Ghost Stories And The Unexplained: Book One by Emily Hill - Read Online
Ghost Stories And The Unexplained
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Imagine that you are seven years old – a mere child – alone in the house after your parents leave for work. The clock on the mantle ticks loudly, ominously counting off the seconds. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Quite suddenly, your ears are pricked by the sound of chains dragging heavily across the floor and down the long hallway of your parent’s home. Has the spirit of your grandfather come back to reassure himself that all he has left behind is secure? How soon will he depart, and release you from the terror that he has possibly left the portal open to the World Beyond?

On your sixteenth birthday you hold the clammy fingertips of your classmates at a slumber party séance, having waited until midnight to summon the power of The Ouija. Your friends gasp as the candles that throw shadows across the room flicker and the lens into The Other World begins to sweep across the board.

In the crypt-like quiet that follows midnight you watch from across your room as the doorknob of your bedroom door turns, almost imperceptibly. It creaks ever so slightly, rattling in its casing. You know that it is not a human presence that has come a'callin' – a human most certainly would have been caught by the alarm system.

You don’t think these occurrences could ever happen? Think again. Because they do happen; and they have happened to me. I remember each incident vividly.
Ghost Stories And The Unexplained, is a collection of contemporary ghost stories that recount my own experiences with The Unexplained supernatural occurrences in my life.

47,000 words.
Twenty-Two Tales in the Full Collection.

Published: Emily Hill on
ISBN: 9781466002418
List price: $2.99
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Ghost Stories And The Unexplained - Emily Hill

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Ghost Stories And The Unexplained

Emily Hill

A.V. Harrison Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011


Chapter One

That’s All I Know

Now that my mother – and all of her relatives – are dead, I am the keeper of the family photographs that have been handed down over the decades. I was looking at pictures of my Grandpa Jimmy the other day. He was my Grandmother’s second husband. Her first husband, Earl, died in 1925, under unusual circumstances, when my mom was thirteen months old.

There are many photographs of Grandpa Jimmy in the collection – but only one of my real grandpa, Grandfather Earl. The one photograph of Earl Seaman shows an overly serious farm boy in his mid-twenties. The photograph is unnaturally colorized photo so that he and my grandmother have bright rosy cheeks. He is standing at the open door of a two-room farm cabin. My grandmother is standing next to him with a babe in her arms - my mother, whose presence has nearly faded. A young boy is standing with them - my Uncle Richard. The presence of three shadows mar the photograph. The young farm couple is looking straight into the camera’s eye, staring out at the misfortune that is about to befall them. A month after that picture was taken, Earl Seaman drowned in Turkey Creek. My grandmother often said, I know he didn’t want to leave us. And, that’s all I know.

~ 1925 ~

Grandfather Earl and my Grandmother Emily, for whom I was named

My Grandmother married Grandpa Jimmy thirty years later. He was the perfect rogue for my grandmother. With his slicked back hair, and penchant for motorcycles, it was exactly who I would have chosen for her after thirty years of widowhood. It never occurred to me back then, of course, that he looked like Clark Gable – but – I could sure tell you, now, why she found him attractive. For his part, I think he simply wanted to settle down to a ready-made family that included grandchildren. He teased us, and pushed us in the rope swing; and laughed as he chased the chickens into the hen house. He was the perfect addition to our family. Grandpa Jimmy worked the late shift and was usually home by midnight, but Ohio winters and bad driving conditions sometimes delayed his return home. On Christmas Eve in 1955, Grandma said she realized, even in her sleep, that he was late coming home. She had left the Christmas tree lights on for him, glowing out toward the highway that ran past their farm house. Snow fell softly, sweetly, creating a false sense of security.

It was still very dark, four in the morning, when the sheriff’s car arrived. A second car pulled into Grandma’s driveway behind the sheriff’s car. My grandmother heard the crunch of the snow as the two cars pulled up next to the house. She got out of bed to look down from her bedroom window, and could see her elderly neighbor, Mr. Brumfield, get out of the second car and walk