There have been numerous stories of people seeing cars going down the road without drivers.
It is unnerving when it happens, but it has been witnessed too many times to be discounted as one’s imagination.
I was driving home from a party in the local mountains. It was a full moon and the road didn’t look as dark and dangerous. I had driven this road several times, but it had some places I didn’t especially like. There were several blind curves and a few hairpin twists. I was planning to take it slow and easy. My friend Marsha and her sister, Gloria were riding with me.
Gloria was talking about the party and how she swore she saw a ghost of a man in a military uniform. Marsha kept the conversation going wondering about the military uniform and the possibility it could be one of their relatives. I was watching the road and not paying too much attention to their conversation.
I knew there had been military camps in the mountains at one time. I wondered if it was military or police or some other group that wore uniforms of some sort.
Behind me were bright lights. I planned to take the first turn out I came to in order for the car to pass. The high beams flashed. I wasn’t going to speed up, the road was too dangerous for that. I signaled for the turn out and barely got off the pavement when the car sped up and passed us.
I got back on the road and was now following the car that was in such a hurry moments earlier.
It was going slowly. My headlights lit up the interior of the vehicle ahead, Marsha screamed and pointed. Gloria said, “There’s no one driving the car!”
It was true, no driver was behind the wheel of the car.
We debated between passing the car or just following at a snails pace.
Just as I started to pass on a straight away, the car ahead of us sped up. I eased back behind the car. It once again slowed its pace.
“What’s going on,” Marsha asked. “This isn’t normal.”
Gloria and I agreed it was strange, but my goal was to get us safely down the mountain.
“Oh good, he’s pulling over,” Marsha remarked.
I wasn’t too sure. I felt the ghost car ahead was playing with me. I sped up, encouraged to pass by Marsha, when the car cut in front of me. Our bumpers almost touched.
This was getting nerve racking.
Marsha put a CD in the player, what we heard was not music, but demonic sound of laughter.
It chilled me to the bone. I could hear Marsha’s teeth shattering and could see her body shaking in the seat next to me.
I ejected the CD. Gloria did her best to distract her sister and encouraged her to put in another CD. Marsha refused. I didn’t care if we had music or not. I didn’t want to hear any more sounds from the dead.
Gloria found a CD she wanted to hear. She leaned over the seat and put it in the player.
There was a strange sound like a flat tire. The car was fine. We didn’t have a flat, but it was an unnerving sound. Then there was a scream and a crash. The car ahead vanished.
Music was later coming out of the CD player. All seemed normal again.
We were shaken up by this experience. As soon as we got down the mountain, we stopped at the nearest all night restaurant for coffee.
When we walked inside, the manager said, “You ladies look like you saw a ghost.”
Gloria was the first to speak, “We believe we did. We had the strangest experience.”
He signaled for a waitress. She brought us coffee.
The manager slid in the booth beside me and asked, “Did you just come down the mountain?”
We nodded. Gloria seemed to be the only one of us who could speak.
“Yes, it was the strangest thing,” she began. “A car without a driver passed us and then slowed down and wouldn’t allow us to pass it.”
“It wasn’t only that,” I said. “My CD player wasn’t working properly.”
The manager seemed interested, “What did you hear?”
Marsha explained about the demonic laughter.
Gloria add, “On another CD we heard thumps like a flat tire, then a scream and a crash. It was awful.”
The waitress brought us each a piece of pie and refilled our coffee mugs.
“Rita,” the manager said getting up and gesturing for her to take his seat. “Tell these ladies your experience coming down the mountain.”
She explained that a couple of years ago, she and her husband were coming down the mountain when the car ahead of them blew a tire and went across the road and down into the canyon.
They immediately reported it. They went back with flashlights, but didn’t see the vehicle in the canyon.
When the police and emergency vehicles arrived, they scanned the canyon, but found nothing. They canvassed the area, but there was nothing to be found.
“One of the paramedics,” Rita explained, “told us a few times a year they get calls about a car running off the road or a car without a driver passing them.”
“Was it after midnight?” Marsha asked.
“Yes, it was.”
We decided it must be residual energy that plays out the horrible accident. Although we didn’t see the car cross the road and go into the canyon, the two events seemed to be similar enough to be the same accident. Rita didn’t have trouble with the CD player or hear anything. She didn’t recall hearing a sound when the tire blew or screeching of tires or screams or the crash.
I made a mental note not to drive down the mountain after midnight on a full moon or any other night.
I do hope you enjoyed this Real Ghost Story. I would be interested to hear your comments on the subject — or if you’ve had a similar experience.
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I have a friend who always said, “I’d love to live in a haunted three story Victorian house.”
As the saying goes, “Be careful what you wish for.”
No, she didn’t get her three story Victorian, but she did encounter an aggressive ghost.
She was sitting in her living room at a table she set up for making wind chimes. She was surprised that every time she set out a new wind chime, someone knocked on her door and asked to buy it. Thus, the beginning of a new business for her. But I digress.
She saw what she believed to be a shadow person out of the corner of her eye. It seemed to scurry across the room and through the wall. It was too tall for a mouse, but it was the same type of movement.
She shrugged it off and continued working. She heard the wind chimes on her porch. The sound started out slow and soft, like a gentle breeze. It was a comforting sound, but she noticed the room was getting cold — not just cold, but freezing.
The wind chimes were getting into a steady motion, but it seemed somewhat controlled, as though someone was playing a tune. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place the melody.
Next, she heard singing in another room. Since she was home alone, she got up to investigate. She found no one.
She settled back to her wind chime project when she heard a crash. She had experienced that before and upon investigation found nothing, so she ignored it. The wind chimes on the porch continued to play a tune. For anyone else the tune would be comforting, but for Anne, it was a song her ex-husband always sang. She felt chilled to the bone. Her ex had been dead for two decades.
Obviously, something was trying to get her attention.
She went out to her front porch to have a look around. Her dogs were watching something, but didn’t bark and didn’t acknowledge her. She was starting to go down the steps when she was pushed and reached the bottom sooner than expected. Sitting at the bottom of the steps, she took inventory and started to get up, only to be pushed down again.
She knew it wasn’t the ghost of her ex-husband, he wasn’t a violent man.
She shouted, “Leave me alone!”
This must have broken the spell the dogs seemed to be under. They started barking, came up to her with tails wagging. When she was pushed again, the dogs were snarling and snapping at something. The dogs chased the entity, but it disappeared in the house.
Anne didn’t like the idea of the entity being in the house unattended, but she also realized she had no control over ghosts — friendly or aggressive — and this one was decidedly aggressive.
She heard a crash. This time she decided to investigate.
The old grandfather clock that sat in the foray for years had been knocked over. Glass was scattered on the floor, but the strangest thing was that clock parts were scattered among the glass, too. All the mechanisms had been dismantled. All those little cogs and gears were on the floor intermingled with the glass. The wood had splintered in the clock casing.
Fighting back tears, she got a broom and dust pan to clean up the mess. As she worked, she thought she’d keep some of the clock works to add to her wind chime materials.
Deep in thought, she couldn’t explain how a splintered piece of wood pierced her thigh. It hurt like the dickens. She didn’t know whether to try to take it out or leave it in. Blood soaked through her jeans and began to puddle on the floor. This wasn’t good. She was feeling faint, but managed to get to the telephone and call 9-1-1.
She doesn’t remember the paramedics arriving. She didn’t realize she had been in the hospital for three days. Everything seemed foggy around her. She wasn’t sure if she was alive or not.
A few more days later, she awoke.
A nurse greeted her and said she’d get the doctor. Anne tried to put the pieces together to what exactly brought her to the hospital.
When the doctor came into her room, he went over his chart and explained all the medical mumbo jumbo. Instead of leaving, he pulled up a chair and sat down.
Should she tell the doctor a ghost was messing with her — playing with the wind chimes, pushing her down the porch steps, knocking her down every time she tried to get up, knocked over her grandfather clock and stabbed her with a splintered piece of wood?
As it turned out, the doctor spoke of all those things. Evidently, while in her coma she was trying to figure out what happened. It was fortunate the doctor believed in the paranormal and didn’t discount the situation.
The splintered piece of wood did not have a sharp point, it was dull and rammed through her thigh with such force, it almost broke through to the other side.
Anne couldn’t imagine anyone living or dead who would be that strong and that filled with hate for her, but that splintered piece of wood was evidence that someone or something did hate her that much.
Anne is still seeking answers and is still living in her house. Her reasoning is that moving wouldn’t prevent this aggressive ghost from finding her. She has had other incidents from time to time, but nothing as drastic as this personal experience.
That’s a truly creepy real ghost story!
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I haven’t been adding real ghost stories to this website for awhile … mainly due to a personal experience that still bothers me. I won’t be writing about it any time soon. I don’t know about you, but there are times a paranormal experience does scare you so seriously that you have to take a break for awhile. That is the reason for my absence …
Since it has been raining, I thought the atmosphere was right to once again tell you a real ghost story. This one happened to me when I was young visiting my great-aunt.
I remember reading a fictional story about a fireplace that was haunted. Then I saw this really great Halloween project of a skeleton in a fireplace.
Then I remembered my own personal experience about seeing the ghost of a woman standing near the fireplace from many years ago.
I love sitting near a roaring fire, listening to music or reading a good book. It’s fun to sit by the fire with family and friends and tell ghost stories, too . . . or just chat.
I suppose the most memorial experiences are those that happen to us as children. That seems true for me.
I was at my great aunt’s house and it was really cold in the house. The heat was on, but the living room seemed uncommonly cold. My father suggested making a fire in the fireplace, but she adamantly refused.
We were bundled up in blankets and drinking hot chocolate.
I looked longingly at the fireplace and the stack of wood logs that set outside and a few inside that were waiting to be lit. Then, out of my peripheral vision a ghostly apparition of a young girl, no older than me, floated to the fireplace. She was wearing a nightgown from an era gone by. I watched silently.
When she turned around, I screamed.
The front of her nightgown was gone and her face and body had been burned. The flesh was red and raw hanging onto her bones.
It took awhile for my parents to calm me down. My great aunt may have seen her, too. She calmly explained it all to us.
“I’ve been having dreams since Martin and I first moved in here,” she began. “It was a little girl who was playing in the living room with her dolls.”
That’s how the dreams always began. Some would continue with her playing. As the months and years of having this same dream, the scene changed with a man walking in and throwing one of her dolls in the fireplace.
My great aunt could feel the sadness in the child upon being scolded and losing one of her cherished dolls.
More time passed, but the dreams continued and were expanded.
When the man left, the little girl went to the fireplace to retrieve her beloved doll.
I remember my great aunt telling us she awoke screaming, “No, don’t!”
From what I saw, the little girl, evidently, did retrieve her doll, but caught herself on fire in the process.
My great aunt was so disturbed by this that she never lit a fire in the fireplace since. It was a warning to her that she took to heart.
I remember my grandmother scoffing at her sister by saying, “You aren’t playing with dolls, my dear. There’s no reason for all of us to be freezing because of some silly dream about a child who once lived here.”
She walked over to the fireplace, lit a match and it went out. She lit another with the same result. I don’t know how many she lit before she gave up.
I didn’t see the ghostly child blow out the matches, but there was a part of me that was relieved my grandmother didn’t succeed in lighting the logs in the fireplace.
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