313 West Main Street | A Creepypasta

My first recollection of things being amiss was within the first week of our relocation to the house, in late March to early April 2001. My parents had left for the store to purchase cleaning products (the house was disgusting when we moved in) and I decided to stay behind and explore my new home. It was the largest house I had ever lived in at that point, and the only house I’ve ever lived in to feature a full attic and basement.

Being a meek 12 year old girl, I couldn’t reach the pull cord for the attic, so I turned my explorations to the basement. The finished portion of the basement was musty, if unremarkable. Behind a clear shower curtain lay the unfinished portion. Chiefly, it was a boiler room. However, on the eastern wall, there was a small area boarded up with plywood. I wrapped upon the wood and found that it was hollow behind it.

I didn’t know when to expect my parents home, and I figured that I’d need time and preparation to explore the area behind the wood. When I made my way back up the stairs to the door connecting my bedroom to the basement, I found that the door had been locked from the outside. Do note, the locks on the door were comprised of two deadbolts and one latch. After fidgeting with the door for a few moments, I resolved to simply exit through the basement door leading outside and wait for my parents to return home. I believed, at the time, that they had locked me in the basement as a practical joke. As time wore on, I wasn’t so sure.

The following weekend, I decided to wake up long before anyone else—at roughly 5:00 a. m. to explore the basement. I dressed in thick, warm clothing, boots, a hat, and a pair of heavy duty masonry gloves. The plywood was in an advanced state of dry rot, so I was able to pull it free of its moorings with relative ease. I carefully sat it aside, as to make as little noise as possible, and took out my headlamp.

Looking into the void, I saw that the “tunnel” extended quite a ways—in fact, it extended beyond the point of the house itself. I tied a handkerchief around my nose and mouth to prevent breathing as much dust as possible and began my journey. Most of the crawl was uneventful, and, as such, I returned to the start of the “tunnel” after a few hours. The tunnel was much longer than I had anticipated and I would need a lot more time to traverse it fully. As I had neglected to bring a time-piece of any kind, I had no indication of how much time had passed.

When summer break began, I conducted daily sojourns into the dreaded “Dirty Part”, as I had dubbed it. Over time, I found various things buried under the dirt. They would vary from clothing to children’s toys. I thought little of it—the house was old and had had many inhabitants prior to us—I figured that perhaps a previous tenet had stored boxes in there, the boxes had disintegrated, and the clothing and toys had simply become buried.

However, the more things I found, the more frequent there would be “happenings”. At first, they were minor things: my stereo turning itself off and on, my VCR recording random things while I slept, alarms going off, etc. I attributed this to interference from the nearby police-call station and left it at that. My father would soon join me in my explorations of the new house—but his attention was drawn to the attic.

In the living room, directly under the attic, there was a curious stain in the shape of a human pelvis and legs. The odd shape intrigued us both greatly, so we decided that the two of us would explore the attic in hopes of finding its source.

No sooner had we entered the attic, the kitchen stove’s timer “went off”, and the two of us gave up on our adventure in the attic. Worth noting is that the stove’s timer did not work and did not go off again. After that, my father decided that he would not be joining in any further explorations of our domicile.

When I returned to school, I was in seventh grade—a “Middle Schooler” at that point, and became more interested in hanging out with my friends instead of exploring a musty basement (though the basement—the finished potion, at least, had become the “hang out” of my friends and I–primarily because there was a refrigerator and half-bathroom down there, as well as a cable connection). Things were quiet for a time, and I thought no more of the previous goings-on.

It was not until I was 14 that I began to notice a sudden increase in odd things. My father and I started seeing small animals; solid black and the size and shape of guinea pigs, wander the hallway. Every day, at roughly the same time, my parents’ bedroom door would slowly open, then, just as slowly, close; the door knob turning each time. This piqued my interest, and I decided to resume my explorations.

Now, two years older, I once again braved the tunnel. I wore old clothing, a surgical mask, thick gloves, and a headlamp and braved the long dark. I crawled for what felt like miles on my hands and knees until I caught a strange shimmer in the dark. Curious, I made my way towards it. When I reached the object of my determination, I found that it was a bleach-white human skull. With a little digging, I was able to pull it from the dirt that surrounded it.

Examining it, I found that the mandible was missing, and most of the maxilla had been broken. The remaining teeth were clean—free of cavities, that is, and lacked the smoothness that the teeth of an older person might have. I figured that the skull belonged to someone who was rather young. Turning the skull over in my hands, I found a one-inch diameter hole in the right occiput, near to the right temporal. In my fear, I dropped the skull and fled as quickly as I could—back to the safety and light of my house proper. I never spoke a word to my parents of my macabre discovery.

Shortly after this discovery, I started noticing more bestial entities—primarily a solid black dog, roughly the size of a Doberman Pincher. At first, it was only out of the corner of my eye. When I would turn to look, it would vanish. I tried to ignore it, but eventually, it became so brazen as to stand plain before me, staring. When I would approach it, it would flee and vanish if I gave chase.

My new canine friend wasn’t the only disturbance, once again, my stereo would turn itself on and off, switch randomly between radio stations, and play random tracks from random loaded CDs (it was a 3-disk changer). My VCR would, again, record various things—some of them completely unidentifiable, and would fail to record what I had programmed it to record (much to my dismay). I stopped using my stereo, and began using my “jam box”—a small CD player, tape deck, and radio combination. All was well with it, and my VCR seemed to “calm down”, that is, until the night that I dubbed “The Night that All Hell Broke Loose”.

I had finished listening to a Dave Matthew’s Band album, and was going off to sleep, when I noticed that the “jam box” wouldn’t turn off. I thought that perhaps it was just a malfunction, and went to unplug it. Still, music played. I opened the back to check if there were batteries and found the battery compartment bereft of batteries.

Thoroughly rattled, I opened the basement door and threw the “jam box” down the stairs into the darkness, then quickly slammed the door shut, fastened all locks, and jammed a chair under the door handle. At that point, I refused to even go into the basement—even for a moment. I mistakenly believed that if I ignored the happenings and “steered clear” of the basement, that things would “quiet down”. However, I was sorely mistaken.

Summer break was drawing a close, and for the new school year, I wanted to “go back in style” so my mother bought me new clothes, took me to the salon to get my hair done, and bought me a watch I had been wanting. I was rather proud of my new watch—square face, black leather band with silver studs and a silver buckle. I rarely took it off.

One evening, as I lay on my bed, I glanced at my prize and found that the watch was running backwards. Horrified, I tore the timepiece from my wrist and threw, it too, into the accursed basement. I had had just about enough of these events. I decided that I was going to ignore it—pretend like it wasn’t there—completely fail to acknowledge its existence.

As one could imagine, this plan did not work. I started noticing that, at exactly three a.m., there would come heavy, plodding stomps up the basement stairs that would always stop just short of the adjoining door. Still, I decided to continue my campaign. Evidently, this only served to frustrate the entity.

It would continue like this for many more months: 3 o’clock a.m–STOMP, STOMP, STOMP, STOMP, then silence. Since it was still summer break, my mother promised me that if I were to clean my room, then my best friend could stay the night. Excited, I complied and stayed up far past my “bed time” cleaning.

So engrossed in my endeavor was I, that I hadn’t noticed the time. As I was cleaning the “Vanity” (which was connected to the adjoining door), the stomps started. I sat, stock still, my back braced against the door. The room fell silent, then, just as I was beginning to feel safe, there came a hard bashing against the door—hard enough to break one of the two dead-bolts, one hinge, and the latch.

It would continue on like that for the months until the disturbances reached their zenith. As I lay one night, staring at the ceiling, I noticed a strange pressure on my bed. I figured that perhaps a cat had found its way into my room, and shrugged it off. Then, before I could react, I was restrained. My entire body was paralyzed, I could not see, hear, speak, or breathe. Panic took over me, and, with no small effort on my part, I managed to gurgle out: “Jesus, please help me…” and the darkness released me. Fortunately, we moved shortly after that.

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31 Days of Halloween | Bunnyman Bridge | A Creepypasta

Back in 1903, deep in Clifton, there used to be an asylum buried deep within the wilderness of Clifton. Pretty soon after the civil war people started inhabiting the area, population-wise around three hundred or so. It was a very small town. Nonetheless people didn’t like the idea of having an asylum miles down the road, so they all got together and signed a petition for the asylum to relocate elsewhere. The petition passed and a new asylum was built, which is now known as “Lorton Prison”, a temporary facility for convicts to stay in until they are appropriately sentenced.

In the autumn of 1904, the convicts were gathered and piled into the bus, used to transport them to Lorton. Somewhere during the drive not too far from where they left, the driver had swerved to avoid something and the bus had started to tip, and soon was rolling in a terrible collision course.

Most of the convicts were injured, but managed to escape the bus and had fled into the night towards the woods. The next morning, a local police investigation had begun, and they begun rounding up the escaped convicts. Hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. Everyone was recovered after four months- except for two people, named Marcus A. Wallster and Douglas J. Grifon. During the search for both men, the police found dead rabbits, all of them half-eaten and dismembered, every now and then along their search.

Finally, they were to find Marcus dead by the Fairfax station Bridge (now known as Bunny Man’s Bridge). In his hand, he held a man-made hammer/knife like tool, made with a sharp rock and a sturdy branch as a handle. They thought nothing of it, and didn’t care how he died, only that he was apprehended and they no longer had to worry about him. They had a name for Marcus, but later on they would realize they had named the wrong person the Bunny Man.

Still searching for Douglas, they kept on finding dead half-eaten rabbits every so often while the search went on. Eventually, they were to name Douglas the “Bunny Man” from then on.

Months passed by and the police gave up their search. Everybody assumed the Bunny Man was dead by now, if not gone, so they went on with their small town lives. Come October, people started seeing dead bunnies reappearing out of the blue, and starting to fear the unseen.

Halloween Night came around, and as usual, a bunch of kids had gone over to the Bridge that night to drink and do whatever kids their age in the early twentieth century did. Midnight came around within minutes, and most of the kids had left. Only three of them remained at the bridge.

Exactly at midnight, a bright light came from the bridge, right where the kids were. A few seconds later, they were all dead. Throats slashed with that same type of tool that was found next to the other escapee, Marcus. Not only were their throats slashed, but they were cut up and down their chests, gutted like fish. The Bunny Man then hung both of the boys from one end of a bridge with rope around their necks, hanging from the overpass with their legs dangling in view of any passing cars.

The girl was hung the same way, on the other side of the bridge. This happened on Halloween in 1905. After that, they didn’t see or hear anything from him for another year.

Halloween 1906 was approaching, and parents as well as the teens in Clifton still remember the incident that had occurred one year ago at the bridge- his bridge, the Bunny Man’s Bridge.

That night, seven teens were left remaining right before midnight at the bridge. Thinking little of it, six remained inside the bridge while one, Adrian Hatala had remained a good distance from the bridge hoping to have enough time to escape if the same thing happened again. She was the only one to witness this, a dim light walking the railroad track just before midnight, stopping right above the bridge at midnight, then disappearing at the same time that a bright flash was inside the bridge. She heard the deafening sounds of terrified screaming coming from inside the bridge that lasted only seconds. Moments later, they were all hung from the edge of the bridge, in the same way as the corpses a year earlier.

Horrified, she ran home, and refused to tell all of what she saw, just spattered words mixed with incoherent mumblings that the people of her town had to put together to come up with her story. No one understood it or believed her. They charged her with the teen’s murders, and locked her up in the Asylum of Lorton. In 1913, the same thing happened- with nine teenagers this time, on a Halloween night once again.

Adrian was still locked up. They dropped her sentence, but it was too late. The insanity had finally conquered her. Even if she was released, she was too far gone to have a life, so she spent her remaining years in the asylum until she finally died in 1953 of reported shock.

No one knows what exactly she died of shock from, but supposedly she had died in her sleep, dreaming of that one dreaded night. Perhaps the Bunny Man had finally gotten to her.

More murders were to take place however, although after the murders in 1913, most people stayed clear of the bridge on Halloween.

1943 rolls around and six teenagers go strolling out on Halloween night. A couple hours later, all of them dead, same way as all the others. Investigations took place, but as usual nothing was discovered.

1976, the same situation occurs, this time with only three people.

The only other incident that occurred since then was in 1987, twelve years ago. Janet Charletier was enjoying the night with her four friends. Halloween night had finally come, and they had gone driving out to enjoy the night after invading the children’s candy bags. They had settled around eleven PM at the bridge, waiting for midnight to come. They didn’t believe in the myth so they decided to see it for themselves, and were to be the only ones who actually withstood the Bunny Man. They had waited around an hour or so, so it was nearly midnight, when Janet started getting a little scared. They all had been pulling pranks on each other, (jumping out the bushes and screaming), so she was already a little worked up. Midnight hits, and by this stage she is in a total panic.

She’s almost out of the bridge when the lights get really bright inside. When that happens, her body is halfway outside of the bridge. She sees her skin start tearing at her chest but nothing is piercing her skin. She manages finally to leave the bridge. Completely horrified, she hits a hanging body and knocks herself out.

When she awakens, she discovers that she has been bleeding. She was lucky that the cut had just started, and wasn’t very bad at all. She left and never returned to the bridge again.

She has been seen sitting on a swinging bench on her balcony every morning just staring in the direction towards the bridge a couple of miles down. From then on, the story remains untouched and unmoved.

Original Story

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Are You Still There? An Anonymous Creepypasta

The cigarette tasted delicious as I inhaled the smoke. Oh, I needed this. Holidays were always stressful. I wondered why Mom invited me to her house for Thanksgiving this year. As much as I didn’t want to go back, I knew I had to in order to get some money out of her this time. She eventually figured out that it was the only reason I wanted anything to do with her anymore and didn’t seem to care. Our relationship was past the point of being repaired, but she seemed to be fine with it. Oh, well. I got money out of it, so why the hell did it matter?

I was sitting outside on her porch when I saw our next door neighbor’s son Richie, whom I used to have a crush on growing up, checking his mailbox. He looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. My friend Sarah told me that he was with Georgina now, that whore. How many men is she going to go through before she realizes that she’s a slut? I laughed to myself as I snuffed my cigarette butt out on the cement. I left this town for a reason, but something always pulled me back. Something other than the stupid gossip. And Mom.

I stood up and started to walk back into Mom’s house when I heard Richie call my name.

“Yeah?” I asked, turning around. I jumped as he was only standing a few feet away from me and I should’ve seen him walk up to me in my peripheral vision. I stared into his glacier blue eyes, expecting to see the same ambitious, passionate, and charismatic Richie that I knew before. But they were empty. I was paralyzed in fear to see his chalky face up close. He looked fine at a distance. “What’s wrong…?”

“What are you doing here?” he whispered.

“I…I’m visiting my Mom,” I said.

He shook his head and shot a fearful glance towards the house.

“You have to leave. Things aren’t the same here anymore. The…the town, it’s…” he said.

“Richie, what the fuck is wrong? You’re scaring me,” I asked.

He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned into me. His breath smelled of death as he spoke.

“Things have changed. For the worse. When you look at things here without really looking into them, they appear normal. But…they’re not. They’re…” he said, trailing off. I heard Mom whistling in the background.

“Daniella, sweetheart. Who are you talking to?” she asked. He must’ve lost his mind.

“Richie,” I replied.

“Leave and don’t come back. It’s too late for me,” he whispered.

“Dinner’s ready,” Mom said. I gently pushed him away from me.

“Want to join us?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Daniella, don’t go back in there. No one is who they say they are.”

“Not even you?” I asked.

“No. Not even me. You wonder why you keep coming back, don’t you? It’s this place. They lure you in,” he said.

“Daniella, come on before the food gets cold,” Mom scolded.

“I’m hungry. It was nice seeing you again, Richie,” I mumbled, turning and walking back into the house.

I saw Mom in the kitchen taking lasagna out of the oven and setting it on the counter, which was my favorite but an unusual Thanksgiving dish. “Lasagna, huh?”

“Yeah. Why not?” she asked, smiling. I sat down at the kitchen table and watched her cut me a piece of it, putting it on a plate and setting it down in front of me.

“So, Richie’s really lost his mind, huh?” I asked, trying to laugh about how fucked up he was now but failing miserably.

“Oh, honey. Richie’s been dead for years,” Mom said, laughing.

“What?”

“If you had visited often enough, then you would know that Richie died years ago. Freak accident,” she said as she cut herself a piece of lasagna.

“But…I just-”

“You just saw him? Don’t give me that shit, Daniella. You always used to say that you could see dead people when you were a kid, but you’re a big girl now. Eat your food,” she said.

I grabbed my fork, trembling, and looked down at the lasagna. It seemed to be moving. I leaned in closer to it, slowly peeling off the first layer and gasped when a huge spider scurried out of it, off of the table, and across the room. I kept peeling off layer after layer and found more bugs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What did you put in this, Mom?” I asked. I leaned in, removing the last layer of lasagna and gasping at what I saw. A finger.

“What do you mean? It’s the same lasagna I made when you still lived here,” she said, sitting across from me and taking a big bite of her piece. I squirmed as I heard her chomp down on of what sounded like a huge insect inside of her mouth.

“Mom…what’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“What’s wrong with? Me? What’s wrong with you?! Lasagna is your favorite food,” she said.

“I have to go,” I said, standing up. She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh? Where?”

“Home,” I said.

She smiled.

“This IS your home,” she said and grinned at me, flashing pieces of the bug she ate between her teeth.

“No, it isn’t.”

“You were never satisfied with what you had,” she mumbled, standing up and walking towards the kitchen drawers.

“Mom, I’m sorry. Just please stop acting like this.”

“Like what?” she asked, getting a knife out of a drawer.

“What happened to you? To this place?” I asked.

“Things change, honey. People leave, die, disappear. This town is the only town that’s changed for the better. But you just had to go and leave, didn’t you? Had to fuck everything up. Had to fuck up The Plan. If you would’ve stayed, like I asked you to, you would’ve changed with us. You would’ve gotten everything you ever wanted. But you never listened. You still don’t.”

“Please stop,” I mumbled, covering my face. Warm tears filled my eyes and my heart skipped a beat as I heard Mom walking towards me.

She removed my hands from my face and leaned in closer to me. As she got closer and closer, her face began to contort and become disfigured.

“I never wanted you to leave. But now, you never have to. You’re one of us now,” she said, jamming the knife into my stomach and twisting the cold, steel blade. I felt the blood begin to soak my shirt and pants as she hoisted the knife upward. As I slowly began to fade out of consciousness, I saw her for what she really was. Well, for what IT really was.

Mom was right. I never listen. Not even to dead people.


Original story: Are You Still There?

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The Accident

Last month, something very strange happened. My four friends and I went to a local haunted area for a scare and to kill an evening. It was about 9:00 p.m., so it was as dark as it was going to get for the night. We were arriving at the spot when it started to get extremely foggy to the point where you could hardly see in front of you, definitely the scene for a scary evening.

We started to slow down to park, and I saw a look of terror on my friend’s face, a look of terror that no one can fake. He then said “accelerate” in a tone that both intrigued and terrified me at the same time. Without really thinking, I just sped up about ten miles per hour faster than I had been going, just assuming that the spot we were in scared him a bit.

As we went farther up the road, the restlessness that he felt only proceeded to get worse. At this point I just wanted to get out of where we were, as his fear was beginning to rub off on me. As I continued to pick up speed, I saw what had scared him so bad. I had only seen it for a split second before I heard the crunches and felt the car go over a bump that no one would want to acknowledge, but was impossible to ignore.

I panicked in a way that I never had before, and stopped the car with such force that we all jerked forward into what was in front of us. Ignoring the pain with adrenaline and shock, we got out to inspect what my fear and carelessness had done, and after seeing what was there, I wish I had kept driving. The “man” was lying in a pool of blood, his chest flattened from one line of wheels, and his feet flattened from the other line. It was a sight that I knew would stick in my mind as well as my friends’ for as long as we shall all live.

After the disgust and horror we all witnessed, I convinced everyone to get back into the car. Once we all got into the car, the weather had completely cleared as if a tension in the area had been relieved. I had no choice but to take all of my friends home with the scars that I knew would haunt them for the rest of their lives. On the way home, no one spoke of the gore that we had just witnessed, and I had no problem with that.

I felt like there had been a presence following us, but I just brushed it off as shock and went on with my driving. I dropped off all of my friends, making them promise that the event would never be spoken of to anyone. I then made my way to my house to cleanse my car of the horror that it had endured. I hosed my tires and bumper off, then went into the house to take a shower.

I still had the feeling of a presence, which had begun to give me a very unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I knew that it was just guilt. Guilt is the mind’s form of karmic retribution; no one can completely get away with something. I went to bed once I got out of the shower, hoping that I could sleep this terrible night from existence. It took about 2 hours for me to finally fall asleep, but that would be the worst mistake of my life.

I woke up about 3 hours later to the worst sight of my life. At the foot of my bed, I saw the face of my accident. Sitting no more than 2 feet away from me was the personification of fear. His body was mangled. His chest was flattened along with the lower half of his legs. He sensed my being awake through my fear, and turned to look at me. He had no eyes, but the sockets showed all of the pain and anger that he felt. This was coupled, however, with a sick sense of amusement that he got from the control that he had over my sanity.

He lunged for me, getting within mere inches from my face. Even though he had no eyes, I still felt as though he could see right into my very light of existence. He then whispered in a tone of pure terror “Forever…” and crawled out of my room. I ran out of my house into my car and drove. I drove for six hours straight, well into the daytime. I don’t know what that creature was, but I do know that he will be forever with me, with me as a constant reminder of how fear and panic can ruin one’s life.

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Dead Girlfriend Sends Facebook Messages from the Grave!

They had it a great relationship for 5 years until one day she was killed in an accident. It wasn’t long before he began receiving messages from her facebook account–the one he was in charge of.

Original story and story images here.

 

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Boo! Said the Ghost – An Anonymous Creepypasta

 

It was around 3 AM, this June.

I was on Skype with this cute girl I encountered on a forum a month ago. We were discussing about strange things that happened to me recently: Doors shutting, lamps turning on and off, even objects falling from the furniture. She was talking about a ghost or a poltergeist, who might have fun with this kind of stuff. But even though I felt paranoid, being paralyzed by the slightest noise, I couldn’t believe in these stories. Well, that’s what I’ve told myself all along. Something I knew I could regret sooner or later.

I was in the dark and I felt a little uncomfortable after our long debate on the subject, I decided it was time to refresh myself.

I got up and entered my bathroom, then washed my hands to make sure the water wasn’t too cold… I stared at my reflection for a moment. After a brief hesitation I bent over and splashed water over my face. Then I felt something unusual. Like a slight airflow. I looked behind me, the door was closed.

Did I shut the door when I entered the bathroom? I couldn’t remember. I took a towel and proceed to dry my face, unable to see a thing. While doing so, I heard a knock on a glass-like object. At first I thought it was coming from the mirror, but there was nothing except my reflection staring back at me.

I put the towel back on the towel holder and opened the door, when I saw something in the corner of my eye and heard a little noise. Like something had moved behind me.

I quickly looked back at the bathroom. At first I looked at the mirror but I then noticed the towel was on the floor, right in front of the bath. I was about to pick it up but as I approached I felt more and more uncomfortable. I could not stop staring at the shower curtain. Then I heard a second knock, the same than before. But I realized it wasn’t coming from the mirror nor the bathroom.

I turned around and headed back to my room, letting the towel on the floor. Now almost back to my bed when I felt like something was watching me. I looked through the window but there was nothing unusual.

I took my computer and asked my buddy if she has heard the knocks on the glass or if it was her.

“Yes I did hear it,” she said, “you still do not believe in poltergeist stuff?”

I admitted having doubts about what I told her earlier. She then got up and said “I’ll be right back,” and left the room. She left the door slightly open, which made me uncomfortable for a moment. But then I heard this noise again, a knock on the glass of my window. I felt too paranoid at first and did not dare to take a look. I thought it was my imagination. But it knocked a second time.

I looked up from my screen only to find something was standing still, behind my window. Staring, grinning. I almost felt like it was laughing at me. My monitor being the only light source in the room, I could hardly see its face but its smile…its smile petrified me for a moment.

After a few second I heard a door open and footsteps. I could barely catch my breath when I heard: “Hey I’m back.”

I looked back at the screen and understood it only was my buddy that got back on her computer… I told her I had to show her the thing that was staring at me, but it had faded away before I could rotate my webcam. “Did it really scare you?” she said, ”I thought you didn’t believe in those things? Haha.”

Her reaction made me curious. Why was she so excited about this?

I was so lost in my reflection that I thought I imagined what she said next: “Boo said the ghost… and he disappeared.” Before I could even react, the screen went black for a moment. It soon got back to normal but something different was on the screen.

It wasn’t the excited girl’s face anymore. I saw a man sitting on his bed, facing the computer. In fact, the scene was very familiar, until I recognized it. It was my bedroom. On the verge of panic, I was still able to notice something odd. The angle from which was taken the image of my bedroom. It was as if… something was right outside of my window, filming that exact moment. I looked through the window for a second before turning around to face my screen again. The delay let me see myself stare back at me through the webcam.

The screen went back to the girl I’ve been talking to for the past month. Except this time, she was in near pitch black. She got closer to the camera and didn’t do much for a few seconds. Still frightened from what had just happened, I didn’t move, waiting for her to say something, but she remained silent. I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t understand, until she started grinning.

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Haunted House in Larkfield, California

 

(To protect the privacy of the current resident this is not an image of the actual house.)

This is another true scary story of mine. We lived in a house in Larkfield, California that was haunted. Many creepy things happened in that house. Everyone noticed the haunted events. My sister and I would get scratches from nowhere. Dust would fall from places where there was no furniture. My cat would growl at nothing inside and outside of the house. Those are just the possible coincidental events. Two others stand out in my memory:

There was a cold back room that no one liked to go into. It was adjacent to the bathroom. It would never warm up and sometimes you could see your breath even in the summer. One time my brother’s friend was sitting in the living room and he freaked out because he watched a large yellow animal that resembled a cat but walked like a man go from the bathroom to that bedroom.

Another creepy time was when my sister and her best friend were playing cards at the dining room table. Across from the table was the window to the outside. The owners had build a second room to that wall so the window really only looked into that side room. Without a word her face went white and she got up from the table to grab a Michael Myers sized knife from the kitchen then told my sister she had just seen a face of a person inside the room in the window looking at them. There was no one there and all of the doors were locked.

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Hidden Lakes Ghost in Martinez, California

 

This was my first video on YouTube. 🙂 The sound quality is amusing and I was just getting over whooping cough so my voice was kind of raspy. It is a true story about my son who was about 4 or 5 at the time. He took a walk with his dad, uncle, aunt, and their children. I was pregnant and about to pop so I stayed behind and took a nap.

My husband at the time woke me up and asked me to help get some warm water going. My son had tried to walk on the algae on the water and fell in. No one noticed except a fisherman across the lake. My ex was off doing something, whatever. The fisherman yelled at the family and my brother-in-law jumped in to get him. He could tell where he was by the puff of his curly hair.

Later on, and my son won’t admit to this now, he told me that while he was under the water a woman saved his life. She told him to hold his breath and that help was coming. He said she was a ghost and then he said she was an angel. I suppose she could have been either, but other people have reported a ghost of a person who drowned in the area years ago. It could all be hearsay because I can’t find any records of such an event, but it is a common occurrence.

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