Ghost stories

From the spring/summer 2011 ghost story thread on the Something Awful forums

The Stickman
quote:

I was walking from a friend's house to my own, in the early hours of the morning after a night of general chat while I was at university here in London, UK – specifically, a relatively leafy suburb called Brockley in South-east London. I had drunk only everyday tea or soft drinks all night and had consumed no drugs whatsoever. I'd simply gone without sleep. The time was around 6am and dawn was literally breaking when a friend and I found ourselves walking down my street to where my apartment was located, when we saw a figure walking up the street towards us. The word we coined later to describe its movement was 'lolloping' - a kind of up-down bouncy walk. It took a few seconds for the two of us to realise this was no human being. I asked my friend: "See that man?" "Yes," was the reply. "It's not a man, though, is it?" I found myself asking. "No,' said my friend, sounding scared. "It isn't."

The creature was entirely black and like a cardboard cut-out, flat and one-dimensional. It had no features at all, and it had arms that hung down to its knees. It seemed to be ignoring us, then it seemed to realise we could see it and it began to 'lollop' faster towards us.

We ran to my front door and hid in the hallway as quiet and unmoving as possible when we saw the thing - we felt it was male - approach the front door and appear to look through the glass from the way its head moved up and down and around. It then turned away.

We didn't sleep for some time after that, discussing what we saw. It was shaped like many descriptions of 'greys' but both myself and my friend came away with the impression that what we saw was either of this world or from another parallel dimension. To all intents and purposes, it appeared to be sauntering along the road enjoying the walk before it became shocked to see us staring at it in horror. We instinctively felt this was not a creature to try and communicate with, this was not something that it was good to be near. We might have been wrong but neither myself nor my friend would ever like to see this creature or others like it again, though I'd love to get some ideas on what it was. We felt that if this creature had somehow gotten hold of us, we would not be around today to tell the tale to anyone who might believe us or at least give the story open-minded consideration.


The Man In the Snow
quote:

Late one Sunday night, I was driving home from visiting a friend at a nearby university. It was late (11:30 or 12:00) and snowing very hard. These were all 2 lane, country roads which were very snowcovered and for most of the way I was the only one on the road. About half way through my trip, a car passed me going VERY fast and coming from seemingly out of nowhere. I hadn't noticed him coming up behind me, which you normally would, especially when the roads are that empty. But I might have just been concentrating on the road ahead. Anyway, within minutes (if not seconds), he was out of sight and I was alone on the road again.

About ten minutes later, I came on a man standing in the middle of the other lane, facing away from me. The car that had passed me was about 30 yards out in the field on the other side of the road. As I was only going about 20mph, it took me a few seconds to get to him. He never turned around or looked at me. As I came up next to him, I rolled my window down and asked him if he needed a ride or anything. After a very long pause (long enough for me to consider driving away and leaving him there) he turned to me and nodded his head up and down. Didn't say a word - just walked around the car and got in the passenger side.

It immediately struck me that something was very wrong, but at that point I thought he might be in shock or something. I started driving again, making small talk, seeing if he was okay. He said he was fine and then didn't say anything else at all no matter what I said. At that point I tried to casually look at him without being obvious and it really hit me that there was something wrong, not only with how he acted but how he looked - sort of "put-together" somehow. Needless to say I was getting very uncomfortable as I still had at least an hour of driving left. Suddenly, he said very loudly "STOP! STOP! STOP!" This scared the heck out of me and I slammed on the brakes, almost sliding off the road in the process. As soon as the car stopped, he got out of the car very quickly and started walking towards a deserted barn that I hadn't even noticed about 15 yards off the road. He walked to the front of it and just stood there, looking back the way we had come.

Now I was really confused. Not wanting to just leave him there in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, in a snowstorm, I rolled down my window and asked him what he was doing. Again after a long pause, he turned to me and said "They'll be here for me soon. You better go." This was so out of context I didn't know what to say next. There were no cell phones in those days so there was no way he had called anyone - how could anyone know to come for him? Then he turned towards me and suddenly began walking, almost running, towards my car. That was enough for me - I hit the accelerator and took off but with the snow, my car kept sliding and I thought for a second he was going to catch me. The last I saw in my rear view mirror he was just standing in the middle of the road again. It took me a couple of days to get over the whole thing and I don't think I ever drove that route again by myself.


The People In the Car
quote:


It was around 7 p.m. and I was walking from my house to my girlfriend's house. The sun was still shining and the early evening air was still warm. As I passed the town's small and pokey police station on the opposite side of the road, I walked by a small, white, old-fashioned car parked up on my side of the road. I didn't take much notice of this; after all, it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. The engine was running, which I thought was strange as did not appear to be anybody in the car. Perhaps the driver had popped into the police station or something, or perhaps taking a leak in a bush, I thought. And thought no more of it. An hour later, walking back over the same route with my girlfriend to my house, the car was gone.

At my house, we watched a few DVDs. Although she didn't want to stay that night, we stayed up late because neither of us were at work the next day. At about 1 a.m. she said that she was getting tired, and we set off walking toward her house in the chilling night air. We were walking quickly because she just wanted to get home (and so did I, truth be told). The roads were lit by a pale yellow moon. This is where it starts to get weird.

That same old-fashioned car that I had seen earlier was parked up in the exact same spot, opposite the police station. Again, it seemed as though there was no driver present, but we could hear the dull roar of an engine left running. I told my girlfriend that I had seen this car when I was on my way to her house, in the exact same spot, but of course it had not been there later when we walked to mine. She seemed a bit freaked out by this. I wasn't; to my mind, there is always a rational explanation.

As we passed the car she screamed. She told me that she saw two dark faces with "odd" expressions peering out of the windows, but when I looked, the car was empty. She swore that she had seen two big burly males sat in either seat of the front of the car. I told her that it was her overactive imagination. But, now about 10 yards in front of the car, the headlights flashed on onto our backs and we heard what sounded like muffled shouting coming from within the car. Still, I could see nobody, but then again the brightness of the headlights made it impossible to make anything out. By this point I was freaked out too and we both started running. And I am not a person easily scared by anything. The whole situation was just so... unnatural.

We reached her house without incident. I made her a drink and reassured her that there is a rational explanation to everything. I even reassured myself. Once she had calmed down, she fell asleep, and I locked her doors from the outside and put the key back through the letterbox. I set off walking back to my own house. When I saw two glaring car headlights at the top of her street (which I had not noticed a very short time earlier), I once again started to freak out. Or imagined that somebody was playing games with me. I started to run in the opposite direction to the car, which was incidentally the opposite direction to my house.

My heart was racing, but I didn't know why -- there was just something strange about this car. I can't explain it in words. I could feel it, and so did my girlfriend. Now it was my turn to start panicking. I ran down a number of alleyways and snickets, gradually working my way around the outskirts of the town back toward my house, and at the same time trying to avoid the roads. There was nobody to be seen anywhere or any other cars.

I really, really started to get scared when I came close to a road and the strange car rolled by. It was as if it was looking for me. I ducked down below a hedge and hoped that I hadn't been seen (that is how serious it was getting), but before I did, I caught a quick glimpse of two fat faces with the "odd expressions" my girlfriend had remarked on. The really were eerie. Like, melted. I don't know how to put it into words. Perhaps they were wearing masks? Nevertheless, it continued to drive on by me, so I assumed that I remained unseen. But it must have been a close-call.

Over the next half hour, there were four more "close-calls," but I think that I managed to remain hidden well enough behind trees and bushes and by keeping as far away from roads as possible. But in the distance I could still see it driving around the town in circles, as if looking for me. All I had to do was get home, lock my doors, get a baseball bat, ring my girlfriend and maybe 911 and warn them of creepy prankster motorists stalking my town....

Eventually, of course, I had to come back onto the roads to get home. I sprinted across street after street and soon came to the police station. But the police station was dark and empty as it was unmanned at this time of night (it is only a small rural town). There the car was waiting, and I was suddenly caught in its headlights like a small animal is frozen by headlights with shock and fear.

This tale now takes its paranormal twist. Up until this point, I had assumed it was some youths playing a prank with me. But one of them got out of the car (the passenger side). The horrific "melted face" was just not human. The figure was clad all in white and was of a burly build, and stocky... but unfeasibly tall at the same time. I mean, really tall, like seven foot. And he started to race toward me, arms outstretched, making a kind of wailing, screaming noise. I screamed myself and found a sudden acrobatic ability in me when I scaled a metal fence taller than myself into my own street, and within seconds was in my house and was frantically locking the door behind me. I've never ran so fast in my life.

On the inside of my doorway, in darkness, it took me a while before I could get my breath back or even move away from the doorway. I was exhausted after my flight. Perhaps it was a good thing as the house lights remained off until the car had passed away into the distance, and was gone, maybe looking for me in another street. (I heard the engine noise disappear, much to my relief. I almost cried with the relief!)

I waited for what seemed like an eternity, a million thoughts racing through my mind, and then without turning on the lights moved to the phone and called my girlfriend. She was fine, just angry that I had woken her up. Her attitude changed when I told her what had happened. We stayed on the phone to each other for hours and hours until the sun's rays shone through the windows, and outside we could both hear the hustle and bustle of daily town life starting up around us. I guess we just wanted to know that each other were okay. She asked me to phone the police, but I decided against it. What did I have to go on? I couldn't describe my pursuers, or the model of car they were in. It was hopeless. She then reminded me of something that happened a few months ago. A teenage lad was seen being pulled into a white car and was never seen again. The motorists involved, nor their car, was ever discovered. The witnesses' description perfectly matches that of the car that chased me all over town.


What Happened To the Mouse
quote:

This is something that happened around when I was 5 or 6.

I had just started school, and was overly excited about going, so it had to be pretty early on.
I don`t remember much about the day. I recall someone in the family had passed away, and my grandparents were attending the funeral. I lived with them, so it was normal for me to go with them. This day, however, I remember wanting very badly to go to school, and not deal with the boredom of a bunch of mourning people. So it was suggested that I spend the night with a friend of the family who would drop me off at school in the morning on her way to work. I really don`t think the death in the family had anything to do with what happened - it was just the reason I went to her house.

Anyway, I assume the night spent at her place was uneventful. I don`t remember anything about it, in fact.

In the morning, I remember her sitting me on the sofa while she got ready for work. I know I was already dressed, and had already eaten breakfast. She lived in an old house, so I sat there looking around and saw a tiny mouse hopping across the carpet. My grandparents had mice in the winter too, and I always considered it a treat if I was awake early enough and was quiet enough to spot one. I sat there watching this tiny mouse cautiously hop along when suddenly it stopped, perked up, and looked around. I`d say it was about a meter away from me. I assumed it had heard me breathing and was about to run. Suddenly, it flew up into the air and was literally torn apart before my eyes. I had never seen anything so horrible in my life. It`s head flew off and landed near the foot of the sofa, and most of it`s body a little way away from that.

But there was nothing near it. There was no cat or dog or anything, not even in the house, nothing. Nothing that could have done that to a mouse anyway, and nothing I could see. I felt sick and so afraid that for a moment I could only sort of stare at how awful this was.

Finally I screamed, after what felt like a long time but was probably only a few seconds, and the family friend came running. She too was stunned at the mouse and started asking me what happened.

I couldn`t stop looking at the body of the mouse. It moved. I swear, the front legs were there and it started dragging it`s body across the floor. I screamed, the friend looked and saw it too, picked me up and took me directly to school without another word.

For a long time, I thought this was some kind of nightmare, until I ran into the family friend. She asked me if I remembered anything "odd" happening when I was little. Of course I did, and she confirmed what had happened. Apparently she took me to school because she was scared to death and refused to go back into the house until her husband came home. The mouse body was still there, but it was against the wall, and they couldn`t find the head. She said it had seriously upset and she insisted that they move ASAP. She also said that there had been other weird things happening - like hearing growling in the basement, finding blood spots along the hallway, etc. They had no pets.

This left a huge impression on me, and I get chills to the point of getting tears in my eyes even now from thinking about it.


That Silence
quote:

This happened to my mother and stepfather close to twenty years ago, in rural central Pennsylvania. They had gone to my stepfather’s cabin in the woods for the weekend. Both had woken up during the night with an absolute conviction that something was at the window, watching them. While they could open their eyes, both were unable to turn and look at it. The bed was pushed right next to the window so whatever it was was right there. They were both absolutely terrified and knew that it meant them harm. My stepfather is still upset over the fact that he knew he was completely unable to protect my mother from it.

My stepfather, on the side of the bed away from the window, saw their collie – a large, well-trained, and very protective dog - lying on the floor, also absolutely motionless. He whispered the dog’s name. She would roll her eyes to look at him, but wouldn’t otherwise move – not even raise her head.

Both of them remembered smelling absolutely the worst stench of death they’d ever smelled. I forget what childhood trauma my mother said it reminded her of, but my stepfather said it smelled like when he’d stumbled on a pit that hunters had been throwing bits of carcasses into all summer.

There are bears in the area, but my parents are quite familiar with what it’s like to have one snuffling around the property – one even came right up to our tents while we were camping one night, and certainly didn’t smell like death.

When they told me about it, a couple of years later, they said that they had noticed that when they went to open up the cabin that summer, they had noticed that the bird and insect noises were gone – usually there’s a constant hum.

The next summer the insect noises were back and they had no problems. They still always get out of the car and listen at the edge of the woods before they drive up to open the cabin each year.

I lived in the area until I was 8, and never heard any local legends of anything like that, though maybe people just didn’t want to scare me.

This was in the woods a few miles outside Huntingdon, Pennsylvania. If you're looking for it, I just checked a couple of map sites and Smithfield, the town that sort of butts up against it, gets bigger billing.


The Hotel by the Cave
quote:

The year was 1958 when my parents were crossing the country to return home to visit relatives. Back then there were no highways, and the mountainous area of Kentucky was treacherous driving. Narrow roads that two cars, at some points, could not pass, and these roads also ran along the sides of mountains with steep cliffs and dangerous drop-offs. On their way to Ohio, by the time they got to Kentucky, my parents were so tired they decided to stop at a hotel for rest. They saw a sign advertising the world famous Mammoth Cave. This was not a billboard, mind you, because those were nearly nonexistent in the Kentucky backwoods of that day, but a handmade sign with an arrow pointing to the direction of yet another narrow road. They had never been there before, but figured it would be well populated, even in those days, with two or three hotels. Following the sign's directions, they turned and drove what seemed forever, almost to the point of giving up and turning back. After driving miles and miles on the dark and winding road, in the middle of the night, finally they arrived at what my father described as an aged, large, Colonial style farmhouse. They had not passed a car, or house, or any sign of civilization for many miles. In front of this huge house there was a sign - also hand-painted - saying "Mammoth Cave and Hotel."

My mother got a terrible feeling and refused to get out the car. My father was stubborn, and decided it had drove too far for nothing and was going to check it out anyway. So scared she was, my mother said, that she locked the doors the moment my father stepped out of the car, even though there was no sign of life or other vehicles anywhere in sight. My father said the door to the so-called hotel was open, and when he stepped inside there was a huge hole near the entrance with a velvet rope hanging around it. He said it was near the door and you had to step around it to keep from falling in. On one side were a bunch of old, old women in rocking chairs; on the other side a sign-in desk with a huge book on it. He said it looked like something you would see in a western movie. He said the old women numbered somewhere between 10 and 12. It was dimly lit by what appeared to be lanterns. There were no other furnishings in the room - only the gaping hole, which went straight down into the earth. He said it seemed bottomless, and the cavelike hole eventually fell from view into darkness that seemed hundreds of feet down. He described steps that ran the length of its depth for as far as one could see. One of the old women told him that the hole was the Mammoth Cave, but it was "closed" being so late at night. She offered him a room to stay in and asked him to sign his name in the book.

He said he still gets frightened when he recalls the event, and my father is not one to scare easily. He said he had a feeling that if he stayed much longer, he would never leave alive. He also said the women started to approach him, and he felt he may not have escaped their clutches had he not lied and told them he was going to the car to get his family. My mother had the car started and door opened by the time he reached it. He said she was terrified, even though she had not entered the farmhouse and saw what he did. To this day she said she has never felt so scared in all her life. They burned the rubber and got out of there, and did not stop until after daylight and they found "civilization" again.

As the years passed, our family has gone to the real Mammoth Cave - nothing like the mysterious event my parents experienced that strange night so long ago. In daylight hours, we've even searched the primitive side roads and found no house similar in design. Once we found a burnt down farmhouse, but there were no visible signs of a gapping hole that led to what seemed the depths of hell. Nearly 50 years later and we're still looking for answers.


The Dancing Cows
quote:

Once again I am posting something that I've thought about posting ever since I first joined this list. I think you will all realize very quickly why I haven't posted it before this. To this day, even I'm not completely sure what is was that I saw. I know what it looked like, but I've found that it's better, for me at least, not to believe that it really was what it looked like.

This happened years ago. I really don't remember how old I was at the time, but I don't think I was more that about nine years old. That would put the time of this somewhere during the summer of 1984. My Grandparents ( My Mom's parents ) lived out in the country about fifteen minutes drive from home. I was spending the weekend with my Grandparents. The story that follows occoured on the Friday night of that weekend.

It was after dark. I was on the couch, turned around and sitting on my knees, looking out a large picture window. I was waiting on Grandpa to get home from work. Grandma and I were the only two people in the there at the time. As I waited, a dense for began to form. The fog began to grow thicker as time passed. Grandma was getting a bit worried. Grandpa was late getting home and she was afraid he'd have an accident due to low visability brought on by the fog.

Several more minutes passed. I was still kneeling on the couch, watching out the window for Grandpa. Then I saw what looked like two lights coming up the road toward the house. At first, I thought it the lights were from the headlights on Grandpa's car. Then I realized that the lights were not the right color. One light seemed to be a lemon yellow, while the other appeared pink. I watched, curious, as the lights moved closer. Then I yelled for Grandma to come to the window and look at them.

Grandma was busy preparing supper and didn't want to leave the kitchen. I took another look at the lights, which were still moving closer, and then went to the kitchen to try to convince Grandma to come and see them. At this point, the lights were still not much more than fuzzy colored blobs due to the thick fog.

I left the window and ran into the kitchen. I told Grandma that there was a pair of lights approaching the house. She said something along the lines of, "Good. He's finally home." I told her that the lights didn't look like they were from a car. I told her about the odd coloration. Finally, Grandma agreed to go take a look for herself.

Running, I got to the window before Grandma did. I resumed my former kneeling possition on the couch before really looking out the window. The light were still there, closer than before. They were just starting to take on a more deffinate shape, like something was imergeing from the fog.

Grandma leaned forward for a closer look at the solidifying shapes. I turned to her, asking what the lights were. She didn't know and was begining to act a bit scared by the sight. I turned back to the window.

The strange lights were almost to the house by that point. (**Thinking back now, I realize just how bright they must have been to have been visable at the first.** ) Then the lights finally took on a more tangable shape. (**This is the part that REALLY makes me doubt what we THOUGHT we saw**) What we saw looked to be two cows, both bulls, dancing along the road on their hind legs. (**No, this is NOT a joke.**) One was glowing yellow, the other was glowing pink. Each of the "bulls" had a front leg, "arm" draped over the shoulder of the other. They were heading toward the driveway.

At this point, Grandma fainted. I only remember giving her a quick look as she collapsed beside me on the couch, then I resumed staring in disbelief and shock at the sight outside.

The "bulls" danced along until they got to the driveway, turned as if to make their way up it to the house. Then both just faded away.

After some time (**I'm not sure how long exactally, but I don't think it was more than a minute or so**) I turned away from the window to Grandma. She was still unconcious. I had no idea how to revive her. I remember shaking her, as if trying to wake a sleeping person, and talking to her. I do not recall what I said. After a few moments, she began to stir. As Grandma woke up, she turned quickly back to the window. I told her that whatever we had seen was gone. I asked her what HAD we seen.

Grandma sat me down on the couch and told me that I was NOT to breath a word of what had happened to Grandpa when he got home. I asked why. Grandma wouldn't give me an answer. She just kept telling me to keep quiet about it.

A few minutes later, we heard a car door slam outside. Grandpa was home. Again, Grandma warned me not to say a word to Grandpa about what had happened.

Naturally, the moment Grandpa entered the house, I ran straight to him and told him everything that had happened.

Grandpa spared only a second to ask Grandma if she were okay. The moment she said "Yes" Grandpa retieved his shotgun and went outside. Grandma began to scold me, very loudly, for disobeying her orders.

Several minutes later, Grandpa came back in. He had found nothing.

To this day, neither of them will discuss what happened that evening.

If that had been the end of the matter, I would have convinced myself years and years ago that both Grandma and I had simply been hallucinating. In fact, not too long after the incident, I had convinced myself of that.

Several years after seeing the "bulls" at my Grandparents' house, a friend of mine who I grew up with came to me one day with a story. I'll call this girl "A". (**Both she and I were about twelve when she told me this**)

When I lived in Ohio this girl's Grandparents lived directly behind us. "A" lived mostly with her Grandparents during the summer months. Only a one lane alley seperated our two yards. Across this girl's Grandparents' yard was the railroad bed I've posted about a few times in the past. On the other side of the railroad bed was a small farm. (**We lived at the very edge of town**)

"A" came to me one day saying that she had seen something very strange the previous night. I asked her what she'd seen. "A" made a long speach about how I'd think she was crazy if she told me. I pointed out that she'd already brought up the subject, obviously, she wanted to tell me. "A" agreed.

She said that late the night before she had been unable to sleep and had been looking out of her bedroom window. It began to get foggy. In the fog, "A" claimed to have seen two glowing lights moving across the pasture back at the farm. One light was yellow, the other pink.

(**Please keep in mind that I had NOT told anyone about what Grandma and I had seen at this point.**)

"A" said that, as the lights got closer to the railroad bed, they began to take on solid shapes. At that point, I was starting to get cold chills. "A" said that she must have been seeing things and that she wouldn't waste time telling me the rest of her story. I insisted that she did. After a few minutes "A" said, almost in tears, that the lights took on the shapes of cows. Bulls. Each bull had a front leg draped over the shoulders of the other. Both appeared to be dancing along on their hind legs. They were moving toward the railraod bed. Toward "A" 's Grandparents' house.

"A" said that at that point she had turned away from her window and hid under the blankets until morning.

After "A" told me her story, I told her mine own, very similar one. As far as I know, "A" never saw the "bulls" again after that night. I've never seem them again, myself.

If not for "A" 's story, I would long since come to believe that what Grandma and I had seen was a hallucination brought on by the dense fog and car headlights or something like that. "A" 's story makes me think again. I don't know WHAT we saw, but I do know that we saw SOMETHING.

Another great one

Add me to the list people with strange, creepy basement stories.

Even today, just hearing the word "basement" still sends a slight shiver down my spine, even though it's been about 35 years since the events in my childhood memories occurred. The word "cellar" provokes a similar response in me, although to a slightly lesser degree.

[semi-related]
quote:

In the movie "Donnie Darko", Drew Barrymore's character claims that a famous linguist (it was actually J.R.R. Tolkien) once said that the phrase "Cellar Door" is the most beautiful combination of words in the English language.

Well, he was wrong for saying it in the first place, and she was wrong for repeating it and perpetuating the idea that the phrase is somehow beautiful. It's not. It's downright disturbing.

FUCK THAT, and FUCK HER, and FUCK THAT MOVIE and FUCK TOLKIEN (even though I really did actually like the movie, and Tolkien). Fuck ALL of them right up the ass for using that phrase.

"Cellar Door" is, to me, one of the scariest possible combination of words.

[/semi-related]

-----------------------

Another goon, (stinkles1112) posted a 'basement' description earlier, which seems very apt - I'd like to quote an excerpt from that post:

stinkles1112 posted:

Also, there was a basement which had the whole "evil presence" thing going on. My mother flat out refused to go in there after the first time she did, and that was during broad daylight. My father only did with the door open and every light in the vicinity on. I remember vividly the feeling of abject terror I felt the one time, to my memory, that I went in there, not the kind of scared you feel when you're a kid and your mom turns the light out and shuts your room door, but the kind of scared you feel when every horror movie you've ever seen comes to life and coagulates in the form of suffocating, total darkness punctuated by a hundred eyes all staring at you with a deep burning hatred.


This is a very good (if understated) description of the feelings invoked. There are some differences; stinkles' basement was cold and seemed to affect everyone, while mine was warm and only affected children. Still, there are enough similarities to make me wonder if our basements may have been siblings born from the very same hell, or perhaps they were even connected at a deeper level; some twisted "dionaea basement" in which each of them was only a small part of a larger entity.

-----------------------

OK, That's enough of that particular rant - Here we go, to the much longer ranting....

It's going to be a long story, filled with many irrelevant details that serve no real purpose other than to demonstrate how clearly I remember it; how it has burned itself into my mind.

I don't know how many of you are prepared to read the rambling, incoherent ravings of a madman recounting events from the lunacy of his childhood memories, so at this point you have two choices:

(a) Skip my post and proceed to the next one; there is no "tl;dr"
(b) Sit back, relax, settle in, and prepare yourself for the ride.


-----------------------
Introduction & back-story
-----------------------
As I mentioned before, my basement story is along the same lines as the "evil presence" mentioned in the post I quoted above. It's quite a bit more complicated than the other basement story back on page 3, where Crotch Apples reported hearing strange noises only to discover that the noises were the result of a brother making out with girls.

I'm not saying that there weren't strange noises - there absolutely were, although just how strange is debatable. In retrospect, they may have been (and probably were) perfectly mundane "basement noises", but they did add an element of extra creepiness.

Noises like the occasional erratic metallic 'clink' or 'thunk' sound of pipes being tapped on. A steady 'bloop' at about 10-second intervals, suggesting a drip from some unseen leak. The sound of rushing water. All of those were likely just plumbing issues. Less frequently, I would hear a low 'moaning' sound, which quite probably was just wind somehow entering from outside, or circulating in some plumbing vents.

Looking back, there are many completely rational explanations for such noises, and it's likely that every old basement in every old house makes noises like these. At the time though, in my young mind, they were unfathomably ominous warning sounds. The erratic 'clink' and 'thunk' tapping noises were intentional, and were designed to stimulate my curiosity; drawing me down into the basement to investigate. The dripping 'bloop' noises were maddeningly loud - much louder than they had any right to be - and were similarly intended to lure me down in the hopes of shutting off whatever infernal faucet was open. The rushing water noises only served to confuse me, but the moaning....

Oh, the moaning - Thankfully, it wasn't as constant as the tapping or the drip, but nevertheless it was horrific. It both drew me and repelled me at the same time. I didn't know if it was the call of someone who needed my help (perhaps the last victim who had made the unwise decision to enter that pit), or if it was a chorus of all the voices of previous victims, warning me to stay away.

To make it worse, none of the noises sounded entirely real - They all had an artificial quality, like sound-effects from a movie - Like shaking a piece of sheet-metal to re-create the sound of thunder, or clapping coconut-halves together for the sound of a horse galloping. I could never (and still can't) quite place my finger on it, but something about the noises was always very 'off'. The 'not-quite-right' feeling inherent in the sound may have been due to the shape/acoustics of the room. All sounds coming through the door from below the staircase seemed to be amplified, and a short echo/delay ambiance was applied before the sound waves reached my ears.

I didn't understand concepts like 'acoustics' at the time. Maybe the alteration of the sounds were simply due to acoustics of the room, causing the sound waves to resonate in such an unusual fashion....

But then again, maybe the sounds were altered intentionally to disguise their artificiality. Hearing the noises through the open door at the top of the staircase created the feeling that the noises just somehow didn't belong. As if they had actually originated from some other source, elsewhere in the universe, but had been transported into the basement through some rift in space-time. When the door was shut, the noises could (mercifully) no longer be heard at all. The door didn't muffle the noises, but canceled them out altogether.


-----------------------
The story begins...
-----------------------
During my childhood, my family moved around a lot. My father worked for a government agency that would transfer him to different locations on a fairly regular basis. Every year or two, we'd be in a different city or state, moving into a new home.

I was probably about 7 years old when we moved into the house with "the haunted basement". Perhaps "haunted" isn't even the right word to use - It was never really clear to me whether the basement itself was alive, or if something else, something very evil, was residing within the basement. I suppose the distinction is meaningless, because whatever it might have been, it's energy was always focused in that one particular part of the house.

I'm not certain exactly when, how or why I came to the conclusion that it was haunted. Only that it terrified me to my very core.

At some point within the first week of moving into this new house (before I had become aware of IT), my natural inclinations toward exploring led me toward the basement, just to play around, as children are often wont to do. At the time, the basement was new to me - it was (in my mind) 'unexplored territory', and I was a discoverer.

I was a young child, and I didn't know any better - It wasn't until much later that I realized it's a bad idea to intrude into areas where something might prefer to be left alone - a sleeping beast is best left undisturbed - once awoken, the beast will behave in a manner consistent with it's beastly nature.

Whatever force it was, it had decided I was unwelcome, and I somehow, instinctively knew it didn't want me around. I got the impression that it didn't like me very much at all - or perhaps it did. Maybe it liked me a little too much.

The door to the basement was just outside of the kitchen, in a small utility room/entryway around the corner from the pantry closet. The door's handle was on the left, and hinges on the right. It opened inward toward the stairs, where there was about a 4-foot long platform before the staircase descended along the left wall. Thinking back on it, this was a pretty poor design and potentially dangerous to someone who might have been coming up the stairs. The door opening at the wrong moment could easily knock someone down the staircase, or plummeting over the railing. Of course, I never thought about such things at the time. There was a light-switch on the left wall just inside the door.

From the doorway at the top of the staircase I couldn't actually see much of the basement, even if I flipped on the light-switch. The light illuminated the stairs well enough, but not much of the basement itself. That godforsaken room seemed to be shrouded in perpetual darkness. I could just barely make out the shape of the washing machine at the far right of my field of view.

The basement stank, as well. Standing atop the stairs, I could smell a very unpleasant musty odor and feel hot, dank air emanating up from within those murky depths. I could also feel a presence, like it was both sentient and secretive. It knew something I didn't, and it wouldn't reveal it's dark secrets unless I went down and succumbed to it's clutches. At times, it seemed only to be playfully mischievous, trying to coax me in. At other times there was no mistaking that it basement had wicked, malevolent intentions.

I never actually even set foot inside it; I was too frightened. Just looking down into it, I could feel the small hairs all over my body standing on end, as if even my very skin could sense the danger that lurked within that subterranean crypt, awaiting my arrival. I distinctly remember standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs, staring down into the emptiness, the dark abyss of the unknown and unknowable, desperately trying to muster up enough courage to descend into what I was convinced must be a magical portal to some other world; simultaneously wondrous and terrifying.

I could never do it. Fear would paralyze me before I could take even the first step down that foreboding staircase. I would stand there in complete and utter horror, sweating, on the verge of tears, until eventually something would snap and I'd regain just enough control of myself to run away. And run, I did. Every single time.

Eventually, my fear of the basement (and whatever unimaginable evils lurked within) extended to even the doorway which lead to that monstrous room. I began to avoid even the door to the basement, as if getting to close to the door would cause me to be sucked in, where I would surely suffer unspeakable atrocities. I would do my best to keep at least five feet away from that malignant, venomous doorway.


-----------------------
Friends visiting
-----------------------
Much like any other child, I had friends who would come to visit, play, or have the occasional sleepover. On a few occasions (when my parents weren't around, or weren't paying attention) I would dare my friends to enter the basement. None of them ever did. I never told them exactly why the basement was a scary place (and to be honest, I really didn't understand it myself - I still don't).

They all seemed very willing to take the dare, but as they approached the door they always faltered. One of them (Paul) came closer than most; and (admittedly) closer than I ever had - He walked down the stairway to almost the halfway point, where he froze. Solid. After a moment, he turned and bolted back up the the stairs. He didn't stop once he reached the kitchen, either. He kept running straight through, and locked himself in the bathroom for 10 or 15 minutes. When he finally came out he was sweating, shaking all over, and unable to maintain eye-contact - with anyone - for the rest of the night. He refused to talk about it.

My parents seemed to think that he might be ill, and they called his parents to express their concerns. I don't know exactly what transpired in that phone call, but I guess it was decided that everything was OK, because Paul's parent's didn't come pick him up. At least, not right then.

In the middle of the night, Paul woke me up and said that he had to go home. I told him to shut up. I wanted to go back to sleep. He started crying and babbling about wanting to go home. After a little while, the noise woke my parents up. It was tremendously embarrassing to me - I was sure they'd never allow another sleepover after this kid woke them up in the middle of the night with his blubbering. After all, he was my friend, I was the one who invited him here, and now he's causing problems, interrupting their sleep. They told me it was OK, sometimes kids get scared for no reason. They said the best thing to do would be to let him call home, and maybe it would help him to feel better.

My father made the phone call. He woke Paul's mother, and explained (as best he could) the situation to her. Then he gave the phone to Paul. Paul immediately started crying, the moment the phone was put into his hand. He begged his mother to come pick him up, that he needed to go home... I can still hear the tone in his voice, and the way he stretched out the vowel "e" in the word "need" and the "o" in "home". He told us all that was feeling sick, but he couldn't look any of us in the eye, and I could see the look of abject terror on his face. I knew it was the basement that had frightened him away from my house. I felt bad for daring him to go down there. He wound up gathering the few belongings he had brought with him, and my father drove him home.

Paul and I never spoke much after that - It was almost like we weren't friends anymore, for some reason. Over the short course of time that I lived there, I'd see him at school and he'd usually avert his gaze, as though there was some unspoken thing which he didn't want to acknowledge. In any case, we were never really friends again after that, he seemed to get very uncomfortable around me and distanced himself - In fact, I don't think I ever saw him have any friends at all for the rest of the time I went to school there.


[unrelated side-story]
quote:

It's not really pertinent to the story, but a few years ago, my mother sent me an email containing a web-link to a news story about Paul - She'd stayed in contact with his parents throughout the years. As it turned out, Paul had grown up (as we all do), married a very nice woman, and had 2 children. He also got a job as a schoolteacher in the same town and school district where I first met him.

Apparently at some point while he was teaching third-grade students, Paul developed an unhealthy liking of 9-yr-old girls. One of his students had come forward with allegations of molestation, and she was quickly followed by several other girls he had taught. While he was awaiting trial on multiple charges, he died from a self-administered rapid overdose of lead poisoning delivered directly to his brain via the barrel of a shotgun.

[/unrelated side-story]


-----------------------
Grown-ups didn't know
-----------------------
Judging from the reactions of every single one of my childhood friends who ever came into close contact with the basement, we children seemed to be (in some fashion) attuned to the presence of whatever was lurking within it. We could sense it, even though adults were entirely unaware of it, and thus unaffected.

My parents never showed any signs of being frightened by the basement at all. I never mentioned my fear to them for a variety of (completely illogical and nonsensical) reasons that I'll attempt to explain later.

Occasionally, I'd see my mother coming up from the basement; usually carrying a hamper full of clean laundry. I was in complete awe of how courageous she was, to have willingly gone into (and surprisingly, returned safely from) that abomination beneath the house. I don't recall ever seeing her enter the basement, only seeing her return. I may have just 'blacked-out' any memory of seeing her enter, as the thought would have been too traumatic for my young mind to cope with.

I'd like to think that if I'd seen her entering that dreadful tomb, I would have warned her not to go, even pleaded with her if necessary. Truth is, I probably wouldn't have. I would probably have been too afraid to voice my objections, knowing that the basement might hear me. I knew that it was evil, and I knew that it was dangerous, yet I had the suspicion that just maybe, it didn't know that I knew. Somehow, my intuition told me that I'd be safer if I didn't let it find out that I knew about it. As long as it didn't know I was aware of it, I could avoid it - but if it found out that I knew, it would have to get rid of me.

For the rest of the time that we lived in that house, I avoided that door like some demonic infectious disease that was absolutely, without-any-doubt, determined to destroy me (or worse). As I said before, I didn't mention my fear to my parents or anyone else. Using my childhood logic, saying it out-loud might awaken "the bad thing" and bring it directly to me, like some unearthly spectral dog-whistle. It seemed to be confined to the basement (for now), perhaps it was even trapped there and unable to come out. Speaking of it aloud might be like "calling it's name", which could free it from it's underground prison and allow it to come for me. I tried my best to hide my fear, because I somehow knew that if my parents found out about that fiendishly diabolical and loathsome entity, then the basement would be forced to deal with them, as well. As old superstitions go, saying something out loud calls it to you, and telling someone else brings it to them.

Looking back on it, I suppose they had to know how frightened I was even though I never told them. I don't think they could have possibly not noticed how consciously I avoided that door, and how quickly I moved when I did have to walk by it.


-----------------------
Relief at last
-----------------------
After about a year, we moved out of that house and to a different state. I still remember that basement (well, what little of it I ever actually saw) in great detail, and I'll never forget how I would become consumed by sheer terror whenever I came into close proximity to it.

-----------------------

-----------------------

Update - More recent times
A couple of years ago while I was visiting my mother, we were talking and something reminded me of all this. I don't remember what, exactly. I don't even remember what the topic of conversation was at the time, most likely something inconsequential, but something she said, or something I said, or perhaps something on TV reminded me (all it usually takes is hearing the word "basement").

In an off-handed sort of way, I mentioned it to her. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember being shocked by the way she reacted to it. What I said was probably something mostly innocuous, like "remember when I was little, how scared I was of the basement".

She just stared at me blankly, with a very strange look on her face, and didn't say anything all. After a few seconds (not your usual 'few seconds' - these were seconds that felt like days, or perhaps weeks - timeless, infinite seconds during which I became increasingly uncomfortable), when the silence had reached a deafening crescendo and my discomfort level had peaked, I tried to change the subject. She wouldn't allow that. To my horror, she only stared at me quizzically and asked me to repeat myself. The remainder of the conversation proceeded something like this:

quote:

"What did you just say?"
"Ah - mmm, nevermind, it's nothing - just thinking out loud."
"No, you weren't - What did you just say?"
"I'm going to get another cup of coffee - do you want one?"
"Stop avoiding my question - I want to know what you meant - Something about the basement?"
"It's not important, really"
"Tell me."
"I was just saying how much it scared me when I was little."
- [blank stare from mom] -
"I was really glad when we moved out of that house."
- [blank stare from mom] -
"It's silly, I know."
"We've never had a basement."


Of course, I didn't believe her. I even argued with her a little. I described the door, the stairway, the noises... All to no avail.

I tried reminding her of the night that Paul came for a sleepover, and how he had awoken so frightened that he refused to stay - she remembered the night, but she insisted that Paul had just gotten sick.

I mentioned that the laundry machines were in the basement - She simply had to remember it; she'd been down there many times. She refused to hear any part of it - She remembered the small utility room outside the kitchen, but according to her, the laundry machines had been located in that room, and there was no door leading to a downward staircase. After a very frustrating conversation, it seemed that there was simply no way I would ever be able to make her remember, and she seemed to give up on trying to convince me.

Later that evening, she brought out an old photo album. She sat down with me and went through photos of every house we had lived in while I was growing up. Photos of every location we had ever moved to, every city and state. She could tell me what years we lived in each home and how old I was at the time. She wanted me to point out which house I was talking about. I couldn't identify which particular house it had been. Although I could narrow it down to two possible houses based simply on my age at the time, neither one of them looked like the right house from my memory. The pictures were all familiar to me, I remembered the houses, but I couldn't place precisely which one of them it had been since none of them looked quite right. She could narrow it down to one particular house; being that it was the town where we had met Paul's family. She swore that it didn't have a basement, nor did ANY home we'd EVER lived in.


-----------------------
Conclusions
-----------------------
I sometimes wonder if perhaps the basement managed to somehow erase itself from her memory - Of course that would mean that it had altered my memory as well, rendering me unable to identify the house in which it dwelt, and thus preventing me from ever disclosing it's whereabouts.

I try not to think about it too much, or too often, and I've once again decided that I probably shouldn't ever tell this story out loud.

Rationally, I realize that there's no real danger in vocalizing any of this, but a part of me still thinks that there just might be. I have nothing to gain by saying it out loud, but I also stand to lose nothing by remaining silent about it just in case it can still hear me.

And now im terrified to sleep

Unknown Goon posted:

I was lying in bed, listening to Dark Side of the Moon and reading a physics book. That's the only album I can listen to and still focus on something else, since I've heard it so many times. I was really struggling through a section of the book that was a bit over my head, so I ended up reading a few pages over and over. I started to lose my concentration, probably due to fatigue, and suddenly I felt like I was just looking at the words rather than reading them.

Something grabbed my attention out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't immediately see anything. I figured I was just looking for a distraction. I could hear the music again too. Tension crept up my spine, sort of a "too much coffee" feeling.

I tried to get back into the book for a bit, but all I could hear was the music, and I kept feeling like something was moving and I just could catch it in time. I had to take the headphones off - I needed to be able to hear my surroundings. I was very uncomfortable.

I usually throw my bath towel over my bedroom door since it never dries in the bathroom. When I go to bed, I also close the door a bit to block out some sounds from traffic and things. Not all the way, just most of the way.

I was in fight or flight mode, with no reason I could figure out. Just lying in bed, holding a book I couldn't even read, headphones buzzing away on my lap. I started looking around my room hoping to find a fly, or a spider or something just doing its business somewhere. That's probably what I saw, I figured.

Then I saw it. Sticking out from under the towel hanging from the door was a hand. Four fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, exposed just enough to be visible, but in a bit of shadow caused by the towel. I obviously wasn't prepared, and froze for a while while I was trying to think of a plan.

How long had this person been in my apartment?

Should I say something, or...do I have something I can use as a weapon? What do they want?

I had an iPod, a book, a pair of glasses and a plastic water bottle. Maybe my lamp could be used as a weapon, but if I grabbed it - if I could even get it unplugged without making a commotion - it would be pitch black.

Then it got a lot worse. I realized I couldn't see any part of a person under the door, through the back where the hinges are. It didn't *really* matter, but it bothered me more. I couldn't size the person attached to the hand up at all. There's only one way out of my apartment and it's through that door, past someone that...has at least one hand. That's all I knew.

I was still frozen. Hadn't dared to make a sound or a movement since I saw it. Could I open the window fast enough and jump out? It's a second story apartment, but I don't think it would kill me. I didn't know what was down there but it didn't seem like a bad idea.

I started to lean very slowly to my left, giving me a slightly better angle behind the door. I got to the point where I could almost see the door frame, and there was still nothing. Not even a shadow from the light passing under the door. But the hand was still there.

I weighed the possibility of someone playing a prank on me. I work from home and was there all day, but maybe...

Still leaning over about as far as I could without really moving, I started to pull the covers off so I could either get up and run out the door or at least back into the other end of the room and grab a candle holder I had in my closet. I hadn't really decided.

Then there was a thud on the floor. My iPod fell off the covers.

A woman's head popped out around the edge of the door, along with another hand. She had black eyes, black hair and looked right at me. She didn't make any noise, but I sure as hell did. I jumped off the bed and grabbed the candle holder, doing my best to keep an eye on the door area. She was still there, just looking at me, head moving a little bit.

I threw the candle holder at the door and hit the thin edge near where the hands were. The glass in the holder shattered, the frame fell to the floor, and nobody was there. I immediately hit the light switch by the door, pushed the door open all the way and flung the towel on the bed. Two seconds later I was outside.

After a minute to collect myself, I turned each light in my apartment on as I made a quick sweep. I grabbed my unloaded 9mm from it's case on my way by. My apartment is very small, there's nowhere to hide, other than the standard "behind the shower curtain" or "under the couch" type of places. I was reasonably satisfied that nobody was in there after at most a minute. There just couldn't be.

I came out of the bathroom, holding my gun up like it was going to do something, and went to have a smoke outside. I was shaking a bit, but felt pretty safe outside. The complex I live in is on a major street, people are always awake somewhere, and it's pretty well lit. I stood out there, against the railing, staring into my apartment.

The front door had a key in it. I have two keys to my apartment, the one on my keychain, which I could see in the little basket I keep just inside the door, and the one my neighbor has. This one was gold, while the only two I've ever seen are silver. I grabbed it, sat inside with all the lights on, and just thought about what happened.

When I went to grab my phone out of my bedroom, I decided to toss the towel into the hamper. It was soaking wet. The whole bed was wet from the towel. I had taken a shower at 7am, and it was about 1am by that point.

I did not sleep at all that night.

The next night I couldn't even try.

Friday night, I was invited to hang out with some friends. As I was leaving, I noticed something was under my doormat. It was a pile of keys, ten to be exact. All of them worked in my door. I don't know when they showed up.

I made a point of getting way too drunk that night to even consider coming home. I passed out on my friend's floor. I was so tired that it still felt good.

Locksmiths apparently charge more to change locks or any other housecall on Saturdays, but I changed my locks. No more keys have shown up.

Still haven't slept in my own bed except for an hour or two when I literally just pass out.

I'm moving next month, but I don't know if I can last that long. What the hell was that in my house? Who was the woman behind the door and what did she want?