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This is a collection of stories I have read online. I wanted to put all the good ones on one document. None of these stories are mine and I try to give credit to where I got them from at the end of each piece. Whether the stories are actually real or not, I give the benefit of the doubt to the authors that their stories are true. There is a fiction section at the end with two fictional stories that I thought were really good. I did not edit any of these stories, except maybe breaking a large piece of text into smaller easierto-read paragraphs. You can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org or http://www.scribd.com/gdog799 which is where I will probably upload this collection to when it’s done.
“Uncle’s hitchhike story”
In the late 70's, my Uncle was studying medicine at the University of Chicago. After a morning class, he decided that he would hitchhike back home to Lincoln Park on the North side instead of pay for a taxi. A man drove up in a Plymouth Satellite and offered my Uncle a ride. The man looked normal and seemed friendly...lighthearted even, so my Uncle got in the car and they started driving towards Lake Shore Drive. However, once they got there, the man drove South on Lake Shore instead of North, towards Lincoln Park. My Uncle told the man he was going the wrong way and to turn around and head North. The man looked at my Uncle, put his hand on his knee and said, "No son, you are coming with me" and smiled darkly at him. My Uncle froze in panic, and when they hit traffic near the South Shore, he quickly unlocked the passenger door and ran away without looking back. A year or two later on a cold December day, my Uncle was having coffee in a cafe with my future Aunt when he caught something on the TV that made his blood run cold. He saw the man that had picked him up from school that day the year before. He had been arrested for the suspected rape and killing of over 20 young men and boys. The man on the television was John Wayne Gacy. And he had removed the door handle off the passenger side door to prevent the men he picked up from escaping. -from reddit user thatsapaddlin
“Cabin in the woods”
My family and I used to go "camping" a lot when I was younger. Camping consisted of renting a cabin in the woods and spending a little time in the wilderness. So we consistently rented this cabin in Pennsylvania where we would spend long weekends, when everyone in the family had some time off. My two brothers and I, each being in the 9-12 year old range, would always run off into the woods and bullshit about while my parents did whatever. The cabin was on a mountain. If you followed a dirt road a ways past the cabin, the forest would open and there was a large field on the top. The field was about the size of a football field. Near the edge of the field, on the far side, was a graveyard. The grave yard was pretty small, about 20 graves, surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The fence was about 10-12 feet tall with the gothic-ish spikes on the top. The fence had a gate but it was locked with a thick, rusty chain and padlock. Being kids were able to spread the gates apart enough to squeeze through. The small grave stones were very old and worn, I remember seeing one dated 1890 something. On top of one of the graves, just resting on it, was a smooth black stone. It looked like Onyx or something, a little smaller than a golf ball but not perfectly round. My older brother pocketed it, we dicked around a little then left. Back at the cabin, which had one bedroom (where my parents stayed) and large living room/kitchen (where we stayed), we were hanging out while my parents were sleeping in bed. It was probably about 11:30 or so at night when a loud BANG! BANG! BANG! happened at the front door (which is right in the living room.) Me and my brothers were all scared shitless, understandably too afraid to answer the door. BANG! BANG! BANG! again the door shook moments later. It sounded like someone was trying to knock it off the hinges.
My father emerged from the bedroom asking WTF was going on. BANG! the door clashed. He knew by the looks on our faces we had no idea. He grabbed a wood chopping axe we had and walked over to the door. He looked scared shitless himself. He swung the door open and there was nothing but the night. No one in sight. After hounding us for information, and us having no idea, we went back to bed. I think no one slept much, if at all that night. The next day we were back to dicking around in the woods and we again found ourselves in the old graveyard. The smooth black stone, that my brother took, was on top of the same grave. We ran, we ran fast. -from reddit user efflux
A buddy told me this story after he returned from a summer in the bush as a forest fire fighter. He and his partner had been dropped off by float plane by a remote lake, and told to clear out underbrush and stuff to remove fuel from the path of a fire. There were no roads and no human beings until clear over to the next valley. But that night, while they were in their tent, they were woken up by footsteps out in the woods. They thought that was pretty creepy, but the night passed and they continued working the next day. They used their radio to enquire back to the base about the footsteps, and were told, "Oh there's supposed to be some crazy old bushman up there somewhere. Mad Trapper type, nothing to worry about." The next night (and we're talking those pitch-dark nights away from any artificial light), they are lying in their tent again, and every little sound makes them think of the crazy bushman, and they hear the footsteps again. But now the footsteps circle their campsite slowly, and they are starting to get a little freaked out. But then the footsteps stop, but neither of them can sleep, they just lie their wide awake wondering what the bushman is up to out there. Then the footsteps come back, and come right into their camp. They are completely terrified, and the footsteps are right outside their tent, and someone is going through all their stuff, and they are just shaking in their sleeping bags. But the bushman leaves, and morning comes, and they go out to see what happened. The bushman went through everything... and made himself a sandwich. That was still too weird for words, and they didn't want to wait to see what he would do on the next night, so they get on the radio back to base and shout "get us the fuck out of here pronto!" And the floatplane comes and takes them away. And two days later some crazy bushman showed up at a hunting lodge in the next valley and killed two tourists before being shot himself. Second-hand story, but it's the best campfire story I've heard.
-from reddit user bluestraggler
I was driving a shortcut from Twentynine Palms, CA to Albuquerque, NM. Twentynine Palms is located in the desolate high desert east of LA. The shortcut was all two lane road through total nothingness, except for passing through Amboy, CA. Amboy is a nearly abandoned town nearly as far below sea level as Death Valley, with a dormant volcano and lava field on one side and a salt flat on the other. It was also, at the time, a hotspot for satanic group activity. So I was driving by myself in the afternoon. I stopped in Amboy and snapped a picture of the city sign, just to prove I was there to friends who dared me to take that route to I-40. I got back in my car and proceeded to drive up into the mountain range between Amboy and I-40. Once I reach the top I am driving north through a canyon with high grass on both sides of the road. Up ahead I see some stuff in the middle of the road. As I approach I slow down to see a red Pontiac Fiero stopped sideways across both lanes, a suitcase open with clothes scattered everywhere and two bodies laying face down in the road, a man and a woman. I stop a hundred feet or so away and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. Being a Marine, I reach under the seat and pull out a 9mm pistol and chamber a round. Something seemed very wrong, it looked too perfect as if it were staged. An ambush? Was I being paranoid? Something was just wrong. Getting out of the car seemed unthinkable, it was the horror movie move. As I scanned the road I saw a line I could drive. Pass the guy in the road on his left, swerve to the right side of the woman, behind the Fiero and I'd be on the other side. I dropped it into first gear, punched it and drove the line I planned. I passed the back of the Fierro without hitting it or either of the bodies in the road. I continued forward a couple hundred feet and slowed down so I could breathe and let my heart slow down. As I looked up into the rearview mirror I saw that the two bodies had gotten up to their knees and twenty or so people emerged from the tall grass on either side of the road by the car and bodies. At that moment my right foot smashed the gas pedal to the floor and did not let up until I had to slowdown for the I-40 east onramp. I will never know what would have happened to me had I gotten out of the car to check on the bodies or stopped my car closer to them. Somehow I do not think it would have been good. Sometimes real life can be scarier than a movie. -from echo5juliet from fark.com’s Annual "Tell your true spooky\creepy stories" thread. http://www.fark.com/cgi/comments.pl?IDLink=3985541&tt=voteresults&viewmode=1&startid= 45878783
I was in Taiwan one year when I was younger, and had travelled to a busy night market (these are popular gatherings that usually operate in the evening). Nearby I spotted a sign for a netcafe in a 5-6 story tall building. Thinking I'd fire off some quick emails, I walked in the dark, small entrance of the building. The building was older and hasn't been well maintained, but it's not out of the ordinary in Taiwan. The entrance just had a dark hallway that led to a small elevator. I pressed the elevator call button and entered. The elevator was uncharacteristically new compared to the building, but I didn't think much of it. Like some Chinese buildings, there wasn't a fourth floor (it's considered bad luck since "four" sounds like "death"), so it just read 1-2-3-5-6, which was usual. I looked for the floor the netcafe was at-- 6th floor, and pressed the button. It lurched into action quietly and began the ascend. When it stopped, I figured it was my floor so I instinctively began to step out. Right before stepping out, however, the sight outside the elevator stopped me. It was pitch dark, only lit by the light in the elevator, it looked like it hasn't been occupied for decades, with some random pieces of furniture covered with white cloth or similar. It was a small building, so each floor were single occupancy, so I could see pretty much the entire floor from the elevator. Thinking I must have gotten the wrong floor, I checked the light (that indicates which floor you're on). Strangely, there was nothing, none of the indicators were on, but the floor button to the netcafe was still lit so I know I haven't gotten there yet. All this happened within a couple of seconds. That's when I noticed a figure moving in the distance of the floor-- it was not very visible but I could make out what looks like a person dressed in some kind of gown, moving slowly towards the elevator. I was thoroughly creeped out, so I started pressing the close door button. As soon as I pressed it, the elevator light flickered off. I am this close to pissing my pants, and it's actually kind of freaking me out thinking back to it. The lights flickered back on under a second and the door closed, the elevator jolted back to life. A few moments later it opened again to the netcafe. I am beyond relieved at this point. I walked out immediately and sat down at a computer. After gathering my wits a bit, I walked over to the cashier's desk and told them what I saw. The girl working there listened and her face turned a bit ashen, so I asked her if she heard of similar. She told me that she's never experienced it, but some coworkers and occasional customers have brought it up-- basically, the building has 6 floors, and the fourth floor had a history. Apparently the floor used to be a hair salon of sorts, until one of the employees killed herself there for some reason. She slit her wrists over the hair wash station and died. The store continued operations despite stories of weird appearances-- when customers got their hair rinsed the water would look a little red, like the customer was bleeding, little things like that, and a couple people reported seeing someone's figure walking away in the mirror. Naturally, the business closed down a few months later. The building owner tried to re-rent the place out, but never had any luck. Most businesses are quite superstitious, and no one wanted to rent the fourth floor after someone had died in it, even at a very cheap price. Finally, after dropping the price to nearly nothing, a stationary supplies store wanted to rent. During the renovations of the floor, however, several accidents would happen. Tools would end up in strange places, a mirror from the previous business shattered when no one was near it, and finally a worker had his hand jammed between the elevator doors when it closed on him unexpectedly. The workers refused to continue working and finally, the business left and
the building owner finally gave up and shut down the floor. He then had the elevator company come in to replace the panel so that the elevator could not go to the fourth floor. Let me repeat that-- the elevator was programmed to never go to the fourth floor. It doesn't even have a button. But for some reason, sometimes when people take the elevator, it would go to the fourth floor and the doors would open, and some, like myself, would see a figure walking around in the dark. -from reddit user smpx
“The girl at the window”
My 4 year old daughter was supposedly asleep when I heard noised coming from her upstairs bedroom. I tried to listen but could not make out what was being said. I approached the room, and she stopped talking. Thinking I alarmed her I went into the room. At the time she was sharing it with her 3 year old sister. I walked in and saw the 4 year old sitting up in bed. I smiled and said is everything o.k.? She said fine, but her sister said they were keeping her up. I asked who? My 4 year old said sorry but that she was talking. When I asked her who she was talking to, my 3 year old sat up and said "the girl in the window, she said you were coming." After I shit a brick, I asked who the girl was and they both said a girl comes and stands in front of the window at night and talks to them. Not knowing what to say, I said o.k. tucked them in and hung around outside their door. The next day I asked about the girl. they said she came back but was mad! I waited a few days and asked again. My 4 year old said the girl in the window was still mad. I forgot about it for about a week, when my wife said, who are the girls talking to upstairs. Freaked out I ran upstairs and both girls were sitting under the window looking up. They turned and looked at me and asked if I wanted to meet the girl. When they turned around, disappointed, they said the girl left. It has been about 5 years since and I have not heard about the girl in the window since then. -from reddit user avalonhill
I remember one time I was upstairs late at night getting a drink from the kitchen when I heard my little brother talking down the hall. I stepped out of the kitchen to see what he was doing and found him standing at the sliding glass door right outside his room, with the door open, talking to what I assumed was himself. As I approached I heard him say, "NO! You can't come in here." Since I couldn't see well in the dark, I asked who he was talking to. He turned to me with his eyes half open and said he was talking to, "the man outside." Freaked me the fuck out. I closed the door and put my little brother to bed then went and hid under my covers for the rest of the night.
-from reddit user digitalevil
I have an odd habit a friend recently picked up on, a habit I developed about a year ago. He noticed that when I enter a room, any room, and shut the door, I turn my face away from it and close my eyes until I hear the lock click. Only after the door is fully closed will I open them. He gave me a hard time about it until I told him where it started. I work for a water-seal company in St. Paul. We produce sealant for exposed wood — decks, boats, that kind of thing. You hear about sealant being a dirty word in the Ashland-Ichor Falls-Ironton area, but not all those companies were part of the infamous “Ethylor summer” that wiped out the local economy in the ’50s. I got sent to an industrial park outside of Ichor Falls on business. I checked into this dismal hotel, the Hotel Umbra, that looked like the decor hadn’t been changed since 1930. The lobby wallpaper had gone yellow from decades of cigarette smoke, and everything had a fine layer of dust, including the old man behind the front desk. I hoped that the room would be in better shape. Mine was on the fourth floor. Being an old place, the hotel had a rickety cable elevator, the kind with the double sets of doors: one of those flexing metal gates, and a solid outer pair of doors. I shut the gate and latched it, and pressed the tiny black button for my floor. Just as the outer elevator doors were about to close, I was startled by the face of a young woman rushing at the gap between them. She was too late; the doors shut, and after a moment the elevator ascended. I thought nothing of it, until I needed to take the elevator back down for one of my bags. I entered, pushed the button for the lobby, and pressed my tired back to the elevator wall opposite the doors. They had nearly completely shut when again I was surprised by a woman’s face moving towards the gap, staring into the elevator through the gate, too late to place her hand in to stop the doors from closing. This time I sprang forward and held the “Door Open” button, and after a moment the doors lurched and slid open. I waited a moment. From the opening I could see partly down the hallway: no one in sight. Still holding the button down, I slid open the metal gate and craned my head into the hallway to look down the other direction. No one. No trace of the girl, no recently shut hotel room door, no footsteps, no jingle of keys. I released the button, but did not lean back against the wall. I stood directly in front of where the gap in the doors would be, in the center of the elevator. After a pause, the outer doors again began to slide shut, to move towards each other until the space between them was the width of a young girl’s face. In that quarter-second several fingertips appeared, followed immediately by her face again, rushing from around the corner, staring at me as the doors met. I had been watching the gap where I thought she might be, so I saw her — she was about thirteen years old, and very plain, almost homely, with a pale complexion and neck-length dark brown hair that looked mussed or slightly dirty. I didn’t have time to glance down at her visible shoulder, to see what she was wearing; from her behavior I wondered if she was a runaway or a homeless person who had gotten into the building.
She had had a glassy, blank expression, tinged with a little desperation, some distant desire or need. A look that could easily be accompanied by the words “Please help.” The next time I passed the front desk, I asked the old man if he’d seen a young girl running through. “Heard the stories, then,” he said between throat-clearings, rocking gently in his seat. “Young Maddy has been here a long time. Takes a liking to gentlemen guests. Always been shy. Never says a word, not a word. Just curious.” I told him I hadn’t heard any stories, and that there had been a girl taking the stairs and standing in front of my elevator on every floor. “That’s our Maddy,” he said. “She likes you then. Sweet on you. She just wants to see, that’s all, just to see. All she ever does. Curious little thing. Just wants to see.” I stayed at the Hotel Umbra for three nights. It was a four-night business trip; the last night I tried sleeping in my car. It didn’t help. Let me tell you about Young Maddy. You only catch glimpses of her, of a face with a resigned look of quiet desperation, dominated by a pair of wide, dark eyes. Locked doors, barricades, nothing made a difference; she gets inside. I never saw her longer than half a second. Every time I laid eyes on her she retreated instantly, only to appear again an hour or two later. An hour or two if I was lucky. Let me tell you about where I saw Young Maddy. Every time I shut the door to my bathroom, in my hotel room, I saw her. If I watched as I shut it, at the last possible second I’d see the crescent of her face moving fast at the gap. I’d throw the door open to find nothing. Every time I closed the closet door I saw her. If I watched that gap, she’d suddenly be inside the closet, leaning her head to watch me just as it shut. It’s as if she knew where to go, where to be, so that my eye would meet hers. But there was never an impact, never a moment when she’d make contact with the door or the wall. The first time I sat at that writing table I saw her. As I closed the large bottom drawer. She rushed at the gap from inside the drawer, her wide eyes pleading for something I could not give. I pulled the drawer from its rails and threw it to the floor. I did spend that last night in my car, but like I said, it did no good. Tossing and turning on that rental car seat, the back ratcheted as flat as I could get it, I’d have to open my eyes sometimes, and if there was a place for her to dart from my view when I opened them, she did. In the sideview mirror, or peeking over the hood of my car — once upside-down, at the top of the windshield, as if she was on the roof. I’m back in St. Paul again, and I’ve been back for a year. But Maddy hasn’t stopped. If I keep my eyes open long enough, if I watch a place long enough, I’ll eventually catch sight of movement — near the copier in my office, a pile of boxes in an alley, a column in a quiet parking lot — and my eye will get there just in time to see her eye retreating from view. There’s never anything there when I go to look, so I’ve stopped looking.
That’s how I’ve had to change things since the Hotel Umbra. I’ve stopped looking. I keep my eyes shut when I close doors, when I shut drawers and cabinets, fridges, coolers, the trunk of my car. Not all spaces. Just ones that are big enough. At least, that used to work. I was getting ready for bed a few nights ago, standing in front of my bathroom mirror, door shut, cabinets shut. Watching myself floss. I opened up wide to get my molars. I swear I saw fingertips retreat down the back of my throat. -from reddit user mr_chris
I married my college sweetheart right after we graduated. After about a year, it wasn't going well, and it seemed like it would be best for me to move out. My brother, who is a few years older than me, lived on the other side of town, where he has a fairly large house. He is actually planning to move to another city, and staying there in rented accommodation pretty much all the time. He agreed that I can stay in house until I get myself sorted out or until he sells the house, whichever comes first. His house was actually kind of run down. He had been planning to fix it up, but was so busy with his job that he never really got that much done. I had plenty of time on my hands at evenings and weekends, so I volunteered to do some fixing and decorating for him. Over a few months, I repainted all the rooms, fixed all the wooden floors, and even retiled both the bathrooms, put in a new toilet and shower, etc. My brother paid for all the materials (he gave me a prepaid debit card), but I did all the labor for free of course. The last room that I was doing was a bedroom. It had a built-in wardrobe cupboard, kind of built into the wall. I decided to paint the inside of the cupboard as well as the room itself, since the cupboard is dirty yellow inside with lots of black marks on the walls. I used the last of the white paint to paint the inside, and left the doors open for it to dry. That was my Friday night, then I went to bed. Next day was a Saturday, and the last thing to do is paint the walls of the room, which include a dark red lower half, and a cream upper half (there's a rail between them, and it didn't look as horrible as it sounds). I went to get the red paint from the corridor, where I had been using it too touch up a spot that I had missed. I then went back to the corridor to get the red paint tray with the roller and brush in it. I tripped as I entered the room, the tray and roller fell on the floor (which fortunately was covered), but the brush went into the cupboard and hit the wall. It left a mark that looked like an elongated S with a long line going straight down underneath it. Now I was pissed, because I would have to repaint the inside of the cupboard - at least a couple of coats to cover the dark red - which means I will have to go out and buy more white paint as well. I picked up the brush, and start to write SHIT using the elongated S for the initial letter. The H however came out looking more like an A, so I write SATAN instead. There was still a long line
of paint running vertically under the S, so I made that into the vertical stroke of a K, and wrote KILL. I thought nothing of it, and then got on with painting the rest of the room. I spent several hours painting the entire room, and by the time I was finished, it was dark and late, and I was aching and really hungry. I decided to go downstairs to get some food and then go to sleep. As I was leaving the room, SATAN KILL caught my eye, and for some reason I decided to write in ORDERS YOU TO after SATAN, making the message SATAN ORDERS YOU TO KILL. It didn't seem important, as I am planning to paint over it anyway. First thing Sunday morning, I went out and bought a tub of white paint. When I got back I paint over SATAN ORDERS YOU TO KILL, but you can still read it through the white paint. I then started on the second coat on the room proper. When I finished them room, I redid white roller over SATAN ORDERS YOU TO KILL in the cupboard again, but you can still read it. For the next week, every morning before I leave for work, and when I get back from working in the evening, I rollered another layer of white paint over SATAN ORDERS YOU TO KILL. I was convinced that it was still faintly visible. The next weekend my brother came over, so I showed him the cupboard, and asked him if he can see any message written inside it. He said that he couldn't. But I was still convinced that is was faintly visible. I told myself that it is my mind playing tricks with me, and thatI must take his word for it. Nevertheless, just to be sure, I did add a few more layers of paint over the next few days. During this time, there are periodically people who come with the realtor to look at the house. My brother was after all trying to sell it. I do particularly remember one family (mother, father and teenage boy) who spent ages looking over the house one Saturday - I think (not sure) if this is the same family that reappears later in this story. I soon moved out, and moved away to another town. Got a new job, rented my own place. My brother eventually sold the house. I met a new girl, etc. At Christmas, my brother invited me and my girl over to his large apartment in a major city. We went to visit. When we are talking, he tells me that he is so glad that he is rid of that house, since it always gave him the creeps. Asks me if it ever gave me the creeps. (It didn't). Then the killer revelation: The family who bought the house - the teenage son killed his parents, and hid their bodies in a cupboard. -from reddit user decorator
My family used to rent a house in town along with my aunt and uncle when I was very young that we eventually moved out of because of very strange things that happened while we lived there, but the most memorable and final straw was the night my aunt was using the toilet and just happened to look down at this small hole in the floor that had been there since we moved in and saw a man standing in the basement looking right back up at her smiling. My aunt ran out of the bathroom and screamed for my uncle. After explaining to him that there was a man in the
basement my uncle went and got my Dad and they both went down the stairs (the only entrance into the basement) where they found nothing but footprints in the dirty floor where someone had been standing and moving around under the hole. -from reddit user dusktildawn
“My First House”
This is a pretty long story of the scariest thing that ever happened to me in my life, I hope you guys never have an experience as bad as mine. I recently moved into a new house and now live alone. The house is near a small town, maybe 2 miles away. The house itself in the middle of a nicely wooded area in a smaller town, which is perfect for me, I love the serenity of the woods, being untainted by urban life. The idea of having a barn thrilled me, with all of the possibilities of what I could turn it into. My parents recently gave me this house as a graduation gift. The house was given to them by my grandparents, which is strange because we didn't live in this house growing up. In fact, my parents never mentioned it to me until I graduated college, admitting that they much preferred the city life over living in the middle of nowhere. My mother lived in the house briefly until she was around 7, when my grandparents decided to pack up and move one day. They never sold the house, they said there were too many memories and at the very least my parents could use it as a vacation home. They never did. The house was in a slight state of disrepair, however I couldn't care less. I was a homeowner! Mowing the lawn and clearing the branches was the easy part, the real work began within the house. Dusting old furniture, clearing cobwebs and throwing away old canned food. It took me about 2 weeks of cleaning until I decided it was sanitary enough to move into. I decided to take a few weeks to just relax, I was tired of partying and I didn't want to start searching for a job just yet. I spent my first day at the house hiking near the creek, fishing on a small pond and meeting folks in town. That night however I was restless, there was no tv and I didn't have any books other than text books. I needed something to do after it got dark out, so I started exploring the house. In the attic to my surprise was filled with random furniture, toys and trinkets from my mothers childhood. I found baseballs cards, jump ropes, a little football helmet, action figures, a doll house, board games, ect. This was fascinating to me. I then found an antique dresser, which I found my mothers diary. Jackpot! I can read this at night until I fall asleep. Not this night however, I was tired and decided to go to sleep in my new bedroom in my beautiful new house. Sleep came fast, however I was woken by creaking from the stairs and attic. This was to be expected living in an old house, I was sure I'd get used to it. The next day I decided to check out the barn, I'd decided to turn it into a hobby lounge where I could do woodworking or whatever my wavering enthusiasms desired. The barn was in fact in pristine condition, aside from a pile of cigarette butts in the corner and a musky smell which hung in the air. The smell was the only thing that bothered me, I am a nonsmoker I hate cigarettes, the stench they give off makes me want to vomit. There was a very unstable looking ladder leading up to the loft, which I decided not to use, the last thing I needed was to break my neck in the middle of nowhere. There
didn't appear to be anything up there aside from some hay creeping over the edge. After picking up the butts, I realized that I had more free time than I planned, since I assumed I would spend the day cleaning the barn. I decided to explore the attic more, as I could not find my car keys to drive to town. Oddly enough I swore that I left them on the kitchen table next to my wallet, as this is what I have always done with any set of car keys I own. Asides from an old mirror and a pile of old cloths, I couldn't find anything of much interest. As I left I noticed that there were less dolls than I had remembered, and I could swear one of them was not there before. Whatever, I decided to just read my mothers diary. Lying in my bed I read through the diary, laughing at the entries of the diary. Several of them mentioned her older brother "James" throwing tantrums for no apparent reason, punching himself in the face or trying to fling his baseball bat into a tree. My mother must have had a very overactive imagination as a child, she had no siblings and grew up a single child. I marked the page I was on and went downstairs to get a snack, growing more annoyed by the constant creaking in the attic. I decided to go to town the next morning and find someone who could fix it. Remembering I had lost my keys, I decided to retrace my steps so I could leave for town early in the morning. The sun was beginning to set, a dull orange peaking over the horizon, so I decided to check the barn before it became to dark to see. I brought a flashlight just in case it did become too dark. I couldn't find my keys, however I did find a few cigarette butts in the corner which I had apparently missed from earlier. I set down the flashlight and scooped them up and threw them away. After an unsuccessful search, I glanced up towards the loft and noticed there was a doll propped up against the wall. I could have sworn the doll was in the attic yesterday, so against my better judgment I climbed the rickety ladder to the loft. There was nothing up here aside from from an old hammer, the doll and a pile of hay. I picked up the doll and climbed down and walked towards my house. When I entered the front door I noticed my keys on the ground, only the car ignition key was mangled and bent. Annoyed that I somehow must have stepped on the key to bend it, I decided to go to bed and walk to town in the morning. Before going to sleep I cracked open my mothers old diary to read. She was surprisingly articulate for a 7 year old, and I became so entranced by the story that the old house's creaking no longer bothered me. The diary's entries became disturbing however. "James" began cutting himself in front of the family and starting fires, the story was becoming very morbid for a 7 year old's imagination. The most disturbing entry, James had tried to kill my grandfather with a knife and ran off into the woods after stabbing him, my mother bearing witness to the entire scene. After returning from the hospital, James had not returned. Dead animals started appearing outside the front door and messages were being written on the house with blood. She wrote how her grandparents have been whispering among themselves for a week now and no longer allowing her out of the house alone. She also frequently wrote how much she missed James. The diary ended here, with no mention of when or why they moved, it just stopped. My heart was racing, my pupils dilated and my heavy breathing silent. I didn't want to stay here anymore, true or not the diary chilled me to the bone. I was aware of everything due to my adrenaline rush, the wind blowing outside and every little creak the house made. Wait, the house
was no longer creaking, it was dead silent. I pushed my bed against the door barricading myself in the room. I moved my dresser in front of the window, knocking over my lamp and only light source. The blanket of darkness covered the room, the only source of light coming from the tiny keyhole in the door. Determined to stay awake until sunrise, I sat with my back against the wall next to the bed. The floor began creaking down the hallway, stopping right outside my door and then stopping. The light seeping in through the keyhole went dark, I tried to listen over the deafening sound of air entering and exiting my lungs, what was worse was my the constant thumping of blood entering and leaving my heart. A few minutes after soul crushing fear, light returned through the keyhole followed by more creaking. I refused to look through the keyhole to confirm my worst fear. After what seemed like days, morning finally came. When light creeped around my dresser blocking the window, I moved it and waited until sunlight saturated the whole forest. Cautiously I moved my bed and bolted down the stairs outside. I didn't need a car, I was going to run to town. I ran into the barn to quickly grab my heavy mag flashlight as a blunt weapon if I needed it. I plucked it from the pile of cigarettes it was hiding under and ran down the dirt path into town. I called my parents to come and pick me up from a greasy spoon diner, making sure to sit in a booth which was against a wall and not a window. Aftermath: I did call the police who insisted they found nothing out of the ordinary and both my mother and grandparents deny any existence of a family member named James. I returned to the house, with several friends and my parents mind you, to retrieve my belongings, I was not living in this damned house. There were blank pages from the diary stacked nicely on the nightstand, however we couldn't find the diary no matter how much we searched. My mother vehemently denied ever having one and scolded me for smoking in the barn and littering the ground with cigarette butts and having such an "active imagination". -reddit user thunderegg
“A Strange Story from my Childhood”
This happened at least 13 years ago, I was about eight or nine years old at the time The first half of my life I lived in a relatively small, rural town. At the time our only neighbors were a family that lived down the road from us who we remained good friends with the whole time we lived there. There was the father, Mr. Caudell, his wife, and their son Alex. Mr. Caudell and and Mrs. Caudell were both respiratory therapists who worked at the county hospital. It's been awhile and I can't say I remember their first names. I was a kid so of course I addressed them on a Mr. and Mrs. basis. To give you an image of where we lived, imagine a gravel road with no streetlights stretching across a field, and two houses separated by about 200 yards. Since we lived a bit out of the way from town, when my parents decided to have a date night and go out for a movie or something, instead of hiring a babysitter they would usually just leave me and my brother in the care of the Caudell's, and the Caudell's would usually leave Alex in our care whenever they were working late, or decided they wanted to go out.
One particular night my parents were out and my brother and I were at the Caudell's house. Usually when we were there we watched movies or played Sega and this night Mr. Caudell suggested I pick out a movie from the shelf for us to watch. The Caudell's had an extensive VHS collection, consisting of both bought movies and those bootlegged ones with the name of the film written in sharpie on the side of the VHC cassette. The movie I picked out was some John Goodman movie that had a picture him sitting on a throne on the cover. I looked this up earlier today and found it was called "King Ralph". We start up the movie and that's where things started to seem a bit off. The movie was completely rewound but started with the opening credits. No FBI warning, no previews. The credits looked normal enough, white lettering on a black background with the text fading in and out when naming the members of the cast. I recall it seeming normal enough, it starting with something like a "Paramount Pictures Presents" and naming off the cast members. It never got to the name of the movie. About thirty seconds in there was an abrupt buzzing noise and the film cut to what appeared to be an extremely dark room being filmed on a home video camera. About this time a few confused remarks come from those of us watching it. And this is where it got weird. Where we lived, there was no light pollution at all. So when it got dark, you usually could not see anything because it gets pitch black. But when there's a full moon, it completely illuminates the night. I'm also going to go ahead and add that because we lived in the middle of nowhere, in a very crime free county, we had a tendency to not bother locking our doors. The only noise coming from the video was the shuffling sound that's seems to always be heard when someone's handling a camera. When the camera finally re-adjusted, you could make out two windows and the moonlight shining through them, illuminating what looked like the inside of the Caudell's garage. This lasted about thirty seconds when the camera then cut to the Caudell's living room, where we were right now. The camera panned around the shelves, over the books and family photos. At one point, the 'camerman' reached out and picked up one of the photos, revealing a slightly wrinkled, Caucasian hand. It might be important to add that Mr. Caudell was black and his wife was white. The hand in the video looked to large to be a woman's. This is the eeriest part of the whole video. The screen goes blue for a second, and when the video comes back, it's filming Alex's room from the hallway. Alex's door is open, and from the moonlight you can barely make out him in his bed asleep. The cameraman filmed Alex, for at least two minutes, before emitting what sounded like a short, guttural squeaking noise. Alex was obviously woken from his slumber, and a silhouette of him could be seen sort of shifting up from his bed, looking around for a moment, and then laying back down. The hand reappeared and slowly waved at the now asleep Alex. The video then cuts to what appears to be the dining room, and from the way the camera was positioned, it looked as if the cameraman was sitting down in one of the chairs. This was the last part of the video and it lasted about four seconds as the cameraman whispered something. Mr. Caudell would rewind it twice to hear what he had said. It was hard to hear, but we think we heard him say "What is to be done?". The video also had one of those date markers on the bottom left of the screen. The date of the filming was about 15 months previous to the day we watched it. The VHS tape was definitely one
of those home video ones. Someone had put a white sticker on it and then ripped it off, leaving a strip of white sticker to make it look more like a movie. This video was later shown to our small town police department who told them that there was nothing they could do seeing as it was filmed over a year ago and that there was no real way to identify the person behind the camera. Needless to say, we began locking our doors from then on. -from reddit user disraeligears111
“Are We Alone in this House?”
Last night, my girlfriend and I returned home from my parent’s house around 11:30 pm. It was garbage night, so while she went inside, I began unlocking the side gate to reach the bags and start pulling them down to the curb. We live next to a small beer distributor, and while I was in the process of unlocking, the owner came out and asked me to help her pull her lighted sign inside. We took about 3 or 4 minutes to carry it inside (where she thanked me with two awesome Stella goblets!), then we talked outside on the sidewalk for a few more minutes. Afterwards, I went inside to drop the glasses off before proceeding with the chore outside. As I walked in, I smelled the distinct smell of cigarette smoke, very similar to what you smell in a seedy bar around 2 am. I smelled my jacket, thinking I had somehow picked it up in the beer distributor, as neither my girlfriend nor I smoke. Although I wasn’t sure it was the jacket, I shrugged it off, celebrated my new beer glasses for a moment, then walked out the backdoor. At this point, both the front and back doors were unlocked. I yanked a couple bags out of the pile next to the house, and walked down the pathway between the buildings. The garbage pile contained a metric shit ton of stuff, as we had Christmas packaging, etc, so it probably took me 5-10 minutes to get everything the necessary 20 feet. Once I had migrated the stack, I locked the gate up from the inside, carried the cans back up to the top of the short incline into the backyard, and walked back in through the back door. There my girlfriend stood with a frightened look on her face. “Someone said ‘hey’ to me upstairs.” I hesitated at first, unsure of how to respond. I figured if she was absolutely sure she had heard someone, she would have run out of the house and grabbed me. I said so, and she told me that she had in fact gone out both the front and back doors and yelled for me but that I had not responded for some reason. I asked her to explain what had happened. She said “I was putting my boots away in the second bedroom, and someone said ‘heeeey’ in a soft, distinct whisper from across the room.” Across the room meant the doorway leading up the steps into the attic. I immediately thought of all the damn stories I had read on here about people living in others attics and coming down for food. Our attic however, is not a small crawl or storage space; it is a finished, carpeted, Nintendo-containing usable space. I call it the “hackshack”, as it is mostly a computer cemetery in addition to the space for my desktop and what I suppose I could refer to as an “office space”.
Well, I figured that even though she may have heard something, perhaps it was an echo from my discussion with the distributor owner, a dog bark, air being pushed out of a creaking heating duct…anything but a person. But I felt my adrenaline begin to pump as I unsheathed a knife from its wooden casing and headed upstairs. It grabbed the biggest knife I could find, thinking that its size and the frequent use of its type in movies for murderous rampages would give me the best opportunity if I needed to shank somebody. My heart started pumping pretty good as I walked through the second bedroom and towards the door. I opened the initial door into the small anteroom before a door to the stairs. I looked behind this door and around the small space before opening the next one. I called up “I have a gun and I’m coming up!” No response. I rushed up, figuring, fuck it, hesitation will only make it worse and there isn’t anything up here anyways but I’m still ready to swing this fucking knife if I need to. The stairs are on a steep incline and the room opens to the right, but there is a solid railing between the steps and the room, preventing any vision into the room until the climb has been fully completed. I flew up and whipped around the corner, only to find, what I had hoped for, a room empty of unwelcome individuals or any signs of them. We are in the process of completing the setup up there, so there is an overturned couch, some piles of clothes, and a few things stacked against the wall. I checked behind them all, giving myself a mental ‘whew’ when complete. Then I saw the small 1.5 foot tall doors leading into the crawlspace in the sloped ceiling. There are 3 of them, spread around the room. I had carried my flashlight upstairs as well for some reason, and it would come in handy now. I went to the first little door, my heart really pumping now, and pulled it open. The circle of light from the flashlight was swept around the small area, illuminating the damn knob and tube wiring I need to replace and the wood walking planks over the insulation. Nothing else. I tried the second with the same results. Next was the final crawlspace, the largest one, waiting for me on the other side of the room. I crossed over and noticed the latch was not fully closed, just like someone had crawled in and not been able to turn it from the inside to relatch it. Fuck. I fiddled with it for a second then yanked it open, thrusting the knife and flashlight in before my head. I whipped the light around the space, rapidly exposing all of the hidden corners and hiding spots. Again, nothing but cobwebs and wood. I pulled my head out and took a deep breath. I followed this up by running downstairs and throughout the remaining rooms of the entire house, pulling open closets and bathrooms, being sure no one could possibly change rooms or hiding spots while I was moving ahead. The house was empty, save for its standard inhabitants. I dropped the knife on the mantle over our bedroom fireplace and we crawled into bed. My girlfriend had seemingly written this off as ghostly activity, not too unreasonable in our 130 year old house, and after some talk, had started drifting off to sleep. I stared at the ceiling for awhile, trying to figure out a plausible explanation when I thought of some things that made it worse. We have a basement in our house, but you need to go outside to get to it. You open a large wooden shutter door and descend some steep steps to reach it. I have a Master lock for it, but rarely actually use it, and it hasn’t been on the door for at least the last month. I had been down there for 45 minutes or so yesterday while leaving the regular backdoor open and the house empty (girlfriend was out). I had heard noises above me, but the house is old so that wasn’t atypical, and I had disregarded them. Next, I had smelled smoke when I had walked in last night, but it hadn’t been direct like someone was smoking in the room, but more of that lingering stank smell. Kind of like I would expect if someone had been smoking in the basement below that room, as they were only separated by a plank of wood. Finally, when my girlfriend had heard the voice call out to her, she was next to a heating duct. Because my house is relatively small, sounds and voices carry well through the ducts, and I thought, could perceivably carry two floors. It all made sense. There were multiple people in the basement. They had smoked cigarettes, hung out, probably
drank my fermented homebrew out of the carboy like assholes, and one had called out to the other when they heard us upstairs. After thinking about it, I actually felt a little better, as there were people here but they weren’t able to access the main living space. It all lined up so I woke up my girlfriend and presented my findings to her, but she immediately destroyed the theory, saying the voice definitely came from her right, not her left, where the duct was located. I tried to convince her she was alone and not expecting a voice, but she insisted, even saying the voice sounded just like mine, except it was only a few feet away. We went back and forth on that idea and a few others, but she would not relent. The voice was not from people downstairs, it was not an echo from me talking outside, it was not the dog barking or the neighbors yelling. It was someone, or something, in the room. I stayed up for a long time alternating between reading and thinking about the whole incident while avoiding sleep, finally allowing myself to drift off around 5 am. I awoke around 9 am and my girlfriend and I talked about how it all seemed so silly in the daylight. We decided to go get up for the day and go grocery shopping. She went to open the closed door the second bedroom to get her shoes when she heard a THUMP from behind the door and sprinted back into our room. Suddenly it wasn’t so silly, even in the daylight. I whipped the door open. Again, nothing. What the fuck. We turned and went back into our bedroom, trying to not get worked in a dither again. It was nothing, just an old house. That’s when I saw it. Slightly subtle but simultaneously horrifying. It was the gleam of sunlight bouncing off of the knife blade that was no longer sitting safely on the fireplace mantle where I had left it, but was instead now sitting on my nightstand, a mere foot from where I had laid my head last night. -from reddit user plat00n
“A Really, Really, Short Story”
It was 6pm. My dad had just started his car to drive me into town. I heard a voice from downstairs. It was my dad's. I looked out the window, and saw him in the car. The noise downstairs was calling me again. It wanted me to go down there and help fix the hole in the floor. I yell down the stairs "get out of our house!" I hear something large begin to run up the stairs. I slam the door to downstairs shut, and run out the front door. When I got home, I heard it again. This time in another voice, an older man, filled with hate. It said it would leave if I went downstairs. I stayed on the top floor. I hear it every now and then, still telling me to go down there.
It never speaks when my parents are around. But every night I can hear it whispering through the floorboards, beckoning me. The time will come when I will have to go down there. And I won't be ready. -from reddit user scix
About 14 years ago I lived in a house in Oregon. It was a strange house. Pretty large with a nice wraparound deck a big back yard and at the time 2 big buildings in the back that made nice club houses. There were 2 bedrooms upstairs on the ground level that shared a walk-in closet and 3 bedrooms downstairs and another room I'd call a large storage room or closet. Now usually things were cool. My room had 2 windows that were at the ground level so they were pretty near the ceiling for me, tiny half windows really. At times I could hear shit in the walls that I was convinced were mice. It sounded as if they were sliding a piece of wood back and forth in the wall. Maybe they were playing a form of mouse soccer or something, at any rate it didn't scare me at all until one night maybe 3 or 4 months after we had been living there when the weird crap started to happen. It started in my room I was sleeping soundly when something started scratching at my window. My window being high above my bed it was hard to see but there was a light in the back yard and my TV was on so I could just make out the face of what appeared to be a dog or something looking in the window. It was sniffing at the window and making some rather violent half snort half growl noises. Needless to say this scared me senseless and I bolted up stairs. At this point I should note some oddities of a room in my house I will call “the evil room.” For whatever reason we could NOT keep a light on in this room for very long. Any light bulb in the room would burn out within minutes. Any lamps on extension cords into the room from known working sockets would also experience this strange burnout. Any flashlight you took in to the room would burn out within a minute or two. You could simply NOT keep lights on in this room. There was ALWAYS a draft in the room despite there being no vent for A/C and being in the corner of the back part of the house, under ground with no windows so using a lighter was out. It was always noticeably colder in the room and it was often times damp. At night I could always hear the dripping of water coming from the room It had no rug just concrete. There was always a puddle on the ground but there was no damage to the ceiling so we couldn't tell where the water was coming from. Presumably the dripping noise was the source of the puddle of water but as there was no water damage anywhere it was tough to say that was the actual source. I once cleaned up and dried the puddle (Never dripped during the day or when someone was in the room) I put a box over the puddle to see where the water was coming from. In the morning I found the box bone dry but a brand new puddle under it complete with obnoxious drip! drip! drip! the night before. Worst feature of the rooms in the basement. None of them had a door, so my room looked JUST inside the evil room of evil at all hours.
Now this is where things get a little creepy. Days after the dog or whatever it was in the window I woke up to the strangest sound. I heard whispering coming from the room. Maybe a whisper is the wrong way to describe it as there was definitely a tone to the voices but they were so low I couldn't make out what they were saying. It was clearly more than one person and the sound ended when I made any sound. This happened often enough that it became an annoyance instead of just creepy. I'd even gotten to the point that I'd yell at the room to shut the hell up to get back to sleep. From time to time I'd hear what sounded like a large bag or box being pulled across the floor in the room and strange sniffing noises but these were less frequent than the very light whisperings. This all culminated one night in what remains to this day the most blood chilling experience of my life. I had become use to the whispering at this point and it didn't scare me much any more but not this time. I woke up to something at the window again only whatever it was, was just tapping lightly on the window pane. From the room I could see a red-orange glow as if there was a fire in the room. Just as I had noticed the glow I heard a very loud clattering sound as if someone were throwing tools or something around in the room. Then I heard the same voices I heard whispering only now they were yelling as if having a fight. It got so loud I doubt they would have heard me if I yelled at them to shut up. The sense of hate and dread coming from the direction of the room was almost physical enough to choke on. Remember, my door is right next to the door to the evil room so escape, while attractive was also quite a scary prospect. I stood on my bed the sound of something tapping at the window behind me and the fight or whatever it was going on in the next room over. I finally made up my mind to make a break for it. I grabbed some scissors from the table next to the bed as some sort of weapon and as I was about to jump whatever it was in the window made a screeching sound, kind of like the cry a rabbit makes when it's being dragged off by a wolf. That was all I could stand and I was airborne. I leaped off my bed, ran past the door to the evil room of evil doing my best not to catch even a peripheral glance in the room and I tore off towards the stairs. I heard something in the room make a mad dash after me, I was absolutely terrified at this point and I had never climbed stairs so fast in my life. I reached the top door, ripped it open and ran towards my older sisters room. I flew over her, into the corner of her bed and the wall. Waking her up and scaring her half to death. She told me later that I was white as a ghost. I told her what I had heard /saw down stairs. At this point my mom came up stairs. She had apparently not noticed a thing and was wondering what the hell was going on. I told her about it and she wrote it off as nothing but she agreed to go check it out with me. I exchanged my scissors for a large knife from the kitchen and we went downstairs together. No light, no sound, nothing could be seen or heard in the room. There was nothing at my window and there was zero evidence I wasn't crazy. I slept in the living room for 2 weeks. -from reddit user zushiba
“Five Days at the Lake”
Day One We Arrive When we got there, which is about 5 hours from Toronto, we were pretty delighted that it was so secluded. The nearest cottage was about a 45 minute walk away. The cottage itself was about 30 years old, and had been restored and updated with some nice amenities like heated floors and room to room sound system. Despite the updates, the owners kept with mostly original furniture, so the place had this quaint antiquated look, which I suppose serves the mood of the cottage well. There were 2 bedrooms, one master and one smaller room with two beds, presumably for children. A large common open space and a wood burning stove and a nice wrap-around deck with a large barbecue rounded out the cottage features. Next to the cottage was a smaller version of the cottage, like a 1/5th size miniature, built as a play house for children. It was really cute and the attention to detail was remarkable, however age and weather had given it a worn look, and it had not been repainted for quite a while. If you looked at it for too long, it was actually kind of creepy. It was like the little runt child of the parent cottage. Also on the grounds was a wood shed where you'd get your fire wood. A sign encouraged guests to chop enough wood for the convenience of the next guest, with a good size wood-axe impaled on the chopping block ready to go. About a 5 minute walk down a trail through the woods lead you to the lakefront where there was a jetty outfitted with canoe, paddle boat and another barbecue. So that was basically the setting, and the first night was pretty normal. It was the second night that things started to get strange for me. Day Two A strange rainy day It rained. We happily spent the day indoors, although Rabbit was rather looking forward to traipsing around the woods. Around dinner time, I realized I had stupidly forgotten to shut off the gas valve on the barbecue, and it had drained over night. Recalling the second barbecue down at the jetty, I took Rabbit with me on the short hike down the path. By now the rain had stopped. It was already dusk, and once you hit the path under the cover of trees, things were outright dark. I regretted not bringing a flashlight. Rabbit was off-leash of course, and as a scouter, he would typically run ahead and come back and joyfully run ahead again. This time, he wasn't, he kept right next to me the whole time which is unusual for him. By the time I got to the jetty, fussed with the barbecue to unlatch the propane tank, and prepared to head back, it had already gotten quite dark, and I was starting to dread walking back up the
path again. With a full propane tank, it was going to be hard to jog uphill in the dark, so I steeled myself for a steady walk, being thankful to have Rabbit next to me. The whole hike up the path, I heard only the steady crunch-crunch of my feet, and Rabbit's patterpatter next to me. Everything was quiet. And then I remember hearing a rather loud rustling off in the trees. It was a bit nerve-wracking, but it was nature, and any manner of creature could be making its way through the bush. I tried to ignore it, and eventually emerged back at the cottage. My wife, Bethany, was standing on the deck. "Oh, there you are." She sounded a little surprised. "That took long?" "Yeah, I had to fuss to get this thing out of the cabinet." "I thought I heard you coming back a few minutes go. But I've been waiting for at least ten minutes and you just showed up now." I thought she might have heard the same creature I had, though the timing didn't quite add up. I was tired and just wanted to start dinner so I shrugged it off and we ate and called it a night. Day Three When things get outright frightening. It was decent enough weather to do some boating and fishing for most of the day. Rabbit got to swim in the lake, and we had a huge lunch and just sat and drank wine till the sun set. That night while we were asleep, Rabbit started to whine and pace around. It was about 2am, and I was pretty groggy from all the drinking. Beth was out like a light. I figured Rabbit probably needed to go outside to do his “duty”, so I pulled some pants on and grabbed his leash and headed outside. It was cool and a fog had crawled in from the lake. I couldn't see more than 10 feet in front of me. The porch light was meek and ineffectual, but it was enough to light the immediate patch of grass at the bottom of the stairs where I was standing with Rabbit, encouraging him to do his business sooner rather than later. Well, he was taking his time, sniffing the ground and not really committing to it. I was getting a little antsy and was telling him to hurry up, and my agitation was likely not helping him. That's when I heard the crunch-crunch-shuffle, crunch-crunch-shuffle sounds coming from the woods, somewhere out beyond the fog. Rabbit froze, his tail was between his legs and he shrank behind me. This is not usual behavior for him. I stood there for a while at the bottom of the stairs on the patch of grass, and listened for the crunching of leaves and shuffling noises again. It was coming from the side of the house, where
the miniature play cottage was. I directed the flash light there, but the beam didn't get too far. I took a couple of steps to see if I can make out anything. The crunch-crunch-shuffle came again. Then I heard panting, the heavy laboured breathing of a tired animal. Was it an animal? I couldn't really decide if it was. Other than a dog, I didn't really know what other panting animals might sound like. Then I heard the sound of the small door to the play house creak open, and slam shut. Loudly. It rattled the glass and scared the crap out of me. I ran back up the porch with Rabbit leading the way. We hurried inside, and I closed and locked the door. I was absolutely terrified and I tried to inject some sense into the situation. We're in the middle of the woods, it's the middle of the night, humans are here, which means food might be lying around nearby, of course we're going to attract nocturnal creatures. Raccoons have been known to claw open doors and trash cans. I was acting absurd. Rabbit still hadn't peed but was now curled up on the couch. His eyes wouldn't leave the door. I headed back to the bedroom, to find my wife, awake, standing at the window. "Hun? What are you doing up?" I asked. She didn't respond. I touched her shoulder. She turned around, her eyes were open, but she had this look on her that was a mixture of worry and confusion. "What is it?" I said again, she was scaring the crap out of me. "I saw it," she said. "Oh! Was it a raccoon? I figured --" "NO!" She said breathlessly. And the way she said it, it was like a pleading "No!" sent a chill through me, and my heart started racing. I did not want to hear what she saw. I knew I didn't. After a moment I asked her, as calmly as I could, "What was it?" "Something was crawling around down there," she said. I nodded. Pause. “It was a child. There was a child crawling through the bushes. A little girl. On her hands and knees. Like some animal." I didn't even know how to respond. The image of what she was describing sent my head spinning. I was blinking rapidly, I remember this, and it was giving me a headache. Beth didn't say anything more, after a minute, she sat down on the bed, still confused as if she wasn't fully comprehending what she saw or what she just told me she saw. I watched her. She lay down after a few minutes, and fell asleep. I couldn't sleep a wink for the rest of the night. I just lay there, listening to every single sound inside and outside the house. Cracking twigs, creaking noises, tap-tap-tapping, scratches on the roof. But I did not hear the crunch-crunch-shuffle for the rest of the night. Day Four I visit the miniature play house
I must have dozed off sometime before dawn, because I woke up to bright sunlight, Rabbit was standing on the bed looking down at me with this kind of pleading look. He was hungry, and he probably really needed to pee. Beth was still half-asleep but was rousing, stretching and rubbing her eyes. I took Rabbit outside where he was relieved, and I studied the play house. Even in the sunlight, it gave me the creeps. I heard Beth inside, up and about and then running water in the bathroom. I headed over to the play house, Rabbit followed me. It really was a near exact replica of the main cottage, right down to the little details like the flower boxes, the shutters, the placement of the chimney. It was about 5' high, and no more than 8' x 8' square. There were two little steps that lead up to a miniature door that closely resembled its larger version. A hand painted sign over the door read "Play House". Oddly, there was, at one time, a padlock on the door. The latch had now broken off. Next to the door was a large window which had long dusted over. I peered in but could only see odd shapes lying about. I opened the door. It smelled of paint and mould. The resemblance to the cottage of course was superficial only; inside was just a single room. There were old paint cans stacked in a corner, paint-rollers, pieces of old carpet rolled up and leaned in another corner, a broken small rocking chair lay on its side, a stack of floor tiles, and some random pieces of wood lay scattered. Apparently, it had been relegated to storage some time ago. Cardboard had been taped up over the windows on the opposite wall. Crayon markings decorated the walls, and there were remnants of toys and colouring books amidst the clutter. When I looked immediately down, I saw wet markings where the dust had been disturbed. Something had obviously moved through here. I followed the trail, it moved around the room, maybe twice or more, and then disappeared, or perhaps went back to the door, I couldn't really tell for sure. I didn't see any kind of animal footprint, or anything I recognized, just a weird mess of swishy lines through the dust. Something had definitely been in here. I looked back at the walls again, and noticed the drawings of small hands. The way a child would put their hand up and trace around the fingers with a crayon. All the drawings were of the right hand, I don't know why I noted that. I realized Rabbit was back up on the porch, lying next to the door. I backed out out the play house, and closed the door. It rattled the glass just as I had heard it last night. Over breakfast, I asked Beth how she slept. She said she slept OK, but had had a disturbing dream. I asked her to describe it to me. Bashfully, she said she only remembered being frightened by something out in the woods, and that it went back to an old childhood fear of being chased. She was trying to be joking about it, and to pass it off as nothing much. I didn't press her for details. I didn't tell her that she looked wide awake when she told me she saw a little girl crawling around on her hands and knees in the forest in the middle of the night. I just didn't want to bring it up. The rest of the day was decent, we went into town to pick up some food and sundries, and spent most of the day relaxing on the deck in the sun.
The next day, several bizarre things happened that was enough for us to pack up and leave early. Day Five: Things get way too real We took the canoe, and spent most of the day out on the lake. We left Rabbit at the cottage for the day, promising him a full day of swimming tomorrow to ease our guilt. It was a bright and cheerful day, and it was easy to forget the events from a couple nights ago. In fact, it started to feel downright silly. After paddling around our part of the lake for most of the day, stopping to fish, snack and drink, we decided to paddle across to the far side of the lake where the other cottage was located. We could see the dock that must belong to the cottage, but not much else. So we started paddling, in no real hurry. After about 15 minutes, we meandered over. The dock was empty except for some debris and a wrecked rowboat. We were surprised to find that the cottage here had actually long since collapsed. A green roof lay a few feet above the ground, and there were old wood boards everywhere. Cinder blocks lay amidst the overgrowth, and there was nothing else. There was a hole in the roof and it looked like some enterprising animal had made a den within. Beth suggested we go check it out. I felt strongly that we shouldn’t. I said that it didn’t look safe, and that it was already getting turning into evening. Secretly, I really wanted to head back before dusk. It didn’t quite happen that way, Beth wanted to paddle around more at the very least, so we killed another hour before leisurely meandered back to our part of the lake. By now, the sun had set behind the tree line, and mist had started to creep over the surface of the lake, reflecting grey and somber light over everything. It went from bright and cheery, to dreary and depressing in a matter of minutes. Things got cool quickly, and it was a bit tougher paddling against the wind which had picked up substantially. “Oh, shit.” I said, and I'll never forget that moment when I looked over to our deck where we were headed, to see the figure of a man standing there. Beth saw him, too. We instinctively stopped rowing. “Now who the fuck is he," I said, annoyed and terrified. A really strange combination of feelings. The man was far enough that we could make out only the vaguest details, but beyond arms, legs, and what appeared to be rain coat, it was hard to discern much more. He was thin and he stood start still. Beth waved an arm, but he didn’t wave back. “Maybe it's the owner? Come to check on us, see how his guests were doing?” Beth suggested. I wasn’t too sure about that. Why come and check on the fifth day? Why not a phone call? I wasn’t buying it. It was getting quite dark. “Well, is it rude to just be sitting here. I think he’s waiting for us,” she said.
I didn’t care. I’d rather sit out on the lake as the mist crept around us, than to paddle over to our dock where this man was standing there. So we sat there for a while. “OK, now I'm scared as shit,” Beth said. The man hadn’t moved at all. I felt a little comforted that I wasn’t the only one behaving irrationally. Before we knew it, the mist had encroached over everything and both the man and the dock faded from view. All we could see was grey. I slowly put my paddle into the water, and gently nudged us forward. I just wanted to get close enough where the mist parted so we could see the dock again. Then I planned to stop, and just watch. After a dozen gentle strokes, the tip of the dock reappeared from the mist. I let us coast for a while until the whole thing was in view. The man was gone. I heard Beth gasped. Enough was enough. I paddled on, really annoyed for some reason, and we got to the dock. I helped my wife out, and we pulled the boat up and left it there. We said “Hello?” a few times, but heard nothing. Beth was clinging to my arm and fright and cold was making her shake. Now I wanted to get back to the house and be indoors as quickly as possible, and that meant a brief march up the path, through the woods, in the dark, in the fog. But it had to get done. We hadn’t planned on being out here till dusk, so I didn't bring a light. The trail was easy enough to follow, but we just couldn’t see beyond 10’. We walked, awkwardly and stiffly as Beth clung to me, trying to not step on each others feet and wishing that Rabbit was with us. As always, once we got under the trees, it became oppressively dark, still and quiet. We were breathing heavily as the way was uphill, and we were both cold and spooked out of our minds. I tried to keep focus, remembering that it was only five minute walk, and that's it. And then we heard it. crunch-crunch-shuffle Beth pinched my arm, and we both ran for it. crunch-crunch-shuffle... pant-pant... In the distance, we could hear Rabbit barking. Rabbit never barked. Of his four years alive, he might have barked twice, by accident. But he was barking loud, almost angry. Or fearful? I heard the crunch-crunch-shuffle somewhere behind, far enough, but still distinct, and we were at the end of the path, we scurried across the grass, up the stairs, opened the door, and threw ourselves inside. We were wet, sweaty, panting and scared stupid. Then we laughed. For a bit. Then I remembered that Rabbit had been cooped up all day, and he at least needed to go out and do his business. I gave it a few minutes to catch my breath. Things were quiet again, and I took him back out while Beth stood on the porch and looked around. Rabbit peed, and then suddenly started barking into the mist. Did I see a man move through the mist? It was impossible to tell. I had had enough of being outside for the day, so in we went. I kept by the window, looking out for any signs of movement. “OK. This is the scariest shit, ever.” I finally admitted to Beth. She agreed. We tried to have a laugh over it, but we were both genuinely pretty spooked. By now, it had gotten really windy. So much that sometimes the gusts shook the whole house.
During the day, Rabbit, home alone, must have knocked over the main lamp in the common room, so it lay busted on the floor. I remembered that there was a lamp in the spare bedroom, so I headed down the hallway. The spare bedroom door was closed. Funny, I don’t remember closing it. I assumed Beth did. Now it started to feel creepy inside the house. I opened the door, and looked in, there were no light switches, so I tried to make out the layout of the room in the dimness. There were two small beds on opposite walls, in between them was a small table upon which was the lamp I was after. I crossed the room toward the lamp, walking between the two small beds. I saw that the covers had been disturbed, on both beds, and that there was a dent in one of the pillows. I assumed Rabbit had been in here, maybe napping during the day. But the door had been closed. This started to not feel right. I grabbed the lamp, and realized I would have to unplug it first before I could get it out. The plug was behind the right-side bed’s headboard. I bent down, getting on my hands and knees, and peered under the bed. And there she was, the little girl, white-faced, peering back out at me. I swear I saw this, but when I jerked my head back, I whacked it against the edge of the beam and my eyes flashed. Of course there was no one under there. My stupid imagination had projected that image into the real world. I grabbed the cord and yanked it from the plug, snatched the lamp, and marched out of the room. I walked down the hallway, and heard the door gently close itself behind me. I was holding the lamp in one hand, and I had bunched the cord up in the other hand, so there was no way I had closed that door on my way out. Rabbit was waiting for me at the end of the hallway. I decided against telling my wife this, we had enough of a freaky evening, and she was just loosening up with some wine now. She had the wood-burning stove going and I could have been fooled into thinking everything was warm and cozy and fine. But I was a nervous wreck. I wanted to get out now, call it quits, pick our stuff up, and leave. Now. I don’t think Rabbit would have minded either. But we didn’t. Not yet. In the middle of the night, when we had split almost a whole bottle between us, I woke to sounds coming from the end of hallway again. The wind had died down, there was the occasional gust, but it was otherwise pretty quiet outside. I waited, and heard it again. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Scratch. Tapping on the window in the other room. Then the rustle of something shifting on the bed, possibly blankets being pushed around. I looked up. Rabbit was at the foot of the bed, his head was looking in the same direction, his ears were up and he was stalk still. Tap-Tap. Rustle-rustle. Creak. Still from inside the house. Rabbit started to growl, that deep, low internal growl that he does when he’s not happy about something.
Tap-tap-tap-tap Then. SLAM That came from outside. The play house door. Followed by the familiar rattle of windows. Beth was now awake, and when I looked over, all I saw were her eyes wide and bright and staring at me. She was almost on the verge of tears, and I tried to say “Shh. It's fine...” But she cut me off. She told me, in a whisper, she remembers what she dreamed of the other day. I nodded. “Was it the little girl?” She looked panicked now. Tap-tap-tap-tap From the end of the hall way. The door creaked open. Pause. Then closed shut. With a click. Rabbit had stopped growling, but he hadn’t moved. He was staring intently at our bedroom door, which I had closed. There was the sound of something moving through the house. Softly, very carefully, moving. I could have convinced myself I was imagining it, if it hadn’t been for Rabbit. I watched Rabbit turn his head as he tracked the sound moving from the back of the house to the front where our bed room was. Then his head turned as he tracked it back the other way. By now, I couldn’t hear much, just the odd creak and rustle, but Rabbit was very aware of something. We lay there for a long time for maybe an hour. Then we heard it, and this time it was close, it was right outside the bedroom window. Crunch-crunch-shuffle-shuffle. Pant-pant. “It's her,” Beth said. I really really wished she didn’t say that. There was a flash light next to the bed, I thought about going to the window, and playing the light around outside. I imagined seeing a little girl crawling around through the leaves on her hands and knees under the moonlight. I decided not to do this. We lay there, with Rabbit at our feet, listening to the shuffling and crunching of something crawling around outside the house. This must have went on for only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Neither of us moved, and it had gotten really cold, or we had scared ourselves silly that we were feeling cold. Either way, it was the most uncomfortable, most terrifying situation I could ever remember. We decided not to stay another night, and as soon as the first crack of sunlight appeared through the window, we got out of bed, packed our stuff, and within an hour, we were in the car. On the ride home, we didn't talk much, and when we did, we talked about what we experienced. I had asked Beth if she ever closed that spare bedroom door. She doesn't remember that she did. I had asked her if she ever went in there. She confessed to me that since day one, she didn't feel right going down the hall to the spare room. The first day, she had been looking for some blankets, and when she headed down there check if there were any, she was struck by a strange feeling that made her stop. She said she felt weird going in there as if she were intruding. She knew we were guests in someone’s house, so the
feeling of being in an unfamiliar home was always present no matter what, but still, she said she had this irrational desire to not want to go in there. I didn’t blame her, I told her I felt strange while I was in there getting the lamp, and that I might have let my imagination get the better of me as I recalled the “dream” she said she had had about the little girl crawling around under the trees. -from reddit user smugcanuck
“At First I Thought my Guests were Crazy…”
I've been working for this hotel for a few years now. This story happened when I had only been here for two months. Imagine any hotel at any exit from any major highway. That's pretty much where I work. Nothing fancy, but certainly not a no-tell motel. I started in September, and by November I thought I knew everything there was to know about this place. Every room, every closet, all of the weekly guests... Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. That is, until November 16th. I checked in a regular, someone who stays with us three nights a week, every week, and everything went fine with check-in. As soon as the guest got to their room, he called back down, "Hi, this is Mr.Brown, room 1204, you just checked me in... Yes... There appears to be blood on the floor in the bathroom..." Of course, this is odd because our maids are very good, and thorough. I apologized to him, and told him I'd be right up to help him move his luggage to a new room. After he was settled, I went to inspect the "blood" on the bathroom floor. It was spotless. Absolutely clean. I checked the room top to bottom, nothing. I just shrugged it off, and went back to work. The next night, November 17th, I had a woman come in very late, looking very tired. I checked her in to 1204. She took her keys and hurried up to the room. I immediately got a call from her, "Hi, this is Ms. Smith, this room is ice cold! This won't do at all, why would you give someone a room where the heater doesn't work?!" I apologized to her, and went up there to see if I could fix the heater. As soon as I entered the room, the heater kicked on and she seemed happy so I left. No sooner do I get to the desk and she's calling me, more upset and even more frantic, "There is blood in the bathroom! It's all over the floor and the bathtub, is this some kind of sick joke?!" Again, I apologized profusely, and escorted her and her bags to a new room. When I went back to check the bathroom, it was clean. Spotless. So now I'm a little freaked out. Two nights in a row? I figured maybe she was just tired, imagining things, and left a note for the housekeepers to clean the bathroom really well the next morning. The following night, November 18th, we were sold out, save for one room. I had purposely tried not to check anyone into it, because of the previous two nights. Right about midnight, as I'm closing my shift, a man comes in to the lobby. He explains that the other two hotels next to us are already sold out, and just begging that I might have a room left. I felt bad for him, so I told myself that I was being irrational not selling our last room, and I checked him in. He thanks me and heads up. A few moments later he walks back into the lobby, looking so pale I could swear his skin was a green color and his eyes were wide. He just drops his room key on the desk, and walks out. Doesn't look at me, doesn't turn his head, just walks out. I ran out into the parking lot, trying to find out what had happened. All he mumbled to me as he was getting into his car was, "the
room was so cold.. colder than it is outside... the bathroom is covered in blood.. the floor, the bathtub.. the mirror.. it's everywhere.." I have never seen someone peel out of a parking lot as fast as he did. I immediately went up to the room, I figured this time for sure something would be there. Nothing. It was spotless, the temperature was fine, the bathroom was clean and smelled of bleach and Lysol from the extra cleaning the crew had done that morning. Now I'm really scared, so I called my manager to try and figure out WHAT on earth was going on. Here's the story she told me: Shortly after the hotel was built in the 1980's, a man checked in for 3 nights, November 16th, 17th, and 18th. After he checked in, no one heard from him the rest of the stay. The day he was due to check out, a maid tried to enter his room. Instantly she was hit with a blast of freezing cold air. As she opened the door she saw a chair blocking her path. On the chair was a note, it read something like, "Please turn around. Go downstairs and call the police. You do not want to see what is in this room. -M.K." So the maid, obviously freaked out, gets the manager and calls the police. What they found in the room was horrific. Apparently, the man had tried to overdose on pills, and hadn't quite taken enough to kill himself, but enough that he was vomiting, in a lot of pain, and evidently had "other" bodily functions as a result of the overdose. Determined to end it that night, he had written the note for the maid, put it by the door, then gone into the bathroom, and slit his wrists. He had done a poor job of that, as well, and by the time he died he had sprayed blood on the mirror, the bathtub, the floor, the walls... Everywhere. And his body and the room had sat like this for 3 days. The other odd thing that was noted was that his air conditioner had been turned on full blast... In the middle of November. This was odd but was first chalked up to the man not being right after consuming the pills. It was later pieced together who the man was. He was a local business man whose family had recently died. The week before, as he was leaving for work very early in the morning, he noticed his house was a little chilly, and had turned up the heat so that when his wife and young son woke up, it would be warmer. Unfortunately, there was something flammable too close to the radiator in the bedroom, and the house caught fire. His wife and son were burned to death. According to my manager, every year on Nov. 16th, 17th, and 18th, the same thing happens. Guests... see things... in the room. -from reddit user tree_of_life
Fictional Stories “Gas station”
Late at night on a highway in Northern Ontario, a woman driving her car is reliieved to finally find a gas station that's still open, so she pulls in. The attendant comes out and walks up to the driver's side. He stands there, waiting until she rolls down her window. She slips it down just a crack. "How much?" he asks. She tells him to fill it up.
The attendant walks towards the back of the car and stands there a minute. The woman waits, then looks into the side-view mirror. The attendant is just standing there, facing her. She's feeling pretty nervous, wondering why he's not pumping gas. Then he walks back up to the window and taps on it. "You need to open the flap ma'am." Feeling stupid, the woman reaches down and clicks the gas flap open. The attendant walks back and starts pumping the gas. A minute or so later he finishes, and clicks the nozzle back into place on the pump. Then he stands there for a moment. The woman keeps looking at him in the sideview mirror, feeling quite ill-at-ease. She doesn't like this: being alone at a tiny gas station in the middle of nowhere with only this stranger. The attendant then walks back up to the window and taps on it. She reaches into her purse and takes out her credit card, rolls open the window just a crack again, and as she passes the card through looks up at the attendant. He's staring down at her with wide, frightful eyes. She looks away quickly, really creeped out, and she rolls the window back up as soon as the attendant grasps the card. But he doesn't go to the cash booth, he just stands there a moment. The woman can't bear to look at him again. Finally he says, with a voice muffled through the closed window: "Ma'am, there's a problem with your card. Could you please step inside the cash booth?" "What's wrong with the card?" she asks loudly, with a definite strain in her voice. "Something's wrong with the barcode. I'll need you to come over to the cash so we can make a call to the company." There's no way she is getting outside her car, on an empty, dark highway, late at night, with only that weirdo around. Besides, she realizes, as a sudden chill overcomes her, how could he know if there was a problem with the barcode if he hadn't even been to the cash desk to swipe it? The woman's breathing suddenly increases as she feels panic creep upon her. She summons up a note of restraint in her voice: "Please, can you just call them yourself?" "Sorry, but I'll need to see some I.D. Could you please just step over to the booth? It'll only take a minute." Realizing he won't let it be, she whispers a prayer and reaches into her purse to check for cash. Yes! She has a fifty dollar bill. Clutching it in her hand she unrolls the window just a crack yet again and passes it through. "Nevermind, I'll just pay cash.""Ma'am, are you sure?" he asks. "What?" she almost yells, as she accidentally looks up at him again. The same wide, fearful eyes staring down at her. She looks away. "Yes! Cash!" "I can fix the card problem, you just need to come over to the phone with me," he says. She's really terrified now, and half-screams at the man: "Listen asshole, it's cash! That's all your getting from me!"
"Alright, alright," he responds, "Now you just wait right here and I'll go get your change. Don't move. I'll be right back." She can see him out of her peripheral vision, walking backwards towards the booth, always facing her. She can't bear to look his way. She can't imagine what he has in the booth. What if he brings it back with him? Fuck the change, she thinks, just as she realizes he also still has her credit card. She can't take this anymore: Fuck the card, I'll cancel it! She starts up the car and as soon as it hums to life she tears away and off into the dark night. The attendant is in his booth on the phone, breathing heavily. An official-sounding voice on the other end asks: "Did you tell her?" "No," the attendant responds, "I couldn't." "Why not?" "He had a knife and a finger to his lips. I tried to get her out of there, but the whole time he was watching me from the floor behind her seat."
-from reddit user doodeyfoodle
“Tale of a New York Subway”
A girl named Laura was traveling back to her apartment from work late at night in New York City. She was a little nervous about taking the subway so late at night, but she figured that there would probably not be many people riding it, so she decided to forgo a cab and take the subway anyway. When she got on the subway she was surprised to see that were in fact three people already sitting there: two large, suited men in dark sunglasses and and little girl in between them. Laura was surprised to see such a young girl on the subway at this time of night, but based on how she was dressed and her designer sunglasses, Laura figured the suited men were escorts or bodyguards for the daughter of someone wealthy. Laura took her seat across from the trio; if anybody else gave her trouble, she was sure the strong men would help her out. At the next stop, a man in his late twenties or early thirties got onto the subway at the other end of the car from Laura. He was clearly very, very tired and quite unkempt. His shirt was wrinkled and definitely not clean and he had what looked like a few day's worth of stubble. The man was exactly the type of individual Laura hoped to avoid on her ride home, but the bedraggled figure was certainly no match for the men who sat across from her. As the subway moved on, though, Laura noticed something very odd. The man at the other end of the car would glance up, look slowly at Laura, then at the men, then at the girl, and back to Laura.
He did this several times before the next stop, at which point he got up and moved a few seats closer to Laura, the men, and the little girl. Understandably nervous at this point, Laura was still confident the suited men could fight off the creep. However, the men didn't move even as the homeless-looking man repeated the process of looking at the other passengers before moving a few seats down. After several stops, he was seated almost right next to Laura, and yet she was the only one who seemed to be bothered (the suited men and the girl stayed put). Laura's heart pounded as she counted two more stops until her apartment. How much closer would the suited men allow the threat to go? With dread, Laura realized the subway was slowing as it approached the next station. The instant the doors opened, the sketchy man grabbed her around the waist and carried Laura, screaming, out of the subway. The man ran with Laura over his shoulder as fast as he could, visions of being robbed, raped, or murdered flashing through her mind. Eventually, the man set her down. He was panting. He quickly gasped out, "Ma'am, I need you to calm down. My name is John, I'm a student as Columbia Medical school, I work with cadavers all day, and I guarantee you that little girl was not alive." -from reddit user ivysaur
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