A Gift from Saint Nicholas

Claas Schlaschenschlinger was a wealthy cobbler living on New Street in New Amsterdam. He was a contented bachelor who could afford eight - eight mind you! - pairs of breeches and he had a little side business selling geese. He cut quite a figure in New Amsterdam society, and was happy being single, until he met the fair Anitje! She was as pretty as a picture, and Claas fell head over heels for her. He was not her only suitor, by any means. The local burgomaster was also courting the fair Anitje. But the burgomaster was a stingy, hard man, and in the end, Anitje gave her heart and hand to Claas. 

At first, Claas and Anitje were very happy and prosperous, raising geese and children. But t
burgomaster was a vengeful sort of fellow, who began a series of "improvements" to the local neighborhood, charging highly for each one, until all their money was gone. The arrival of a blacksmith who repaired shoes with hob nails, so that the shoes lasted a year or more, left Claas, Anitje and their six children as poor as church mice. 

A Gift from Saint Nicholas

Owl Head Lake

One wonders how these places get their names. There was nothing especially owlish about its 60 acres of surface or the little islands that poked their domed heads above it. It was a pretty lake in the Tennessee woods, peaceful and pristine. Exactly the kind of place Monty needed for a few days of splendid isolation. Fishing, reading, getting back in touch with his inner man. A few precious days to decompress before the firm reeled him back in and sucked him dry.
There were a couple of reasons Owl Head Lake appealed to him. One was its inaccessibility. Three miles of dirt road to a primitive campground ruled out all but the most determined campers. The second was its unpopularity. The lake had acquired a bad reputation ever since people began disappearing from its shores—a group of teenagers vanished a few years ago, their tents and gear untouched. Before that a family went missing without a trace. And those were just the two that he knew of; he supposed there were more. On both occasions the lake was dragged, divers sent into its murky depths, to no avail. The divers reported the lake was uncommonly deep and cold but harbored nothing out of the ordinary. So the stories grew that the lake was cursed and as the stories multiplied, the locals kept away and its campsites gradually fell into disrepair.

If tall tales and ghost stories kept campers away, that suited Monty just fine. The last thing he wanted was company, some garrulous stranger making chitchat about the weather or some tedious retired couple from Des Moines. No Owl Head Lake was just the tonic he needed. Who knew what happened to those teen-age campers. Kids are famous for making stupid decisions. He could imagine them yelling, “Watch this” just before plunging over a cliff.
As for the lake’s reputation for being haunted or stalked by a serial killer, well he was a city boy and violent death was all around him. He knew the odds of being killed by a stranger were greater than getting struck by lightening. And besides as a lawyer he made his living defending the most depraved sociopaths on the planet. No, he wasn’t afraid of a violent end, he was afraid of some friendly camper destroying his solitude.
His heart sank when he first drove in and saw the bright blue of a tent pitched near his favorite site. He needn’t have worried the neighbors were packing up and leaving. The man came over to Monty his face showing obvious signs of distress.

Owl Head Lake

The Haunting at Green Elm Cemetery Bridge

The day was warm for October, but he loved the fall regardless. The crisp, cool mornings and warm afternoons were a respite from the relentless summer heat of north central Texas.

The year was 1948 and four cattlemen were on their way back home to Chico, just north of Bridgeport. They had been out to west Texas to purchase cattle. The weather being dry and the land parched as drought had claimed it earlier that year, recalled G.E. Francis, age 92 when he shared this ghostly tale in 2002. A strange account indeed, but one that certainly gains the respect of the reader once the details of the day are told.
“We’d been on the road for hours, stuffed into Buford’s brown 1939 Buick. There was no air-conditioning in cars back then and the trip had been a long one.” The car rattled along the old Green Elm road through, what was known in those days as “the bottoms”, a stretch of dirt highway that ran between Wizard Wells, now a ghost town, and Chico. The old road is now mostly covered by water, encompassed by the far north end of Lake Bridgeport, located on the Jack-Wise County lines south of Texas FM 1810.
“We had to stop for a nature break. We were close to home, but when you got to go, you got to go! We decided to go ahead and pull over when Buford simply came to a complete stop right on the bridge. You could do that in those days as you may not see another car for a half hour or so.” This particular bridge spanned the west fork of the Trinity River and was constructed with an iron frame support beams and wooden slats for car tires.

The four companions were relieved to get a break from the cramped car as the sun was just about to set in the western sky. As they finished their business they stood on the bridge taking in the scenery and making small talk as the blue sky above faded into orange and yellow hues upon the vast Texas horizon. The bridge was called “Green Elm Cemetery Bridge,” because of its proximity to an old cemetery located about 500 yards south of its location and just beyond a bend in the river.

The Haunting at Green Elm Cemetery Bridge

House On The Corner

by Ruby Red
(Fremont CA) 
The house had seven bedrooms, a huge porch that went all the way around the house, front to back. It stood on the corner of Second St and School Place. I know this about the house because I have been there in my dreams or maybe I should say my nightmares.

The first time I saw the house I was walking with my dog. We came to the street where the house stood in all its glory. I thought to myself, "Wow that's the house in my dreams." I wanted desperately to go in and look around. It's as if the house was somehow calling me to come to it.

The windows were so big and inviting, like the eyes to the soul, if a house has a soul, maybe it dose. Is that even possible?

That night I dreamed of the big house on the corner with the big windows and the wrap around porch. As I entered the house in my dream I felt like I belonged there. It's as if I knew every nook, every room, every secret. When I awoke I felt a bit confused I could not really focus on anything other than the house on the corner.

The following day I approached the house and then got my nerve up to knock on the front door. It took a long while and as I was turning to walk away the door opened. There standing in the doorway was a small child with very sad eyes, it was a small girl about eight years old. I smiled and said, "Hello, is your mom or dad home?" She looked at me and shook her head no.

Well, I thought, that's strange for the child to be left alone. But then maybe there was a sitter with her whom she had not mentioned.

"My name is Ruby and I wanted to talk to your parents about your house."

House On The Corner

Ghost In My Room

by Daniel
(Texas) 
I had a very terrifying experience one night. Before I had never experienced anything paranormal and was very skeptical to things that were supernatural. But this night definitely scared me into believing.

It was about 11 o'clock at night when the first strange thing began happening. I had gone to bed around 10 as it was a school night and was dwelling on insomnia at this time. I was getting close to sleep and closed my eyes when my bed began to shake. I didn't know what was happening at first but when I realized it wasn't me shaking the bed I threw the covers over my head like a little kid and kept my eyes shut. The shaking lasted about 2 minutes and then abruptly stopped. I waited a few seconds and then I pulled back the covers and looked around my room. No one was there and it was completely silent. Then my doorknob suddenly started shaking like someone was trying to open my door. It shook for a few seconds then I heard the ping of the brass like the lock had been unlocked. I had not locked my door before bed. The door opened to a crack and then swung back violently and stopped just before hitting the wall. I sat upright in my bed staring at the door scared out of my mind. Then in the blink of an eye a shadow crossed the doorway and went into the hall bathroom. The bathroom light came on and the bathroom door slammed shut. I didn't know what to do so I sat frozen in my bed. I watched the light from under the bathroom door turn off and then the bathroom door open. The shadow whooshed by my door and then my door slammed shut. I immediately threw my head under the covers and began saying prayers that I remembered from my Catholic school days. I didn't sleep the rest of the night and spent the next few nights sleeping on the couch in the living room.

Ghost In My Room

How to Perform a Cleansing Ritual GHOST REMOVAL

If your home is definitely haunted by a ghost, and you
want to try to rid your home of this ghost, here is a cleansing
ritual that you can try.  
Materials needed: 
_ A smudge stick of sage
_ A lighter or matches
_ A "plate" to catch ashes (an abalone shell works great, do not use anything flammable like paper or styrofoam plates!)
Go to the room that is furthest from the front door. This will be your starting point, and you will work towards the front door. Stand in the center of the room, and light the end of the smudge stick. Hold it over your "plate" so the ashes don't drop on the floor. Very gently blow on the end to get the stick burning enough to produce smoke. Do not blow very hard, because you may blow embers off the end of the smudge stick and burn carpet or furniture, or worse yet, start a fire. When there is steady smoke from the end of the smudge stick, stand still and close your eyes. Focus internally, and imagine a "bubble" of white light inside of you, deep in the center of your body.

Imagine this bubble expanding in all directions, out past your body. As the bubble expands beyond your body, imagine this white light "pushing" negative energy away ahead of it. Let the bubble grow until it is filling the room, and all the negative energy has been pushed out through the window(s) and door. In your mind, command the white light to stay and fill the room, right up to the window(s) and door, and tell it to stay in this room and protect it. Walk towards the door to this room, and as you do, imagine the white light moving ahead of you, pushing negative energy away. Keep holding the "plate" and smudge stick ahead of you as you go, gently blowing as necessary on the stick to keep smoke going. The smoke, along with the white light, is what does the cleansing.
As you walk out into the hallway, if there is a room across from you, this would be the next place to go.

How to Perform a Cleansing Ritual GHOST REMOVAL

The Harvest That Never Came A Swedish Legend

My dearest Arild,

I promised to wait for you forever, but I fear I will not be allowed to. My father says you will never return, and he has chosen another man to be my husband. Though I pleaded with him, he has already set the marriage date.

I will love you always.

Your faithful Thale

Arild Ugerup, son of a noble Danish family, sat on his cot, reading the letter by the dim light of his prison cell. How cruel the tricks played by war, he thought, his eyes filling with tears.

Though Arild and his family were nobles of Denmark, they had long lived peaceably in Sweden. When King Erik of Sweden was crowned, Arild had been one of his honored guests. But then Denmark and Sweden declared war on each other, and Arild was drafted into the Danish navy. He was captured in battle and imprisoned by King Erik.

Arild’s childhood sweetheart, Thale Thott, had promised to marry him when he came back from the war. Now it seemed he would lose Thale as well as his freedom.

Arild sat thinking for many hours, the letter lying loose in his hand. At last he crossed to a small table. Dipping his pen in an inkwell, he began to write.

Your Royal Majesty,

Though I am now your prisoner, you once counted me as a friend. Grant me one favor. Let me go home to marry the woman I love. Then allow me to stay only long enough to plant a crop and harvest it.

On my word of honor, I will return to your prison as soon as the harvest is gathered.

The Harvest That Never Came A Swedish Legend