ghoststrories: February 2011

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Ghost of Pearl White

When I was a kid, my grandparent’s bought a huge old boarding house in Jersey City. It had once housed the actresses working for a big silent film studio across the street, but the film studio was long gone, and the boarding house was unused. My grandparents converted it into a 3-family home. They moved into the bottom floor, offered my parents the second floor, and rented out the third. It worked out pretty good for everyone. Extra income for my grandparents, privacy for our family with quick access to Grandma when it was wanted or needed, and the couple on the third floor were quiet. Very quiet.
Not sure where I got the notion from – maybe I overheard my parents talking – but I soon got it into my young head that the wife of the man renting the upstairs apartment was a recluse. M parents never saw her, and when it was time to pay the rent, it was the man who walked downstairs to the ground floor to speak to my grandparents. We all thought it a bit strange that the woman was so unsocial, but other school concerns quickly drove the woman out of my mind. At least for awhile.

Where's My Liver

“Go straight to the store and don’t fool around,” his mother said sternly as she handed over the money. “Your father’s boss is coming to dinner tonight and we’re having his favorite meal of liver and onions. It’s important that we make a good impression, so get the best liver they’ve got.”“I will, Ma,” Tommy sulked. His mother had really been after him since he brought home a failing report card.Tommy grabbed his bicycle from the garage and rode down then street. Then saw his friend Chad. “Come on, Tommy!” Chad called. “The gang’s playing baseball over at the park, and we need a pitcher.”
Immediately, all thoughts of his errand fled from Tommy’s mind. The boys headed towards the park. Tommy pitched a no-hitter to win the game for his team, but by the time it was over, it was dark. Then Tommy remembered his errand. “The liver!” he gasped. “I’ve got to get to the store!” But, all the local groceries were closed. “My mom’s going to kill me,” he gasped. First the bad report card, and now this! He would be grounded for life.

Motorway ghost

Dear readers first of all I thank all of you for taking keen interest in my first story now I will tell you the second story.
Once I was traveling on motorway coming from the ancient historical city of Lahore to the just 200 year old city of Rawalpindi. As we reached Chakri service area near Rawalpindi I went down to the tuck shop. The driver gave a lift to a man in plain clothes up to Rawalpindi. In fact I was not in favour of giving lifts because who knows that the person you are giving a lift may turn up to be your killer and robber but can’t do anything as the man was seated in the car when I came back.
He told us that he was in the motorway police so after a bit of introduction I asked him, “have you ever had any ghostly experiences on motorway?” He told that yes once when his duty was on salt range only hilly area on motorway it was midnight and they were ascending from the Lahore side of salt range. As they reached near the Grave of a saint known as peer khara all of a sudden someone started to throw small stones at their car.

ARCHER AVENUE

Resurrection Mary is the most famous of story from Archer Avenue in south Chicago, but there are several more of disappearing hitchhikers, ghostly monks, ghost lights and even one about the devil.
It used to be an indian trail going from Fort Dearborn to what is now the southwest suburbs. It is said that the original residents made the path there because of a mystical force that was linked to the next world. Paranormal energies would be attracted because of this force which would explain why it is so haunted.
It is true that the Indians used this area as a burial ground. When the French came in the 1600's they built a mission and a signal post. Then the Irish came and built a church named St. James-Sag right next to the burial grounds. In 1850 the old log cabin was replaced by a pale yellow rectory still being used today. It looks over the graves on the hills below.

Born Herman W. Mudgett in 1860, H.H. Holmes, which he changed his name to, was to become America's first serial killer. As a boy he was always getting into trouble which continued through his later years. He was remembered for his cruelty to animals and children. He was, although, a good student and used the money his wife had inherited to pay for his tution to medical school.
He transfered to the Univeristy of Michigan and figured out a way of stealing dead bodys from the lab. He would make them unrecongnizable and put them where it seemed as if they had been in terrible accidents, before which he had taken out insurance policies for his "family members". He would then collect the insurance money.
When things started getting a little risky he left Ann Arbor and disappeared for six years. He finally resurfaced in Englewood where he was hired as an assistant druggist. The owner, Mrs. Dr. Holden, mysteriously disappeared and Holmes said that he had bought the drugstore when she had "moved west" with no forwarding address.

One of the most frightening places in Libertyville, Illinois is the stone structure known as "The Gate." It is off River Road near Independence Grove Forest Preserve.
Just getting to the Gate can be terrifying, River Road is desolate and secluded and you have to go down it about two miles. It is lined by the dense forest on both sides and there are no streetlights. During the summer when it is humid outside, fog comes in from the ponds shrouding the lower parts of the road. The road makes a sharp turn, continues on into the darkness, and then comes to what the residents have christened "The Gate."
The first version of the legend says that the Gate was the entrance to a girl's finishing school in the early 1950s. A quiet and polished place where young women from Chicago's well-to-do families went for a proper education. The tranquillity was devastated one night when the principal had a nervous breakdown and killed four of the students, and then put their heads on the posts of the Gate.

THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail, and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market-town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days.

Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.

The Night Reaper

By Sensitivejen
I was almost 19 years old and my mother and I had an apartment near Waco, Texas. The tenant before us had committed suicide not long before we moved in, so needless to say, we were very nervous about living there. When my mother would be taking a shower, she'd feel an odd presence with her in the bathroom. Also in her bedroom, which was the room this man killed himself in, at night she'd feel some one sit at the end of her bed.
One night after my mom went to bed, I was up alone sitting on the couch in the living room. The end of the couch faced directly down the hall. Sitting on the end that faced the hallway, I began to see a tall, skinny shadow-like creature, possibly the Grim Reaper.
He stood to maybe about 6- 6 1/2 feet tall and dressed in all black. He walked back and forth across the hall from my room, into the bathroom, then back in the hall and pointed its finger at me. Then suddenly, it came towards me fast, and then was gone. After this event, if I was alone there at night, I'd ride my bike down to a friend\'s house. It scared me so much to be there alone.

The Koffal's House

By RandomChic
To start off I should probably tell you a little about my house.
My house is about 118-120 years old and was built by the original owners. When we first moved into the house in 2003, someone told my mum that the house was haunted by a teenager that hung herself on the front veranda of the house. At the time I was only 7 so hearing that really freaked me out.
Then about 2 years ago I found an old rusted milk can that had some initials on the front that said "H.E.Koffal". So I told my parents about it and they said to try searching the name on the internet, so I did. After searching for a few minutes, I found out that there was a book at my local library about my house and the first owners. So the next day after school, my mum took me to the library and we borrowed it out. I then found out that there is another ghost in our house. She was from the original family. She died in 1899 giving birth to twins in the room that is now my parent\'s room.
Now, I should probably tell you about some of the experiences I've had.

How to Summon a Demon Using the Ouija Board - The Reverse Ouija Board Rules

WARNING! - Summoning Demons may result in long-term psychological trauma, and/or death. And as such it is not advised.
While most who come looking for rules and guidance on how to play the Ouija board do so with the specific intention of avoiding contact with Demons and other negative entities, there are those who come searching with the opposite desire in mind. Looking for means through which to summon a Demon. Since the dawn of man there have always been those who have shunned the light and embraced their dark side, turning their backs on redemption in favor of pleasures and powers that only the the brave and foolish alike will ever get to taste.
How to Summon a Demon

Summoning a Demon via the Ouija board is (at least in theory) easy, because by its very nature the Ouija board as a tool of ‘divination’ (an act said to be condemned by God) is said to attract only the unholiest of entities and Demonic beings, reaching forth as it does into the ‘lower astral planes’, to make contact with things that should almost definitely be left unprovoked.

How to Destroy a Ouija Board and Ouija Board Protection Prayer

How to Destroy a Ouija Board:
How do I destroy my Ouija board seems to be a common question asked by those who have dared to dabble with the devils Oracle itself. Whilst at first the rules may seem simple, light a few candles, turn the lights out, you and your friends all place your fingers against the planchette, and then the asking of questions.
But behind the naivety that most of us mere mortals display with regards to the inner workings of the Ouija board, lies a world of complicated rituals put in place in order to contain the spirits or demons, and to prevent leakage into our realm.
These archaic rituals are unknown to most, and ignored by others so that it is not surprising that many of those who are either brave enough or stupid enough to play with the Ouija board have problems. But how do you destroy a Ouija board?
It’s all gone tits up; you’re getting tired of rolling around on the ceiling puking up green gunk and having your head rotate 360 degrees every time you have friends around for dinner. ‘Pazuzu’ Demon of the South-Western winds and the bringer of pestilence has out-stayed his welcome, and you need all of this evil shit you’ve unleashed to be gone.

Ouija Board Rules

'Do not play with the Ouija board!'
But the fact that you’re here tells me that there’s a pretty good chance that you intend to break that rule. So I’ll continue.
Ouija Board Rules:
Ouija board rule number one – Never play alone.
I can find no conclusive explanation as to why this is so, but rule number one, ‘never play with a Ouija board alone’ is considered to be the most important rule to obey whilst playing with the Ouija board. Perhaps it has something to do with strength in numbers, or the possibility of being driven crazy and having nobody with whom you shared the experience to lean on, somebody who will believe you.

How To Use Ouija-Instructions

A minimum of two people should be present in order to play the Ouija board successfully, the planchette or pointer should be placed into the center of the Ouija board and all players are required to lay their fingers gently upon the planchette.
Players then take it in turns to ask questions of the Ouija board (taking care that only one person asks a question at any one time), should a successful connection have been established with the ‘other side’ players should receive a response within a few a minutes.
If you are in contact with an entity the planchette should begin to move in response to your question, slowly at first and then with greater speed and accuracy, either answering with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or by spelling out an answer using the numbers or letters upon the Ouija board.

The Seance

By GW
In 1968, my wife and I bought a new singlewide mobile home near Wake Forest N.C.

One night we had four friends over and after talking about strange events, ghosts etc., we decided to get out our Quija Board. One of the lady friends had lost a cousin very tragically. We decided to try to contact her spirit by using the Quija board. After playing around with the Quija board for a while, we asked if we were communicating with the young woman we were attempting to talk to. The Quija Board confirmed we were talking with her. We didn't put much faith in it but it was fun and a little scary. Much like telling ghost stories around a campfire when we were younger.

A while later we decided to have a séance. None of us knew anything much about doing such a thing but decided to try it anyway. We turned off all the lights in the dining room, leaving only a dim light burning in the kitchen, giving off just enough light to see each other seated around the dining room table. We all held hands and began trying to concentrate on this young woman whom we had endeavored to contact. I began to ask some pretty basic questions and then as we got very still and quiet, we continued to concentrate on the unfortunate young woman.

Playing the Ouija Board

It was a party, at my friends Lizzie's house. We were all dancing to music, and then Lizzie announces, okay, now you can still dance and eat, but if you would like, you can join me, Mercedes, Aubry, and Lydia in the room down the hall to play the Ouija board. But, you have to be quiet, and you have the choice in or out. We need to focus.

Lizzie, Mercedes, Aubry, and I went in the room. We grabbed the Ouija board and waited for people to join. Hunter came in. We decided that Lizzie and I should be the talkers to the spirit, it was my first time using it. So, Lizzie let me do all the talking. She didn't give me warnings on what and what not to say, so I just talked. I was having fun, then started talking to the 'man' I had forgotten the name now, but I do know it was a bad spirit.

By Danielle

My family is somewhat cultural, my mother and father have a few differences in the witch board and witch craft, but one thing my mother never wanted us to touch was the Ouija Board. My father wanted us to try it out once, just to prove to us that it actually works, and it does; well sort of.

My parents split up, so me and my sister can do a few more things that we couldn't do before when rules were rules. My father bought me and my sister a Ouija board from the store, and we didn't actually try it out at once, we were kinda worried and excited, wondering what questions to ask. My father went out of town and my cousin whom we had grown up with since we were kids, wanted to try it out.

Cleveland Memorial Hospital, Shelby NC

It really would be a story if the Shelby N.C. Hospital were not haunted. The Hospital has been there for just over 75 years now and its a fact that many people have died there over the years and anywhere that you have death associated with tragedy you will have ghosts and paranormal activity. The Shelby N.C. Hospital was first started in 1910 by Dr T.G. Hamrick and there was a new 43 bed hospital opened there in 1923. And the hospital has been growing ever since. And many of the ghost stories associated with the hospital date way back in time but some date to more modern times. The Hospitals official policy is that the hospital is not haunted and there are no such things as ghosts. However some of the staff at the hospital talked to us off the record this week and filled us in on some spooky things going on at the hospital.

Located at 800 S. Halsted St. on Chicago's Near West Side, Hull House was well known for the work of social reformer and actrivist Jane Addams. It is also known for something not as good: the Devil Baby - it is said to have been the inspiration for the 1968 movie "Rosemary's Baby."
It was built in 1856 in the "fashionable" section of the city, but soon abandoned after the Great Chicago Fire in 1871. The area attracted Italian, Greek, and Jewish immigrants. By the 1880's the neighborhood had become a tangle of crime and vice. It was soon called the "darkest corner of Chicago," the Near West Side was overrun with crooked cops and politicians. brothels, saloons, and drug dealers. Criminals from around the city looked for asylum there, attracting more thugs. It was a miserable and dangerous place, and amongst it all, the immigrants tried to make a living.

ST. VALENTINE'S DAY MASSACRE

In Chicago, no other event described the bloody era of the Roaring Twenties like that of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. It marked the end of the peak of Al Capone's Chicago mob. Not many gangland murders have stimulated as many gangland ghost stories.
It happened on February 14, 1929, in a red brick warehouse located at 2122 N. Clark St., the SMC Garage. Capone was the leader of the Italian South Side mob, Bugs Moran was the head of the Irish North Side mob. crowd in front of garage

Rivalry had been going on between them since 1927, and in 1929, Moran had supposedly shot down Pasquilino Lolordo, one of Capone's gang. Capone swore he would have Moran taken out on February 14. On that morning seven men waited in the garage when a police car pulled up outside. Five men from the car went inside and a few minutes later the sound of machine guns filled the air. The five men left the building and drove away.

It was on this road that the bodies of Patricia, thirteen, and Barbara Grimes, fifteen, were found murdered.
In December of 1956 they went to the Brighton Theater, a mile away from thier home, to see a movie. They were seen in line at nine thirty p.m. and afterwards on a bus at eleven p.m.
They were supposed to be home by eleven forty-five. They never made it to their expected stop. The largest missing persons hunt ensued and reports of sightings of the girls came in from many sources.
A police switchboard operator got a call from a man who told her that he had dreamed that the bodies of the missing girls were in a park at eighty-first and Wolf. The call came from Walter Kranz, who was taken into custody after the bodies were found. He was one of many that were interrogated and released.

We're still "digging up" spirits from the cave. So far the only reports are of moaning echoing from the cave. However, it does have a nasty history of outlaws and murder.
The cave became a lair for pirates who pillaged flatboats on the river and who murdered and robbed travelers. Later it was used by thieves as a tavern and gambling house. They used whiskey, cards, and prostitutes to entice travelers in off the river, then they would beat, rob, and sometimes murder them.
It was an ideal place for their exploits. It had a partially masked entrance and a good view of the river. It is very deep and had a level floor. Travelers along the Ohio River

In 1800 it was turned into "Wilson's Liquor Vault & House of Entertainment" with a sign along the river's edge that caught the attention of travelers by river and land. It soon became a rough spot, known for its hard cider, strong whiskey, and shameful women.

In the 1890s, in Palos Park, a man by the name of Butcher had a butcher shop that was doing well until a big depression hit America. Livestock was hard to come by and many other butchers and stockyards went out of business. Butcher had good links and was able to stay in business but had to raise his prices due to the shortage of meat.
A shipment of beef came one day and Butcher's trainee was carrying the load to the basement meat locker. He tried to take to much at one time and he fell down the stairs. His neck snapped and he died on the spot.
Butcher didn't know what to do, he thought that the police would think that he pushed him down the stairs. Instead of telling anybody he hid the body in the meat locker.

Located along the back roads east of Collinsville are a series of tunnels and bridges that are called the "Seven Gates to Hell." It is unknown how they got their name, but there are many stories about them. One account says that they were used by the Ku Klux Klan as a place to hang African Americans. No records exist that the hangings ever happened, but this is one of the reasons how the bridges got their ominous name.
The most often told story is that if you drive through all the gates, you will swiftly be sent into hell. Different variations say that you need to go through the last gate at midnight to get to hell or if you park under the seventh gate with your lights off, the spirits will send the "hounds of hell" to take your soul.

Rolling Hills Asylum,Bethany NY

Rolling Hills Asylum has quite a bizarre history, if I don't say so myself. In it's lifespan, the building has been an insane asylum, poor house, poor farm, nursing home, tuberculosis ward, orphanage, school , ward, antique co-op, and craft mall. Quite a history since the property has settled for over a hundred years now. The history of the building has records of over a thousand people who have died on the property. The mall, opened on the weekends has a number of strange occurrences. People report having their clothes tugged on by an invisible force they can't explain. Many people have seen shadows of people moving through out the building when it is known the building to be locked up and empty.
Genesee County purchased this property in 1826 and opened its doors to the poor in 1827. They had taken to paupers, the insane, orphans, unwed mothers, the elderly, and anyone who could not support and care for themselves. They were a complete a self sufficient, as they farmed on the 100's of acres of owned by the county. By 1950, the property was used for a nursing home only and the residents had been moved to a new facility in nearby Batavia in 1974. By then the building sat empty for twenty years. By 1992, it was reopened as Carriage Village, a mall of unique shops. By 2002 Jeff and Lori Carlson purchased the property and in January of 2003 they had renamed it the Rolling HIlls Country Mall. But problems arose and in 2007, the mall had closed. Today, the Carlsons live on the premises in one of the outbuildings converted from the old carpenter shop / maintenance barn to a four bedroom home.

There exists a creature in Maryland known as the Goatman. Whether it is Maryland "legend" or Maryland "reality" is a question that remains unanswered but there are enough witnesses and circumstantial evidence to keep the Goatman's name alive.
When one first hears of the elusive monster they may be overwhelmed by laughter at such an odd sounding menace, or baffled at how such a thing came to be thought up. No matter what the initial reaction a person has, it soon gives way to curiosity: what the heck is a Goatman? While the facts may be disputed the details in every story remain the same; an angered humanoid emerges from the forest and returns to its abode without a trace. The invariable description is that of an upright creature but beyond that the appearance varies. Some have claimed that the Goatman has a human body with a goat's head, similar to the perception of Satan, while others insist that the Goatman has a goat's lower body with the torso of a human, much like the satyr of Greek mythology. There is another school of observers/speculators whose description is not as definitive and say simply that he is an exceptionally hairy humanoid creature roughly six feet in height. Regardless of the physiognomy the Goatman legends do share one common theme and that is Maryland or, more precisely, Prince George's County.

The Irish Pooka has struck the imagination of many artists and writers. Flann O'Brien, in his deliberately bog-Irish novel "At Swim-Two-Birds", gives one of the best descriptions of a Pooka. An English equivalent is found in Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream" as Puck, or Robin Goodfellow. In English folklore this ties in with the history of The Green Man. In Ireland the Pooka is classed among The Little People, although most reports say that a Pooka in human form is just as big as a normal person. Pookas are also known to take animal form, in particular as horses or cattle. W.B. Yeats in "Fairy and Folk Tales" writes along these lines.

A web search for "Pooka" will produce fascinating references to artists, poets and writers. Also dogs.

Many small mountain lakes and springs in Ireland are known as The Pooka's Pool, or Pollaphuca. Some of these are at the source of major Irish rivers such as the Liffey and the River Bann. Pollaphuca in The Mountains of Mourne is home to a Pooka of noteriety in Co Down. In recent times, the last thousand years or so, some of these places have been renamed as St Patrick's Well.

Ghost Pilots of Times Square

He had just graduated from Harvard University and was living in Manhattan. He loved the city and was beginning to feel at home on its streets. World War II was raging in Europe, and like all other good citizens, he followed the headlines daily and did his part for the boys overseas.
Hugging his jacket close, he stood shivering at the corner, waiting for the light to change and wondering where his enlisted friends might be staying on that cold winter night. He hoped they were safe. He shivered, only partially from the cold, and looked around him at the bright lights of Times Square. He never tired of this glittering scene.
His eye was caught by two men who were dressed in the uniforms of the Royal Air Force of England. They must be on leave, he thought. The men stopped beside him, glanced quickly at their watches, and then nodded and grinned at him. The taller of the two asked him, in the clipped accent of the British, if this was Times Square. He suppressed a smile at such a touristy question and said that it was.

In the fall of 1966, life took a turn into the Twilight Zone for the residents of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. The story begins in a remote location near Point Pleasant, known by the local teens as T.N.T. It was a favorite spot for parking and partying, far from the censorious eyes of their elders. The area is covered with dense forest, steep hills and tunnels. This area had been set up as the McClintic Wildlife Preserve in the 1900s, mostly as a bird sanctuary. Then, part of the land had been taken over during WWII as an underground storage site for wartime explosives. After the war, parts of the preserve had been leased or sold to chemical companies - and biochemistry came to this isolated area. Some, or all, of that history may have played a part in what happened next.

Two young married couples, Mr. and Mrs. Roger Scarberry and Mr. and Mrs. Steve Mallette, drove through the T.N.T area on November 15th, 1966. They were looking for friends who often came to the area. At about 11:30, they reached an old generator plant on the preserve. The door to the plant appeared to have been ripped off its hinges and the couples saw a bizarre creature. They later reported that the creature looked like a man - though about 7 feet tall - and had wings folded against its back. However, the most striking thing about it was its eyes. They were huge, like bicycle reflectors and the young people described them as hypnotic.

It sounds like a bad campfire story. Deep in the Pine Barrens-- a haunting woodland in New Jersey-- there is an old, dilapidated shack believed to be the birthplace of a monster. In 1735, a woman was about to give birth to her 13th child. Impoverished and bitter, she cried out to the midwife, "I hope it's a devil!" The mother gets her wish. She gives birth to a creature with wings like a bat, a long head like a horse, cloven hooves and a forked tail. No sooner than the moment it makes its appearance in this world, the devil-child flies up the chimney and into the surrounding woodlands. Reported sightings of a strange creature, livestock mutilations, unusual hoof prints on roof tops and inhuman cries began.
Of course, like all good legends, there are variations on the story. In some versions, the woman's name is Leeds; in some, her name is Shrouds and she lived in Leeds point. In some versions, the child is born normal, then turns into a demon. The woman casts it from the home. Another version tells that the child was born deformed and abnormal; the mother kept it prisoner in the attic until it sprouted wings and broke free, never to return. Still another variation is that the family treated a minister poorly, and was cursed by him, resulting in the devil child. One of the eeriest versions is that the mother was a witch, and the child was the spawn of Satan himself.

The Black Hills has been the home of the Lakota Sioux Indians for centuries. White men have only settled in the area for the last 120 years. Even so, many legends tell of the early white settlers. One of these is the Ghost Dance.

According to legend, by 1890, the Native Peoples of South Dakota were very unhappy. They were no longer free to roam the plains and the buffalo herds were being slaughtered. Since the buffalo was a staple of life for the Lakota, their food source was rapidly declining. The Natives began performing the Ghost Dance. They believed that this magical dance would bring back their dead, the buffalo, and dispose of the whites. The non-Natives living close to the Reservation became frightened. This led to the Wounded Knee Massacre.

In 1890, the army moved west to try and force the Natives from performing the Ghost Dance. There were many small battles. The first one claimed the life of Sitting Bull. At this time the Natives of Sitting Bull's tribe decided to move south to the Badlands. They had heard that other tribes were performing the Ghost Dance in that area. When the Lakota reached the Badlands, they were taken captive by soldiers and moved to a small village - Wounded Knee.

The mountains of Tennessee, from the hills of West Virginia, and Pennsylvania, are dotted with country folks whose occupations range from farmers to coal miners. Many of these country folks have tales of the paranormal, ranging from coal miner ghosts to legends of the Indians.

Jinx Johnston is one of those country people who had a true encounter of a famous legend. The legend of the Wampus Cat. Jinx was a robust man. He stood about 6 feet high and weighed around 200 pounds. He was the type of man that could not scare very easily. The camp fire would cast eerie shadows on the faces of his audience as he began to tell his story of the Wampus Cat. Below is Jinx Johnston's tale of the Wampus Cat.

There was an old woman who lived by herself in the hills of West Virginia. Townfolk swore she was a witch. People would complain their cattle would be hexed and other farm animals would come up missing. They all blamed the old woman because she lived like a hermit. Supposedly, she would turn herself into a cat and hide until someone would open the door. She would dart into the house and wait for her victims to fall asleep. She would cast a deeper sleeping spell on the farmer and then she would slip out of the window to steal a farm animal. The witch was so good at what she was doing, she was never caught.

The Lakota legend of the dreamcatcher is a wonderful tale that has been told for generations to young children to help ease bad dreams. It starts:

"Long ago when the word was young, an old Lakota spiritual leader was on a high mountain and had a vision. In his vision, Iktomi, the great trickster and teacher of wisdom, appeared in the form of a spider. Iktomi spoke to him in a sacred language. As he spoke, Iktomi the spider picked up the elder's willow hoop which had feathers, horsehair, beads and other offerings on it, and began to spin a web.

"He spoke to the elder about the cycles of life: how we begin our lives as infants, move on through childhood and then on to adulthood. Finally we go to old age where we must be taken care of as if we were infants, completing the cycle. But, Iktomi said as he continued to spin his web, in each cycle of life there are many forces: some good and some bad. If you listen to the good forces, they will steer you in the right direction. But, if you listen to the bad forces, they will steer you in the wrong direction and may hurt you. So these forces can help, or can interfere with the harmony of Nature. While the spider spoke, he continued to weave his web.

Express Train to Hell

For days, a ragged old man had hung around the Newark Central Station. The stationmaster kept running him off, but night after night he would return. He kept accosting people, shouting: "It's coming for me! It's coming!" Whenever anyone asked him what was coming for him, he would just clutch his head and cry: "I done wrong! I killed a man that cheated me at cards, and now I'm going to pay!"
The stationmaster finally took the man aside and threatened to call the police if he did not cease and desist. The old man rolled his eyes and replied: "The Express Train for Hell is coming for my soul! You've got to help me." He broke away from the stationmaster and ran for the door. The time was two minutes to midnight. At that moment, new sound introduced itself. A long whistle blew, once, twice. The stationmaster was startled. The next train wasn't due until 12:05.

The Tell-Tale Heart

TRUE! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him.

Don't Sell My House

Life seemed perfect to Mark when the widower brought his new bride Lisa home to the lovely two-story cottage he had build for his deceased first wife. Things were very happy for about a year, and Mark was ecstatic when he learned Lisa was expecting twins. The house was rather small for a double addition to the family, so Mark and Lisa put the cottage up for sale and started searching for a bigger house. That’s when the problems began. Suddenly, the cottage would be filled with the distinctive smell of expensive perfume. The first time Mark smelled it, he turned pale and told Lisa that it was the scent his dead wife had favored. Then furniture that Lisa had rearranged moved back to its original place. The books in Mark’s study were taken out of their categories and put in alphabetical order, the way his former wife had kept them. The ghost of Mark’s first wife had returned to the little cottage. But why now, a full year after he had remarried?

I found it extremely annoying that one of the bathrooms on my dorm was permanently closed. Especially since the cause was an urban legend. An urban legend, I tell you! According to the story, years and years ago some bloke got himself massively drunk at a bar in downtown Helena and had passed out in the bathroom on the fourth floor. Apparently, he hit his head on the sink as he fell, and his blood had spattered the sink as he slid senseless to the floor and silently hemorrhaged to death. His death was considered a “sad accident” by faculty, staff and townspeople. But that was no reason to shut up the bathroom for decades! I completely discounted the story of the bleeding sink. That was just an urban legend the students circulated to explain the locked door. “I’m sick of sharing a bathroom with you disgusting lot,” I grumbled to my roommate. “I’m going to break into the fourth-floor bathroom.”

No Trespassing

Peggy and her boyfriend Tommy were driving down a lonely stretch of highway at dusk when a thunderstorm came crashing down on them. Tommy slowed the car and they crept their way past a formidable abandoned house. Plastered all over the fences and trees were no trespassing signs. A mile past the house, the car hydroplaned. Peggy screamed as the car slid off the road, plunging down into a gully. The car slammed into a large boulder, throwing Peggy violently into the door, before it came to a rest under a pecan tree. Her head banged against the window, and a stabbing pain shot through her shoulder and arm. Tommy turned to her. “Are you all right? You’re bleeding!” “Arm, shoulder. Feel bad,” Peggy managed to gasp.

The grave in the backyard

This happened in 1974 in Dimmitt Tx.I was I was 8 at the time.My parents moved us to this farm that was owned by the man my Dad worked for.It was a big white house,it had a fence around the back of it.I was so happy now I would have a place to play.But as we were pulling up in the yard,I heard my Dad tell my mom \" It\'s a good house but there is a grave in the back we can\'t let the kids play back there.My was saying that she didn\'t think she could stay there.My dad told her that we would not be there long,he needed to make some money so we had no choice.The first chance I got I went back there to look,too see if it was true.It was a big mound of dirt taller then me,and it had a home made cross on it and it was painted white.there was a white picket fence that went all the way around it to each side of the house.There was a back door but we never use it so we kept it locked.The first night there we put up beds and got bed clothes out,we went to town to get something to eat.When we got back we went to getting ready for bed.As kids we were told to go to the restroom before you go to bed.

Ghost wagon in the "Spokeveld"

The wagon would chase across the fields in the early morning silence with an incredible speed across unseen roads.
Major Ellis recounts the following events in an old book. He was driving in the past coach from Ceres towards Beaufort-West. he was sitting up front with the coach driver when the wheel broke. They had to pull off the road in order to check what happened when they heard a wagon racing towards them. Ellis thought it was on the road heading straight towards them, but Anthony de Beer, the coach driver said No, the sound doesn't come up from the road. Apparently the noise the wagon made was amazing. As the wagon stormed past them Anthony shouted, "Where the devil are you going?"

Boundary Road, home of the
De Deur Ghost

The story of the "De Deur Ghost", sometimes referred to as the "Walkerville Ghost", is well known in our area, and has been around for several decades. So much so, that the details have become a little blurred and there are now several variations.

It is said that if you drive down Boundary Road, De Deur, on a very dark night and flash your headlights (or a torch light) three times a headless motorbike rider will appear and drive past you at a great speed. Some people believe that you must be parked on the actual site of the old house before the ghost will appear.

The origins of the story are that a local farmer was very protective of his pretty young daughter and discouraged all suitors. He became suspicious of her activities at night after he had retired to bed. He was positive that she was sneaking out of the house to be with a local lad that often zoomed up and down the dusty road on his noisy motorbike.

The Flying Dutchman Legend

The legend of The Flying Dutchman is said to have started in 1641 when a Dutch ship sank off the coast of the Cape of Good Hope:

Captain van der Decken was pleased. The trip to the Far East had been highly successful and at last, they were on their way home to Holland. As the ship approached the tip of Africa, the captain thought that he should make a suggestion to the Dutch East India Company (his employers) to start a settlement at the Cape on the tip of Africa, thereby providing a welcome respite to ships at sea.

He was so deep in thought that he failed to notice the dark clouds looming and only when he heard the lookout scream out in terror, did he realise that they had sailed straight into a fierce storm. The captain and his crew battled for hours to get out of the storm and at one stage it looked like they would make it. Then they heard a sickening crunch - the ship had hit treacherous rocks and began to sink. As the ship plunged downwards, Captain VandeDecken knew that death was approaching. He was not ready to die and screamed out a curse: "I WILL round this Cape even if I have to keep sailing until doomsday!

Bloody Mary

She lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal remedies for a living. Folks living in the town nearby called her Bloody Mary, and said she was a witch. None dared cross the old crone for fear that their cows would go dry, their food-stores rot away before winter, their children take sick of fever, or any number of terrible things that an angry witch could do to her neighbors.
Then the little girls in the village began to disappear, one by one. No one could find out where they had gone. Grief-stricken families searched the woods, the local buildings, and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of the missing girls. A few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary's home in the woods to see if the witch had taken the girls, but she denied any knowledge of the disappearances.

Big Liz

The Master of the plantation was a firm supporter of the Confederate President and had committed to send as much food as he could to the Southern army. Things were going well at first, until the Yankees began attacking the Master's supply lines. The Master suspected a traitor among his slaves, and soon discovered that the Yankee spy was a slave-woman named Big Liz. She was a behemoth of a girl who could pick up two full-grown pigs, one under each arm, and cart them over to the slaughterhouse without assistance. If he confronted her directly and she fought back, she would take him to pieces.
So the Master came up with a different plan to rid himself of the spy. He approached the giant girl and asked her to assist him with a special task. He told her that President Jefferson Davis had entrusted him with a large chest full of gold. To keep it out of Yankee hands, he wanted to bury the chest where it would never be found. The girl's eyes gleamed when she heard this false report. The Master knew she was already planning to betray the existence of the chest to the Yankees.

Black Bartelmy's Ghost

Black Bartelmy was an evil, surly buccaneer who murdered his wife and children and went to sea with a band of pirates as nasty as he. He roamed the Atlantic coast, murdering and pillaging and laying waste to the countryside as he passed. By the time he approached Cape Forchu in Nova Scotia, Black Bartelmy had a ship loaded with treasure; five hundred chests had he full of gold and jewels and goblets and mighty swords.
A thick Fundy fog lay over the bay as the ship approached, and the treacherous Fundy tide soon took hold of the evil man's ship. The crashing, churning waters of the Roaring Bull, that dangerous ledge of rocks near Cape Forchu, took the pirates ship and smashed its hull.

White Wolf

She snapped awake out of a deep sleep, screaming aloud in terror. In her nightmare, a large white wolf had been chasing her around and around the house, gaining on her with every step until it finally pounced on her and ripped out her throat. She lay shaking for hours, unable to sleep after such a terrifying dream. But morning finally arrived, and the day was completely normal. Celia forgot all about her dream, until the moment her parents reminded her that they would be going out that night to celebrate their anniversary. Celia turned milk-white. In her dream, the white wolf had come to kill her while her parents were out celebrating their anniversary! She started shaking and begging them not to go. Her parents were astonished at her behavior, and finally shamed her into staying home alone that night. Fearfully, Celia locked herself into the house as soon as her parents left, checking every door and every window. She tried to laugh it off as she got into bed, and finally she shook off her irrational fear and fell asleep.

ghoststrories: Ghost in the Alley

ghoststrories: Ghost in the Alley: "Rumors were rife about the alleyway behind the tavern. It was haunted, folks said. Haunted by the ghost of a young girl who had been found..."

The Premature Burial

To be buried while alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality. That it has frequently, very frequently, so fallen will scarcely be denied by those who think. The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? We know that there are diseases in which occur total cessations of all the apparent functions of vitality, and yet in which these cessations are merely suspensions, properly so called. They are only temporary pauses in the incomprehensible mechanism. A certain period elapses, and some unseen mysterious principle again sets in motion the magic pinions and the wizard wheels. The silver cord was not for ever loosed, nor the golden bowl irreparably broken. But where, meantime, was the soul?

The Brothers' Revenge

The blizzard was raging fiercely around them as the brothers stumbled down the long road. they were miles from any farm, and knew they had to seek shelter or freeze to death. So it was with gratitude that the two brothers spotted a saloon and pushed their way through the door. Every eye in the room turned upon them, as the boys ordered coffee with the last of their money. As the bartender went to fetch the hot drink, most of the regulars returned to their conversations. But one man continued to stare; a massive butcher with a mop of red hair and a long red beard who was the worse for drink.

Ghost in the Alley

Rumors were rife about the alleyway behind the tavern. It was haunted, folks said. Haunted by the ghost of a young girl who had been found murdered in that self-same passage. People avoided the small street after dark, for the spirit was said to be a vengeful one. Of course, no one could name anyone whom the ghost had actually killed, but the tales were enough to keep people away from the alley at night.

Children crowded the dirty street, some carrying bags or sacks of treats given by local residents, or stolen from other children in other parts of the borough. Older kids sat on the curb smoking pot or whatever their pusher sold them last. No mothers would call these kids home as the evening grew steadily darker. Screams filled the night, but that was not unusual for this neighborhood. Jack-o-lanterns that had not yet been smashed by the marauding children of the ghetto still glowed dully in the dirty night.

Unholy Womb

The horror began on a day Danny believed to be a perfect prelude to autumn. Autumn was his favorite season; the air was charged with electricity, harvest smells filled the breezes and gave the first winter goose pimples. But most of all the season led to The Day.

Halloween.

It was because of the coming holiday that Danny was walking along the sidewalk of Ash Street in his little town of Windfall, Illinois. A breeze sent leaves scurrying around his feet with a sound like old bones knocking together. Danny was going to get a pumpkin for his Halloween jack-o-lantern. For as long as he could remember, he had been getting pumpkins from Farmer

Sutton.

"Satan’s Fall"

The devil on the fiery porch. He was back again that year, the same as he had been for five years running, keeping the majority of Trick or Treaters behind an imaginary line of uneasiness drawn at the edge of the curb with his Hell-red grin and burning cauldrons. It was a scene from Faust, only this was no play; this was my neighborhood.

It wasn’t just kids who lingered apprehensively in the street, but parents as well. In a place where the definition of Halloween was more like cardboard skeletons and plastic jack-o-lanterns, a guy with a penchant for fire and pitchforks could be extraordinarily scary. Really young children were hurried past the residence altogether via lawns on the opposite side of the street, hopefully distracted by candy long enough to save them from the psyche-scarring nightmares certain to result from even the smallest glimpse of him. This left only the few - the brave - to make the journey and collect one of the candy bars given out by the devil basking in the red glow of the doorway.

Trick or Treating in the 1970’s wasn’t the flirt with death that it can be today. At that time, in most suburban settings, people lived in the same house for years and made the effort to get to know their neighbors and their neighbor’s children. It was a safe haven from the malicious world beyond; a stronghold of sterile thoughts and selective ideals. That is why it was more alarming when the occasional anti-Cleaver odd balls, like the Warren family, managed to infiltrate the peaceful utopia and upset the balance of neatly trimmed lawns and Tupperware parties. Especially when at Halloween their oldest son Wayne Warren painted himself red, donned horns, and sat on a throne between two flaming cauldrons on their sunken porch.

The Last Ride

She lifted up her head and peered outside through the frosted window. Wrinkled eyes gazed into the bright sky, and a smile came over the old woman’s face when she saw the full moon, shining away in all it’s harvest glory, a perfect background setting for All Hallow’s Eve.

A loud purring reached her ears as a black cat leaped up on the table next to the rocking chair she was sitting in.

"Yes, my sweets. Isn’t that a pretty night we have in store for us? Old man moon looks down on us with a wink in his eye tonight."

The cat stared at her with deep green eyes, attention fixed on every word.

"You know what this night means, don’t you, Trickster?" The cat let out a soft meow, listening to his master.

"It is the passing of an age, that is what. Many long years, happy memories, but there is an ending to every story, good and bad. Ol’ Madge here has seen it all, yes I have."

La Mala Hora

A New Mexico Ghost Story
My friend Isabela called me one evening before dinner. She was sobbing as she told me that she and her husband Enrique were getting divorced. He had moved out of the house earlier that day and Isabela was distraught.
I called my husband, who was on a business trip in Chicago, and he agreed that I should go stay with Isabela for a few days to help her during this difficult time. I packed a small suitcase and got right into the car. It was late, and it would take me at least four hours to drive from my home to Sante Fe. Isabela was expecting me to arrive around midnight.

As I traveled down the dark, wet highway, I kept feeling chills, as if someone or something were watching me. I kept looking in the rear view mirror, and glancing into the back seat. No one was there. Don't be ridiculous, I told myself, wishing fervently that I was home in my bed instead of driving on a dark, rainy highway. There was almost no traffic, and I heartily wished that I would soon reach Sante Fe.

I turned off the highway just before I reached the city, and started down the side roads that led to Isabela's house. As I approached a small crossroads, I saw a woman step into the street directly in front of my car. I shrieked in fright and slammed on my brakes, praying I would miss her.

The car shuddered to a halt, and I looked frantically around for the woman. Then I saw her, right beside my window, looking in at me. She had the face of a demon, twisted, eyes glowing red, and short pointed teeth. I screamed as she leapt at my window, her clawed hands striking the glass. I put my foot down on the accelerator and the car leapt forward. For a few terrible moments, she ran along side the car, keeping up easily and striking at me again and again. Then she fell behind and in the rear view mirror I saw her growing taller and taller, until she was as large as a tree. Red light swirled around her like mist, and she pointed after me, her mouth moving though I could not make out the words. I jerked my attention back to the road, afraid what might happen to me if my car ran off the street.

I made it to Isabela's house in record time and flung myself out of the car, pounding on her door frantically and looking behind me to see if the demon-faced woman had followed me. Isabela came running to the door and let me in.

"Shut the door! Shut it!" I cried frantically, brushing past her into the safety of the house.

"Jane, what is wrong?" she asked, slamming the door shut. She grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. I sank onto the couch and started sobbing in fear and reaction. After several minutes, I managed to gasp out my story. Isabela gasped and said: "Are you sure you were at a crossroads when you saw her?"

I nodded, puzzled by her question.

"It must have been La malhora," Isabela said, wringing her hands.

"The bad hour?" I asked.

"This is bad, Jane. Very bad," Isabela cried. "La Malhora only appears at a crossroads when someone is going to die."

Ordinarily, I would have laughed at such a superstition, but the appearance of the demon-woman had shaken me. Isabela got me a cup of hot cocoa, brought my luggage in from the car, and sent me to bed. She was so concerned for me that she didn't once mention the divorce or Enrique.

I felt much better the next morning, but I could not shake the feeling of dread that grew within me all day. Neither of us mentioned La Malhora, but we were both thinking of her when I told Isabela that I wanted to go home. Isabela insisted on accompanying me. I flatly refused to drive after dark. I was afraid I would see the demon-woman again when I passed the crossroads.

We left the next morning, and we hadn't been home more than twenty minutes when a police car pulled into my driveway. I knew at once what it meant, and so did Isabella.

The officers spoke very gently to me, but nothing could soften the news. My husband had been mugged on the way back to his hotel after dinner last night. His body had not been found until this morning. He had been shot in the head and was killed instantly

Jinn in Childhood

By Dahnxi
Here's a few of my other encounters that I've had a while back. All of them mostly happened in my younger days, but I almost always had a witness. When I was younger I used to spend my weekends at my cousin's house. During one of my first visits there he said to me, "Weird stuff happens here around 12:00 a.m..." I really didn't believe him, but at 12:04 I had my first ghost (jinn) encounter.
The living room layout had the kitchen door behind and to the right of the couch. In the kitchen there was a cabinet with a glass front that reflected the whole kitchen. During that time we heard a cabinet door open and shut then we heard a bunch open and shut over and over, but we were looking at the reflection and saw nothing moving. We hopped over the couch and ran into the kitchen to find nothing moving and the noise had stopped. That's not the best story in the world, but it was my first and I had a witness.
One other one was a shorter one that involved a friend of mine at my grandmother's house. Her house is old so the floors creak and the kitchen is beside the living room almost the same room. One night we were laying on two separate couches and talking to each other when we heard footstep creaks walking into the kitchen. We thought it was her so said, "Hey grandma...hey?" We got no reply and no light ever came on we then looked up and no one was there.
The last one I am going to say is my best one besides my motorcycle one I already posted. One night we were at my same grandmother's house. My cousin (Chance) from above and my other cousin (Marcus) are the people in this story. There is a vacant trailer that is beside my grandmother's house and at the time I lived in it... sadly. We were young and wanted to check it out at night. Marcus went in first, Chance went in second and I trailed.
I was the lookout in case anyone came. On the way towards the back past the kitchen is my room then my sister's room. Marcus went to the far back towards my sister's room and Chance walked my room and found an old train toy. He opened my door and threw it in and closed the door. I was almost behind him at the time and we decided nothing was going on so we were going to leave. On our way out Chance passed my old door and at that time the door opened and the toy flew past his head! We freaked out and took off running and didn't go back in there at night anymore. I still feel weird going in there sometimes. I believe it's more of a jinn messing with us than anything.

Hairy Toe

Once there was an old woman who went out in the woods to dig up some roots to cook for dinner. She spotted something funny sticking out of the leaves and dug around until she uncovered a great big hairy toe. There was some good meat on that toe which would make a real tasty dinner, so the old woman put it in her basket and took it home.
When she got back to her cottage, the old woman boiled up a kettle-full of hairy toe soup, which she ate for dinner that night. It was the best meal she'd had in weeks! The old woman went to bed that night with a full stomach and a big smile.
Along about midnight, a cold wind started blowing in the tops of the trees around the old woman's house. A large black cloud crept over the moon and from the woods a hollow voice rumbled: "Hairy toe! Hairy toe! I want my hairy toe!" Inside the house, the old woman stirred uneasily in her bed and nervously pulled the covers up over her ears.
From the woods there came a stomp-stomp-stomping noise as the wind whistled and jerked at the treetops. In the clearing at the edge of the forest, a hollow voice said: "Hairy toe! Hairy toe! I want my hairy toe!" Inside the house, the old woman shuddered and turned over in her sleep.
A stomp, stomp, stomping sound came from the garden path outside the cottage. The night creatures shivered in their burrows as a hollow voice howled: "Hairy toe! Hairy toe! I want my hairy toe!" Inside the house, the old woman snapped awake. Her whole body shook with fright as she listened to the angry howling in her garden. Jumping out of bed, she ran to the door and barred it. Once the cottage was secure, she lay back down to sleep.
Suddenly, the front door of the cottage burst open with a bang, snapping the bar in two and sending it flying into the corners of the room. There came the stomp, stomp, stomping noise of giant feet walking up the stairs. Peeping out from under the covers, the old woman saw a massive figure filling her doorway. It said: "Hairy toe! Hairy toe! I want my hairy toe!"
The old woman sat bolt upright in terror and shouted: "I ATE your hairy toe!"
"Yes, you did," the giant figure said very gently as it advanced into the room.
No one living in the region ever saw the old woman again. The only clue to her disappearance was a giant footprint a neighbor found pressed deep into the loose soil of the meadow beside the house. The footprint was missing the left big toe.

Devil on Washington Rock

A True New Jersey Story
As it happened to the author
The dream was so vivid, she didn't realize at first that it was a dream. The party was crowded, the guests cheerful, the food delicious. Then a rumor began to circulate among the guests. The Devil was coming to the party. The Devil was on the way.

She didn't pay much attention at first. Until a hush came over the crowd. Turning to see what it was, she saw a tall, handsome blond man standing in the doorway greeting his hostess. Around her, the murmurs began. It was the Devil. He had come.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as the Devil made the rounds of the room. He looked so ordinary, it was hard to believe he was the Devil. Then he came to her group. As soon as he joined them, she knew the rumor was true. This was not someone to be trifled with. Frightened, she grabbed for a Bible her hostess had left lying on a nearby end-table and threw it at the Devil. For a moment, their eyes locked. The Devil's eyes were full of ferocious anger, terrible evil, and malevolent malice directed right at her. She thought she was dead.

Then she woke, and lay trembling in her bed with the light on until dawn.

The next morning was the end of term. Her parents and younger sister helped her clear out her dorm room and packed the car. It was dusk before they settled into their seats for the two-hour drive home. They talked excitedly as they drove towards their home in New Jersey, interrupting each other often, contradicting themselves and laughing. It was good to be together again.

They were fifteen minutes from home when they left the highway. Her father turned onto Washington Rock Road that led up the mountain, through the C-bend around the Washington Rock State Park and then down the other side of the mountain. As they drove up the steep hill, a noisy motorcycle tail-gated them, trying to pass even though the road was windy and narrow. Finally the hill grew so steep that the driver was forced to slow down and eventually, they pulled away from him entirely.

The car reached the top of the hill and started around the long C curve that took them through one end of the park. The park was dark and still. The whole family automatically looked to their right, out over the gorgeous view of the New York City skyline. They all saw the small park cart, sitting next to the road just inside the park boundary. It was parked directly underneath the only streetlight, where you couldn't fail to see it. And inside the vehicle....

She started trembling fiercely. Inside the vehicle was a tall, handsome blond man with eyes full of ferocious anger, terrible evil, and malevolent malice. It was the man from her dream. The man everyone said was the Devil!

The tension in the car was palpable. She had mentioned her dream to no one. But her parents and her sister all felt the evil pulsing from the still figure in the cart. No one spoke as they drove past the man.

Suddenly, the engine gave a strange cough. Her father gunned the motor, once, twice in a silent, desperate battle to keep moving. She gripped her hands together, praying silently as she stared at the figure opposite their car. The engine caught again and her father pressed down hard on the accelerator. Then they were past the man and roaring away from the park and towards the downward slope of the mountain.

She was sweating profusely, unable to stop shaking. She looked back out the window at the man in the park, and saw the motorcycle come roaring at last to the top of the hill. It drove half-way around the C-bend and as it drew opposite the figure in the cart, she heard the engine of the motorcycle cough. And then stall.

And then the park was out of view and they were riding silently towards home, not daring to speak until they were safely indoors.

She often wondered what happened to the man on the motorcycle.

The Handshake

Polly was the sweetest, prettiest girl in Goldsboro, yes sir. All the local boys were chasing her, and quite a number of the fellows from the surrounding countryside were too. All the girls were jealous of Polly ‘cause they didn’t have no sweethearts to take them to the local dances. They all wanted Polly to choose her man so things could go back to normal. But Polly was picky. None of the local boys suited her, and neither did the fellows from the back country.       Then one day, George Dean came home from university, and Polly was smitten. Polly completely dropped all her other beaus when George came courting, and it wasn't long before George proposed and Polly accepted.
Polly started making preparations for the wedding and shopping for items to fill her new home.   George wasn’t too interested in all the fripperies and wedding details. He left the womenfolk to get on with it and started spending time down at the pool hall with some of his buddies. And that’s where he met Helene, the owner’s saucy daughter. She had bold black eyes and ruby red lips, and a bad-girl air that fascinated George. He spent more and more time at the pool hall, and less and less time with Polly, who finally noticed in spite of all the hustle and bustle.
     Of course, Polly was furious. She immediately confronted George with the story, and he couldn’t deny it. Suddenly, George had to toe the mark. His pool-hall visits were over, and he spent every free hour he wasn’t at work by her side. That didn’t sit well with George, but his family backed Polly up, so he went along with it.
     The day of the wedding dawned clear and bright. The guests filled the sanctuary, and the pastor and the best man waited patiently in the ante-chamber for the arrival of the groom. But George didn’t come. Eventually, they went searching for the missing bridegroom, and found out he'd left town with Helene an hour before the wedding. With dread, Polly’s mother went to tell her daughter what had happened. Polly, all bright and shining and lovely in her long white dress and soft wedding veil, turned pale when her mother broke the news. Then she stiffened, grabbing her left arm as a sudden pain ripped through it.   She was dead from a massive heart attack long before she hit the floor.
     A few days later, Polly was buried in the churchyard, still wearing her white wedding dress and veil. The whole town came to the funeral and wept at the passing of such a beautiful young girl.   George and Helene, who had spent the week happily honeymooning in the Outer Banks, arrived home at the very moment that the black-clad crowd exited the churchyard. Their arrival caused a commotion. The minister had to pull Polly’s father off George before he killed him. And both George and Helene’s family disowned the couple right there in the street in front of everyone. The couple fled town in disgrace.
    Time passed, and eventually the scandal was forgotten. Until the day George’s father passed away. It was rumored that he was to be buried in the local churchyard just a few plots away from the girl who had almost become his daughter. Suddenly, the story of Polly's jilting was revived and folks wondered aloud if George would dare attend his father's funeral. But George was too clever for them. He waited at an inn outside of town until it was dark, and then he went to the churchyard to pay his last respects to his father.
      As he unburdened himself at his father’s graveside, George heard a sweet female voice calling his name. “George. Sweetheart.” George looked up in sudden hope. Was that his mother, come to forgive him? Then he saw, rising up from a grassy mound under a spreading oak tree, a figure in a long white gown and a soft veil. Her eyes and her lips were yellow flames beneath the veil, and the rotted wedding dress glowed with a white-yellow light. It was Polly.
      George’s body stiffened, shudders of fear coursing up and down his arms and legs. He put a shaking hand to his mouth and staggered backward, the other hand outstretched out ward off the specter floating toward him. The spectral bride cackled with angry laughter and swooped forward until its hand closed over George’s outstretched one in a terrible parody of a handshake. The grip of the spectral bride was so cold it burned the skin, and so hard that the bones crunched as it squeezed. “Come along into the church, George,” the glowing bride whispered. Through the veil, George could see maggots crawling in and out of Polly’s flaming eye sockets.
    “Nooo! Polly, no!” George screamed in terror, but he could not wrench his hand free. The ghost dragged him step by halting step toward the front door of the church. His hand was a red-hot agony of pain, though the rest of his body was shaking with cold.
      “No!” George gave a final cry of despair and wrenched again at his hand. And suddenly, he was free. The spectral bride gave a roar of rage as George ran pell-mell down the church lane and out into the street.
     “You’re mine, George Dean! If not in this world, than in the next,” the spectral bride howled after him.
     By the time George reached his room, the fiery pain in his hand and arm was seeping through his entire body. He rang desperately for the house maid and begged her to send for a doctor. Then he fell into bed and stared at his hand, which was black and withered, as if it had been scorched long ago by a fire. Black and red streaks were climbing up his arm so fast he could almost see them move.
      George was unconscious when the doctor arrived, and the swelling was already extending into his chest and neck. There was nothing the physician could do. The injury was too severe and had spread too far. Within two days, George was dead.   Polly had gotten her man at last.

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Chitika

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Playing the Ouija Board

By Danielle

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Friday, February 18, 2011

The story of the "De Deur Ghost", sometimes referred to as the "Walkerville Ghost", is well known in our area, and has been around for several decades. So much so, that the details have become a little blurred and there are now several variations.

Thursday, February 17, 2011