suffering fromtemporary insanity, and that Samuel Morritz was murdered by someperson or persons to the jury unknown.

A Dancing Devil..

On 16th November, 1870, Mr. Shchapoff, a Russian squire, the narrator,came home from a visit to a country town, Iletski, and found hisfamily in some disarray. There lived with him his mother and hiswife's mother, ladies of about sixty-nine, his wife, aged twenty, andhis baby daughter. The ladies had been a good deal disturbed. On thenight of the 14th, the baby was fractious, and the cook, Maria, dancedand played the harmonica to divert her. The baby fell asleep, thewife and Mr. Shchapoff's miller's lady were engaged in conversation,when a shadow crossed the blind on the outside. They were about to goout and see who was passing, when they heard a double shuffle beingexecuted with energy in the loft overhead. They thought Maria, thecook, was making a night of it, but found her asleep in the kitchen.The dancing went on but nobody could be found in the loft. Then rapsbegan on the window panes, and so the miller and gardener patrolledoutside. Nobody!Raps and dancing lasted through most of the night and began again atten in the morning. The ladies were incommoded and complained ofbroken sleep. Mr. Shchapoff, hearing all this, examined the miller,who admitted the facts, but attributed them to a pigeon's nest, whichhe had found under the cornice. Satisfied with this rather elementaryhypothesis, Mr. Shchapoff sat down to read Livingstone's AfricanTravels. Presently the double shuffle sounded in the loft. Mrs.Shchapoff was asleep in her bedroom, but was awakened by loud raps.The window was tapped at, deafening thumps were dealt at the outerwall, and the whole house thrilled. Mr. Shchapoff rushed out withdogs and a gun, there were no footsteps in the snow, the air wasstill, the full moon rode in a serene sky. Mr. Shchapoff came back,and the double shuffle was sounding merrily in the empty loft. Nextday was no better, but the noises abated and ceased gradually.Alas, Mr. Shchapoff could not leave well alone. On 20th December, toamuse a friend, he asked Maria to dance and play. Raps, in tune,began on the window panes. Next night they returned, while boots,slippers, and other objects, flew about with a hissing noise. A pieceof stuff would fly up and fall with a heavy hard thud, while hardbodies fell soundless as a feather. The performances slowly diedaway.On Old Year's Night Maria danced to please them; raps began, peoplewatching on either side of a wall heard the raps on the other side.On 8th January, Mrs. Shchapoff fainted when a large, luminous ballfloated, increasing in size, from under her bed. The raps nowfollowed her about by day, as in the case of John Wesley's sisters.On these occasions she felt weak and somnolent. Finally Mr. Shchapoffcarried his family to his town house for much-needed change of air.Science, in the form of Dr. Shustoff, now hinted that electricity ormagnetic force was at the bottom of the annoyances, a great comfort tothe household, who conceived that the devil was concerned. The doctoraccompanied his friends to their country house for a night, Maria wasinvited to oblige with a dance, and only a few taps on windowsfollowed. The family returned to town till 21st January. No soonerwas Mrs. Shchapoff in bed than knives and forks came out of a closedcupboard and flew about, occasionally sticking in the walls.On 24th January the doctor abandoned the hypothesis of electricity,because the noises kept time to profane but not to sacred music. ATartar hymn by a Tartar servant, an Islamite, had no accompaniment,but the Freischutz was warmly encored.This went beyond the most intelligent spontaneous exercises ofelectricity. Questions were asked of the agencies, and to theinterrogation, "Are you a devil?" a most deafening knock replied. "Weall jumped backwards."Now comes a curious point. In the Wesley and Tedworth cases, themasters of the houses, like the cure of Cideville (1851), were at oddswith local "cunning men".Mr. Shchapoff's fiend now averred that he was "set on" by the servantof a neighbouring miller, with whom Mr. Shchapoff had a dispute abouta mill pond. This man had previously said, "It will be worse; theywill drag you by the hair". And, indeed, Mrs. Shchapoff was found intears, because her hair had been pulled. {205}Science again intervened. A section of the Imperial GeographicalSociety sent Dr. Shustoff, Mr. Akutin (a Government civil engineer),and a literary gentleman, as a committee of inquiry appointed by thegovernor of the province. They made a number of experiments withLeyden jars, magnets, and so forth, with only negative results.Things flew about, both _from_, and _towards_ Mrs. Shchapoff. Nothingvolatile was ever seen to _begin_ its motion, though, in March, 1883,objects were seen, by a policeman and six other witnesses, to fly upfrom a bin and out of a closed cupboard, in a house at Worksop. {206}Mr. Akutin, in Mrs. Shchapoff's bedroom, found the noises answerquestions in French and German, on contemporary politics, of which thelady of the house knew nothing. Lassalle was said to be alive, Mr.Shchapoff remarked, "What nonsense!" but Mr. Akutin corrected him.The bogey was better informed. The success of the French in the greatwar was predicted.The family now moved to their town house, and the inquest continued,though the raps were only heard near the lady. A Dr. Dubinsky vowedthat she made them herself, with her tongue; then, with her pulse.The doctor assailed, and finally shook the faith of Mr. Akutin, whowas to furnish a report. "He bribed a servant boy to say that hismistress made the sounds herself, and then pretended that he hadcaught her trying to deceive us by throwing things." Finally Mr.Akutin reported that the whole affair was a hysterical imposition byMrs. Shchapoff. Dr. Dubinsky attended her, her health and spiritsimproved, and the disturbances ceased. But poor Mr. Shchapoffreceived an official warning not to do it again, from the governor ofhis province. That way lies Siberia."Imagine, then," exclaims Mr. Shchapoff, "our horror, when, on ourreturn to the country in March, the unknown force at once set to workagain. And now even my wife's presence was not essential. Thus, oneday, I saw with my own eyes a heavy sofa jump off all four legs (threeor four times in fact), and this when my aged mother was lying on it."The same thing occurred to Nancy Wesley's bed, on which she wassitting while playing cards in 1717. The picture of a lady ofseventy, sitting tight to a bucking sofa, appeals to the brave.Then the fire-raising began. A blue spark flew out of a wash-stand,into Mrs. Shchapoff's bedroom. Luckily she was absent, and hermother, rushing forward with a water-jug, extinguished a flamingcotton dress. Bright red globular meteors now danced in the veranda.Mr. Portnoff next takes up the tale as follows, Mr. Shchapoff havingbeen absent from home on the occasion described."I was sitting playing the guitar. The miller got up to leave, andwas followed by Mrs. Shchapoff. Hardly had she shut the door, when Iheard, as though from far off, a deep drawn wail. The voice seemedfamiliar to me. Overcome with an unaccountable horror I rushed to thedoor, and there in the passage I saw a literal pillar of fire, in themiddle of which, draped in flame, stood Mrs. Shchapoff. . . . I rushedto put it out with my hands, but I found it burned them badly, as ifthey were sticking to burning pitch. A sort of cracking noise camefrom beneath the floor, which also shook and vibrated violently." Mr.Portnoff and the miller "carried off the unconscious victim".Mr. Shchapoff also saw a small pink hand, like a child's, spring fromthe floor, and play with Mrs. Shchapoff's coverlet, in bed. Thesethings were too much; the Shchapoffs fled to a cottage, and took a newcountry house. They had no more disturbances. Mrs. Shchapoff died inchild-bed, in 1878, "a healthy, religious, quiet, affectionate woman".

Just the girl he was looking for

"hello there.'' a young man's voice called out from the shadows of main street. "umm hello." katie answered back in a quiet scared voice. she could see nothing but the outlines of the mans black jacket. Slowly katie began to back away from the man. but he followed. "where are you going princess?" the man asked in a cocky voice. "anywhere your not." katie replied icily. just as she said that the man lunged at her. his red eyes shining and the rest of his features shocking. black hair,red eyes,skinny,but yet tall. katie has no idea who the man is but she was sure that she had seen him before. "let me go." katie exlaimed as she struggled against his iorn grip. "never princess because then you'll get me in alot of trouble." the young man said quietly as he began pulling katie away. "HELP." katie yelled. but nobody could hear her. "please help me!!!" katie yelled again before the man silenced her. "scream all you want princess,nobody can hear you." he said laughing quietly. "shut up!" katie snapped. the man just laughed and pulled katie along like it was nothing. "HELP ME!" katie tried again. "for the last time nobody can hear you princess." the man said as he pulled katie into a abandoned wearhouse at the end of town. "why are you taking me." katie asked as she started to freak out more. "your an easy target." the man said quietly as he walked into the wearhouse. katie looked around and the first things that she saw were,chains,blood,eyes in glass jars,dog cages,and dead bodies everywhere. "you sick bastard." katie snapped at him. "aww just wait princess were not even to the worst part yet. the man said quietly as he stalked through the halls of the wearhouse getting closer to the back. katie was looking around and she saw poison chambers,spikes,and skulls hanging off the walls,there were snakes slithering,and guts hanging off of the spikes. "you are such a sick bastard." katie snapped again. the man just laughed and kept walking. once he got into the back room of the wearhouse he gave a huge laugh as he threw katie into the dog cage in the corner. "home sweet home princess." the young man said as his eyes light up again. "shut up!" katie said again as she inched away from the dead decaying body in the corner of the cage. "now how shall you die.." the young man thought out loud. "needles through the eyes the man said as he picked up the needles,maybe poisoned he said as he turned to the poison room,crowbar to the head the man said turning yet again to the crowbar on the other end of the room,or maybe hacked to bits by a saw,then have your eyes gaulged out." "that's just sick you bastard." katie snapped. "shut up or i'll bury you alive." the young man said. "you get to much pleasure out of this." katie said quietly as she leaned against the cage's wall. "aww does my princess want to play." the young man said in a quiet mocking tone then threw the needle that he had in his hands at me and it went into my forehead. "you son of a bitch!" katie yelled out to the young man. he just laughed. katies blood poured from her forehead and ran down her body. so delicious looking. the youngman muttered."ahhh that's the problome." katie muttered. "your a vampire!" the man just chuckled. "ittook you this long to figure it out."he said aloud in a cockyvoice."now myprincess." theyoung man muttered. "come out and play with me!"Katies eyes light up and her face got pale. "hell no you sick bastard." she yelled atthe young man. the young man just chuckled and walked over opening the cage and pulling her out of it by force. "put medown now!"Katie yelled at the man.the man just shruggedand walked over to the spikes slowly pushing katies bodythrough them. Katie screamed in agonyas blood and guts ran out of her body.... "What the hell is yourproblem!" katie exlaimed as she was barly hangingonto her life. "everything is my problem.iwas concidered and outcast,a nobody,nothing but a failure,and now im going to repayeverybody who ever made fun of me starting with you." the young mansaid as he watched katies bloodrun from her body andacross the floor to his feet.then the young man smiled a twistedsmile and walked overto katie who was barly hanging onto the last of her life. "this iswhere cockyness gets you princess." the young man said as he reachedover tokatie and tookout one of her brown eyes.katies horror struck scream filled the room in that instant,but nobody could hear her. "simplydelicious."the young man said as he put katies eye into his mouth and ate it. "so good!" he exlaimed and slowly began to drink the rest of katies blood until there was nothing left. "now that was fun." the man said as he wiped off his mouth and disappeard back into the shadows to find his next victim.

By: Alexandria Jjuila Bateman..
Thanks.