Aggressive Ghosts

    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!

    Thanks for stopping by!

    Sharon

    Haunted Fireplace

    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.

    Thanks for stopping by!

    Sharon

    Tough Love Ghost Story

    Lilly and Tom rushed into the coffee shop to tell me the latest about Brat Boy.

    I find it always interesting to hear the ghostly experiences of others. This on-going saga with Lilly and Tom isn’t one where they have actually seen the ghost, but observed changes in the behavior of a neighborhood boy.

    Lilly and Tom live in a section of town surrounded by older homes built in the late 1800’s to the 1940’s. Much remodeling had been done in the area over the years, but it remains a charming neighborhood.

    Tom was particularly fond of an old military man who lived across the street. They would have long talks in the evening. He was interested in the stories, but it was an excuse to help out the elderly man. Lilly always sent some food along to make sure he was eating properly.

    The sad day arrived when the old man died. His family put the house on the market immediately after his funeral.

    It wasn’t long before a family  moved into the neighborhood. The new neighbors were a woman with three children, a boy 16, a girl 12 and another boy 8 years old. With all the antics of the elder son, he soon got the reputation of being a brat. He would ride his skateboard in the street, tag a ride on passing cars, swear at his mother and beat up on his little brother.

    The police were always at the house. He was gone for a few years for selling drugs.

    Now he was back.

    He was still a brat. His time in jail didn’t teach him any positive lessons. He didn’t go to school and he didn’t work. He’d have his friends over while his brother and sister were at school and their mother at work.

    He graduated from a skate board to a motorcycle. His friends had motorcycles, too, and they’d race up and down the street. They acted as though they owned the road. It was a major problem for the other residents.

    Then, he got into music. He and his friends would make all kinds of racket in the garage practicing.

    The strange thing was that he and his band did get hired to play at various events. He did get a car, but there was an issue when his mother needed him to help her with errands and taking his siblings to lessons or practices.

    “I just came home from getting groceries,” Lilly explained. “The neighborhood was quiet. No sign of Brat Boy and his friends.”

    She heard the front door slam across the street. She turned and saw Brat Boy running from the house, barefoot and shirtless. He either tripped or dove into the rosebushes. He stayed there for awhile, then emerged with scratches on his arms, face and torso.

    He limped across the street asking, “Ma’am, may I use your telephone?”

    Lilly wasn’t going to invite him in the house, so she handed him her cell phone. She did debate about doing so. She didn’t trust this kid, but his polite “ma’am” and simple request took her by surprise.

    He called his mother, asking her to come home. He explained that something was in the house.

    “It won’t let me alone, whatever it is. Things were flying off the walls and shelves in my room. It even flipped me out of bed. I was laying on the floor with the mattress on top of me.”

    He paused, listening to his mother.

    “But Mom, you don’t understand.”

    He paused again.

    “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry Mom, but I need you to come home. I’m not going into that house alone.”

    Lilly got the last of her groceries into the house. When she returned, the young man handed her her phone thanking her.

    “Having a rough day?” Lilly asked.

    “Yes, ma’am. May I ask you something?”

    Lilly nodded.

    “Do you believe in ghosts?”

    “Yes, Tom and I have had some experiences.”

    “Well, we have one, too, but he leaves Mom, Kary and Brad alone.”

    He told Lilly about some of the experiences.

    • The hot water in the shower would suddenly turn off and he’d be forced to finish his shower with cold water.
    • Every time he’d complain to his mother something would fly out of nowhere and hit him in the face.
    • He wasn’t sure how many times he was tripped and fell down the stairs, but he admitted it was usually after he said something mean to his sister or brother.
    • Lights would turn off in his room, but other lights were on in the house.
    • When he took the remote control from his brother and changed the channel on the television, it turned off.

    It was clear to Lilly that this ghost was disciplining him every time he misbehaved.

    She truly believed it was their old neighbor, trying to teach Brat Boy there were consequences to his acting out inappropriately. She wasn’t sure if the pathetic young man before her was getting the message.

    “Thanks for listening,” he said. “I guess I’ll go on home and wait for my mom.”

    Lilly went inside after watching him cross the street. He sat down on the curb near the mailbox and the driveway.

    Lilly was keeping an eye out the window, she felt sorry for the young man. She saw a car go into the driveway. The boy stood up, opened the car door and gave his mother a big hug. He got some things out of the back of the car and carried them into the house.

    Tom finished up the story.

    “You wouldn’t believe the difference in Brat Boy. He signed up for college, he took the GED (high school equivalency test) while he was incarcerated. His name is Tim and he’s turned into a decent kid.”

    He no longer swore at his mother, beat up his little brother or made a nuisance of himself around the neighborhood. He was working part-time at Home Depot.

    “I think old man Turner finally got Tim’s attention.”

    I hope you enjoyed this Real Ghost Story. Thanks for stopping by!

    Sharon

    Busy At The Cemetery

    I decorate grave sites during the early morning hours. This being Veteran’s Day Weekend I put out plenty of American Flags along with flower arrangements. At dawn it will be a sight to behold.

    I love my job, but I must admit I do sometimes get a bit creeped out.

    I bring candy for any ghostly children who may be around and some extra flowers for the ladies . . . and the gentlemen are quite fond of Jack Daniels, so I have some bottles ready for them, too. These are all ghostly apparitions that appear while I’m working.

    It’s nice that they’re used to me, but as long as I’ve been doing this, I can’t help but be startled from time to time.

    I pretty much thought that I’ve seen it all, but I did get a bit of a scare when a floating head followed me into the cemetery. It was just bobbing along beside the truck on the passenger side.

    It reminded me of the bouncing ball that used to be used to follow the words in the song on cartoons and old Mitch Miller television programs.

    Thoughts like this pop into my mind at the craziest times, but I’ve found it better to laugh about something creepy than be scared. It may be what has allowed me to do this job for so many years.

    The shadows seemed to be alive.

    Dark spots seemed to dart behind tall gravestones or trees. My initial thought that kids were out, but it is a closed cemetery. I suppose there is always a way inside other than through the main gate, but I hadn’t heard about it . . . other than the underground tunnel, but that was blocked off years ago . . . or that’s what the city wants us to believe . . . some have denied they had ever existed.

    I concentrated on the job I had to decorate all the grave sites. It was going to be a long night. I started at dusk, when the gates were closed. I knew someone would be back around midnight to let me out, but until then I was alone in the cemetery . . . except for the ghostly residents.

    I’m used to having the feeling of being watched, but the shadows moving in the darkness were new to me as was the bobbing ghostly head.

    I was singing patriotic songs in my head as I worked, but creepy songs seemed to drown them out. I thought about “Monster Mash” which I always found enjoyable, but it was soon replaced with “Do you ever think as a hearse goes by, that you may be the next to die? They wrap you up in a big white sheet from your head down to your feet. They put you in a big black box, and  cover you up with dirt and rocks. All goes well for about a week, then your coffin begins to leak. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout. They eat your eyes, they eat your nose, they eat the jelly between your toes. A big green worm with rolling eyes, crawls in your stomach and out your eyes. Your stomach turns a slimy green, and pus pours out like whipping cream. You spread it on a slice of bread, and that’s what you eat when you are dead.” . . . I got a chill.

    I kept working. That last song stayed in my mind much longer than I felt comfortable.

    A baseball rolled up beside me. I knew that was Billy, a young boy I’ve seen at the cemetery from time to time and who, along with his ghostly friends come to my house at Christmas . . . but that’s a different story for another time.

    I set a box of Junior Mints beside the baseball. I knew Billy liked them and would share them with his friends. I did feel a little more relaxed knowing Billy was there and forgot about the shadows . . . and the disgusting song.

    There was a slight breeze that gave a gentle nudge to the leaves that seemed to whisper throughout the cemetery from tree to tree. Fortunately, the dark shadows were still.

    I got that cold chill again. Checking my watch and looking around, I knew I had no time to entertain my imagination. I had an hour to finish up and meet the caretaker at the gate.

    I moved the truck to light up the last section of the cemetery. I worked in silence — no songs popped in my head, but something strange did happen. I heard and then saw flowers being placed at the far end of the cemetery. It may have been the soldiers I brought the Jack Daniels for helping me out.

    With the help of my ghostly soldiers, I finished early and waited at the gate for the caretaker. He seemed pleased to see me. I usually have a bottle of Jack Daniels for him, but my ghostly helpers, helped themselves to all the bottles along with the flowers they placed for me. If the caretaker wanted one, he’d have to deal with the soldiers.

    Thanks for stopping by!

    Sharon

    Strange Experience At The Coffee Shop

    Occasionally when I meet my ghost hunting friends at our local coffee shop there is a ghost or two hanging around.

    They do try to get our attention in various ways.

    On this particular morning I kept hearing a strange buzzing sound. I thought it was some kind of buzzing insect. I waved my hand next to my ear to chase it away, but I felt something ice cold. I knew instantly that some spirit was whispering in my ear, but I couldn’t make out any words.

    I tried to communicate with the spirit by talking to it in my mind. I explained that I was sorry, but all I heard was a buzzing sound. I was interested in what it had to say, but it needed to find someone else who was on their frequency.

    Evidently, my group was on the same frequency as I, because I noticed each one waving it away.

    I explained to them that it wasn’t an insect, but a spirit trying to communicate with one of us.

    Hank suggested to the spirit that it try to communicate with us in another way.

    Great, I thought, now we’re going to have parlor games right here in the coffee shop.

    Not to be disappointed, the chalk board with the daily specials was erased and the word “HELP” in all caps appeared on the board.

    Hank told the spirit that he appreciated the message, but needed more information.

    The next word was “FOLLOW.”

    Great, now we needed to follow a ghost that we couldn’t see or hear someplace we didn’t know.

    I wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but we left the coffee shop and got into Hank’s SUV to go on an adventure.

    Hank was asking questions such as right or left as he drove out of town. Evidently, the ghost would tap Hank’s shoulder in reply.

    We were heading out of town.

    My friend Barbara didn’t seem at all concerned. Hank was concentrating on his driving. I seemed to be the only one who wasn’t keen on the idea. I guess I’m not much of a ghost hunter.

    Off to the distance I saw an abandoned house.

    As we drove up, there was a “Keep Out” sign nailed to the fence that was missing pickets and seemed to lean to one side.

    When we got out of the car, we heard someone calling for help.

    We immediately hurried to the sound of the cries being careful not to trip over debris that might be hidden in the tall grass.

    When I saw the man on the ground, I immediately called 9-1-1 to get an ambulance out there as soon as possible. The man had broken his leg and I could see the bone poking through the skin.

    I went outside to think about what had happened that morning. A spirit came to get us to help the man in the old abandoned house.

    How was that possible?

    I wanted to know more. Were they related? Was this the ghost’s house? Why was this man there? How did he break his leg?

    It seemed to take forever for the ambulance to arrive, but they did with police and fire truck.

    How was I going to explain why we were out there?

    Fortunately, Hank did all the talking and Barbara and I nodded like bobble heads.

    A couple of days later we visited the man in the hospital.

    He told us he was hired to tear down the old place and level the lot. Since it was an old stone house, he was wondering if it was worth saving. He didn’t like destroying old buildings.

    As he was climbing the stairs, he heard a buzzing sound in one ear, then the other. He also saw something pass him and run up the stairs. He was so startled that he lost his balance and fell down the stairs.

    Since he believed in ghosts, we shared our experience at the coffee shop.

    We were all pleased that the ghost that startled him also rescued him.

    What happened to the old stone house?

    It’s still there, but it has been renovated and the yard landscaped. The man who wanted it destroyed changed his mind after hearing what transpired in the house. He moved from Utah with his family and made it their home.

    What about the ghost?

    He’s still there with his wife. He’s the great-great-uncle to the man from Utah. The children like the elderly ghostly couple and their parents have learned that they can all live peacefully in the same house.

    It’s nice when a ghost story ends happily.

    Thanks for stopping by. I hope you liked this real ghost story!

    Sharon