inadarkdarkroom

[inadarkdarkroom]

Instructions for Pizza Bomber, Brian Wells. (x)

[inadarkdarkroom]

He could’ve gotten away. If it wasnt for them meddlin’ pizza employees.

[inadarkdarkroom]

You’re Only Made of Moonlight

Alright, been debating writing this down because I’ve been trying to get it out of my mind. This story has a few different facets and I have no idea what to make of all of it.

A couple weeks ago, I wasn’t sleeping well one night. I kept waking up in pools of sweat and just attributed it to nightmares.

But then, I woke up and looked across my room, and near the window at the opposite wall, I made out a figure with red glowing eyes. I sat frozen in bed, just staring at it. I tried to tell myself that it was just lights from traffic coming in through the window, but the shades were drawn and it was the middle of the night, and honestly it was just two glowing red dots. I then told myself that it was somehow my dog and light was reflecting strangely off of his eyes and he was somehow on his hind legs, but I reached over and felt him in the bed next to me, and I realized that he, too, was staring at the corner. I looked at my phone to check the time to see if it could somehow be my roommate who wakes up early, but it was 3:09 AM and my roommate gets up at 4:00. When I looked back from my phone, the figure was gone.

I was petrified, but finally convinced myself to get up. I checked the room, and there was nothing, but I swear that the curtains by the window were moving. I told my roommate about it the next morning—he just laughed it off and confirmed that he was, in fact, asleep.

****

Fast forward a week, and my roommate and I are watching a movie, Gerald’s Game. The only spoiler alert you need is that you might as well skip this one. There were a couple scenes in the movie that really did spook me, though, and then…towards the end, there is a scene were the Death character is in the protagonist’s room, across from the bed, near a window, with red glowing eyes. I gasped at the scene. My hair stood on end. My eyes welled with tears. I looked over at my roommate, completely speechless, and he was staring at me with a look of genuine terror. The scene was exactly how I’d described my experience. I finally muttered “what the fuck” and he just said “we can’t talk about this or I will never be able to sleep again.

****

Fast forward another few days, and it gets weirder. My elderly female neighbor, who I’ve only ever talked to over the fence Home Improvement style, called to me when I was in my backyard. She said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. You know how I have those security cameras in my yard? Well I was checking them one morning to see the wildlife like I always do…” [her cameras are motion-detection and only record when there is movement] “…and a couple weeks ago, there was the usual skunk, then the neighbor’s cat, then, I’m sorry to say, there was a prowler. A really creepy guy jumped the fence from Jim’s [the next house down] backyard, came right up to our door, and checked to see if it was unlocked. He then jumped this fence into your backyard, around 3:00 AM. [insert horror movie bass note]. Jim said he woke up to someone fiddling with the doors at his house in the middle of the night, so this guy must have been on some drugs or deranged or something to have the guts to try three separate houses with people obviously inside.”

I simply told her we didn’t have anything stolen. Up to that point, the slider door that goes to my backyard was broken and didn’t lock. It’s the only point of entry into my house from the backyard, literally 10 feet from where my neighbor said the guy jumped into our yard.

I haven’t slept a full night since that conversation with my neighbor. But suffice it to say I triple check that every door is locked before bed, and that slider isn’t broken anymore. I still can’t explain the red glowing eyes, but I am convinced that I wasn’t alone in my room early that morning.

#stalker #stalking #prowler #true crime #scary #scary story #true story #back door #gerald's game #break in

[inadarkdarkroom]

The Angel

Late 80s, and we were living in a 2-bedroom unit in a duplex, but with three kids aged 4-8 and two parents we had outgrown the space, plus things were starting to sour with the relatives in the other half of the house. However, we were also pretty poor, so most places were far out of my parents’ budget. My mom had taken to scouring the local pennysaver newspaper looking for forclosures/deals when she found something that looked like it’d work for us. She called up the number in the paper and talked to an agent; his name was Craig Barnhart, and they arranged a showing. We ended up looking at a couple empty, foreclosed places in the same neighborhood (I was the 8-year-old, and was along for this and remember the two houses) and they decided on the one they liked and made an offer. It was low, so they didn’t think they had a shot, but ultimately their offer was accepted. My parents couldn’t believe their good luck; the house was pretty beat up, but had decent bones, and they were eligible for federal assistance to fix it up. Plus, it was in the same town where we already lived and went to school. They closed on the house a few days after Christmas; the seller didn’t come to the closing, so it was just them and Craig Barnhart, whom they’d dealt with exclusively throughout the process and had found incredibly helpful and kind. My mom says she remembers the day so clearly- the excitement of finally owning their own place where they could raise us, plus the gentle snow falling made it seem almost magical.

We moved in, and a month or so later my mom, filled with gratitude, wanted to send Craig Barnhart flowers and a thank you card. She called up the same number from the pennysaver to ask where she should send them. A woman answered; she told my mom, yes, it was that real estate agent, but there was no Craig Barnhart. They had never had a Craig Barnhart working there. My mom had called multiple times over the course of the homebuying process, always the same number, and had only ever spoken to Craig.

To this day, my mom, devout Catholic, believes he was an angel.

[inadarkdarkroom]

Haunted Hotel

My SO and I have started to go to haunted hotels for our vacation destination - just for fun and we both enjoy dark history. Last Thanksgiving, we went to The Crescent Hotel (built in the 1880s and at one point was a hospital*, the morgue is in the basement- https://crescent-hotel.com/history.shtml) in Eureka Springs, AR. There’s a killer buffet, and if you hate spending your holidays catering to you ungrateful family and you are near AR - you should go!

After the meal, we napped and woke up around 6pm to take the ghost tour. During the tour we’re informed that on our floor - around 3:30am - people are often awoken to the sound of a cart being pushed down a wooden hallway. And when the guests investigate, they often find that it is a nurse in a 1930s uniform, pushing a gurney, with a covered corpse. So, I jokingly nudge him and say “let’s set an alarm!” - when we get back to the room he begs me to not wake him at 3:30 because we have to drive back home in the morning and he actually wants to sleep - like some boring old dude. ANYWAYS! I reluctantly agree. We go to sleep around midnight. I randomly woke up at 2:30 - I know because I checked my phone. I laid there debating staying up - maybe “accidentally” waking him up as 3:30 approached. I decided to not be a jerk and let him sleep, checked my email, looked at black Friday sales, realized that the clock was getting closer to 3:00 but I was sleepy - so I decide to call it and roll over and go back to sleep. I wrap my arms and legs around him to big spoon my way back to sleep. As I was dosing off - I felt finger tips push on my shin, I jolted awake and said in a sleepy, annoyed voice “c’mon, man!” - this jolt woke him. He says “what?” and I said “nothing, go back to sleep” and I was out within seconds — after I’m snoring in his ear - he decides to look at his phone - it’s 3:30... he feels someone squeeze his lower thigh\knee... he closes his eyes super tight - turns towards the tv - stays awake until I wake up at 7am the next morning, too scared to scan the room.

When we checked out, I asked the front desk if anyone ever gets “touched” on the second floor - she says “yes, all the time - that’s just the nurses checking on you” — I laughed, he shuddered, we’re going back this Thanksgiving.

[inadarkdarkroom]

The Man Outside the Window

When we were kids, my sister and I watched “Now and Then” with our neighbor friends. We were 4 girls between the ages of 9 and 13 - I was the youngest. Despite my mom’s religious upbringing and banning of Ouija boards and anything else that could be considered Satanic, the movie exposed us to the concept of a seance. Naturally, we decided we needed to have one. We were in a small farm town in Central Washington State, known for apple orchards that blanketed the hillsides. Behind our house was a field with knee-high grasses that stretched for about 50 yards, and behind that was an orchard where the trees were shedding the last of their apples, skipped over for imperfections or pests. The orchardists were friendly with us and allowed us to run through the rows of trees pelting each other with the soft apples that had fallen to the ground. They even made these toys for our dog, two sticks with apples on them intersecting into an X shape through a center apple. The orchard provided us the shelter we wanted, both from the wind that warned us the snow would fall soon, and from the prying eyes of our parents. We tucked in behind stacks of empty apple bins and prepared our circle. My sister had done the most research, and lined our circle with salt to protect us from malevolent spirits. She lit candles in the center and we held hands forming a circle around them. We closed our eyes and my sister called out for any spirits who may want to communicate with us. I jumped a little when I heard the howling of a coyote in the distance, but I didn’t want the older girls to make fun of me, so I stayed seated even as the howling got louder and closer and accompanied by footsteps crunching on the dead grasses in the adjacent field where they hunted. Then, I imagined fire on the mountain that towered over my town. I had seen it when I was young, when we first moved to this town that burns every summer when lightning or lazy cigarette disposal catches the dry brush. I couldn’t get this image out of my head, though we were surrounded by the crystalline dew of late fall. I felt hot even as the air was frigid. My sisters hand burned in mine and she lightly whispered “fire.” Disturbed by our shared imagery, I finally asked if we could stop and go back home. But I didn’t ask, I yelled, as the crunching footsteps and howling of the coyotes had turned into a cacophonous chorus. I had started crying without realizing, and my sister yelled “on the count of three, let’s break the circle - one, two” “THREE!” screamed my older neighbor, the most skeptical and logical among us. We broke, and instantly silence fell. Without a word, we jumped up and ran. I looked back to see that the candles were no longer lit and must have extinguished at some point when my eyes were closed. We ran through the field silently as we approached our house, closer by three than our neighbor’s. To our left, the grass parted in pace with us. The older neighbor would later blame a snake, but the path looked too wide to me. We stumbled into the house and made a beeline for my sister’s bedroom, avoiding the judgmental eye of our parents. Out of breath, we panted in silence, eyes wide. Eventually, we recounted the experience and all four of us remembered seeing fire. Shortly after, my mom told the neighbors it was time to go home. They insisted their dad come over to walk them back the short distance that they had traversed a million times alone. My mom raised an eyebrow, and my sister blamed a scary movie for their terror. That winter, I slept in my sister’s room while my parents did a small remodel that had my bedroom in shambles. She had two twin beds with their head-ends meetingat the corner of the bedroom that was adjacent to the field. The first night, I was awoken from a deep sleep by the distinguished sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. For about thirty minutes, they paced the corner, back and forth, back and forth, as I lay paralyzed with fear. This sound returned, at least once a week, for a month. One night, the footsteps were accompanied by a scratching sound right at ear level, as though someone were dragging a stick across the wall just outside. I let out a small “yip,” a scream I refused to let out for fear of drawing the attention of the man outside the window, a nickname I had given the footsteps. My sister whispered, emboldened by my noise, “please tell me you can hear that.” It turns out, the man outside the window had been visiting her ever since the seance, and I was able to confirm her possible delusions were real. After about a year, our fear lessened as the MOTW didn’t seem to be evil, and never breached the wall into our home. If anything, I imagined him as bored, or antsy, like the kid who drags a stick through a chain link fence when he walks home alone. The footsteps returned occasionally for 9 more years, as I prepared to go off to college. My sister, four years my senior, was out on her own in Seattle. I rarely discussed the man outside the window, unless shaken awake by a terrified friend sleeping over and wondering who the hell was outside. My mom always believed we had been hearing something, but my Dad was adamant that there was nothing out there but coyotes and the occasional deer. When I went to college, my parents moved to another town in Washington to be closer to my grandparents. They always intended to return, so they rented out our house rather than selling it. During the decade they were away, some family circumstances led them to foster and eventually adopt my three little brothers - the youngest almost 20 years my junior. Last year, before the boys got too old and too established at school, my parents moved the family back to my childhood home. My youngest and middle brother share the bedroom my sister and I took refuge in after the seance. My youngest brother is the same age I was - 9. Recently, my sister and I were home for father’s day. We played MarioKart with our brothers after our parents went to bed. When it was time to go to sleep, my littlest brother asked to be tucked in. I followed him to the room and asked if he wanted a story. “No thanks,” he said, “but I do have a question.” “Okay,” I said. “Did you and (sister) ever sleep in this room?” “Yes, we both had this room oat some point when we were kids.” He got really quiet and pulled his blanket up to his chin. “Um, did you ever see that man outside the window?”

[inadarkdarkroom]

“I Want to See How Beautiful We Look Together”

About a year ago, I was dealing with the very tragic loss of my parents and distracting myself with Netflix and Tinder. Matched with a guy who had a shirtless mirror selfie - usually a hard pass for me, but he seemed sweet so I talked to him. I had hurt my back and was home in bed for 4-5 days and he said he was home sick, so we talked a lot before meeting. He was from the mid west and had moved to southern CA to apply to PhD programs. He told me he was overweight growing up and had always been awkward with women. He’s pretty hot, so I’m thinking he must just not realize it. He also tells me he has a six-year-old daughter - it was a one-night hook-up with a friend, and he only learned of her existence recently and doesn’t get much time with her, and how hard it is.

We FaceTime a few times and decide to meet up for a drink and a movie. We don’t get to talk a while lot, but the conversation we do have is fine, albeit nothing special. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly during that time period and after a couple drinks, I agree to go to his place to watch Blade Runner on his projector.

We walk in and I’m almost immediately uncomfortable. His apartment doesn’t look like that of a mid-30's man. It’s super disorganized and cluttered and I ask how long he’s lived there and he says “eight months.” Hmm. He’s awkwardly hung old beach towels on the wall as decor. We sit down and start the movie and the creepy “this doesn’t feel right” vibes are rapidly growing. He starts kissing me and I kiss back a little but then tell him I’m not ready for “that” and can we please slow it down. He says that’s fine and then pauses the movie.

I look at him and say “Um...everything okay?” He then proceeds to tell me he’s in love with me, that he’s dumped his long-time fiance who lives in Chicago to be with me, and that he would like us to move in together ASAP and try to have a baby. I tell myself he’s joking at first but then quickly realize he isn’t. In that moment I’m looking into his eyes and I just realize something is very wrong. I start to play along a little, kind of trying to play it cute and laugh it off. “I don’t think we’re quite ready to move in yet, hah...we should take our time. This is our first date.” He says we’ve talked so much, he just already knows he’s in love with me. He then says “So, we’re together right? Will you just say it? Say you’re my girlfriend out lout?” I say it. He then asks me if I’m ovulating now, or if I will be soon, because it absolutely turns him on and he really is dying to get me pregnant.

At this point, I’m probably the most scared I’ve ever been in my entire life. I fake a yawn and tell him I’m exhausted and it’s a work night and I reallllllly want to see him tomorrow, so I should probably just go home and get some sleep. He looks totally crestfallen but says “Okay. But before you go...will you do me a favor first?” At that point I think I’m about to be murdered. I say “Um...what is it?” He asks, “Will you stand in front of a mirror with me so that I can see how beautiful we look together?” I walk toward his bedroom with him, thinking I’m either doing the smartest thing by playing along and then getting the fuck out, or I’ve just signed my death warrant and I’m about to be made into a lampshade. We walk into his room and it’s a DISASTER. Piles and piles of clothes and just crap everywhere. We stand in front of the mirror, briefly, while he eerily smiles at the mirror and then looks back at me to make sure I’m smiling too. I say I really have to go and grab my bag. He tries to walk me out but I brush it off and straight up RUN to my car.

I get home and shower for a good 30 minutes, make sure my doors are locked, and crawl into bed. I pick my phone up and find several texts from him - all very graphic, extremely close-up videos of him masturbating.

I now realize that the reason he isn’t in his daughter’s life is probably because the mother realized he was batshit crazy and had a very good reason to keep him in the dark. I still feel nauseated just imagining his face.

[inadarkdarkroom]

Don’t Move, Don’t Look

When my husband and I got engaged, I was living with a roommate. To save money for the wedding, rather than re-upping my lease, I moved back into my childhood home. This meant my parents and grandparents (who lived there) were always keeping an eye out to be sure we weren’t fornicating. So, being creative, young people, we would drive out to a secluded park in my hometown for privacy. One night we’d been sitting in his car for a long while, seats reclined, attention laser-focused on each other when his whole body went stiff and he pushed my head down onto his shoulder and said, “Don’t. Move. Don’t. Look.”

It was surprising enough that for a moment I didn’t move. I thought maybe there was a spider or a cop. It was probably just a couple of seconds, but he was frozen and I’m a Gryffindor, so I shook free and popped up from my seat to find a man’s face leering against my window in this rictus grin of terrible delight. Both his hands were pressed against the window. He raised an eyebrow at me and kind of looked down, and I followed his gaze to see that the door was unlocked. Then, he did this kind of head tilt, like he’d been waiting for someone to notice before he acted, and he went for the door handle. I yelled at the husband to drive—he’d sat up by then and started moving—and in my panic, rather than just locking the door, slammed it open as hard and fast as I could before slamming it shut, knocking the man over. It auto-locked when the husband shifted into drive. We didn’t tell anyone about it, just kind of laughed in our fear. “Haha—a creeper was peeping on us.” But two days later, a news report came on with a police sketch of a man who had violently raped a woman in that park, the night we were out parking. It was the same man. I don’t know if he’d come upon us before or after assaulting the woman, but I do know there was no surprise or fear in his face when we made eye contact—just evil. Maybe this is a semi-happy ending? I did call the police to share what information I had, and he was caught a couple of weeks later—after another attempted rape.

[inadarkdarkroom]

He Was After You

Tried posting this one a few years ago, but was too late. Not a ghost story, but it’s one of the scariest things that’s ever happened to me.

It happened during my freshman year of college, when I was back in my hometown for Thanksgiving break. I’m from a small town in New England, the kind of place you can’t wait to get away from because nothing ever happens there. I guess maybe this was my town’s way of getting back at me for thinking like that.

It was late on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I was at a friend’s house, happily reunited with my best friends from high school, since we were all home for the holiday. A fog settled in that night, owing to the classic New England mix of chill and humidity.

As I drove home, I went by our town’s library, which is situated next to a small duck pond. The fog was extra thick over the water and illuminated by the lamp posts surrounding the pond. It gave it an eerie, golden glow. Being the film student that I was, I had my camera with me, as always.

Without thinking, I turned my car around, and pulled into the library parking lot, which overlooked the pond. I considered walking down to the pond for a moment, but something told me not to do that. It wasn’t fear- not yet. I remember not feeling any fear at all, just excitement and awe of the sight in front of me.

But still, I didn’t get out of my car, and that decision probably saved my life.

Instead, I kept my car running, headlights still on, and rolled down my window. I stuck my arm out the window and took a few photos of the pond and the fog. I pulled my arm back inside, and looked over the photos. They were pretty terrible, given how bad of a technique I was using.

This was the first time something felt wrong. As I looked at the photos, I just felt... the best way I can think to explain it is that, sometimes, I have nightmares about being in open water. I know that there are sharks swimming beneath me. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there. I realized I was having that same feeling in my waking life, as I looked through these pictures. I felt the danger before I saw it.

I looked up from my camera, fully alert and peered in front of me, but saw nothing for a moment. Then, a figure materialized out of the darkness around the pond and into the beams of my headlights.

It was a man. He was wearing dark jeans and a black zip-up fleece jacket. His hair was dark and short. I don’t remember his face.

He was walking in the direction of the library. In the direction of my car. I waited, not wanting to let my fear take over. Maybe he wasn’t walking toward me. Maybe he was going to the road.

But he kept coming toward me, walking faster and getting closer. I remembered my window was down and quickly rolled it up.

Then, he was right in front of the hood of my car, and I could tell beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was staring straight at me. The look in his eyes- his face was expressionless, but his eyes were intent, determined.

The moment we made eye contact, the moment I saw that look, I just reacted. I don’t remember feeling fear or panic. Just being more alert than I ever had been. I never took my eyes off of the man, as I threw my car into reverse and spun out of the parking spot I was in.

But I went the wrong way. Instead of turning my car toward the exit, I turned toward the back parking lot. Yes, there was another exit I could get to, but I would have to drive around the entire library to get there. Either that, or reverse all the way out onto the road, and risk hitting something- a tree, another car. I didn’t want to risk crashing- then I’d have no escape. I decided I would have to go around the library, it would take longer, but it was the safest option. All these thoughts went through my head in an instant.

The man ran to get in front of my car. One of my biggest regrets in life is not running him over there and then. But I didn’t. I put my car in drive and waited. He stopped running once he was in front of the car, then took his time. He walked slowly around the hood of my car, staring at me the whole time. Our eyes followed each other. He smiled.

The moment he was clear of the front of my car, two things happened:

He lunged for my car door.

I floored it.

I remember the sight of my car sailing past his outstretched hand. I drove as fast as I’ve ever driven, taking the corners at speed around the library. As I came out the other side, the exit was in sight, but the man wasn’t.

I drove as fast as I could toward the exit. As I got in front of the library again, I looked over, and saw the man running as fast as he could to get to my car. I sped out of the library parking lot and onto the main road.

The police station was a block away, and I made a beeline for it, still driving recklessly fast, hoping to be pulled over by a cop.

I got to the police station, and that’s when the fear finally settled in. I sat in my car and cried, breathing raggedly, completely frozen. I couldn’t get out of my car. I was terrified that the man had followed me there, that as soon as I got out, he would get me.

A police officer came out to my car and escorted me inside. They must have seen me on their security cameras.

I spoke with a female sergeant. I told her what happened. Gave her the best description I could. They immediately sent cars out, but found no one. I assumed that the man was after my car, my camera maybe, and said that aloud. The female sergeant looked at me and shook her head. What she told me, I’ll never forget:

“I don’t think he was after your car or your camera. He was after you.”

[inadarkdarkroom]

My Brother Saw a Ghost When We Were Kids

I was about 7 years old; my brother about 10. It was well past our bedtime when our mom woke up off the couch to put us to bed. Our dad worked construction out of town back then, so it was often just us three at the house for weeks at a time. Up the stairs and to the immediate right was our parents' bedroom. Going left put you in the middle of a hallway. Taking another left down that hallway led to my brother's room. The opposite end was my room which was also across the hall from our upstairs bathroom. At either end of the hallway are windowed doors we always kept locked and rarely used. The door on my end led to a balcony overlooking our front yard, and the door on my brother's end opened to our back porch (the house kinda leans into a small hill).

My brother and mom both had a habit of waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. I only knew this because I was always a light sleeper and they just couldn't help flushing with the door wide open. This night, however, my brother stopped on his way to his room and came back towards the bathroom, "I'm gonna try to pee before I go to bed. The past few nights I've been too afraid to walk to the bathroom. I keep seeing a man wearing stripes at the end of the hallway.". I don't know if my mom wrote it off as my brother telling ghost stories to try to scare me or if she was already half asleep and didn't catch it, but she didn't react at all to my brother's confession. I, on the other hand, was terrified by it. The fear of seeing a ghost like that at the end of the hallway or through the windows is the reason I started running from the stairs to my bedroom at night.

Years later, when I was about 18, my mom and I were having a conversation in her car about a dog we had for a very short time when I was little. We were sharing stories about Max's tendency towards destroying my shoes and other unruly behaviors when my mom blurted out, "Do you remember that time I opened the front door for the cops and Max ran inside to the kitchen and started tearing open that big bag of dog food we had?". This really caught me by surprise, because in all the years I lived in that house we never once called the cops (gun owner family in a quiet, rural WV neighborhood, etc.).

I asked her what she was talking about and she looked equally surprised as if she had just revealed something by accident. "Oh, that's right! I never told you because you were too young at the time. One night, I woke up hearing noises outside my window and when I looked I saw a man staring into my bedroom.". She went on to describe how turning on the lights caused him to take off running and how she grabbed my dad's pistol before calling the cops. "I can't remember all the details I gave them when they showed up... tall white male, wearing a striped shirt and jeans, short dark hair... something like that. They said it matched the description of a man they were looking for in the area. It turns out he had escaped from jail on a murder charge."

Now, I know it sounds so obvious hearing those two stories back to back, but it wasn't until a few years ago, in my mid-twenties, that I pieced together that my brother had unknowingly warned us about a murderer who spent multiple nights casing our home.

#haunting #haunted #scary #stranger #stalker #murder #murderer #true story #scary story #horror

[inadarkdarkroom]

The Haunted Staircase

Back in 2003 or so, I took a trip to Southeast Asia with my then-boyfriend, now-husband. We’d been together only for year or two at this point and this was the first time I was going to meet the extended family as well as visiting this country, so it was quite a big deal.

We flew to a city in the central region where his paternal grandmother lived. The hubbs seemed unusually nervous on the airplane which was odd as he’s not usually an anxious person. After we arrived and took a taxi for the hour-long drive into the city, he turned to me and warned me very seriously to not freak out, but his grandmother’s house was haunted.

I’m a huge fan of horror stories and cinema so I was like, COOL! He obviously did not agree but he didn’t want to talk about it further, so he only mentioned that this ghost or ghosts seemed to have it out for him when he was a child growing up in his grandmother’s house.

His grandmother’s house, it turned out, was in an ancient part of the city. Residential construction in these urban regions tends to be concrete shoebox-type deals stacked on top of each other. Her house is located right next to the river which floods regularly every year during the monsoon season. So her house was oppressively dark, with cracked concrete floors and discolored flood marks high on every wall of the first floor. It was a creepy house, even for a non-believer like me.

There was a staircase in the back of the house that split off in opposite directions; one went upstairs to a spare bedroom that overlooked the roof and the other to a room housing a very large Buddhist shrine as grandma was a very devout woman. According to the hubbs, when he was a child, he’d seen a bright orb flash from the shrine room down the stairs and up the steps to the bedroom. He also recalled being terrified as a very young child by things he couldn’t articulate. His relatives told us stories of him sometimes rushing out of a room where he’d been by himself screaming in terror at something that had frightened him badly. Other relatives told me of seeing figures walking around the house or hearing footsteps and voices when they were there by themselves.

The staircase. It goes up to a shrine room to the left and then also up to a spare bedroom to the right. (Sorry about the poor quality; back in 2003 I was a broke college student and didn’t have a high quality digital camera.)

The staircase leading up to the shrine room.

We stayed in the spare bedroom, which was through a door and up a set of steep concrete steps, almost like a loft. The room overlooked the roofs of neighboring houses, and would’ve been quite comfortable...except I got very ill almost immediately with food poisoning and a whole bunch of TMI things and started spending a lot of time up there by myself.

The first day I was reading a book upstairs. I heard my name called very clearly but it sounded far away, like someone was calling me from downstairs. I went down and found the house completely empty – everyone had gone out. I brushed it off as it was VERY quiet inside the house and it could very well have been just my imagination, and went back upstairs. Later it occurred to me that the silence was odd in of itself; usually the city is noisy with pedestrians and honking motorbikes going by outside. But at the time, since I was nauseated and it was hot and very humid, I just wanted to sleep and was happy for the quiet.

A while later, I was laying there on the bed facing the staircase when I heard footsteps heading up to the room. They were very loud, unmistakable, hard stomps on every step. I looked up, thinking maybe my husband had returned, waiting for him to appear at the top of the steps. But the footsteps just stopped just below the top of the stairs. I heard breathing and felt someone there. Was the person just pausing on the steps? What were they even waiting for? I called out, and when I got no response I went over to see who it was.

The staircase was empty. I went downstairs again. The house was still deserted.

The voices, footsteps, and breathing occurred several more times during the three days we stayed there, while I was alone in the room. It got to the point where I’d just concentrate on my book and refuse to look up or acknowledge the sounds or presence in any way. I figured people had been living with this spirit for decades and it hadn’t harmed anyone that I knew of...right? I didn’t tell my husband at the time since I didn’t want to frighten him more than he already was, and I still wasn’t sure if I wasn’t just imagining it.

Later, I woke up in the middle of the night. My husband was already awake next to me. The room was unusually dark; usually street lights could be seen through the windows and it was a moonlit night. The staircase was suffocatingly dark. There was the feeling of a heavy brooding presence at the end of the bed which was closest to the staircase, watching us. We forced ourselves to go back to sleep because what the hell else were we supposed to do about a creepster ghost watching us? lol

The next day, since he’d experienced it too I told my husband about the weird sounds and voices I kept hearing coming from the staircase. Needless to say, he freaked the fuck out and told me that years ago when his mother had been pregnant with him, she’d been going down those steps when two invisible hands had SHOVED her down the stairwell.

The next night, we were awoken by loud scratching at the window next to our bed, like tree branches scraping against something. Except there was no breeze, and this was a rooftop so there were no plants, much less tree branches to scrape anything. I looked outside (I know, I know, in a movie I’d be the first to die) and saw nothing. We went back to bed and we’d only laid down for about fifteen minutes talking about the house when a cat started YOWLING outside our window like something out of The Grudge. We nearly had heart attacks; I shot up to look outside the window again. There was no cat, no noise, nothing around. We weren’t overlooking an alley or anything – this was the rooftop of a three story house. There was nothing to be seen anywhere.

I’m willing to chalk the last up to an actual live cat though, because cats are assholes.

The next morning, things seemed to be happening. My father-in-law was bustling around in the living room with a bunch of men, measuring things on the floor and pointing at things. My husband got really nervous again and hustled me out the door to do some delayed sight-seeing and wouldn’t answer any questions about what they were doing. Much later in the day he told me that his father, a feng-shui practitioner, had been losing money in some ventures and thought his misfortune originated in the house, so he’d brought in other practitioners to diagnose the problem.

They found two bodies buried under the floor.

By the time we got back to the house, the bodies had been removed and disposed of properly with funeral rites to appease the ghosts. The bodies outdated the house; centuries ago, when the city was still being built the river still overflowed its banks annually. These two were laborers who died in the flood and had been buried there, next to the river. My memory of what exactly the reason was or how the practitioners even knew the manner of their deaths is spotty, as my husband to this day refuses to talk about it.

I’m not supposed to have these photos. I’m told possessing even the photos can bring bad luck.

We never stayed in that house again.

^tumblr was not letting me upload the photos. You can see them here.

[inadarkdarkroom]

The Poltergeist Save

When I was 16 in the mid-1990s, I used to “run away” from my crappy living situation at home, and spend weeks-long excursions at my older teenage friends’ places. One of these hovel-y xanadus was my friend J’s apartment, located at the very top of a mostly empty five-story complex, in an absolutely terrifying high-crime part of the city. The entire building, except the very bottom floor, was vacant except for J. It was a particularly isolating sense of freedom being there, as well as extra creepy.

Upon J’s moving in to said dump, we noticed something remarkable right away—this place was undeniably and very obviously haunted. This was made known the very moment I cleared the threshold on moving day, carrying a heavy box of J’s books; a large, warm hand ran straight up the back of my bare right thigh (I was wearing a tiny skirt even though it was autumn, because “teenager”) and the sensation of the hand running up the back of my upper thigh turned to a pinch of my butt cheek. I was frozen, of course, and could only think to fretfully call out to J, who was in the bedroom inflating a $10 air mattress. “Umm.. J... Did you just pinch my butt?” He stuck his head out of the room and looked at me like I was insane, and responded, “Uhh... No?” I told him what had just happened, and instead of scared, he seemed amused, because it was a silly situation to describe. After this incident, though, there was no end to the weird shit that routinely comprised an average day in his tiny one-bedroom. Set something down? It would disappear immediately. Walk into a room? The door would slam behind you, only to immediately re-open itself. Ready to force yourself to sleep through the confusion and only slightly-amusing terror? Hear the sounds of dishes and cupboards being banged around in the kitchen. One night J’s boyfriend stayed over, and the guy woke up the next morning with a stinging red bite mark on his wrist—the teeth marks didn’t match his or J’s (or mine), and we had been the only three there.

So it was absolutely no surprise when J’s house keys went missing. We tore the place apart looking for them, to no avail. It was Christmas Eve, so getting in touch with the apartment office to get a replacement key was not possible. J’s mom, in the meantime, had invited the two of us over for dinner that night, so we made the decision to just leave the door unlocked this once, so we could go. “We won’t be gone long,” we reckoned, and headed out bundled up for the walk to J’s mom’s house.

We ended up leaving a bit later than expected (about 11 p.m.), but the streets were totally isolated by this point due to the holiday and freezing weather. This made it particularly noticeable when we realized we were being followed home.

The man behind us was making no effort to disclose his action. He came out of absolutely nowhere, and stayed behind us keeping a pace of only about 9 or 10 feet. I looked over at J, and this was the first time I had ever in my life seen him scared. The man behind us was easily 6'5", 300 lbs of fat and muscle. If you’ve ever seen a professional NFL player in real life, he was that size. His black eyes were laser-focused on us, a couple of scrawny teenagers in thrift store polyester bell bottoms. We were clearly poor, so he must have wanted... I don’t know... something else from us, which gave this whole scenario an even darker turn.

We increased our pace, he increased his pace. We turned a corner, he turned a corner. Unfortunately, every shop or business front we passed was closed, and cell phones were still brick-sized novelties used only by Miami Vice villains or dickheads in convertibles. There was literally no one else around except the three of us, lit only by passing Christmas lights.

We finally approach the apartment stairs. We are terrified to go up and announce where we live to this freak, but we didn’t know what else to do but to get inside, lock the door, and maybe call the cops if we had to.

We ascend to the first stair landing. He follows. Second floor. Third floor. J and I are sharing looks of panic as we try and remain calm as he clomps slowly right behind us. Fourth floor. There he is, close enough to reach out and grab us. We get to the apartment door, and the man has stopped, and is now just staring at us intently from the landing... waiting... as J and I stare helplessly at each other for what seemed like an eternity. I discretely reach to open the door, and it is LOCKED.

Deadbolted from the inside.

I start to sweat and almost scream, when J decided to knock on the door. I began knocking, too, and said as casually cheerfully as I could to the door, “Hey, it’s us! Open up!” The deadbolt clicked. The man, seeing that there was someone unseen inside the apartment, TURNS AROUND on the landing, and walks away.

We run inside, slam and lock the door behind us. Pretty sure we pushed the couch in front of the door, as well. We holler out “Thank you!!!” to the ghost, and laugh nervously at our sudden relief of fear, though still too shaken up talk about what just happened—any of it.

The next morning, J’s house keys were mysteriously returned to the bare counter by the door, where he’d always kept them.

It did not occur to me until later, that had the keys not been missing, this gigantic night stalker would have known that we were there all alone.

#haunted #haunting #stalker #halloween #ghost #ghosts #christmas #poltergeist #scary #scary story #scary stories to tell in the dark #scary stories #goosebumps #true story #horrifying

[inadarkdarkroom]

Sick Guy From 10 Years Ago

This happened almost 10 years ago. I was a 12 year old girl, a typical tomboy, my friends were mostly guys, a couple of years older. I was pretty confident in myself, and wasn't one to steer out of trouble if I was with my friends.

One day in the middle of June, I was walking home from my stop. It was like a 5-10 minute walk, nothing too far for a kid my age. I remember the sun was setting, so it was starting to get dark, but not too dark. Since it was June, most people were off the streets, either on holiday or just at home, so I was walking home alone. The street itself wasn't very well lit, but in my mind it was okay, since a)it was the shortest route home, b)it wasn't really dark outside, and c)one of my friends gave me a butterfly knife. A really cheap knife, but I was feeling badass and well prepared.

I was walking, totally spaced out, when suddenly I felt someone grab me. For a second I thought it's a friend who happened to walk by and scare me, but I remember feeling something was off. The hands that were holding me were not those of a 14-15 year old boy, but more manly, and one of them was trying to reach in my T-shirt. And then I felt a chill, when I heard the man speak. He said, in my native tongue, but I'll translate, 'Behave, you little whore'. I remember that he somewhat slurred the words, not like he was drunk, but as if he was on drugs or just plain crazy, and that his breath stunk of bad milk.

I started struggling, desperately trying to get free from his arms, and I don't think I've ever been more terrified. I managed to reach with one hand to my cargo shorts, that had many pockets, and deep ones (those were the days when we gals had normal sized pockets, hallelujah) and managed to grab at the knife. He tried to tug at my hand and I almost dropped my weapon, and in that split second I was convinced that I'll end up dead. I managed to grab it, didn't even open it all the way and stabbed the man in his thigh. I doubt I made any actual damage to him, but I definitely startled him enough so he could loosen his grip. I managed to wriggle free and started running for my dear life straight to home. He was swearing at me, and I could hear his footsteps behind me. I felt the need to turn around, but I didn't give in, because I was frightened that if I turn around, I'd see how close he actually was, and not to mention that he probably had that cheap, not even that sharp knife. I managed to turn to the door to my home, and I almost crashed into it. Luck was definitely on my side, because I managed to unlock the door to the apartment building and I ran up the stairs.

To this day, almost 10 years ago, I have this recurring nightmare. I notice someone looking at me, and I feel in my gut that he has bad intentions, so I run and he runs after me. It's always the same route as the actual event, it's always the same footsteps, and I always almost smash my face in the front door and desperately try to find my key to open it. So, sick guy from 10 years ago, you absolutely managed to damage me in some way, so let's keep it at that and let's not meet. Ever

#scary story #stalker #true story #halloween #freaky #stab #stabbing #stabbed #child abduction #child predator

[inadarkdarkroom]

Lying Stalker

Back in 2013, I was living with my ex at the time who lived near a nice country village, and as I was in between jobs at the time, I picked up a job at a local garden centre. It was casual retail work, fairly decent pay, and easy going enough that I could take coffee breaks frequently and wear basically whatever I liked as long as I wore my work polo shirt. It was walking distance from my ex's house, and full of people of all ages who were the most lovely people I ever met.

Most of the regular customers who came to the garden centre were usually sweet old people who would visit the café because we had free teas and discounted lunches for OAP's if they had a store card, so you often got to know all of them and some of them we gave nicknames.

Most of them sweet, like "Pink hair lady" a badass 80 year old grandma who wore a tassled leather jacket and bright pink hair. Then there was "campervan couple" who used to drive a really cool campervan with bright orange flowers painted on it, you get the idea.

With "Creepy Artist man" though, he gave most of the young girls weird vibes. He wore a straw hat, was in his late 40's, had round gold rimmed glasses and would wear strange graphic shirts with naked women on them, or "professional pussy patrol" sort of slogans on the back. He always wore ripped jeans where his knees were always hanging out of them, which were always dirty with paint or mud or something. He had this weird half smile, that would never leave his face,and a kind of leer that made people feel uncomfortable. He would take off his glasses and clean them constantly which kind of made you feel like he was trying to get a better look at the girls who worked there- especially the younger ones (16+ school leavers, usually)

Anyway, it was a roasting hot summers day and I had gratefully accepted the job of watering the hanging baskets outside, where I could avoid the humid sweaty heat of the green houses. I was wearing black shorts and my red polo, and my tool belt to prune and dead head plants as I went. With the hose in my hand and sunnies on my face, I was busy but enjoying the solitary job at the quietest part of the garden centre.

"Well hello there"

Out of practically nowhere, he slipped out behind some wooden trellises and looked me up and down smiling with his weird, too small teeth. His eyes lingered on me for what felt like an uncomfortable few seconds and i turned off my hose and asked him if he needed anything. He shook his head and kind of shrugged, still smirking at my legs. (I'll call him CAG for ease)

Me: "Okay sir, have a nice day. Let me know if you need anything" I turn to continue

CAG: "I've never seen you here before. You're a new one"

Me: "Huh? Me? Well, i've been here for 8 months now"

CAG: "I must have missed the memo that a beauty like you started. You have a nice tan! you look young"

Me: "Uh thanks, I'm 23. Anyways, I have to get back to work"

CAG: "Nice to meet you Caseycatladyy"

I suddenly remember my name badge, and get slightly irritated that he now knew my full name.

I make a beeline for the smoking area, where the toolshed was with an excuse to grab some smaller gardening gloves and by the time I returned to the floor, he had left.

As the weeks went by he would come in to the store regularly. Usually mid afternoon, coincidentally (or so I thought) around the time I started my shift. Most of the time I was the only cashier so I would have to serve him. He would buy the most smallest, pointless things, like floristry wire, or a tiny bag of birdseed. It seemed like he would purposely make a purchase with the intention of interacting with me. He would make comments about my appearance, statements mostly like "you have your hair different today, yesterday you had it down" "You have new glasses" or "that's a different lip colour to yesterday" He would always announce my name loudly and deliberately during every interaction. I felt uncomfortable but i was 23 and just politely shrugged it off.

Around christmas time, I was decorating the artificial trees, and he cornered me in the "forest" of them at the back of the store. He jumped out from behind one and made me jump, to which i was kinda pissed about him doing because I dropped a glass ornament and it had smashed. He bent down also and tried to "help" grabbing my wrist and telling me not to touch the glass. His grip was scarily tight and forceful and his hands were clammy and gross. I slipped my hand out of his grip and asked if I could help him with anything.

That's when it got weird.

He pulled out a leaflet from his back pocket and told me he was an artist and had a christmas art show happening in the local church hall and he wanted me to go with him. He told me that he was a painter, and he thought i would like his work (I had never indicated I was interested in art, to him, or anyone else for that matter, which is why I thought it was strange)

I asked him if he wanted me to pin the leaflet to the local event board, and he reached out and touched my arm and said No, the invitation is specifically for you. He pointed his finger and jabbed it into my breast ad he said "You". So I'm standing there in a dark corner obscured from view by artificial christmas trees just kind of cornered by this guy who was touching me. I cringed away and said "I was busy with my boyfriend that day, sorry" and kind of scampered off. I remember feeling really strange after that, the fact he grabbed my wrist and jabbed his finger into my chest that way. I told a few of my colleagues about it, and they all told me they would warn me next time he was in the store so i could maybe hang out at the store room until he was gone.

Well, that memo must have missed a few of the temp christmas staff, because one day I get told by one "Your friend is asking for you at the tills"

It wasn't unusual for my friends to stop by as it was fairly popular for gifts etc, so thinking it was maybe my ex's mum or something, i head to the till and there he is.

He’s holding a piece of paper.

I cringe but he had seen me now so I walk over and ask what he needed from me.

He passed the paper over and asked me to open it. Folded up, was a drawing of me, with exaggerated breasts and cartoon like eyes watering the hanging baskets in a sexual kind of position. I kind of stood there and said thank you but i couldn't keep it as I thought it was inappropriate to take gifts from customers. I handed it back to him and he kind of looked at me with this angry stare. He turned around and walked out without another word.

By this point, i had had enough. I knocked on my managers door and told him about the whole scenario that just happened, and all the previous interactions i had had with him over the past year. He watched the CCTV and agreed that it was so strange the way he gave me this gross picture, and told me he would talk to him if he came back. He praised me for my reaction to his advances and said I was doing the right thing and he would try and see him off next time.

The next day was a sunday and I was not due in to work. My boss calls me, and tells me he just received a call from HQ stating that an anonymous caller had called in to report a staff member inappropriately coming on to a customer. The staff member they had described and named was me. The caller had said that I, had been inappropriate towards HIM at work; offered to have sex with him, had "lead him on" and "obviously promiscuous" and that I had been pursuing HIM for over a year. The Jerk even described a fictitious relationship we had had, and ranted loudly about how I had been cheating on my boyfriend, before hanging up. HQ luckily didn't believe a word as my manager had already mentioned the guy to one of the higher-ups, but they thought it was wise to let me know about this crazy guy and suggest I report it to the police.

The next day, I did just that. The officer I spoke to said that he matched the description of a man who was a local pest- somebody who often harrasses young girls in the local area. He was also known to stalk girls in his car and had attempted to abduct a young girl 4 years ago.

The police officers assured me they would file the report and talk to him officially and that he was not allowed in the garden centre or anywhere near me again and if he did, i was to call the police and he would be arrested.

Unfortunately though, it never stopped him sending a ranting letter to my work place addressed to me saying he would kill himself if I didn't "take him back" and "receive his gift he drew of me". Fortunately, the police saw this as unsolicited contact and he was thankfully, arrested.

So creepy artist guy, Lets Not Meet. Ever. Again.

#stalker #killer #scary #pervert #scary story #scary stories #halloween

[inadarkdarkroom]

My Rescue Dog Rescued Me

This all happened yesterday and I’m writing this on my phone, from our hotel room so please forgive my grammatical errors. Here we go.

Fort Bragg, California is a small beach town north west of Sacramento. It has kind of a stephen king feel to it. You know what I mean, that misty, almost eerie small harbor town, but it’s beautiful and a huge tourist attraction.. you get people from all over the U.S that travel here. My fiancé and I decided to drive up here after I had to take some time off of work due to stress. It was a last minute decision and we packed up our bags in less than 10 minutes, grabbed our dog and took off. If we wouldn’t have had our dog with us I’m pretty sure I would have lost her. I guess this is where I tell the story right?

It’s our second day here right now, and we are staying at a motel that overlooks the ocean. You can see the fog roll in during the early hours of the morning, and watch the fishing boats leave the harbor to go get their haul for the day. It really is a beautiful thing to see. We woke up early, and I was craving, and I mean CRAVING Eggs and bacon. After getting dressed and deciding what spot to stuff our faces at, we left for our morning adventure. See here’s where I made my mistake, I was driving down the road and it looked like the stop we crawled up too was a 4 way stop sign. I clearly guessed wrong, because when I pulled out and cut off a small ford ranger, with a dinky trailer attached to it and two old men driving I realized a little too late that I had cut them off. They threw up their hands and pointed at me, but lily didn’t even notice it. I threw my hands up in a “sorry I’m just a dip shit tourist” kind of way and they just stared me down. It was a hillbilly stand off that George strait would be proud of. I didn’t think much of it, and kept driving down the foggy two lane road to get breakfast. I didn’t even think to say anything to her about it, I never thought I’d see them again, and I didn’t want her to complain about me not knowing how to drive. I was wrong though, I was wrong and I’ll never forget what happened next.

We got back to the motel after a not so great, but overly expensive breakfast. We cuddled up and talked about our plans for the wedding, what we wanted to do after the wedding, and midway through our life plans she realized that we were out of dog food to feed Bruce. I agreed to going up to the cute, but creepy market and grabbing a bag of goodies, kissed her on the cheek and jumped in the Navi(we call our navigator “navi”) left, and got about half way to the store before I realized that I forgot my wallet on the night stand. When I pulled back into the parking lot, I saw it... that same fucking Ford ranger with the janky trailer attached to it. The only difference was that Hank, and boomhower weren’t inside of it. “I don’t remember seeing them here last night.” I thought.

I walked up to our door while looking over my shoulder wondering “what are the chances these douchebags are staying here?” And then not two seconds later my heart started beating faster. Our motel door was open, but barely cracked. It was open slightly to the point where you could see a sliver of light, but nothing more. I slowly pushed it open and looked inside, but I didn’t see anything. Lily, and Bruce were both gone. It was like they were never really there at all. My heart started racing, and I dropped my keys on the floor and ran outside, heart pounding in my chest faster than a jackhammer in New York. I didn’t see the creepy old guys from the ford truck or my fiancé outside, I was becoming angry and frantic by this point. “Fuck, fuck where are you guys?” I thought, before the screaming inside my head was cut off by the sound of familiar barking.

I heard Bruce barking and I ran, I ran faster than I ever have in my entire 28 years of life. I ran straight over to the front office where the sound was coming from, and that’s when I saw her and and our dog inside the office. she was crying, sitting on the floor sobbing uncontrollably, and his hair was standing straight up until he saw that it was me sprinting towards them. Lily got up and ran into my arms. Meanwhile the clerk is on the phone and I’m wondering “what the fuck happened in the two minutes I was gone?” This is what happened told by her, and it makes my blood run cold. It turns out as soon as I left, not 30 seconds went by and those fucking guys knocked on the door. Lily opened it up thinking it was me forgetting something(which I did) and they tried to force their way into the room and one of them said “you can thank your boy toy for what’s comin to ya” while grabbing her and covering her mouth, but those assholes didn’t realize one thing, and that’s that we had a dog in our back seat when I cut them off. Bruce jumped off the bed and didn’t hesitate to bite the one grabbing her, they kicked him, and tried to shake him off, but he wouldn’t let go. After being bit, and realizing that the noise would draw attention if they didn’t leave, they ran off and Lily was able to run to the front office and wait for help, and Bruce followed suit. I wasn’t there, I couldn’t protect her, if we would have found a dog sitter she could be gone right now, but my dog was there and he did exactly what a good boy, no the best boy would do and for that he is truly my best friend. If he wasn’t there what would have happened? Would she have been kidnapped? Beaten? Killed? All of the above? The craziest thing is that they haven’t been caught yet, we filed all the reports with the local Sheriff, I told them what had happened earlier that morning and the cop looked right at me and said “you’re lucky your dog was there, if he wasn’t and they got in there with her, you could have been filing a different report right now.” I got tears in my eyes at that, I looked over at lily and Bruce and thanked god that I rescued him from the pound, because in return he rescued the love of my life when I couldn’t.

So dudes from the hills have eyes, and deliverance. Let’s meet, but this time I’m going to be the one grabbing you, and trust me. I’m not going to let you get away this time.

Oh and Bruce is getting a steak dinner tomorrow night, and all the treats he could ever want.

#haunted #creepy #halloween #stalker #scary #scary stories #scary story #true scary story

[inadarkdarkroom]

He/She Followed Me Home

This is both mine and my friends story. Mostly mine, since I experienced most of it. So, my best friend, we will call her Erin, for the sake of keeping her anonymous, moved to 2 different houses in 1 year. She moved to a house in Talala, Oklahoma, which is a very small town. The house she lived in was a shop and a house and they where renting it. The land lord was mean and would always get mad at stupid stuff. So when Erin's dad would talk to the land lord, her and I would go to the graveyard that was connected to the neighborhood she lived in. I know, it was dumb to go to a graveyard in an already haunted house. So we're just walking, enjoying our time and then we both start to feel.... heavy, as she would say. We went back a couple times which was dumb but we had fun. One night, we where challenging each other to pull an all nighter and we did manage to stay up till about 4 in the morning. We went to bed early because we had to wake up early to go into town, which is an hour drive. But anyways, its around 3 in the morning and we start hearing stuff downstairs. The fridge opening and a can of soda being opened. We go down and see an opened can on the counter and the fridge wide opened. No one was down there. We exchange looks and Erin says, "My dad and brother are asleep. Who could have done this?" I shrugged. I liked all this horror stuff so I went to shut the fridge door and took the can of soda and we went back upstairs. Nothing else happened after that, until right before they moved. It was a month before they where moving and when I stayed the night there, I would always get Charlie Horses right in my calves. They where so painful that when I went to stand up, I would fall back over.

They eventually moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma. They live in a small home, with 2 dogs that where locked up at night. About the second time I stayed the night with her in that house, I started experiencing stuff. I was sleeping in her sisters room, since her sister was gone for the night, and I was laying down but couldn't fall asleep. I felt like something was watching me. I roll over, facing the door and I noticed something moving out of the corner of my eye. I looked up at the ceiling fan and the strings that you use to turn the fan/light on or off was moving. The fan was on, but the string kept moving at the same pace. Back and forth, same speed. Me being the ballsy teenager I am, got up and grabbed the string to stop it. It stopped but then I felt a sudden cold drift hit me. I shook my head, thinking it was just the fan, and I laid back down. The string didn't move at all. This was a couple months ago so I had forgotten about it.

Till recently. I have many pets, 8 cats, 3 dogs, 2 snakes, a ferret and a guinea pig. I'm used to the noises and such. I just recently started getting weird vibes. I spend most of my time in my room, doing what teenagers do in their room, and a couple weeks ago I started hearing shit. The first thing was a very low, demonic growl under my bed. I would have known if it was my cats, but it wasn't. I looked under my bed, terrified and saw nothing but a black shadow move from one side to the other in a very quick fashion. I forgot about it, thinking it was just me hearing things. Then, a couple days later I keep hearing my name being called. ‘Alexis, hey, Alexis.’ In a breathy, whispering type voice. I again, ignored it. I continued hearing things and then I started feeling touched. I would feel my back get touched and my neck get touched. One night, I was just laying in bed, trying to sleep, and my hand was laying palm up on my bed and I felt a guys hand run gently across my hand and I opened my eyes and saw a faint hand moving across my bed. I’m still experiencing stuff. I’ve been getting bitten and scratched. I do believe in ghosts but this one is doing strange shit. He/she is nice one day, then mean the next. I believe the ghost from the grave yard in Talala has been with me and is still with me. 

#scary stories #true scary stories #spirits #submission

[inadarkdarkroom]

We knew she was dead, and we knew where she was.

So for some background, my family has always been weird. Especially the girls. My mom and I just know things sometimes that we shouldn't. Like where a lost object is that's been missing for years, or what happened to a someone on a missing persons poster ect. This has to do with the latter. My junior year of high school, a girl went missing. She was a collage student from Mexico in the states to learn English, and she vanished one night without a trace. I always got the worst feeling from seeing her missing persons posters. They were everywhere and they gave me mini anxiety attacks whenever I saw them, so I started avoiding them whenever possible. It wasn't outright panic, it was more of a sad anxiousness. One day, my mom had me stop into the local Hispanic market for some tortillas , and this huge white Hummer was there. I couldn't explain why but I panicked and avoided it like plague untill we got out of the parking lot. I asked my mom if she felt it to and she said "it's got somthing to do with that girl." About a week later , mom and I went on a drive. We live in the southwest , so going for a drive means a few hours of canyon lands and forests. We ended up picking a canyon that isn't traveled very often because it's an hour of driving that ends in some rich guys mansion . There's no exit, just a turn around. It's gorgeous though. unlike most of the canyons around here that were carved by rivers, this one was carved by glaciers during the last ice age. This makes it so that instead of being straight down from the top, it's shaped more like multiple conjoined amphitheaters. This also has the added effect that you can hear noises in the canyon for miles and miles. This may be important later. We drove all the way to the top and the entire time my mom and I have this sinking feeling. The place seems creepy, but it was broad daylight and gorgeous out. The trees weren't even all that thick. Once we got to the top of the canyon, we went to turn around but we were both having minor panic attacks by this point so it was taking a second. As we finally go the van around, we saw that a white Hummer was pulling in behind us. We spoke quickly as we spend down the canyon, away from the Hummer and the mansion and everything else. Did we think the Hummer had something to do with it? : yes. Do we think she's still alive ?: no. Do we think she's in one piece?: Definitely not. Are they going to find her? : Not for a long time. My mom and I didn't speak of it again until a few months ago. We were in the area of the mouth of the canyon again by chance, and I looked at it and it was still creepy for no reason. I asked her " so, do you think she's up there?" To which she immediately responded " yes." And that was that until about a week ago. They found her. Up the canyon. she had been dead the whole time, and we had been right on where she was. A hiker found her skeleton , and my mom and I freaked out. I'm betting it has to do with someone who lives up there. Who ever killed her either had to have a house up there , or they would have had to have killed her somewhere else and driven the canyon road. If she had made Any noise at all in that canyon it would have carried. It has to have been someone local too, not many people know about the canyon she was found in. It's tucked away so far back into the mountains that it just blends in. There's so many canyons and mountain sides in this part of the southwest anyway that this one's more of an afterthought. even fewer people know that you can technically get off the road and walk into the forest. The scrub oak gets so dense that you can't see past about ten feet into the forest. That's how the guy found her, he had been looking for a spot to set up camp away from the road. If it comes out that whoever killed her used a white Hummer, I'll scream. And if it comes out that she was in peices, I'll scream even more. To the girl, I'm sorry we got scared and drove away. I'm sorry we didn't find you sooner. I hope they figure out who did it ( I have a hunch they may already know.)